#i’ve been daydreaming making out with her for the past two weeks

[deathbxnny]

I’ve been busy.. but that doesnt stop me from daydreaming!

Can i request platonic Vi with a best friend that is like Wriothesley? I didnt realized how similar those two are until i saw Wriothesley’s birthday art. It’s just.. mind blowing. ALSO WRIOTHESLEY AND CLORINDE, VI AND CAITLYN. DO YOU SEE IT?! Personally, i dont ship Wrio and Clorinde but i can see why people even ship them in the first place. I see them as platonic besties who support their endeavor with their respective lover (Neuvilette and Navia respectively)

Context:

Reader and Vi met in prison and just clicked bc they just understood each other. When Caitlyn came to ask Vi for help, Vi also made Caitlyn to allow reader out with her as well. Whatever happens next is your choice to make but please also note how reader is from Piltover.

That’s all and have a good day/night!

(School is just.. really busy rn and i have my final exams next week. Im honestly scared, so i might not be active for a while here. But know that i do read your stuff to time to time to destress. Also i really like the post with my navia request, tysm ^_^)

- Flower Anon 🌸

Vi with a best friend Wriothesley-like!Gn!Reader.

Your words about the Wriothesley and Clorinde comparison have enlightened something in my mind lmao. Also, good luck with your exams, Flower Anon! I really, really hope that they go well and dw about not being active much! I appreciate your support either way and hope you'll enjoy this!<3

Content: Reader is from Piltover, past murders, crimes, platonic relationships, Vi and Reader being a menace duo, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You and Vi had your backs from day one after meeting in Stillwater. You were both teens then, having been imprisoned under terrible circumstances, and that made you stick together as a team. There was no one else to look out for you in that hell after all.

During your long, seemingly endless time in jail, you both got to know each other perfectly, with no details about your pasts spared. She came to know about your dark past and the murder of your abusive parents rather early on, yet never judged you for it. If anything, she may have been the only one to understand you.

This was surprising, considering your vastly different upbringings. Vi came from poverty down in the slums of Zaun, whilst you once tasted silver spoons and golden dishes on the daily. But it all faded in this hellscape of a prison, where you both endured torture and pain as equals.

You became an unlikely duo out of that, one that upheld a scary and menacing reputation amongst prisoners and wards alike. She was the more angry, violent one, whilst you were a bit of a joker, your words alone enough to send shivers down anyone's spines. It made you both feel more confident and hopeful, even if a way out was unlikely after many years spent in the prison.

Now, far into your adulthood, you decided to give up on that childish dream of freedom, accepting that your life in Stillwater is all you'll ever know. You were used to it by now and built a routine to follow and survive with. But things changed when that Enforcer girl showed up.

You didn't trust her at all, despite roughly remembering who she was. And unfortunately, she remembered you two, although for all the wrong reasons she would simply scoff at. However, since Vi decided to make a deal with Caitlyn, you decided to leave the past behind and simply accept this opportunity to finally escape this place.

And so, after what felt like endless years of fighting for your survival together, you were finally permitted to breathe, mostly, fresh air and live freely again... even with the grim mission at hand that often left you having to comfort Vi whenever things got too out of hand with her emotions. Hunting down Jinx was more traumatic than she'd let on anyways.

But alas, you eventually began enjoying your time out by trying new tea and pastries, running around your okd neighborhoods, and beating up people with Vi that wronged her in the past. It was all in good fun, even if Caitlyn had to hunt you both down every time.

You were the more calmer and gentler out of the three of you, however, as your rationality and ability to lead effortlessly often came in handy. You were somewhat of a balance between the two when things got really bad, despite your own reservations, and eventually ended up being an accidental wingman with how well you spoke of Vi to Cait. You knew firsthand how bad the prejudice against Zaunites could be and would be damned if she ever mistreated Vi because of it.

Ultimately, life turned out a lot more chaotic outside than it was outside of the prison... but with your best friend at your side, you suppose things would only get more interesting from here.

[tomdarsh]

just broke up with my gf, feeling great (we never dated)

[msmk11]

Best Friend’s Mom

MILF!Wanda Maximoff x college age!fem!reader (Billy and Tommy’s best friend)

Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Word count: 5k

CW: Age gap (legal), best friends’ mom, MILF!Wanda, fluff, consumption of alcohol, mention of absent parent, light smut

Summary: You get invited to spend spring break with your best friends Tommy and Billy Maximoff and their mother, Wanda. But Wanda is not just any mom you soon discover. She’s a MILF. And god do you want her badly. Only in your wildest dreams could she ever be attracted to you too- or so you think.

A/n: It’s finally here per your votes on my poll! This is only part one of (probably) two however. A) I’ve never written for Wanda before so I’m having a harder time saying what I need to succinctly. B) I have the fattest crush on Wanda so perhaps this is just my rambles. I hope you enjoy!!

When your twin best friends Billy and Tommy had invited you on their beach family vacation over spring break, you had obviously said yes. The thoughts of sand between your toes, the warm sun on your skin, and the calming crash of the waves sent a shiver of excitement down your spine every time you thought of it. Of course, you were also just excited to spend time with your best friends, but the beach was at the forefront of your mind. Though your daydreams had already crafted a vision of perfection for this trip, the reality, surprisingly, far exceeded it. This was all thanks to one sinfully sexy Ms. Maximoff.

From the early budding of your friendship, you knew that Billy and Tommy adored their mother- especially since their father had left them all behind at a young age. Their descriptions made her seem sweet, loving, and remarkably kind. While your first introduction certainly reassured these claims, it was her beauty that struck you. Perhaps in your head you had imagined someone a little more….motherly looking… rather than the mortal goddess before you. With the way her auburn hair fell down past her shoulders in waves, her blue skinny jeans hugged the curve of her waist just right, and her soft, pink lips were always adorned with a smile, you were certain she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

When you, Billy, and Tommy pull up to the beach house in their small gray sedan and a redheaded woman, who you assume to be their mother, comes out, you are dumbfounded to say the least. Before her boys can even get their luggage from the trunk, she sweeps each into a bearhug and exclaims, “hello moya lyubov!”

Their unconvincing protests fall on deaf ears as she continues to smother them in love. You’re sure to tease them about it later.

When Ms. Maximoff breaks away from Billy and Tommy, she turns her attention to you and smiles sweetly. As she makes her way towards you, your heart begins to beat quickly as you realize how beautiful she is.

“Hello, dear,” she greets, “Billy and Tommy have told me all about you.”

Before you can respond, she too pulls you in for a hug. The burn of her touch, even through your shirt, is almost too much to bear, and her flowery perfume that fills your nostrils makes your head feel all woozy.

As she pulls away you can feel your cheeks burning and you try to act calm despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maximoff, and thank you for letting me stay with you all this week.”

“Oh honey, no. Please don’t call me Ms. Maximoff, it makes me feel old. Wanda is just fine. And the pleasure is all mine, really. I’ve been eager to meet you ever since you became friends with my boys at the start of college.”

“Well, I’ve uh- been eager to meet you too. Billy and Tommy speak very highly of you.”

Wanda nearly coos as she turns to her sons brightly, “Awe moya lyubov, you two are too sweet.”

Your best friends flush red with embarrassment and the glares they shoot you as their mother hugs them again let you know they’ll berate you later for making them “look uncool.” Finally, Wanda pulls away and she urges you all to grab your stuff and follow her into the house.

Once inside, Billy and Tommy kick off their shoes haphazardly and start down the hall to the bedroom they’re sharing (so you can have a room to yourself). You, conversely, slip your shoes off gently and leave them by the door neatly. Wanda waits by your side and then motions for you to follow her once you’re done.

On your way to your room, Wanda gives you a mini tour. You pass through the small kitchen with light wooden floors, white cabinets, and seafoam blue walls. The living room is similarly beachy and charming, with big glass doors opening onto a wooden porch in the back and a smattering of brightly colored furniture organized around the room. At the end of the hall from the living room sits three doors, each leading into a separate room.

“Here we go, honey. Your room is this door on the left, the bathroom is the door in front of us, and my bedroom is here on the right. I hope you don’t mind being my neighbor and sharing a bathroom with me, but I figured it’d be better for the boys to have the master this week since they’re sharing a space,” Wanda tells you.

“No of course not Ms. M- Wanda. I feel bad that Billy and Tommy have to share, though. I honestly don’t mind sleeping on the couch!”

Wanda reacts as though you’ve just slapped her, “Oh honey, no! I’d never make a guest sleep on the couch! I want to make this place as comfortable for you as possible. Plus, the boys will be just fine. They spent the first half of their lives sharing a room, they’ll manage.”

You chuckle a little and smile kindly at her, “Well, thank you, seriously, I appreciate it.”

She waves her hand as if it’s nothing and then motions for you to go see your room, “I’m going to go finish up dinner honey, but let me know if you need anything.”

Wanda saunters off down the hall and you curse her for even walking sexily. Shaking yourself out of a daze, you go inside your room and promptly shut the door behind you. You drop your bag on the floor and then throw yourself on top of the fluffy, blue comforter, groaning into the mattress. You really hope you can survive this trip.

*****

It seems you must’ve fallen asleep on the comfy bed that feels more like a cloud, because suddenly you are jostled awake by a body landing on top of you. You let out an oomph as the air is expelled from your lungs and the weight of Tommy’s body settles on top of you.

“Tommy, you big lug,” you groan, “get off of me.”

You push the boy off of you and he rolls onto his back, “Had to wake you up somehow, you freak. I kept prodding you and nothing happened besides your continued snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” You protest, propping yourself up on your elbow and looking at him.

“Do too” he teases, “mouth open and all.” He then opens his mouth dramatically and lets out an obnoxiously loud snore.

You smack his stomach a little and he groans. In retaliation, he sweeps your elbow out from under you, forcing you to fall flat on your back again.

“Prick,” you grumble.

“Hey you should be a lot nicer to me, you know. I could’ve left you here to sleep and starve.”

You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, “I doubt your mom would allow that.”

The brunette snorts, “Touché.” He stands up and nods his head towards the door, “let’s go eat.”

You and Tommy make your way down the hall to the kitchen, playfully teasing and shoving each other a little on the way. When the longer-haired brother gives you an especially playful push into the kitchen, you nearly fall right in front of Wanda. You’re a little more than embarrassed, so you try to hide your face from her by turning back towards Tommy and glaring. He’s smirking until he’s not- when Wanda gently chides him for “being rude to the guest.”

“Mom she’s our friend, she can take it,” Tommy reminds her.

“Plus,” you add, “I can take either of them, easily, any day. I was just caught off guard there.”

“Really now?” Billy challenges.

You hum in confirmation.

“Fine, then I suggest a game of chicken after dinner.”

“Who’d be our fourth player?” you ask, confused.

“I will,” Wanda answers with a slight smirk, “I love a good challenge. And I’d love to see you beat my boys.”

“Oh you’re so on, Mom,” Tommy answers with a grin.

The twins look at each other with evil, cocky smirks on their face, and you can tell that they’re confident they’re going to win. You look at Wanda nervously because a) you don’t want to lose to the twins and b) you don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of her. Her confident smirk, however, so similar to her sons, eases your fears just a little.

They come storming back after dinner, however, when you first see Wanda in a bikini. Though you wouldn’t say it’s skimpy by any means, for goodness sake she’s around her sons, it still certainly shows a lot of skin. The butterflies are beating around aggressively in your stomach as you admire the red swimsuit she’s wearing- the color compliments her skin tone so very well, the top shows just enough cleavage to leave something to the imagination, and the bottoms hang low on her hips, flaunting her soft, white stomach.

You become even more nervous when you realize that you are going to have to sit on top of Wanda’s shoulders. While Billy and Tommy jump into the pool, you cautiously discard your towel on a chair and turn to Wanda, “I didn’t even think about the fact that I’d have to be on your shoulders. We can just call off the game, I’ll probably be too heavy for you.”

The redhead shakes her head and chuckles, stepping a little closer to you, “Honey, I know how chicken works. I wouldn’t have offered to play if I didn’t think I could carry you. I’m a lot stronger than I look, you know.”

You want to believe her, but you are just so nervous about hurting her that you can only weakly smile and nod.

“Hey, are we playing chicken, or are you two too chicken?” Billy calls out mockingly.

“Oh we’re more than ready, boys,” Wanda answers confidently, hands on her hips.

She walks forward and slides down into the pool, the turquoise water riding up to her waist. She beckons you over to the edge, “I’ll stand here and you can hop on, since I know you’re a little nervous about getting on my shoulders.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Wanda turns around and you step forward. Tentatively, you hook one leg over her right shoulder and her hand immediately comes up to grab your thigh. You tense at the skin to skin contact and it sends a little shiver up your spine. Thankfully, Wanda can’t see your face, so she hopefully just assumes that you're nervous about getting on her shoulders and not for….. other….. reasons.

“You’ve got it, honey,” She encourages you sweetly.

You quickly lift your other leg up and hook it around her left shoulder. She grabs your other thigh tightly and squeezes it, as if reassuring you.

Problem one million- Wanda being this strong is really hot, adding to your already insanely high level of attraction towards her. You fear you might pass out on the spot.

“Good to go?” The redhead asks you softly, craning her neck a little to look up at you. Her green eyes are soft but determined and they send a surge of confidence through you, “Yes, I’m ready to take them down.”

Wanda easily wades through the water over to Billy and Tommy, who have situated themselves with Tommy as the anchor and Billy on top. You look your opponent in the eye and smirk, sending him a playful glare, “You’re on, Maximoff.”

Billy only scoffs at you cockily and then waves you forward, challenging you to go up against him. Wanda and Tommy move in towards one another and you stick your arms out, bracing for Billy’s attack. He comes in swinging, bringing his right arm down to your side trying to shove you off. You are braced for it, though, and Wanda’s strong grip keeps you in place. You retaliate by grabbing his wrists, simultaneously trying to keep him from hitting you and also jostle him around. After a few seconds of back and forth, Billy rips his left arm free, the force causing you to wobble a little.

“I got you, honey,” Wanda calls up to you when she hears the sharp breath you take.

You shake it off and head towards Billy with double the amount of determination. Letting go of his other wrist, you go for the shoulders and give him a hard shove. This alone does not push Billy off of Tommy’s shoulders. However, the former twin’s movement throws the latter twin off balance, sending them plummeting backwards into the water. They land with a loud splash and you and Wanda cheer loudly. When the boys come up for air they are spluttering and groan at your victory.

“You two are stronger than you look,” Tommy concedes.

“Never underestimate your mother,” Wanda chides teasingly. She then looks up at you, “do you want me to take you back over to the edge to hop off?”

Your newfound victory, especially with Wanda on your team, has caused your confidence to soar. You shake your head, “No that’s okay, you can just drop me in the water.”

The redhead smiles sweetly, “If you insist.”

Before you have a second to think, she is lurching backwards, sending you both crashing into the water just as the twins had. The water is much colder than you anticipated and it overcomes your senses as you flail around. When you breach the surface you let out a gasp of air and shake the water from your eyes, “Holy fuck that’s cold!” you shout, then immediately cringe for cursing in front of Wanda.

Luckily she only chuckles, an evil glint in her eye, “You asked to be thrown in, honey. I was only doing what you asked.”

“A little warning would have been nice,” you answer with a playful pout.

She only laughs again, her head thrown back a little, and it’s quite the sight to see.

*****

The next morning, you wake to soft, yellow sunbeams falling across your face. The sound of gentle waves can be heard just slightly through your window at the back of the house and you sigh contentedly. You could get used to this. After laying sprawled across your bed for an undetermined amount of time, you finally decide it’s time to get up. You wander down the hall into the kitchen, on the hunt for food, and find Wanda sitting at the kitchen table, book in one hand, coffee in another, clad in a silk, white slip nightgown.

“Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?” She asks sweetly.

“Like a baby.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What can I make you for breakfast?” Wanda asks, already rising from her chair.

“Oh, Wanda, no. Please. You don’t need to make anything. I can just snack on something for the pantry. I don’t usually have much for breakfast anyways.”

Wanda tsks at you and waves you off, “Well that just won’t do honey. It’s more important than ever for you to fuel your body at this age- what with all the studying, busy work schedules and… other things.”

Wanda winks at you then and you choke on your spit a little. Had she just implied…? No, she couldn’t have. But…

“Yes, well, school and work keep me busy enough to not have time for other things, Wanda. And I make up for a light breakfast with more filling meals later.”

It seems as though Wanda ignores the latter fact as she asks how you like your eggs and pulls out a frying pan.

“Well, honey, I really can’t believe what you’re saying. Someone as beautiful and sweet as you must be overwhelmed with social obligations- parties, friends, dating.”

You try to hide the blush on your cheeks from Wanda’s flattery, “No really, Wanda, I don’t have all that many. And I’m happy with my small group of friends.”

“You know,” Wanda starts, turning towards you as the eggs cook, resting her back against the counter, “I have to ask, and I hope you’ll excuse me for wondering, but I wanted to know if you were seeing or were interested in one of my boys. You just seem awfully close and I can’t help but wonder…”

You burst out in laughter at the heinous suggestion and Wanda’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment, “Oh god, no. Never in a million years would I date them.”

Wanda purses her lips and you realize how that sounded, “Please don’t take that the wrong way, Wanda. You’ve raised such lovely boys, you know. And I love them dearly, but not like that. They’re like my brothers. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t go for them. Or any guy for that matter… I like women.”

All the confusion and maybe even a little defensiveness drains from Wanda’s face at your confession and she visibly relaxes. She turns back to the eggs and picks up the pan, “I see. Well, the boys are grateful to have you in any way they can.” She walks over and sets the plate down in front of you, “And that makes me pretty grateful too.”

As she stays behind you, Wanda tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver.

“Thank you, Wanda.”

“My pleasure, Detka.”

*****

The tension is so thick it is unbearable as you sit on a chair across from Wanda. At this point, you know it isn’t hot enough outside for you to be feeling this flushed. Rather, the way Wanda keeps looking over at you not so sneakily as she nurses her wine is leaving you all hot and bothered. When she takes another sip you are entranced by the way her soft, red lips wrap around the rim of the glass. And when she pulls the cup away, a drop of the wine is still on her lips. You nearly gasp as her tongue darts out, seemingly in slow motion, to lick it up. At this point, you know your staring is obvious, but Wanda just looks so pretty in that sundress, and one too many glasses of wine has left you feeling a little reckless.

“Want another sip?” Wanda muses teasingly, pointing the glass towards you.

“Oh no, I’m okay, Wanda, thank you.” You answer softly.

“Come on detka,” she says huskily, “just come have one more sip. I don’t think I can finish it alone.”

Really, you can never say no to this woman, so you oblige, standing from your chair and walking over to sit down next to her. Her perfume wafts over you as she leans in and hands you the glass, and you feel woozy.

You take a sip of what little wine is left in the glass and swallow as Wanda watches you the whole time. You turn to the redhead and hand her the glass. She sets it on the table without once breaking eye contact with you.

“Oh Detka, you have a little drop of wine on your lip. Let me get that right-“

She reaches out and cups your cheek. Instead of wiping it away with her thumb like you think she will, she leans in and captures your bottom lip between your own. She sucks on it softly and you nearly moan. Before you can really process what’s happening, she’s pulled away, a knowing smirk on her face, “There baby, all better now.”

“W-Wanda- I.” You stutter.

“Hmm?” She asks, sickeningly sweetly.

“Can you do that again?”

“Do what again, baby?”

You almost whine at her teasing, “Kiss me, Wanda. Please.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she whispers, already pressing her lips to yours again.

You sigh deeply as the flame rekindles in your belly and your heart beats faster. Your kisses are fast and sloppy, your tongues battling for dominance. Keeping your lips on hers you shuffle, straddling your legs on either side of her lap as you wrap your arms around her shoulders.

Wanda groans and grabs your hips tightly, digging her nails into the slight bit of bare skin showing as your shirt rides up.

She tastes like chocolate strawberries and wine and you chase her lips like you’ve been starved for days. Wanda just smells so good, and feels so good, and tastes so good that you’re insatiable. Unknowingly, you rock your hips a little, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through you at the friction between your legs. You moan into her mouth and try it again, this time rolling your hips more aggressively. Combined with Wanda’s kissing, it feels really good.

“Careful Detka, don’t start something you can’t finish,” Wanda warns lowly.

You pull away suddenly, gasping for air, “Wanda, I want this. I- I want you right now. I need you.”

She looks at you intently, those green eyes both soft and loving while also glazed with lust, “you sure, baby? There’s no going back after this.”

“Please,” you say, this time really whining.

“Start with my thigh,” she orders.

You lean back in and kiss Wanda again like before, but this time with the repeated motion of you humping her thigh, chasing your own pleasure. Wanda’s hands slowly travel down your sides, one stopping to grope at your breasts while the other makes it’s way to cup your ass. The added stimulation to your ass and tits makes you moan into her mouth again.

She pulls away and shushes you quietly, “gotta be quiet, baby. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear.”

You nod meekly and bite your lip to keep any more moans from slipping out. Wanda takes the chance to place her lips elsewhere, assaulting your neck and exposed collarbone with bites, licks, and sucking. Before you know it, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, tension building in your belly. Maybe it’s the pace of your hips, or Wanda just has a sense for these things, but she can tell you’re close. Before you can get there, however,

“Wake up. Stop sleeping the day away.”

You are rather rudely awakened, you think, by Billy. His wet hair drips onto your face as he hovers over you, “Come swim with us and quit being boring.”

“But I’m getting my tan on,” you whine.

“You can do that in the water,” he retorts.

When you don’t make any sign of movement, Billy huffs, “You always have to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Before you can protest, the boy grabs your waist and pulls you up, flipping you over his shoulder.

“Billy,” you screech, “Put me down!!”

He ignores you and starts off towards the ocean. You smack his back and flail your legs but that doesn’t stop him. Before you know it you are met with a blast of ice cold water as he flings you into the salty ocean. When you burst to the surface spluttering you send Billy the biggest glare.

“You’re dead meat Maximoff.”

You quickly wade through the water towards Billy and lunge forward. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down into the water with you. You’re a mix of flailing limbs under the water. You get an elbow to Billy’s face and him a blow to your stomach before you both swim upwards and gasp for air. Tommy is there, laughing at you both, so you and Billy share a sneaky look before grabbing him by the ankles and pulling him down too.

Though you may have been peeved at Billy for throwing you into the water, it does feel rather nice on your hot skin. It also curbed your rather lusty thoughts of your best friends’ mother. The three of you stay out in the ocean for awhile, play fighting, throwing a football and diving for seashells. It makes you feel like a bit of a kid again, and you notice the recent stress of exams, school, and work fading away.

After a few hours at the beach, the three of you make your way back to the house. You drag your gear- sunscreen, towels, snorkels, and the likes to the back porch and collapse on some of the patio furniture. Tommy wanders inside for a moment and returns with a few beers for you all to share. As you sip and make light conversation, Wanda appears from the house, a tray of snacks in hand.

“How was the beach moya lyubov?” She asks, setting down the tray in front of you three.

“It was great, Mom. You should’ve joined us,” Tommy replies before stuffing a few carrots in his mouth.

She takes the fourth chair, which happens to be next to yours, “I wanted you all to have your fun. Plus, I’ve been to that beach plenty of times.”

“Next time though,” Billy tells her and Wanda smiles a little.

“Yes, next time.”

You reach forward to grab a cracker off the tray, and you’re not unaware of the way Wanda’s eyes follow you. You lean back again and munch happily on your cracker, trying to not be self conscious under the woman’s stare.

Suddenly, Wanda reaches out and pulls on the strap of your bikini top, “I like this swimsuit, honey. Where’d you get it? I’m looking to buy some new suits so I can throw out my old ones.”

Wanda’s deliberate touch excites you, and you keep your legs crossed to hide the way your thighs sort of squeeze together.

“Uh Target, I think. The boys got their trunks there too.”

She hums softly, “It’s so hard to find flattering suits nowadays don’t you think? Either they’re two thin pieces of fabric that cover nothing at all or they’re boxy, ugly one pieces that do no one any favors.”

You groan loudly, “tell me about it. I think Billy and Tommy almost left me behind when we went shopping because of how long I was taking. Not that I blame them, though I told them it’s also not my fault there are so few good options.”

“Mom, one swimsuit had fur,” Billy says with a shudder.

“Another looked like a disco ball,” Tommy adds, “like are you going to the beach or a strip club?”

You all burst out laughing at the sadly true comparison.

“All I can say is that I really was lucky to find this swimsuit.”

And as you lean forward to grab another cracker you swear you hear Wanda mutter under her breath, “Lucky for me too.”

*****

Much of the rest of your afternoon had been spent on that back patio talking, snacking and playing cards. Dinner had been light, and with a few booze in your body you were feeling pretty good. You’d wandered off to shower after dinner, wanting to get the sunscreen and sand off your body. The hot water and soap in your hair feels amazing, and you are appreciative of the privacy to process all of the thoughts and feelings from the day. You still haven't gotten over the comment you are sure Wanda had made earlier. A part of you wonders if you’d just made it up, your horny mind so desperate to believe that she finds you attractive too. But even though it was just above a whisper, the words echo in your mind loud and clear- “lucky for me too”. How could you make that up?

It feels wrong and, frankly, rather inappropriate to pursue your suspicions further. Wanda could’ve meant anything by what she said.

Maybe she was grateful that you bought that swimsuit, so now she knew where to buy hers too?

Maybe she was grateful she didn’t have to be subject to some ugly swimsuit you’d have been forced to wear.

Or maybe. No. You couldn’t even let yourself consider the possibility of Wanda being attracted to you. That would be a bad idea that would only get you in trouble.

You decide there is only one way to solve the problem.

After your shower, you slip out of the bathroom into your room only scantily clad in your small towel. You firmly shut the door behind you and drop your towel, making your way onto your soft bed. You lay on your back, head resting against the pillows, and spread your legs a little. You’ve been desperate to ease the ache between your legs for hours and you can’t wait any longer. You hope that maybe, if you do this, your horniness will dissolve and you can go about your business the rest of your trip happily.

As your hand trails lower between your legs, you sigh at the pressure very much needed to cure the intense ache. It feels good, really, but you only wish it was Wanda’s hand instead of your own. You shut your eyes and your breaths become heavier as you indulge for a moment, imagining that Wanda was here. You think about the way she’d say your name huskily, how her perfume would invade your nose as she held you close, how her fingers would know exactly how to make you feel good, and in no time, you’ve reached your high. Though you try to be quiet, you can’t help the semi-loud pleas of her name that leave your lips as pleasure wracks through your body.

You collapse back against your pillows, panting and your hands at your side. You can only revel in your bliss for a few moments before there is a knock on your door. You scramble up, your heart beating fast in your chest, feeling as if you’d been caught. You throw on your pajama t-shirt at the end of your bed, and it just barely covers your ass. But you figure it will work well enough to answer the door. You rush over and pull it open, and are shocked to find Wanda on the other side.

“Hey, Wanda, what’s up?” You ask breathlessly.

It’s then that you notice how her pupils are dilated, and that she has this look in her eyes. One so reminiscent of your dream.

“You know if you needed help, Detka, you could’ve just asked. I’m more than happy to help someone as pretty as you.”

[inknopewetrust]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 [Part One]

Summary: When the longevity of sin is threatened by the factions of a feuding family on the brink of war, a choice must be made to protect the secrets of a heart torn in two. [ser erryk cargyll x targaryen!fem!reader] [wc: 10.7k]

Warnings: minors dni (18+ only), smut, angst, mentions of death/war, themes consistent with show, spoilers for the show (season 3).

quick links: masterlist | this is a love letter, albeit a sad one. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. @zaldritzosrose for banner source.

There is no duty without sacrifice, nor reward without submission. In a world as cruel as this, you often pondered in wilted daydreams of a world at peace.

As golden springs and chilled autumns once brought virtue and good fortune, the hallowed corridors of Dragonstone in the middle of a long, bleak war brought nothing but a faded memory of the past.

The halls whimpered with the martyrs it kept.

And the phantoms snickered at those in wait and the sacrifices one makes for the duty of their house bears scars on those left in their tormented wake.

Night fell with a deep, dark shadow lingering above. A hand gripping the castle as the maids scrubbed the blood from the chamber floor of the Queen.

He was dead.

And you felt a piece of you die with him.

“Sister,” Rhaenyra spoke but her voice was distant.

In an echo chamber of your mind, the noises funneled around you. A heavy weight of air pressed upon you as your hand picked at the wooden edges of the chair beside the fire.

“Leave us,” the Queen spoke to her guard and Elinda quietly.

The door shut behind her and in careful steps, she could see your eyes trained heavily on the spot now covered in a yellow rug. Toys remained from her young boys which struck the shell of her own heart with a fury.

Death lingered in Rhaenyra’s chambers and there was never a moment to mourn. A war roars on the mainland in her name; people perish in acts of heightened emotions and sacrifice puddles even the strongest of soldiers.

“Sister,” she cleared her throat. “To what—“

“When Harwin died,” your voice was hoarse from a weary day, “did you mourn the man you loved?”

Rhaenyra halted behind the settee. Her hands settled to trace its carvings.

“I beg your pardon?” She inquired.

You were lost in a haze of self destruction. Lost within yourself with a haphazard will to move on. Hours had passed, mere hours, and those on the council that sit around a painted table forget the tragedies that have befallen a great house in a matter of weeks.

You mumbled incoherently and Rhaenyra furrowed her brows. She seldom saw you blink in the light of the fire; the waterline of your eyes pooled with tears. One slipped down the cheek closest to her.

She had watched you absent in your own mind as dirt filled the grave in the early morn. It should not have come as a startle that those feelings remained.

“I fear I do not know what to do with myself,” you whispered. “I-I d-do not know what to do.”

“What for, sister?” Rhaenyra approached as she would her smallest child. “You needn’t do anything at this moment.”

She took a seat on the cushion and reached for your hand. It barely brushed your own before something snapped. A arrow shooting from its bow, breaking your stupor and sending you out of your seat.

You removed yourself from the chair and stepped away from her. Your hands shook as your lip trembled.

The death that grieves in isolation swells. Ribbons of torment become suffocating, choking until awoken with a shake.

“I do not wish to be alone,” you all but wailed. “I’ve been alone for so long, so long…”

“Do you speak of sleep? Or, or marriage?” Rhaenyra drew confused. You had been adamant for years, threatening your life and title to remain a spinster the history books would forget.

The Virgin Princess, she imagined the books may speak of.

You let out a weak, strangled laugh at her. Eyes cutting and red, she felt the tremors of Harwin’s pain bubble inside of her. It made her uncomfortable in her skin.

“I loved him, Rhaenyra.”

For the first time, you saw your sister truly look at you.

And she did not see her elder sister.

She did not see the girl, simply two name days older, who was fond of reading and politics.

She could not see the girl who would beckon Rhaenyra to braid her hair while recalling stories of Old Valyria and the conquests of their ancestors.

She did not see a now grown woman who sought independence; someone who tried to subvert the traditions of a name such as the one you shared.

Rhaenyra saw a widow.

She spoke your name softly and you shook your head at her.

“I loved Erryk. I loved him so.”

Rhaenyra let your confession sit.

“I followed you to Dragonstone,” you spat. “I left the only world I’d ever known to remain in your court because you’re my sister, Rhaenyra. But this place,” your eyes trailed along the vaulted ceilings and the wet stones. “This place has done nothing but bring us suffering.”

“Sister,” Rhaenyra sat forward. “We all make sacrifices—“

“No!” Your voice raised as tears fell consistently. “We are weak, Rhaenyra! This would not have happened if we had been prepared!”

“You speak as though his choice was my fault.”

You let silence fall. Diverting your eyes away from Rhaenyra, she felt a grip on her heart go numb. You believed it to be her fault.

“My grief,” you closed your eyes to darkness. “My grief pokes holes in the agony of my life. It heaves within me for a purpose that is not there and I do not know what to do with myself because of it. He is gone. He’s gone, Rhaenyra. I loved him and he’s gone.”

“Is that why you have never agreed to take a lord husband?”

You nodded your head and sank down on her bed.

“Did you truly love Harwin Strong?” You asked, following it with an awkward chuckle. “I find it to be quite amusable that we two daughters loved men in the cloak.”

Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did.”

“And when he died, did you grieve him as I do Erryk?”

“I did.”

“But you have a memory of him; pieces of him always with you.”

She never spoke aloud the paternity of her sons. Rhaenyra was not daft in knowing people knew, but even to you, her dear sister, she never spoke of it.

Rhaenyra did not shy away from having Harwin keep a long distance between their children. She had seen you and Harwin get along well in the presence of her children and often wondered what the world would be like had she been able to marry him in place of Laenor.

Everyone would have ended up in a much happier place, she believed.

“I do," she whispered against the dead of night. "I do, yes."

"And I will never have that," you stressed. Gaze more frantic than before. You shook your head at the thought. "I never would but I still wanted something to be mine. For me to hold and love and cherish but there is nothing I can do now but sit and ponder the "what ifs." But at war, I am not meant to dwell on them."

"Yet here you are, asking about them anyway."

That dreaded silence fell between you once more. It did not escape her that the lives of innocents were at stake while this war met on the steps of each great house. Her son, Helena's son, good men, and kind women were killed for nothing more than fodder.

It was moot; the tragedy of errors.

“I loved him,” your repeated. “I loved him dearly.”

"Tell me," she tried to offer a tight-lipped smile. "How did it begin?"

"Oh, Rhaenyra," you bemoaned. Sniffing and trying not to focus hard on the spot where he fell on his sword. "I do not-"

"But I would like to hear it," she got up and joined you at your side. Rhaenyra took one of your hands in hers. "I do not wish to hear all the details, however."

You envisioned him in your memory. His eyes, smile. How in the shadows of your chambers he was a different man than he one who served your father, your sister.

He was magnetic and quiet.

Erryk was a lover and a fighter.

You laughed and she smiled. "There was something about men in the cloak..."

"I would have to agree," she said. Her eyes gleamed with a memory of Harwin. She loved him. "Dutiful men indeed."

"It felt so scandalous... but he served me."

"In more ways than one," Rhaenyra blushed and you knocked her shoulder with the back of your hand. She had given birth to five children and still remained a form of pious when broaching the subject.

Your tears still fell but Rhaenyra felt the joy of love bloom.

“I was simply jesting,” she started but you gave her a cutting, mischievous glacé.

"Did you not say you wished not to hear of it? Do you want me to tell you all the details? He was quite good, you know? A very fine fuck indeed."

"Oh Gods!" Rhaenyra laughed loudly and for once, you forgot the pain. "Please, spare me of it!"

“He was b-“

“Please!” She spoke your name in a shriek. “I do not wish to think of you in that way!”

"You truly did not know of it?" You questioned her in a striking bewilderment. You never thought yourself to be shroud in secrecy but surely someone had to have noticed your folly in his presence.

He was your father's, then her own, sworn sword.

"I had my suspicions on occasion," Rhaenyra admitted. "It was Harwin who first spoke of it. I did what I could to protect you. It was not long after the wedding. Harwin said he had crossed paths with him," she smiled sheepishly, "though he was not sure of which twin at the time."

Rhaenyra heard a small intake of breath from you. You squeezed her hand.

"But it happened more than once. The happenstance was too peculiar to not think of it in that way, sister. But Harwin was the one to believe it was Erryk. After a while it became easier to tell them apart and he appeared sure."

"I truly did not think it that hard."

Rhaenyra gave you glance of disbelief yet you had been serious.

"Laenor favored him, as did Harwin. That is why I knew he could be trusted. Not only as a fine Kingsguard but with my sister's heart as well."

"Rhaenyra," you sighed in kindness. A tear from your eyes dropped onto your intertwined hands.

"Harwin spoke of his candor. How devoted he was. Yet he broke an oath for the sake of his honor."

"As we all do."

Rhaenyra hummed and thought of her own indiscretions for the sake of love. How Daemon had taken her to the Silk Streets at the same time you were discovering womanhood with one of the Kingsguards. A peculiar life; one caged and riddled with power.

"I would have married him... had he wished to break his oath," you admitted to her and the sheen in your eyes returned. Kingsguard were only released from their duty in death. "But the Gods had other plans it appears."

"I do not doubt it," she replied in turn. "Do you think father knew of it?"

You shrugged your shoulders in indifference. "I fear the Hightower's may have. Even more so now. It takes much to strike a Dragon so deeply. Surely their motives were amplified when he deserted their cause."

Rhaenyra nodded, looking at the children's toys on the rug. She wanted to find the good in the gloom.

"Tell me of him. Tell me of the Ser Erryk I did not know."

“Rhaenyra…”

“Please,” she nearly begged. “Let us find a happiness. As you spoke there had been nothing but pain. There is a part of you that I do not know of and I wish to know now.”

You were not sure when to begin.

The first time you met? The first time you spoke? Those times were trivial and basic. She did not want to hear of your scandals in detail but you could start at the night where it changed. Where womanhood came to you in a way you were not expecting and the wine settled too deep in your bones.

You should have known it was doomed to fail because on that same night, a man died at Rhaenyra’s wedding feast.

But you were too wrapped up in Erryk’s arms to notice that evil lurked in the Red Keep.

The wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor was no small affair.

It was said that an entire week was to be planned full of tourney's, feasting, and ending in the penultimate betrothal of your sister to your cousin, Laenor, who had all but been absent for the entirety of both your childhoods.

He knew nothing of her but appeared kind.

As the drums beat and the violins soared in the great hall, the two-to-be-wed danced a traditional Targaryen dance that entranced the scope of the room before the guests who dreamed of dancing on the same floor as the heir to the throne joined them.

You sat at the table as Alicent conversed with her uncle in the corner and Daemon squandered his late wife's relative with the pad of his thumb. You downed your goblet of wine as Gerold Royce backed away in embarrassment and Daemon smirked in victory.

“Do you not feel sorrow for your late lady wife?” You asked Daemon who’s look always reminded you of being hunted.

“We were not fond of each other. So, no, I do not.”

"You are a cunt, Daemon," you cut. Your father made a noise of objection and Lord Hand Lyonel Strong choked on his wine.

Daemon laughed. He spared you a glance before turning it back to where Rhaenyra was dancing.

You knew of her infatuation with your uncle. Her eyes kept darting to the table as if no one would see.

Viserys muttered your name in dissatisfaction.

"Brother," Daemon snickered, "it is fine. The Princess was just expressing her admiration for me."

You scoffed as a squire refilled the goblet to the brim. The wine spilled over and the young man went to make apologies but you brushed him off with the wave of your hand.

The wine was gone faster than it had taken to refill it.

"The ire may lay elsewhere I inquire," Daemon gave a smoldering squint of his eyes. "Tell me, good niece, how it feels to be second in a tourney where you have always been first? Seeing the heir of the throne marry before you?"

"You overstep, Uncle," you cut.

"But I am a cunt, remember?"

You sat back in your seat as the air around you became uncomfortable and suffocating. Alicent returned with a strained greeting to which she received nothing in return from you.

It perturbed you that a girl, years your junior, had become your stepmother.

The squire returned to fill your cup but nearly spilled it over your hand as it covered the top of the goblet.

"Squire," Daemon's playful voice was etched with a sinful glee. "I do not believe the Princess needs any. She needs something a bit more sturdy to lift her spirits." He motioned with his pointer finger up to the sky lewdly. “A good fuck would do you well.”

"Daemon," your father spoke and Alicent looked away in a rose-colored blush.

"All in good fun, Brother," Daemon defended as he said your name in a question. The squire escaped quickly from the table; the music changed in the room and the dancers from noble houses joined at a more jubilant pace.

Lord Lyonel eyed the floor as his son, Harwin, danced with Rhaenyra.

Daemon leaned into Lyonel's personal space with a quiet voice.

"Have you been to the Silk Streets, Princess?"

"Daemon!" Viserys ordered loudly. His voice caught the attention of the Velaryon's at the end of the table. "I will not have such talk at this table on this day! It is my daughter's wedding!"

"Of co–"

"It's alright, Father," you turned to him as the weakened look on his worn face became more present. "I believe the eve has gotten the best of me."

Rising from your seat, Viserys objected and Alicent latched herself to your hand.

You felt an evil burn your skin.

"You mustn't go," she pleaded on your father's behalf. "It has only just begun."

"I assure you tomorrow will be a much better day," you told her and wiggled your arm out of her grasp.

Viserys sighed in defeat. He scoured the room for Ser Criston to escort you to your chambers but you had not allowed him the chance to speak. You turned away and stepped down from the risen floor and towards the exit to the left of the Iron Throne. In his sight, Ser Erryk caught his attention.

He could only tell the difference because his helmet had been removed.

"Ser Erryk!" Viserys barked.

Ser Erryk had been a Kingsguard for near three years with his brother, Ser Arryk, alongside him. They had been nothing short of loyal to Viserys in the time since their joining.

"Your Grace," Erryk stopped before the King as he turned around and pointed to his eldest daughter's escape from the Throne Room.

"The Princess wishes to retire," Erryk turned his head to watch you disappear beyond the archway. "Please escort and stand watch until Ser Thorne can return to his station outside of the quarters.”

"Yes, Your Grace."

Erryk did his duty and followed obediently after you. Daemon remained laughing quietly as the reminders of you were left. Wine on the table, a plate untouched of food grew cold as the night wore thin.

You traced your hand along the stones of the hallways of the Red Keep. Ancient and sturdy, the ancestors who crafted these corridors knew not of the stories they would tell; how much each turn of the stone would witness as the years passed and the shadows became ingrained in its pattern.

The wine you had been drinking began to catch up with you.

It had been not more than three cups and you felt flushed and warm. Still with your senses, you felt angry and jolly at the same time.

Yet the frustrations of your family still lingered heavier. You felt the steam roll from your shoulders, loosening itself into tendrils of anger as the sounds of jubilance became faint and the halls became darker and filled with the candlelight of night.

You continued to walk in slow steps as the weight of tiredness fell upon you.

Sounds of armor approaching caught your ears, nonetheless.

You breached the foyer of the grand staircase and turned to rest against the stones. Hands grasping the corners behind your back, you looked down the golden hallway to the armored guard approaching.

"Ser Erryk," you acknowledged as the light illuminated his features before you.

You felt the danger dissipate from your body.

"Princess," he spoke. His accent was notable among those who rallied between common-folk and high-born in the Crownlands.

In the years he and his brother Arryk had served the crown, your paths have crossed. They both presented a fine and reputable record of loyalty and devotion to the cause.

They were good men. A rarity, in the world as you lived it.

But Erryk had always captured your attention more than his brother had. Taller and more attentive to your sister and yourself, he had always caught your eye. You wasted countless minutes of your life simply looking at the knight in hopes that he would look back.

You had memorized his face in a matter of seconds.

"May I ask why you are following after me in such a haste?"

"Your Grace has asked me to escort you, Princess," he continued his approach without explicit permission.

As he came into a closer view, you took stock of the man. A strong face with determined eyes; lips plump and shoulders square yet fitted by the silver of his armor. He had a mole on the left side of his cheek above his lip.

He was beautiful. You were not sure you had ever seen a man with such refined beauty before he had joined the Kingsguard some three years ago. In the times his eyes caught yours in the midst of the chaos of your house, your opinion did not change.

You felt your heartbeat pulse faster.

There was something alluring about his eyes. So focused and intent on the subject upon whom he was speaking to, the unwavering devotion of his trade ever present beyond the armor he wore.

"I see," you muttered. "And what of Ser Thorne? He sees to be my escort often."

"Occupied, Princess. It is a busy evening for the family."

Erryk used your title in a way the others did not. He held it in such high regard, you felt.

You hummed and turned back toward the direction in which you were headed originally. The stairs loomed in the darkness like a warship approaching its moor. The wine that had settled let a small chuckle escape your lips.

"I do wish there were magic in these walls, Ser Erryk. Then I may simply float into bed and there would be no need to leave the nice party."

Erryk was not sure how to respond. He knew you not to be a silly woman. The eldest of Viserys' daughters had always appeared to him to be attentive and near motherly in the wake of Queen Aemma's death.

In the times he had spoken to you, you never feigned such girlish impulse before. It was new. And it surprised him.

Therefore, Erryk took his own leap of difference.

"Princess," he caught your attention and in the light, he wished he had never taken the oath.

Your eyes gleamed with such delight; pupils blown wide from what he deduced to be the wine of the evening and lips plush and slightly parted. The bodice of your gown fit every curve and plush part of your skin in an entrancing way that sent his mind to the places he neglected to attend to.

He knew of what the men in the Kingsguard did. He listened to the conquests of his brothers, both blood and by sword, while he refined himself to his oath.

But his heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. It had never happened before.

He felt ashamed for feeling such a way. For him to imagine what it would be to feel your skin above and below your skirts, listening to the soft sounds of content as he let his lips draw new patterns on your collarbones.

You were a Princess. He should not have such thoughts.

"If I may speak plainly?" Erryk asked you and you nodded for him to continue. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

"Dragons exist in this world. I do not see why magic could not exist as well. There are whispers of such people amongst the townsfolk. Though, I cannot say their rumors are true.”

The sides of your lips began to quirk up into a smile. "Yes. I suppose you are right about that."

You smiled at him and he could not look away. The sides of your eyes creased in delight in regard to the silliest of items: a childish want to be lifted into bed because your feet were too tired.

It was not often that a naive nature still remained in adults.

"Do you not wish to return to the celebration?" You queried. “I saw even Ser Harold tap his feet at the music.”

"I have a duty to you, Princess. The celebration will not miss me."

Erryk did not miss nor question the way your eyes flicked between his lips and his own eyes. He could not resist the urge to do the same to you.

You wet your lips with your tongue in a small jut. Your top teeth tug the bottom lip in before releasing it gently. Attention falling to the chest of his armor before you blinked in a rapid succession and he felt your body radiate a warm sensation.

You pulled the back of your hand to your cheeks to sense the heat.

“My,” you said breathlessly. “I seem to have let the wine get the best of me.” Sheepishly looking down, your gaze returned to him with doe-like admiration.

He felt the blood rushing. Erryk swallowed his nerves.

“It does happen, Princess.”

Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage—you felt as though it were going to explode.

His eyes were piercing you. Dim in the light of the hall, you could barely decipher where he was truly looking but you felt the stare. You could have felt it a million miles away.

“Ser Erryk—“

Gustily, he cut you off. “Erryk, Princess. You may call me Erryk in confidence.”

It was your turn to swallow the nerves that built up in your throat. You observed him again and in the way he stood. An arm limp on his side while the other held onto his sword tightly.

There was no fear, nothing helpless within you.

Your curiosity painted what his hands looked like under the white gloves. How strong and handsome they must be to match the face of the man. You wondered how they’d feel pressed against you; holding you in ways no woman should wonder.

The feel of them on your breasts, the way they’d play differently than your own in the dead of night.

You released a staggered breath from your nose and he caught the shake that emitted from your chest.

“Erryk,” you clarified your previous mistake. "Please use my title sparingly, then. I wish to be informal when able."

"Of course," and he tried your name on his lips for the first time.

For the first time, you felt at ease.

"I've never asked, but do you enjoy the Kingsguard? After all that is asked of you, your brother, and those in the cloak?"

"It is a honor," he stopped himself short of using your title. "I cannot envision a life outside of it."

To be one of the seven to protect the family was the most profound honor. Only the finest of knights were bestowed the honor.

"I suppose you do get to sleep in the most grand of castles," you quipped.

"And you? Do you like being the daughter of a King?"

Erryk observed the way you pondered deeply. Even if he spent every waking minute with a family of high stature and of the utmost importance, he would never truly understand the perils that came with great privilege.

"Would it be silly if I said no?"

"No," he shook his head. "There are many who wish to be you, however."

"I do not envy them," your gaze saddened at the prospect.

"What is not to be envious about?"

"Freedom... or the lack-thereof it."

The wine was making you feel all sorts of ways that evening.

"Freedom," he reiterated. "That may be more rewarding than both of our positions, Princess."

You narrowed your eyes at him to which he returned with a sly, small smirk and his own look was playful. Erryk was subverting your expectations beyond a reasonable doubt.

Your heart leapt at the idea that he was dallying with you.

You were both young and engaging in a fools errand.

Down the corridor from which you originally came, footsteps began to heighten. You could barely make out the silhouettes of more guards making rounds.

"I wish to retire to my room, Ser Erryk," you called out loudly enough for those to hear.

In an instant, a wall had gone up between the two of you and the wine was drained from your body. Erryk offered his arm in the way a Lord would as you conquered the steps one by one.

The guards surpassed you by changing their route and following down another corridor as the two of you made it to the middle landing of the grand steps.

"Oh," you feigned in their absence.

"There was nothing improper of our conversation, Princess," Erryk reassured you.

Everything and the Gods were improper for a high-born lady–even one unmarried and passed over as an option of heir.

"I know," you replied, feeling the cold metal of his armor simmer the heat of your palms.

You continued up the stairs with him and did not let go once the journey was complete.

"Do you see me a spinster, Ser Erryk?" You asked him and once more, he found himself a loss for words in your presence. No other high-born lady would give conversation so willingly. Yet you always had in your short meetings together.

“Spinster?”

“I am a few years beyond my sister. I am unwed and untethered. Not ideal for a husband to seek, no matter if my father is the King.”

"I do not believe it appr–"

"I really do not mind," your face concentrated on the passage of doors and miscellaneous objects littering the living quarter hallways. "You are not a stranger."

"Nor am I a friend," he felt the need to clarify.

"Then what are you?"

You stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at him. The skirt of the dress twirled and scuffed his hand. His fingers twitched to grab onto it.

"I am a sworn member of the Kingsguard, Princess. I have a duty to your name, to the crown."

"And such forsakes you from being a friend?"

Lust.

"Do you wish me to be your friend?" He asked boldly.

In the same moment, a rumble of thunder roared through the sky. The open courtyard that found itself in the center of the wing of the keep whirled with a ruinous swirl.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing voiced itself into words.

“I do not believe that would be appropriate.” You completed his previous sentence.

The earthy thunder echoed in the sky.

"What would be appropriate?" Erryk tested the waters.

He sensed the colors of his white cloak becoming sullied by his own greed. He took a step forward as the rain began to spill from the clouds above.

"My young sister is to be married," you cautioned. "Before I am to be and I–"

"I cannot take a wif–"

"No," you shook your head and sighed. "I do not wish to marry."

"Princess."

"I do not want to be the wife of a Lord twice my age. I want to make my own choices."

Erryk saw the determination in your eyes. He and Arryk had the same as they left home and declared themselves to be willing trainees for the Kingsguard. They gave everything to live a life of stewardship.

"The guards spoke of your abstention," Erryk admitted. "How you abdicated your inheritance and now Princess Rhaenyra is heir to the throne."

"I am clear of the understanding that you cannot take a wife, nor bear any children. I do not seek that either."

Erryk breathed in deeply. "What do you ask of me, Princess?"

Your observances were flicks of nervous ticks. The way your gaze was scattered across the hall; shades of gray became wet with rain and the fires that lit the way began to waver.

"I fear I ask something the Gods deny me."

Freedom.

The two of you stared at one another for seconds before you turned away and returned walking in a wade of self-destruction.

As the rain poured heavy, chaos erupted in the Great Hall as it did in the quarters above. Erryk looked to the sky through the pillars of stone to listen for a sign.

The Gods rumbled in fury.

But Gods be damned.

The clang of his armor filled your ears faster than the force of his hand encircling around your bicep and spinning you around without much warning. His other hand grasped the bottom of your jaw, filling the space of your cheek and brought his lips impatiently to your own.

You could not hear the rain when time ceased to move.

Erryk's hand let go of your bicep and wrung an arm around your back to meet the top of your dress' bodice. His fingers gripped the back of it and you could feel the fabric of his gloves itching against your skin.

The giddiness of the anxiety that had formed with you made your hands shake. They found purchase on his chest plate. Erryk's thumb caressed your chin and then exchanged its position to the back of your head.

You broke the kiss in breathlessness before he brought his lips to yours again.

Your body buzzed without thinking.

There was no returning to the therebefore.

Not a year into Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor did she give birth to her first son, Jacaerys, who appeared more like a common boy than a Targaryen.

In the following years, another boy was born with the same complexion and you questioned it not as she had come to you nine months prior and declared her third pregnancy happily.

It was an unkempt secret.

It was also one that you were fortunate not to share.

Ten years to the date of the wedding, both your and Rhaenyra's lives were inexplicably changed. Your father's condition worsened to where it was a battle to walk from bed to door. Alicent's ascent into her own form of motherhood rivaled Rhaenyra's as you kept your distance the best you could.

Alicent made efforts to get to know you better as an adult but you saw what she was. She was a devil disguised as a saint.

She was younger and tried yet to replace what your mother left vacant inside of you. You ignored her with what snide nature the Gods had granted you as you had gotten older.

It was your solitude that kept you sane as the keep grew louder.

That, and the life you kept in the shadows. Though, your nephews did bring a smile to your face.

"Jace!" You shouted with a laugh as the boy stumbled in the courtyard. His wooden sword went tumbling out of his hands after one strike from his brother, Lucerys.

They were so little and innocent.

"You must hold onto it if you want to be a great knight!"

"I was!" His little voice argued back as he went to pick up the word and Lucerys lifted his fist in victory.

Ser Harwin Strong stood on the sidelines of their small battle circle as you took a seat on the bottom step not far from their escapade. The yard was full of workers and knights, both those of the Kingsguard and City Watch.

"Not strong enough, My Prince," Harwin gave him a stern glare that sent Jace into a rigid stance wanting to prove his worth.

The boy was ten yet he wished to be a knight at that very moment.

"You must listen to your Aunt if you want to be a good knight," Harwin pointed at you to which you shook your head, scoffing at his words. "She has fought many a battle; can swing a sword as furious as an axe!"

Harwin laughed as you rolled your eyes.

You could see why Rhaenyra loved him. Why she would risk her entire being to bear his children in absence of Laenor's.

"You lie!" Lucerys accused him.

Harwin knelt down beside Lucerys. "I jest, My Prince. But you should know," he leaned his face closer to his sons, "your brother has a weakness..."

Harwin's voice went quiet and Jace put his arms up in defeat. You went to stand but as you gathered your skirt in your hand and went to push upwards, a hand was presented to you.

You looked up nearly blinded by the sunlight that peaked through the clouds and was met with Erryk's face.

He too had changed over the years.

His hair long was reminiscent of the Targaryen tradition of not cutting it so long as they remained the winner in battle. A beard now flocked his face in full but his heart remained the same.

"Princess," he mumbled as you took his hand, lifting yourself from the stair.

It had been two days since your last meeting but for both your hearts, the beat had not changed since the first night.

"Ser Erryk," you greeted. Lost in yourself, you neglected to drop his hand. "Thank you."

"I bring news. Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors," he alerted you. “She has asked for your presence.”

You looked to Harwin and the boys, the prior already staring in your direction, eying Erryk with inspection. You dropped his hand in an instant.

"That is wonderful news," you replied with a kind smile. Erryk scanned your face for a sign of dejection at the admission. You noticed he had been doing that as of late and it irked you.

Harwin approached in heavy, quick steps.

"Ser Erryk," he greeted with a nod. "Are you to train with the boys today? Ser Cris–"

"I would not call this training," you clarified. The boys were but 10 and 6. "Play fighting may be more applicable."

"I came to tell the Princess that Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors, Ser Harwin."

Erryk watched as Harwin's eyes contorted in a way he knew nothing of. A sliver of hope, joy, he was not sure. But it changed the way he felt inside.

"May the Gods grant the Princess good will," Harwin declared.

"Yes indeed," you added. Harwin glanced between the two of you as Erryk's eye-line focused on Jace and Luke putzing in the dirt.

“The Princes’ are most excited to meet their sibling. They have talked of nothing else for the past few days.”

“Speaking the truth, Ser Harwin,” you chuckled. “I pray it not be another boy for her sake. I do not know if she can handle such behaviors.”

Lucerys began to hit the ground with his stick in hard, deliberate strokes.

"I should distract the Princes then," he spoke lowly. "Thank you, Ser Erryk."

"Lord Commander," Erryk bid Harwin farewell as he walked back to the boys. Jace was occupied hitting the wooden sword on his feet and Lucerys came running towards the two of you.

"Ser Erryk!" The boy called jubilantly. "I took down my brother!"

"Oh?" Erryk responded in kind. "A very fierce battle ensued, I am sure."

"Yes! And I will do it again!" Luke smiled at him and it made your heart grow three sizes. “I wish to be a fine knight as you are, as Ser Harwin is.”

“One day, My Prince.”

"Luke," you looked down at the boy to which he put his small hand in yours. "I think it is time to choose an egg for the babe.”

The small boy's eyes lit up like a holiday. "Do you think so!?"

"I do," you squeezed his tiny fingers. "Go to your brother. Tell Ser Harwin that he must take you and then return you to your chambers once the egg has been collected."

Luke hugged at your leg tightly before running off to his brother with a screech.

"Take me to my sister," you told Erryk. "I must be with her."

"Of course, Princess."

Every corner of the keep was filled with spectators as the news of Rhaenyra's labors filtered through the castle. Erryk walked steadfast on your heels as your pace became more quick with noises of her strain making itself known.

"Gods," you said exasperated by her shouting.

"It will be alright," Erryk reassured quietly.

“I am inclined to say you have never seen a labor.”

“No,” he said quietly as you passed a guard walking in the opposite direction. “I have not had the privilege.”

“Far from a privilege, Erryk. It is gruesome.”

As her labor chambers came closer with your steps, the fewer guards and people were permitted in the hall.

"The Septa's once told us that boys were never easy. I fear this one will be a repeat of before."

"A boy?"

Without thinking, you replied: "the genes are far too strong."

But Erryk knew what you meant because in the corridors behind the walls of the keep, Harwin and Erryk had crossed paths in their escapes on more than one occasion.

He spoke your name and pulled at your arm to come to a stop outside of her chamber door. You could practically feel her pain emitting from the wood.

There were no guards standing watch outside of the door which you knew was the fault of the Queen.

"All will end well. Rhaenyra will see it to be true. Your sister is a hearty woman."

You nodded at him. "I know it to be so."

And you planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"I will do my best, Princess," Erryk glanced down the hall before cupping the back of your head and kissing you tenderly. "I will do my best."

"Oh," you gasped. The breath had been taken from your lungs as your airway cast a shudder. One of your arms around his shoulders, hand snaking itself to cradle the nape of his neck under his hair while the other hand danced along the side of his face and its thumb traced the line of his lower lip as a set of trembling pants melted together to make a seamless one.

Erryk's hands, worn and calloused from a day's work, trailed the sides of your body and traced the curve of your hips to your thighs. His grip wavered between the harshness you had craved for and his gentle mask.

“These days,” he grunted, teeth clenched tightly together as his jaw flexed with concentration, “have been unforgiving, Princess.”

It had taken him five days to find time with you after the birth of Prince Joffrey.

And so much had changed in those five days.

You lifted yourself up in a rhythmic careen as your heart began to pound against your chest. His eyes seldom left your face. Erryk watched for every bated breath and each staggered exhale while his hands helped guide your hips in genteel rolls.

Between your legs, the feel of his cock was slick and hot. Entering in and out, in and out as he helped try to ease the burn of your thighs working toward elation.

Your hand fell from his face down to his arms. A ghostly light dusting to meet his right hand that had been assisting your movements.

Loosely bringing his hand to your mouth, Erryk’s lips parted as you covered all his fingers with your own except the middle, and brought it to your lips. You kissed the pad of his finger gently.

As you kissed his finger, you lifted yourself from his cock to the tip. He waited for the cool air to hit but it never came as you sank back down and opened your mouth with a mewl as he filled you again.

At that moment, you took his middle finger into your mouth and wet it with your tongue.

He could not speak. For his words were lost in the warmth of your cunt and mouth as your tongue swirled around his digit with a wanton pant. Erryk let his head fall to your chest; lips lingering on the skin of your breasts with nipples taught and pert beckoning to him.

Erryk’s other hand loosened from your hip and grasped your left breast. He palmed the skin before squeezing and letting his palm run over the nipple. You sucked on his finger a bit harder at the sensation.

The hairs from his beard scratched your skin in an insatiable pattern. It was familiar in an exact moment where the past was no more and the future was everclear.

You wanted it memorized. You wanted it traced upon your body.

He tilted his head lower to latch onto your nipple before letting go with an audible “pop” against the lewd sounds of the room. It was morning but the whispered breaths of lovers and the sound of their coitus woke with the rising sun.

You released his finger from between your lips and he lifted his head. His eyes met yours and they glimmered with the same refractions of light one gets as the sun peaks between curtains.

His heart was as large as the sea.

“Lay down,” you wet your lips and held his hand no different than before.

Erryk used his free hand to keep you steady as he laid back on the bed. He bent his knees and planted his feet against the duvet to give you leverage.

“As the Princess commands.”

You bit back a smile. The butterflies in your stomach never ceased to exist.

With your hand eclipsed with his own, you guided his now wet finger down to your clit and he needed no further instructions. The pressure of his finger felt like a lightning bolt shooting through thunder. You gasped as your legs quivered in delight.

And then you smiled fully. Erryk smiled in return and Gods, did you feel the world open up before you.

You placed a hand on his chest before leaning down to kiss his lips still quirked upwards in a sheltered grin. The ministrations of your pleasure not stopped at the joy.

Erryk laid back against the ends of the pillows and watched you lift yourself back up, hand grasping his wrist of the hand to your clit, and began to move faster. He could not help but become entranced in the way his cock disappeared in your core. Your tightness aching for him as it became more slick every passing second.

You breathed in deeply. A hitch in your timber sent his eyes back to yours and you rolled your body deeply—feigning coy in the smoked out candlelight. He could not his gaze roaming the way your breasts moved with every bounce.

The sun was rising behind you.

Enchanting or entrancing, he was captivated as always by his royal woman.

With his hand on your hip, he raised it to trace your spine and felt your muscles begin to shake. Bumps on your skin from his touch made him groan.

You faltered and leant forward. Hands now planted beside his face, your eyes met his own and Erryk gave a small nod. He removed his finger from your clit and ran both hands up your back as you laid your weight on him.

He held you tightly and began to move his hips at an aching pace. Your eyes closed as you hummed in content. Erryk let his face fall beside yours, mouth beside your ear.

"Is this alright, my darling?" he barely whispered and you smiled, he could feel it.

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes."

He laid a kiss on your earlobe in response. With your eyes closed, you could feel bursting colors inside of you. You imagined them swirling behind you eyelids in intertwined wisps of reds and pinks. Yellows of happiness adjoined with the blues of bliss.

In the years you laid together, Erryk was not one to speak loudly nor much during those times. He admired you in its absence. Watching and waiting with bated breath of what pleasure would bring you and he to follow.

It was when he held you close that he felt the oaths he sinned against were foolish.

The touch of a woman, the touch of you, brought him a fantasy he'd never thought of chasing.

You inhaled deeply, legs shaking as he worked you to your orgasm with precision. You turned your head to capture his lips with yours; swallowing his groans when you utilized the last bits of your strength to move your hips at his actions.

Crying out as your body jolts, your right hand snaked itself into the hair that fell on the side of his face.

"Gods," you whimpered. There was little more you could do to hang on.

Erryk's low grunts matched his thrusts the faster they came.

He gripped the back of your thigh and brought your leg upwards, changing his angle. Your shoulders tensed at your growing inability to hold on. A string was snapping inside of you, waiting for it all to be enough.

And at once, it became enough.

You tilted your head upwards with a high-pitched gasp; the sound elongating the second he felt your muscles tighten around his dick and loosen a second later with a fury. He continued to thrust through your tremors. The jerking of your body erupting his own orgasm and with three thrusts, his breath became staggered and wanton.

Against his chin, you rested your forehead uncomfortably to gather yourself. A droplet of sweat beaded from your breasts pressed against his chest and to his skin.

As he recovered his own breathing, a hand of his own rubbed careless lines on your back. Erryk could feel the pulse of blood rushing to your center. He took his hand away from your back and brought it to your face to turn it to him.

Your breath was hot against him as he was certain his own was against yours.

"I apologize," his voice had grown ragged. He spoke softly yet you could hear the hoarseness of his throat. "For not fulfilling your request."

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"No," you brushed back hairs from his face. "It warrants no apology."

Erryk sighed deeply. You moved a finger to trace the edges of his beard lightly. He looked at you with a furrowed brow. You pressed a finger to the worrying crease.

"What worries you, my love?"

He appeared hesitant to speak freely in that moment. The comfort of guilt had been eating at him as of late. Act that soiled his cloak in sin, he had forsaken his duty to chase what he had denied himself for so long.

It was the evening chatter amongst the Kingsguard as they sat for supper that churned in his stomach.

"I do not worry," he answered. You did not believe him.

"Your face tells different story, Erryk."

"Do you regret this arrangement, Princess?"

You stopped your movements and locked eyes with him. Just as your heartbeat had started to slow, it picked up again at a rapid pace.

"I– " you paused to find your words. "Where might have gotten that impression?"

"No impression," he clarified. "It was simply Princess Rhaenyra's children–"

At the mention of your sister, you lifted your hips and removed him from you with a shallow shudder before rolling to your side and sitting upright in search of your dressing gown.

"I do not wish to speak of my sister while I lay with you," you informed him. It had never been a subject discussed in the decade of knowing one another. "That is the last person I wish to think of."

"I do not mean it in that way."

"Then in what way do you mean?" You gathered the gown from the floor and put it on in rapid movements.

"It is no secret that the King continues to search for a Lord Husband befitting of your status," Erryk spoke as he sat in the bed you shared. "I never imagined–"

"What?" You drew defensive immediately.

Something deeper lingered inside of you. He knew nothing of the matter.

"When I swore the oath of the Kingsguard I did not imagine being the one who stands in the way of the King's desires."

"He does not know, Erryk. I stand in his way. I refuse the proposals."

"Because you love me."

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "I told you that I wished to carve my own life with what little power I do have of it. This," you stuck both hands outward to him, "is that power."

"And if he were to find out, my fate would be far more severe than being exiled to my homelands."

Ser Harwin left yesterday morning at the instruction of the King.

Rhaenyra would not see anyone in her quarters for hours.

You did not question his comment.

"Have you found someone else to warm your bed?" You asked an impossible question. Erryk let the sigh of disbelief pass his lips.

"I would not inflict such pain on you. Do you truly question my devotion? After what I risk to love you?"

A piece of you constricted with the knowledge you held. How this was likely your last morning together for some time and you were leading it to a deep crevice of spite.

"You question my own devotion for what cause?" You countered. "I do not regret this. I will never so long as I live because we chose to do this, together."

Erryk moved off the bed and slipped on his trousers and linen shirt with the ties undone.

"I do not ask out of a want to be removed from my circumstance."

"Then why ask it?"

"Do you never feel guilt? Of allowing me to besmirch your honor–"

"Please," you begged him and sat on the settee that was littered with books of old. "I do not wish to hear it."

You did feel some guilt. Guilt of a secret that had been eating away at you for a day.

The troubles of life had long settled itself within the walls of your chamber. These conversations had been occurring more often as of late and you knew not the cause but had a rousing suspicion that his honor, duty to the crown levied a darkening cloud over his consciousness.

The culpability of a sin unforgettable to his stature buried him. Now having witnessed the removal of the Lord Commander, and Hand of the King, for the consequences of lust weighed like torture.

A dam of large proportions was meant to break in the keep.

The blood of Rhaenyra's childbirth was still being washed from the halls and with it, the stones cracked under pressure.

Erryk picked up the pieces of his armor from the floor and laid them before himself on the bed. Ingrained in his mind, he assembled each piece to the best of his ability before moving toward you as the birds began to chirp outside of your windows.

The cool breeze of autumn filtered in through the curtains.

It was then he saw the wetness of your cheeks. A silent cry had formed in his wake and he had not seen it. He had given no time for care; he feared your needs were not satisfied.

Before he could stumble out words, you coughed out the admission.

"Rhaenyra is leaving for Dragonstone on the morrow."

Oh.

"She asked for my council... to go with her."

Erryk felt a terrible wall grow in front of him.

"I do not wish to leave you."

"Are you to go with her?" He asked.

A part of him knew the impossible task. He and his brother were inseparable. Being twins, perhaps it was expected of him to be close as thieves but the bonds of a sister had tethered two souls closer than even he could ponder.

He would die for his brother, as you would your sister.

"Yes," you cried. A sob escaped your lips and you let your head fall into your hands.

Erryk tossed his armor back onto the bed, kneeling before you and wrapping his arms around you as his heart stung.

"It is not my place to beg you to stay," he admitted. "You must do as your future Queen commands of you." Spoken like a knight.

"What if my leaving is the last that I will see of you?' You questioned. You lifted your head and cupped his face. "I love you, Erryk. I do not regret my actions."

"And I you," and instead of Princess, he said your name soothingly. "I speak in fear. You speak of what little you have, but with what I do have, my body and soul are yours to keep."

"I do not think I can bear being parted for long. I will not take a husband, I will not take another lover," you declared.

You made your sentiments known. He was not going to question it again.

"Nor I," he agreed. "Nor I."

You pulled your lips to his own.

"I wanted to tell you," you wept, “but I could not find you. I wished not for this to be our parting ways. I do not want to you to remember me this way."

"In what way?" He hummed with a strained, sorrowed smile. "You are as beautiful as the day we met. If this is to be our last moments together, my only regret is not holding you longer."

You let out a wet, sad laugh.

"We will find each other again," he reassured you. His blue eyes shining in the golden glow of morning as the sun blessed the skies in a red and pink dream.

"I swear it, by the old Gods and the new."

You rubbed your thumb across his cheek to catch a tear most of the Kingsguard would never admit to falling in the presence of their lovers. You nodded at him.

"I love you," you whispered.

You wouldn't see him for another six years.

The gates of King's Landing were tall and colored in an ugly terracotta.

You peered out the slim slivers the grated windows of the caravan allowed as it trudged the rocky roads along the shoreline of the city. Glimpses of a cooling fall air, the sun was shielding itself behind clouds with every inching second that wheels churned closer to the keep.

"Surely the city cannot have changed that much since our departure, good sister," Daemon's words were shrouded in a snicker. His eyes are always cutting and looking for a battle.

Eyes tearing themselves away from the outside, you looked at Daemon as he studied you.

"It has changed greatly, Uncle," you retorted. "Perhaps if you had spent more time canvasing it during the light of day you would be able to say the same."

Daemon's lips lifted themselves into a sly, cunning smirk as Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Must we bicker as such? Play civil for only a day and then we shall return home. Might we find some excitement beyond the boor?"

When Daemon became Rhaenyra's husband after Laenor passed, you wished your dragon would swallow you whole.

Rhaenyra said you were being dramatic.

"Vaemond is a peddler," you reassured her, taking her hand in yours and peering back outside of the slits. "Your sons have little to fear."

In the years that have passed over Westeros, every soul had been changed by the tenants of the Red Keep and those who watch over them like vultures at a feast. Rhaenyra's ascendance to Viserys' heir should not have been a catalyst for the pain suffered by those in their watch but yet it could not help itself.

Your fingertips ghosted the wooden edges of the carriage as the latches of the gates began to swing outwards and opening themselves up to you once more.

Rhaenyra understood that her sons had nothing to fret regarding their futures. Viserys had turned a blind eye for years and the sentiment would not change so long as he remained on the throne for the years to come.

She squeezed your tender fingers with her own.

Daemon's eyes wandered from the trusted hands of two sisters to his wife's face.

"I do wonder," Daemon cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. His sheathed sword knocked the golden accents of the interior. "If there is something of worry for you, good sister."

Rhaenyra's face twitched. A challenge, he imagined.

"I've heard that the Queen has been looking to secure a marriage match for her children."

"Daemon, you forget yourself," Rhaenyra spoke. Your eyes were lost in the courtyard that began to form around you.

"She has evaded such for years," Daemon defended. "I know of no other high-born lady, a princess, who is beyond marrying age and still remains relevant. Alicent is playing chess against an enemy that stays hidden on a cliff."

"Why is the concern so pressing?" Rhaenyra questioned, her eyes narrowing as her hand gripped yours tighter.

"You said it yourself, if Vaemond has the will to bring into question Jace and Luc, then the family will fall into a pit before being able to hoist itself up again. A match may not be out of the question to cease the concerns of other houses who question our ability to rule."

"No." Rhaenyra shook her head. "My father-"

"Knows nothing. The green bitch does his bidding. We all know about it."

The wheels of the carriage struck a bump causing the three of you to lean in one direction before falling back. The sounds of Kingsguard and City Watch members clambering for the arrival of such a caravan began to make themselves known.

"Where do you hear such secrets, Daemon?" You tired of hearing your life being planned without your consent. You narrowed your eyes at the blonde man. "I am near twenty years elder of her children. I am far too old to be the wife of–," there was a part of you that could hardly speak it.

And Daemon chuckled at the prospect.

But then again, he was older than both you and Rhaenyra.

It may have been the proper way of great households, but it was one that you detested. You had seen what marriage had done to your sister, your family, and closest friends. So many lost to what they had known for the sake of alliances and duty.

The memories of your trysts lay present in your mind. He was there.

A piece of Rhaenyra and your mother's stubbornness had harbored itself into you for the last sixteen years when womanhood had finally made sense to you.

There had been a glint in Rhaenyra's eyes at one time and you'd be dammed if you let your family take that from you as well.

"Besides," you diverted. "Father has tried many fine men of great houses to force my hand and yet," you lifted a hand void of jewelry besides a golden dragon that slithered up ornately on your pointer finger.

"Trying times call for trying actions."

You needn't respond to Daemon for him to understand the conversation had ceased. Rhaenyra put pressure on your hand once more before removing it and placing her own back on her belly that grew another child of her and Daemon's.

Outside the caravan of black banners and red sigils, the scattered sounds of court disappeared behind walls rattled with the hooves of the steeds. The carriage came to a rough stop and Rhaenyra gave you a stressed smile.

There was no fond greeting for those who escaped to Dragonstone six years ago.

"I sense the welcome is not as it once was," you whispered to her. Her brows furrowed as she had not paid any mind to the sounds and sights beyond her small party. A sinking feeling landed at the pit of your stomach.

The clatter of tools and wooden planks stopped as the caller announced the members to descend the steps.

And as you thought, the welcome was as the keep had become: vacant of the reverence it once had.

Each member of the Targaryen's who had been nothing short of exiled for their own safety waltzed into the pit of a raging green beast with a poor reception on behalf of the crown the heir expected. It spoke plainly of the disagreeable nature floating between two sides.

With a creak, the doors to the Keep's entrance opened and one soul, Lord Caswell, looked ridden with worry which struck a chord within Daemon, Rhaenyra, and yourself. He approached the heir with a solemn face before bowing.

"Welcome home, Princess."

"Lord Caswell," Rhaenyra responded in kind. His eyes bounced between each of you. He hadn't welcomed any of you to the keep in six years time.

It was as though a century had passed in a second.

"The King is anxious for your return," he continued. "He spoke of nothing but for these past two days. As well as to see his grandchildren, so grown and presentable." Lord Caswell nodded at them.

"Take us to him, if you please, Lord Caswell. It has been a weary journey," Rhaenyra began to walk off as he stuttered.

"Surely you would like to rest first, Princess? I will have your things taken to the visiting quarters."

"Visiting quarters?" Rhaenyra questioned, stopping in her tracks. Daemon was on her heels and her eldest son, Jace, halted with the rest of the children beside you.

Your eyes danced around the courtyard in a silly hope to find a pair.

'Of course he would not be there,' you scolded yourself.

You wondered if you had changed since your last meeting. Would he be able to recognize the woman you had become in the desolate castle?

"The Queen has taken residence in your former quarters, Princess."

Rhaenyra paused before speaking with an understanding that while here on the business of securing her son's legacy, her bygone friend has seized more than just your father.

But as you took in the surroundings you envisioned a world differently than the one that presented itself to you now. One of freedom and without greed; no one playing a long game of power and where lives were not seen as pawns, but as people.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She held her hand to her stomach and rubbed a thumb across it gently as the overcoat she wore buried the chill with everything she had lost inside. She glanced at you as your eyes looked everywhere but hers and followed as they met every Kingsguard in the court.

She saw the light dim in the slightest.

"Lord Caswell," She spoke clearly, "take us to my father please." 

Seldom would have prepared you for the state your father was in.

Forced with an eternity of pain, Viserys was a shell of himself in the bed he laid. Each minute he suffered in the stillness of the Milk of the Poppy and it guided him only to lead him astray; every swing of an ax, a sword in the courtyard, would bleed the remnants of happiness that lingered in his dusty room.

He barely recognized you as you held his hand.

It struck your soul when he mistook you for your dead mother.

"Aemma," he croaked as though it took all his strength to talk."

Rhaenyra stilled beside you. You put on a brave face.

"No, father," you reminded him of you. "We are all here now."

He repeated your name brokenly.

"Sister," Rhaenyra approached you with her own son, Viserys by name, on her hip.

You had resigned yourself to inspect the dusty model of King's Landing that had once been a prized possession of the man who could not will himself to stand. The disease had overtaken his body to the point of immobility.

Viserys groaned in pain in his bed.

It was a sound you wished not to hear once more.

"Why don't you find your nephews and reintroduce them to the Keep?" She proposed. Her attitude was emitting more positivity than it should.

"I am sure they have already made their way," you took a finger and swiped it through the dust.

"And they could do well with a guide," she pressed.

You sighed, taking a glimpse behind you and surveying your father as he hid behind the curtains of his bed and cooed at Rhaenrya's other son, Aegon.

"He will be alright, sister."

"I do not share the same confidence, Rhaenyra."

She bounced Viserys on her hip. The boy played innocently with her hair without worry of the world evolving around him.

It was turning sour.

"Go to them," Rhaenyra ordered. "I would start at the training ground... you know how my boys are."

You heard the sound of swords before you saw them.

For once Daemon had been right about the Red Keep: it truly hadn’t changed from your time spent away. The same people found themselves completing the same mundane tasks each and every day until the Father called them home.

At the top of the long steps, you took in the sights you had missed.

It smelled of shit and metal. The people were loud and crowding around a scene of two men sparring along the edges of the yard. In your vision, Jace and Luke were fumbling through the materials they reminisced of as young children.

A chunk taken out of the stone, the wooden swords still available to train with.

You leaned against the barrister of brick. Below, just out of sight, two knights sparred in their time away from the king. Their fierceness caught the eyes of the two Targaryen boys who were in awe of the sights around them.

“Look,” Jace put his arm around his brother and pointed to Erryk and Arryk’s valiant efforts.

The eldest was in awe of such gallantry.

“It is just as we remembered, isn’t it?”

Luke watched as everyone stared at them unabashedly.

“They have always been valiant fighters,” Jace continued. “I remember Ser Erryk helping us adjust our stances. We were all but six and ten.”

"That was not Ser Arryk?"

Jace laughed. "Ser Erryk was the one to help you after I pushed you into that pile of horse shit when you were four. He gave the best advice about watching your opponents."

“And what good did that bring you?” Luke jested and received a slap on the head. He caught you monitoring them from above on the landing of the steps.

“It seems motherly is untrusting of us on our own,” he told Jace who clocked you watching before the sounds of metal swords clanging caught your attention.

“She will not object to us,” Jace picked at the swords on the cart. “She let us hit each other with these same sticks when I was not yet ten. I do not think our Aunt minds if we explore our old home.”

“I do not think she cares about us at all,” Luke spoke of you as he watched the two brothers push one another backwards.

They let up with a shake of their hands and if he could tell them apart, he would say Arryk looked up at you and paused.

“Brother,” Arryk called to Erryk as the latter went to reestablish his footing.

“What?” Erryk heaved in a tired breath. “Again, Arryk. We do not have much time.”

“Brother,” Arryk now insisted and pointed his sword upwards to the tops of the steps.

When he turned around, it was as though all life paused around him. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Erryk had finally converged to one place. 

It took his breath away.

A/N: I lied! I made this into 2 parts because it was getting far too long. Next part will cover the reunion, more smut, and of course the remaining bits of Erryk’s story.

As always, thank you for reading. Comments and reblogs, as well as likes, are greatly appreciated. I loved that this character has captured our hearts so much. There truly are no small roles.

[ugotcooneycrossed]

girlfriend or girl thats a friend? • kyra cooney-cross

w/c: ~1k

you and kyra are something- you just dont exactly know what yet. thankfully nobody knows how to mind their own business

------------------------------------------------------------

It feels a bit unreal right now- you’re at you’re first world cup, basecamp is just as cool as you imagined and you take a second, to take it all in.

In reality it’s not that impressive- it’s just a hotel after all, but you’ve never been more nervous, or, excited about anything.

Well- except for the Olympics.

You remember Kyra waking you up at midnight- convincing you to sneak out with her to explore Yokohama before training.

You walked hand-in-hand for hours in the city- eventually sitting on some random bench watching the city lights together.

You both fell asleep in training the next day.

You feel a shoulder bump yours- and your taken out of your daydream, Kyra smiling softly at you.

“You okay?”

She asks you- almost whispering, as if it’s just a little secret between you two, and you smile back at her.

“Yeah- of course.”

She nods her head in approval, and holds out her hand to you- palm up, silently asking for you hand.

You lace your fingers together- and let her tug you to the elevator.

“Roomies?”

“Of course- wouldn’t dream of anyone else.”

-

“Hey- (y/n), you awake?”

It’s dark in the room- and definitely way past your bedtime.

You can hear Kyra’s sheets rustling though- and can blearily make out her turning to face you in the dark.

You reach over to flick on the bedside light- and she flinches at the sudden brightness.

“Yeah- you alright?”

She’s quiet for a while- just staring down and playing with her hands, and you frown at that. You go to speak, but Kyra gets out of bed suddenly and slips into yours- pulling you close to her and resting her head on your chest.

“I missed you.”

You want to joke with her that you’ve been together for weeks now to prepare for the world cup. But, you know what she means- something has changed between you two, and you’ve both been avoiding it.

“I missed you too.”

You wrap your arms around her and hold her close to you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

“You should sleep though- trainings tomorrow, and I don’t want you to fall sleep in training again.”

“Hey! You fell asleep too- so, why don’t we both go to sleep now.”

“Kyra- babe, you woke me up.”

“Babe huh?”

“Shut it.”

You fall asleep like that- together, in each other’s arms.

-

You wake up well before Kyra does- and you watch her as she continues to sleep, she’s resting practically on top of you, her arms wrapped around you tightly and her head on you chest.

Her head rises and falls rhythmically with your breathing- and you lean down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

It’s not an uncommon sight to see you both together- in fact most of the girl’s seem to think you’re attached at the hip. You’re always touching in some way- whether it be arms linked walking to the pitch, or knees touching as you sit side-by-side, you’re always together on days off- constantly featured in each-others instgrams, and are always mixing up clothes- you coming to training in shorts with 23 on it, or Kyra rummaging through your suitcase to steal one of your hoodies. Which, no one would’ve noticed if it weren’t for Charli calling Kyra out.

You hear hushed voices outside your door- and a group of girls come crashing in seconds later. You shut your eyes quickly and sink further down into bed, pretending to be asleep- Kyra still on top of you.

“Awee look at them- they’re sleeping.”

“Let’s wake them up.”

“Mary!”

“What! They’re gonna miss breakfast.”

“But aren’t they so cute though?”

“Yeah, yeah- so, like- are they dating? Or what? Cause I’ve got a bet going on with Ellie.”

“I don’t know actually- I think they are.”

“Really? I thought you would know.”

“Well­- last time I talked to Kyra she told me she-“

Charli’s voice gets cut off and you want to scream.

“What are you all doing in here?”

Mini walks into the room and takes one look around- hitting Charli in the arm.

“Out! Both of you.”

You wait until you hear the door close to wake Kyra up, brushing her hair back and rubbing her cheeks softly.

You feel her cheeks pull up into a smile and you squeeze her face in your hands softly, admiring the way her face scratches up- already forgetting about what Charli was going to say

“Come on sleepy- we’re going to be late again.”

-

You’re resting your head on Kyra’s stomach- both of you laying off on your own during a small break in training.

You have your eyes closed- soaking in the sun that finally decided to show itself. You don’t notice Kyra staring at you smiling though.

You feel Kyra shift slightly and you crack an eye open to look at her.

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

-

You go out for dinner that night- and when Kyra’s burger gets to the table she plucks off the pickles and drops them into your waiting hand.

“Thanks.”

She smiles at you.

“Of course.”

You smile back at her- knocking your knees together under the table and grinning at her.

Mary waves her hand to get both of your attention.

“So- are you guys like dating?”

“What?”

You both reply in unison- moving away from each other slightly.

“What makes you say that?"

You asks- face heating up, you glance over at Kyra but she’s looking anywhere but you.

“Okayy- never mind, forget I said anything.”

-

You haven’t spoken to Kyra since dinner- and it’s killing you.

You’re getting ready for bed in silence- occasionally glancing at each other when the other isn’t.

When you finally get under the covers, you see Kyra hover in-between both beds, and you sigh, opening your blanket up for her, and she climbs in next to you without a word. Her head coming to rest on your chest once again.

But you can’t wait anymore- asking her quietly, nearing a whisper, afraid someone will hear even if you’re alone in the hotel room.

“Kyra- what are we?”

Still- she stays quiet.

You sigh- trying to move your arm from around her, but her hand grips your bicep and you stop.

“We’re just us- I don’t know, I just- I like us.”

“I do too.”

-

You’re both late to breakfast again- and it gives Mary enough time to hatch a plan with the girls to get you together.

“Lock ‘em in a closet.”

“Sam no!”

[unhxlyim]

Stray Kids + casual (fwb)

fwb!straykids x reader, angst, suggestive. no gender specified for reader (I think??). hyung line. Based on the song ‘Casual’ by Chappell Roan

notes: hi!! This is my first little bit of fan fiction in so long, so I hope you guys like it. I probably got a little carried away but this has been in my drafts for months and months. I’m sorta new into stray kids too so I hope this is okay. Thanks for reading!!

Bangchan:

“I thought you thought of me better; someone you couldn’t lose. You said ‘we’re not together’ so now, when we kiss, I have anger issues.”

It was confusing. The way he kissed you until he couldn’t breathe, how he pushed you up against the kitchen island as you wore his tshirt. This is how you spent most weekends. He’d come over and you’d watch movies together, cook together, catch up on what had happened during the week. And it was confusing as fuck. He’d make you feel so special; bringing you snacks (your favourites, even though you’d never explicitly said which ones you preferred), always cleaning up after you made a meal, truly seeming like he listened to whatever you said and asked about the other people in your life, and the sex. It wasn’t just sex, he put his heart and soul into it. Even in your past relationships, you’d never been taken care of like this before. Most of the time, it was easy to feel like you were dating him because of all this. But this wasn’t a relationship. He told you that himself.

He didn’t remind you of it often but, damn, did he choose his moments to remind you. When you’d watch a rom com and he’d make a comment about ‘wanting something like that in the future’; when you’d tell him about an argument your best friend had with their partner and he’d say ‘see, this is why I don’t date’; when he laid his head in your lap and let you stroke his hair before opening his phone to start texting another girl in front of you. It made you angry in a way that not a lot of other things could but you bit your tongue. If this was how you could keep him, even if it was casual, you’d do that.

“It’s hard being casual when I’m on the phone talking down your sister.”

It was another typical weekend together for the two of you. Doing completely domestic and relationship-y things while being reminded by the clench of your heart and the drop in your stomach that he wasn’t yours. This didn’t stop you from daydreaming about it, only being helped by the fact that you were both chilling watching a film while he spoke to his sister on the phone next to you as he drew patterns on your legs with his fingertips. You had become so entwined in each others’ lives; meeting small amounts of friends and speaking so much about family members, that it wasnt even strange when he turned to you with panic in his eyes and thrust his phone into your hands, “I don’t know what to say to her, she wants to speak to you!” And you had fallen so much that you put the phone to your ear and comforted his sister for the next 30 minutes as she cried to you about some asshole from a dating app that stood her up. All the while, Chan peppered appreciative kisses on your cheeks and played with your hair as he pulled you into his lap. But this was all just ‘casual’.

Lee Know:

“My friends call me a loser cause I’m still hanging around. I’ve heard so many rumours that I’m just a girl that you bang on the couch.”

You loved your friends—you did—but they did not encourage your delusions at all. “With all the love in the world, you’re an idiot…” you dropped your head down onto your hands as they rested on the tabletop, letting out a dramatic sigh, “he’s an asshole. Tell him to take you on a date for once and not just fuck you into his sofa!” Your other friends had heard this spiel before and you were currently going through it again with your best friend as you sat in the corner of the café. You were in no position to argue with her when you thought exactly the same, but you mumbled anyway, “…he does do it pretty good though.”

“Oh I give up!” She threw her hands in the air with mock annoyance (that definitely did not come from a valid place), “I just want him to treat you right. I know you joke but we can all see how much you like him and I’ll be damned if I let him break your heart”. Of course, she was talking about Lee Minho. There was no else she could be talking about, no one else you were currently ‘seeing’ (despite the façade you put on). This situationship was a complicated one and it had been that way for a while. Everyone—well, not everyone—knew you two were sleeping together. But this was college, everyone did that. What they didn’t know was how he was so caring and affectionate towards you during those times. You didn’t dare point that out to your friends though because they would quickly point out (and rightly so) that that affection only extended to sex, but that didn’t fit with the narrative you wanted so you kept your mouth shut on that one.

“I know you worry about me but I’m not stupid, I know we’re not together” you said, almost trying to convince yourself as well as them. Your best friend—the one you’d cried to countless times about him—looked at you with a sad smile on her face, “block his number then, go no contact. If you still want to sleep with him in a few weeks then be my guest, but see what a little bit of space does for you first.” It wasn’t a bad suggestion, even if the thought of not seeing as regularly as you currently did made you feel a little sick. With all your friends around you in agreement, you felt confident enough to pick up the phone and proceed with her request. “Okay, I guess that’s a good idea. How hard could it be?” That was until your phone dinged in your hand, and all your friends whipped their heads towards you. Your best friend started to shake her head but you couldn’t help it, quickly looking down and reading the text in front of you.

minho: u free tonight, babygirl?

You knew you were going to disappoint the friends currently sitting around you but you couldn’t stop yourself from replying within seconds, the plan to block him now completely forgotten.

Changbin:

“I know, ‘Baby, no attachment’ but we’re knee deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out. Is it casual now?”

He climbed up your body from where he had been kneeling between your legs in the footwell of his car, wiping the glisten from around his mouth on the back of his hand before he kissed you deeply. Your mind was blurry and your vision was the same, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life as he kissed you more and more feverishly. The passenger seat you were sat in was already reclined all the way back so he was laying on top of you as he kissed down your neck. “Bin…”, you started with no real plan of what you actually wanted to say because his presence always made your mind swim. He chuckled a little and smirked up at you as he carried on kissing your neck, “what’s wrong, baby?” You hated it when he called you that. It made the whole ‘no attachment’ rule so much harder, you could just crumple into his arms and stay there forever. It didn’t help matters that he used that word so liberally, almost like he was testing how attached to him he could make you. “We need to go back, they’re going to wonder where you are”, it was almost 2 in the morning and his flatmates would have definitely noticed he was gone by now. He gripped his hands around your hips, gently flipping you over so you sat on top of him (albeit cramped in the small space of the car). “I don’t care,” he carried on kissing down your bare chest. “I’m not done with you yet”.

When the two of you had these moments, it was hard to imagine that you weren’t together. He let his hands wander as he carried on speaking, roaming down your back and squeezing your ass, “they don’t know about you anyway”. There it was, there was the kicker that brought you back to reality. It always seemed to rear it’s ugly head. You couldn’t remember which one of you suggested this ‘no attachment’ rule and which one of you was stupid enough to agree but, just like your feelings for him, it always reappeared at the most unfortunate moments. Your back got a little straighter, not caring if he could sense the tension in your body, “n-no ‘course”.

“That came out harsher than I meant, I’m sorry”, he tried to run his hand gently across your cheek but you moved away, suddenly very aware that you felt this vulnerable while you sat naked on top of him. This happened from time to time too, the feeling of guilt and filth that washed over you. You knew he didn’t mean to make you feel like this intentionally but, regardless, you felt like his dirty little secret. “I’ve gotta get back anyway, I’ve got work early in the morning.” you mumbled, climbing off his lap and pulled your clothes back on quickly.

He met your eyes as soon as you spoke, slight panic in his own eyes that definitely didn’t match the way he’d so confidently wrapped your thighs around his head not too long before, “Oh…yeah no worries,” that was one thing you appreciated at least, he never argued once this came up. Even though you wanted him to—you wanted him to grab you and kiss you like you dreamed of, declaring his love for you and denouncing this fucking stupid arrangement you had. But that never came, and he always dropped you home, kissing your cheek before you hopped out of the car.

Hyunjin:

“Dumb love, I love being stupid. Dream of us in a year. Maybe we’d have an apartment and you’d show me off to your friends at the pier.”

It wasn’t like you were completely invisible to others in his life but you definitely blended into the background; something Hyunjin could conveniently brush off if one of his friends started asking too many questions. You didn’t go out together much in public (which you had convinced yourself was because of both of your study commitments and definitely not an indication that Hyunjin had commitment issues). This ‘arrangement’ you had going had lasted around five months before you started imagining Hyunjin having a more permanent place in your life; taking you out with his friends, going on day trips, even just having a drink together in a bar.

You weren’t in the same group of friends but your group and his would frequently go to the same parties; you had grown to regret that actually. That’s how you and Hyunjin met, drunk and dancing on each other before he pulled you to an empty bedroom upstairs. And that’s how you ended up standing against the wall, bass boosting in your chest and alcohol sloshing around in your cup, as you stared across the room at Hyunjin flirting with another girl. It wasn’t the first time you’ve had to watch him flirting with someone else at one of these stupid parties, but this time seemed worse for some reason.

Whether it was because he was all over her, because of the fantasies of the two of you running around your head, or because your best friend (who was the only one you had told about this hook-up-turned-situationship) was watching you out of her eye with pity on her face, you’d surprised both of you when you grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the beer pong table where Hyunjin’s friends were drunkenly shouting as they played. “Please don’t let me sleep with him tonight, I fucking hate him”, you said as you looked at her with pleading eyes. You both knew that wasnt entirely true but she nodded and you both promised that you’d stay away from him as she pushed in for the two of you to get in on the game of beer pong. Surprisingly, it proved to be quite the distraction. You’d probably been playing for 30 minutes before Hyunjin texted you.

hyunjin: meet me upstairs quickly? ;)

You showed your friend the text quickly and she took your phone from you before you could reply. Again, to your surprise, it seemed easy to carry on with your game and push him to the back of your mind for a while. That was until you had to excuse yourself to go to the toilet.

You swore to yourself that you weren’t going up to him. You were going upstairs to use the bathroom and that was it. Until you felt his hands on your waist and let yourself be pulled back against his chest at the top of the stairs, “fancy seeing you up here, pretty girl…”

The scent was familiar and your brain immediately surrendered as you followed him lovestruck into one of the empty rooms. You’d make good on your promise to your friend another time.

[sjywrites]

Hii can I request Sophia x reader academic rivals? 🥺 u can do whatever u want w the plot pretty much please and thank u so much <3 :)

༊*·˚ ACADEMIC RIVALS LOVERS?

𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza x 𝓖n!reader. (no pronouns used). 𝓖enre. fluff, angst if you squint 𝓢ypnosis. our two favourite academic rivals have a lil fight, but the situation turns bad, and people realize their feelings. 𝓦𝓒 . 824 𝓒𝓦 . mentions of being hospitalised (sophia), a little angsty!

𝓝ote! this is a little messy since I wrote it during one of my breaks, but please lmk if you want like a part two cuz I really liked this plot!

---

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idols act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

At this point it didn’t even matter if you were better than everyone, you just had to be better than her. It started off very simple, both of you wanted to be better than everyone, academically that is. Eagerly waiting to get tests back and see who got a higher score, a smug grin on one's face when they got a better result than the other. No harm in that right? Wrong, that’s what started all of this.

Sophia walked towards me with her head held high, her uniform as neat as ever and her hair styled in a way making her look almost angelic. Wait, what? “What were your results?” She said, slamming her paper on top of my desk, I shook out of my daydreaming to answer her. “96.” I said while looking down in my maths book, trying to solve an equation but still focusing on what she would respond. She looks away and a teasing smirk spreads on her lips, and moves the finger that covered her results, 97. “Guess I’m just better than you huh?” She said proudly, staring down at me “Just because you got one point more than me doesn’t mean you’re better than me.” I said, pouting a little at her accusation.

Lately I’ve been feeling kind of… weird? Even if Sophia gets a higher score than me, I can’t find it in me to give a fuck. “Well, you’ve been slacking off a lot lately, I’ve gotten higher scores than you on the last four tests. So, I think that makes it obvious who's smarter!” Sophia states like it was the most obvious answer to what I said. Staring at her for a moment, I reply. “I've been busy okay, not everyone has that much free time to spend on studying, and you're talented in general, no wonder you get high scores” She looks shocked at my statement, then she smirks a little, “Did you just admit that I'm smart?” She looked proud in some way or another, “Not what I meant Sophia, but whatever floats your boat.” I grab my things from the desk and walk outside the classroom to my locker, a little frustrated at the whole situation. I did miss her response,

“I study that much so you won't think I'm stupid.”

A week goes by, no Sophia in sight. She missed two assignments, she's usually here every day. Even if she's sick, which I don't get why she does, but still. Did something happen to her? Was it something I did?

“You've been zoning out for the past like, three periods, what is going on with you today?” Lara, my best friend asks. “Do you know where Sophia is?” I ask, not really thinking before I ask. “Why do you want to know, don't you guys like, hate each other?” She looks at me with a very questionable look, suspecting something I cannot grasp, “Yes? No? I don't know Lara, but do you know where she is?” I say, a little confused and concerned. She looks at me with sad eyes before replying, “Y/N, Sophia got really sick out of nowhere, I heard she's at the hospital.” My eyes blew wide at the shocking news, why didn't she tell me? No, why would she do that? We're not even friends.

—

Am I really doing this? I think to myself as I open the hospital doors and stumble up to the kind-looking man in the lobby. I strike up a casual conversation with him as he guides me to a room, I thank him quickly before he scurries away.

There in the little window on the door I see her, Sophia's sitting down on the bed. Her hair is a mess and her clothes look ridiculous, it looks like she hasn't slept for a few days too. I gently open the door and her gaze falls upon me, it's easier to see her face now. She looks tired, really tired. “Hey…” I say, she looks away from me and cuddles up in her sitting position. “What are you doing here?” she tries to sound annoyed, but it just comes out in a tired huff. “I heard what happened, I… was worried about you. I brought some notes from the classes you missed.” She looks shocked at my confession, she relaxes her posture and her gaze becomes soft. “Thank you… I really appreciate it.” She smiles a little as she grabs the papers I handed her, our hands touching softly.

I look at her, really look at her. For the first time actually having time to admire how pretty she looks, how perfect her flaws are. “I just came to give you that… so if you don't need anything else, I'll go.” I turn around to walk away, grabbing the door knob and turning it around, “Wait! Will you… please stay with me a little longer, I need it.

I need you.”

this is so messy I'm sorrrrryyyy!! I wanted to post something today at least :((

[writing-for-marvel]

Withdrawal

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 2 | Series Masterlist | PART 4 > >

Summary: You wait for Bucky to call.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, some angst and self doubt, references to sex, references to Bucky having a traumatic past

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Will he call? Won’t he call? Let’s find out! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky stares down at his phone and sighs.

He wants to call you, genuinely, so why is dialling your number so difficult?

Perhaps it’s too soon, is what he tells himself. It hasn’t even been a full day since the end of your date, calling now probably makes him look desperate.

Should he message you? Tell you that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you all day? Ugh, no… that seems extremely forward for someone he’s only been on a single date with, regardless of if it’s the truth.

There’s never been anyone whom he’s connected with enough to warrant a second date, let alone have him promising to call. He’s completely out of his depth, drowning in a sea of anxiety and no one has taught him how to swim.

Bucky knows he’s overthinking, but you make it hard to think clearly. You have his brain short circuiting, reforming synapses so that all his thoughts are rerouted to the same thing: you.

Turning his phone off, he sets it down beside him. Just because he isn’t calling straight away, doesn’t mean he won’t at all. It’s probably better to wait and not seem super eager.

Or is that counterintuitive? If you enjoy someone’s company, should you let them know so you can see them again as soon as possible?

Fuck, why is this such a daunting task? He’s never had an issue with talking or flirting with anyone before, it seems to come naturally to him. And yet the thought that he’ll say the wrong thing, and fuck up whatever it is between the two of you is making his stomach churn with prickling nerves he’s never experienced before.

Perhaps he’ll find the courage to call tomorrow.

* * *

“You seem distracted, what’s on your mind?” The familiar voice from the driver's seat of the ambulance pulls Bucky from his daydream.

You, is what Bucky thinks. You are constantly on his mind. Him and his best friend Steve are half an hour into their shift and you have not left the forefront of his mind in that entire time.

It’s like he’s in a trance.

“There’s this girl from the hospital…” Bucky trails off, unsure how to articulate exactly how you’ve bewitched him since meeting not even a week ago.

The night before last wasn’t just another hookup. At least, not to him.

“I’m gonna need a little more information than that Buck, there’s been quite a few girls of yours, especially from the hospital.” Steve laughs, but Bucky’s chest tightens at the insinuation that you’re just another fling, even though Steve doesn’t know any better.

“Two nights ago we went on a date, it ended up back at her place.” This is probably not news to Steve - he’s heard many stories about Bucky’s one night stands which would have started exactly like this. But there is one huge difference this time around. “And then I told her I’d call.”

“You’re thinking about a second date with her? She must be something special.” Bucky chuckles under his breath. Yeah, you really are something special. So fucking special.

“She’s beautiful, intelligent, funny, witty. When she was treating that little girl from the train derailment she was so good with her, kind and patient. I don’t know how to describe it, we just click. I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to feel more than physical attraction for someone but with her it just happens, I can’t stop myself.”

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but Bucky’s already addicted to you. He’s only had one fix, but he’s already showing symptoms of withdrawal. Every second apart feels like an hour, craving your company and the rapture firing in every neuron of his body when you’re in his presence.

“Look at you actually falling for someone.” Steve teases, without even knowing the full extent of how enthralled Bucky is with you. “So when are you seeing her again?”

Silence fills the front seat of the ambulance when Bucky can’t answer the question.

“Bucky, you have to see her again! Listen to how you’re talking about her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually speak about wanting to see someone again. You need to call her.” Steve stops at a red light and looks over to Bucky in the passenger seat. His best friend knows him better than perhaps he knows himself but doesn’t have the same obstacle with letting people in as Bucky does.

“That’s easier said than done.” Bucky can’t mask the dejected tone in his voice, and Steve recognises the crestfallen hang of his head, knowing exactly what he means without voicing it aloud.

“I know you've been through a lot in your life Buck, you’ve built walls up to prevent any more heartbreak…” Steve starts, but Bucky doesn’t need yet another reminder of his tragic backstory.

“Alright Mr I minored in psychology, I get your point. I’m damaged goods and don’t let people get close to me.”

“It’s just a second date, Buck, you aren’t asking for her hand in marriage. Just see where it goes.” Steve makes it sound so easy. Most people wouldn’t get so stressed about something they would consider as minor as a second date, yet Bucky feels like he’s about to expose the most intimate parts of his soul to someone for the first time.

“But I don’t want to hurt her. I know nothing about dating or being in a relationship.” Bucky pauses - the fact that he’s even considering something as substantial as a relationship with you punches him in the gut. He’s never wanted that with someone before. “And I don’t want to get hurt myself.” Because all Bucky has known is relationships breaking down. To him romantic relationships are synonymous with pain and he’s had enough of that for a lifetime.

“You’ll never know if you never try. I know you think letting someone in will lead to heartbreak, but what if it’s the opposite? What if by letting this person into your heart you finally find love and contentment?” Bucky has never allowed himself to imagine a life where that is a possibility - opening himself up to that prospect sounds like a recipe for more suffering. Besides, he’s been damaged goods for a long time, he’s sure there’s no one who would want to put up with him anyway.

“You really are a hopeless romantic.” Bucky comments, trying to avoid the questions Steve is raising, and divert the topic of their conversation.

“I want you to be happy, Buck. You’ve never afforded yourself that courtesy.”

Though his experience screams at him to run in the opposite direction, that this would be a horrible decision leading to further pain, Bucky finds it hard to believe someone as sweet and good-natured as yourself would ever hurt him intentionally. Even if there is only a slim chance that he doesn’t completely fuck this up, given Bucky cannot stop thinking about you, he supposes it’s worth a shot calling you.

“Well, maybe it’s finally time I do.” Bucky mutters under his breath.

* * *

You’ve been checking your phone periodically throughout the day to se if you have any new notifications from Bucky, but each time your phone lights up, a new wave of disappointment floods your chest.

You wonder if the notion of actually calling you, or simply messaging, has even crossed Bucky’s mind once since he left your place about 36 hours ago, or if he already knew it was an empty promise at the time he made it.

“Heard anything yet?” Wanda asks hopefully, but you shake your head in response. The first thing Wanda asked during your next shift together was how your date went with Bucky - between treating patients you described the picnic Bucky set up on the riverbank and (in slightly less detail) the euphoric night you shared when you made it back to your place.

“I’m stupid for actually believing he’s going to call, aren’t I?”

“…No.” Wanda offers after a brief hesitation which tells you more than the single word does. Sensing your regret in asking, she continues on. “Sweetie, only you know the connection you share, I can’t speak to that. If you feel like there’s something special there and he promised to call, then you have every right to believe him.”

Perhaps you’re being foolish, you should know better than to hang your hopes on a man who is notorious for being a fuckboy, but you really thought Bucky was being genuine when he promised to contact you. That the blissful night you shared, and the waves of ecstasy which melded into a flood of pure pleasure, meant more than just a one night stand.

Or at least it did to you.

“Just because he’s never pursued more than a first date with other people in this hospital doesn’t mean he isn’t now, or isn’t with you. Sometimes it just takes the right person, that could be you.” You take some comfort in the sincerity of her tone, but the voice in the back of your mind reminds you of what Wanda alerted you to prior to your date: no one gets a second date with Bucky Barnes.

“You’ve changed from giving me no hope to giving me false hope, Wan.” You joke, trying to brush off the conversation and not reveal just how heartbroken you’ll be if Bucky ghosts you, even with Wanda warning about his ways.

Internally you remind yourself that it’s only been a day and a half and to not be too mad at him, yet. Perhaps he intends to call, but hasn’t gotten around to it, though you’re pretty sure you’re only telling yourself that to stop the perpetual ache in your chest rather than truly believing it.

“He promised he would call, that’s not false hope.” Wanda advises, shooting you a look of encouragement as you both complete paperwork for your respective patients.

At that moment, the doors to the ER swing open and none other than the paramedic you were just speaking about walks in wheeling a patient.

You hate how good he looks, long chestnut hair framing his face and those dazzling blue eyes you’ve dreamed about shine from all the way across the room. He’s unfairly attractive, and he walks into a room like he knows it too.

Him and his partner consult the head nurse of the ER, who, after examining her clipboard for a moment, points towards your direction, making your stomach flip.

Steel blue eyes meet yours and for a moment your entire world stands still. The sounds of the busy ER fade away and even the presence of Wanda beside you dissolves into non-existence when his eyes find you and a smile overtakes his features. That damn cheeky smile which makes your knees weak.

He truly is infuriatingly beautiful.

“Hey.” Is all you can think to say as they approach, a lump in your throat forming which would prevent you from voicing any more words if your brain could think of any other than how strapping and handsome he looks in his uniform.

“Hi.” Bucky responds softly with a dreamy smile, eyes lingering on yours for a long beat before turning away. How could someone who looks at you with such warmth not want to see you again?

You shake the thought from your mind as your focus on the patient, a young man with scared brown eyes. You can’t afford to be distracted right now, even if you desperately want to look back at him and revel in the fondness brimming in his eyes which was so apparent during your date.

After Bucky’s equally tall, broad and handsome paramedic partner gets you up to speed on the patient's history, you get to work on taking his vitals.

“Rogers, Barnes, give us some space to work, please.” Dr Strange requests and without the chance to say another word to each other, both paramedics disappear out the corner of your periphery.

What you don’t notice is Bucky’s soft gaze on you through the glass walls of the patient room as you start your work up, believing that he had simply got back in his ambulance and out into the field.

“That’s her?” Steve asks from beside Bucky. He knows full well it must be you, he’s never seen his best friend look so enamoured with a girl, nor lost for words as when he set eyes on you, but he wants Bucky to admit it aloud.

“Yep, that’s her.” Bucky says with a pride that if Steve didn’t know any better, would suggest that her meant his girl. Bucky answers without taking his eyes off you, the corners of mouth tugging into a smile. His best friend has it bad, and he doesn’t even realise.

Steve suspects if he doesn’t remind Bucky they have a shift to get back to, he’d happily watch you work for the rest of the day.

He allows Bucky a couple more minutes of that luxury before heading back to the ambulance, knowing his best friend well enough to realise before either Bucky or yourself do, just how significant Bucky’s feelings for you are.

* * *

Bucky steps out of the shower, the warm water having rinsed the hard days work off himself.

He knows he needs to call you. Waiting any longer, especially after seeing you today, even if it were only for a brief moment, would surely only indicate disinterest. That’s so far from how he feels about you, so he decides needs to take matters into his own hands and fulfil the promise he made two nights ago.

A fresh swarm of butterflies fills his stomach. He’s actually going to do this.

He just hopes you’re after more than just another hookup. Bucky’s used to being the one only interested in sex, but if the roles are reversed this time, it’ll be his exposed heart being ripped from his chest.

No, he can’t think like that. He’s finally giving himself a chance at happiness.

Bucky reminds himself that you asked him to promise to call after your date. It’s not just him that wants this, you want him to call.

With that thought, he pulls out his phone and quickly presses on your contact, so he doesn’t chicken out, and with a shaky hand holds his phone to his ear. Bucky’s heart beats in his throat as the first ring sounds, and then skips a beat altogether when the click of you answering fills his ears.

“Bucky, you called.” He can hear the smile in your voice through the line, but what makes his heart clench is the trace of surprise he can perceive, as if you truly hadn’t expected him to call.

“I did promise to.” He reminds you, but it doesn’t entirely eliminate the bitter shame bubbling in the pit of his stomach that even though he did in fact promise, you didn’t fully believe him.

“I’m happy you did. I had a really great time the other night.”

“So did I.” Those three simple words don’t sum up just how much Bucky wholeheartedly enjoyed every second he spent with you, regardless of if that were naked in your bed or getting to know you on a picnic blanket as the sun set across the horizon, but in his anxious state he can’t find words more poetic to express it. “And I’d love to do it again if you’re up for it.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna have to think about it.” He can tell by the light tone of your voice you’re joking, but he supposes he deserves waiting for an answer considering he made you wait for his call. “Of course I’d love to go on a second date with you James.”

The combination of your words and the fact that you punctuated the sentence with his true first name sends Bucky straight to heaven. Everything about you makes him completely weak in a way he has never experienced before. All of those walls Steve seems to think Bucky has built around himself don’t appear to exist with you, instead, you’ve come into his life as easily as walking through a front door with a welcome mat out front.

“I guess I’m going to have to outdo a picnic at sunset then.” He chuckles to himself, knowing that he’s never had this problem before, but realising it’s a good problem to have.

You continue to talk well into the night, forgetting what time it is, and that you both have early shifts in the morning. None of that matters when you’re so caught up in each other.

Bucky simply enjoys the sound of your voice, and how it soothes the remaining anxiety which was swirling in his chest before calling you. He certainly isn’t hanging up first, not when talking with you has been the best part of his day.

He’s chasing happiness. And he might just find it with you.

Part 4 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv @aya-fay

[wh0iskyra0]

Mi Princesa

Val x fem!Reader

A/N-This might be a two part story 🤭 idk yet but if you enjoy this one I might make another part, secondly the title it was the only thing I could think of

Warning(s): Smut, girlxgirl🤭, nipple sucking

W/C: 718

Me and Val have been working for 6 years now. We've grown somewhat close with each other, I've been developing a slight crush on her. She's so edible the way she talks to the lower ranks does something to me…

“Hey princesa .” She says opening while opening the door to my office. That nickname. She knows it does something to me. “Yes Valeria?” I say looking up from the papers I’ve been working on, she walked over and sat in the seat across from with her legs spread out. “I was wondering if I have any new recruits yet?” She said looking at me, I was daydreaming until she called my name.

“Oh um no I-i have seen any new files come in yet.” I say looking through the pages before placing them to the side. She let out at sigh and sat her head up and looked at me with her beautiful eyes ``You stare a lot princesa?” She said with a smirk.

I was embarrassed and cleared my throat “I’m sorry for that.” I said while looking at my hands “I don’t mind it.” She said before standing up to head out, before she stepped out she said something that made almost come undone in my seat.

“I like having your eyes on me, I want to see them rolling back one day princesa.”

I sat there for a few minutes as I felt my cheeks heating up, “Did…Did she just say that…” I said with widened eyes. “Did who, say what” I heard a recruit say as they walked in. The thing that Val had said to me has been playing repeatedly in my mind for the past two weeks, I felt like it had just happened yesterday.

Today was the same as usual, checking papers, checking emails and so on and so forth. I heard a knock and walked in the devil herself. “Hey princesa, any new updates.” She said walking towards the desk with her hands on her hips “Well just one, it’s actually pretty good!” I said with a smile “So you will be getting a new recruit but not today it will either be in five days or in two weeks.” I said looking up at her.

She nodded and smirked. She's so divine, she makes me want to do so many things. “Your staring princesa.” She said softly while placing a finger under my chin, she looked at me for a few seconds before I felt her lips intertwined with mine. I was shocked at the sudden action but I kissed her back.

After a few minutes she pulled away, she smiled and walked away.

“What is she doing to me lord…” I said putting my head on my desk.

Night had fallen and I was just finishing up straightening up the desk when I heard a knock, the door opened and it was Val she stood at the door and smirked she locked the door before she made her way towards me

“I’ve been thinking about what I said two weeks ago…I think I want to make the pretty eyes roll back now.” She said before she started kissing me, I moaned softly and put my arms around her neck. We started to walk backwards until the back of my legs hit my desk “Sit on the desk princesa.” She to me, I listened and sat on the desk she kissed my neck and began to undress me as she undressed me she kissed my body.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss these lovely girls right here”. She said while unhooking my bra and kissing my neck, after she got my bra off she made her way down my boobs to my nipples she kissed and sucked on my nipples before she came back up and gave me a kiss.

She then stopped and smiled at me she then put my bra back on and gave me another kiss. I was confused “W-what are you doing?” I said reaching out for her , she smiled and put her hands on my waist. “Not tonight I just wanted to touch you mi amor.” She said, kissing my neck “we can continue another night, okay?” She said looking in my lust filled eyes, though I wanted her now I still nodded in agreement.

To be continued

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Sweet past - ch.5

Summary: Joel is away on a bussiness trip. You and Ellie have a talk. You and Joel get closer.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: none really

You needed to make up your mind. Your boss had been generous, giving you extra time, but sooner or later, the decision would have to be made. It shouldn’t be that hard, you told yourself. When Joel had first called with the news, the plan was simple: come here, lay your father to rest, sell the house, and return to your little flat in the city. Clean and straightforward. It felt like a plan that could hold everything neatly in place.

But you hadn’t prepared for the weight of the memories that would meet you at the door. Every room seemed to echo with fragments of the past, emotions suspended in the air, clinging to every creak and corner. This old house was filled with memories—both the ones that made you ache with warmth and the ones you tried hard to forget. And, of course, there was Joel.

Joel had been a rock. Supportive, kind, generous—he had been there for you in a way that few people ever were. If there was such a thing as an ideal friend, Joel fit the description perfectly. Yes, friend. You realized with some surprise that the line between neighbor and friend had quietly blurred. Somehow, you were no longer just the daughter of his best friend; you’d become someone he cared about for your own sake. He enjoyed spending time with you, as you, no titles, no past, just the present.

Now, back here, with Joel as a steady presence in your life, the pull of your old world has faded more than you expected. You’d deny it if anyone asked, but you’d already caught yourself daydreaming about staying. You’d nursed a quiet, persistent dream of having a place of your own—somewhere small, warm, yours. Cooking has become more than a job. It was something you’d nurtured, something that had grown with you until its needs began to tug at you, too loud to ignore. You didn’t want to remain a sous chef. Maybe you didn’t even want a bustling restaurant. A small café, with coffee, lunches, and pastries—that felt like enough. Like it could be… yours.

You’d spotted a few quaint spots around town, each one calling to you in some way. It would mean a loan from the bank, but you had some savings and a cautious sense that maybe, just maybe, this was possible. And then Mark had shown up with his wife one evening, bearing a huge pie and an earnest apology. He told you the town was still your home if you wanted it to be. That everyone regretted how things had turned out, and all you had to do was reach out if you needed anything.

You’d cried then, the warmth of old friendships wrapping around you as Mark and Maria hugged you. The pie was as delicious as always, and Maria laughed when you tried, once again, to get her recipe. You told Mark how much it all meant to you and even joked about throwing a backyard barbecue like your father used to, once you had your life in order. And for a fleeting moment, it felt like things might truly work out here.

Strangely, everything seemed to circle back to one person. The one steady, unwavering presence in your life: Joel.

He’d been away for a week on business, and you were startled by how much you missed him. How could you just leave him and this place behind again? And to be honest, ever since the two of you had shared a “wings night,” the thought of him made your cheeks warm in a way you hadn’t felt since you were a teen with a crush. Back then, you weren’t alone; the entire town had been smitten. Handsome, hardworking, and with a charm he rarely put on, Joel had been everyone’s idea of a hometown hero. But lately, he’d been trying hard—very hard—to show a softer side, and it wasn’t lost on you.

You jumped at the soft touch of a hand on your shoulder. Ellie stood there, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate with a single slice of toast in the other.

“I’ve been calling you for ages,” she said, rolling her eyes as she set the plate in front of you. Joel had asked you to look after her while he was away, and it turned out Ellie was a delight—foul-mouthed, sarcastic, anything but delicate, and utterly herself.

“Looking good for an old lady, then?” you teased, smiling. “What’s that?”

She smirked, arching a brow. “It’s called toast. Don’t chefs know about it?” She plopped down beside you on the couch, grabbing her own plate and grinning as she took a bite.

“Smartass,” you muttered, laughing. “No wonder you and Joel get along so well.” She joined in, and despite her sarcasm, you couldn’t help but feel her warmth. Ellie was sharp, yes, but she cared deeply, in a way that reminded you of Sarah. They both had this way of looking at you that said more than words could. “Actually, this is pretty good,” you added, taking a bite.

Ellie blushed, shrugging it off. “Guess now you know how Joel managed all this time without Sarah.” She chuckled, and you felt yourself sinking into the easy comfort of her company.

It surprised you just how naturally you and Ellie fit together. Joel had once mentioned that she wasn’t good with new people—something about her past, he’d said, though he hadn’t given details. Yet here she was, sitting beside you, comfortable and relaxed. You were glad she felt that way, that she trusted you enough to let her guard down. She was family to you, as close as Sarah or Joel, even if not by blood.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, her tone shifting, her face suddenly serious. It was that same look she’d had when she’d first met you, as if weighing her words carefully.

“You just did,” you replied, unable to resist the small tease.

She groaned dramatically. “Oh, God, you’re as bad as Joel!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. You couldn’t help but laugh, nodding for her to go on. She took a breath, eyes darting to the laptop resting on your lap.

“I… noticed you’ve been looking at buildings around here. Does that mean… you’re thinking of staying?” She looked away, cheeks flushing slightly, as if embarrassed to admit she’d been paying such close attention.

You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth as you set the laptop between you both. “Yeah, I’ve been looking at places,” you admitted. “Maybe somewhere I could open a little coffee shop, or something like that.” Ellie’s eyes brightened as she leaned in to peek at the listings with you. “I’ve got some savings, so a loan wouldn’t be out of the question. But…” you trailed off, staring at the screen.

“But?” she prompted, her fingers scrolling through the first few pictures.

You hesitated, finally sighing. “I just don’t know if I’m really ready to come back… or even what I truly want,” you murmured, glancing up to find her watching you closely. A gentle smile softened her face, though her hands fidgeted slightly in her lap.

She looked down, a little hesitant. “I didn’t know if living with Joel was a good idea, either,” she began, her voice low. You could see the vulnerability there, her defenses slipping. “I was afraid of the hope he was giving me. I’d moved from place to place so many times that when he brought me here, introduced me to Sarah… it was terrifying.” She paused, her fingers tracing small circles on the fabric of her jeans, like she was grounding herself.

��Joel once told me that life is scary,” she continued, almost as if she were reciting something precious, something she held close. “But he said it would be scarier not to live it fully, not to go after what matters. We only get one life, he said, and what we make of it is up to us.”

She shrugged, her gaze drifting as she absently scratched the back of her neck, clearly nervous. “I’m not trying to sway you, or tell you what to do. I’m probably the last person to give advice on stuff like this… but…” She took a shaky breath, the tiniest waver in her voice. “Sometimes, it’s worth taking that step of faith—where hope is waiting on the other side. And I know that Joel and Sarah would love to have you back. I mean…” She fumbled a little, then added, “I wouldn’t mind, either. You’re… pretty cool. And, well… Joel seems happier with you here. He really does.”

She didn’t finish before you leaned forward and hugged her, holding her tightly as the emotion welled up, impossible to contain. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you clung to her, whispering “thank you” over and over, your voice soft and raw. She held you just as fiercely, her arms around you in silent support. For a long moment, the two of you simply stayed there, grounded in the comfort of family—of the bond you’d never expected to find but knew you’d cherish forever.

***

The first day Joel was gone, you didn’t think much of it. You kept busy around the house, tackling small tasks and keeping things in order, but every so often, you found yourself reaching for your phone, scrolling to his last text from that morning.

“Made it here in one piece. Don’t go burnin’ down the place without me, alright?”

“No promises,” you replied with a winking emoji. There was no immediate response, but later that evening, just after dinner, your phone buzzed with another message.

“How’s Ellie holding up?”

“She’s good! Trust me, she’s not giving me any trouble. It’s actually been nice having her around.”

A few minutes passed, and then another message arrived. “Good. I don’t need her picking up any more of your bad habits, though.”

You grinned at his teasing, sending back a quick reply about how Ellie was the perfect angel. But as the days went by, your short exchanges grew longer, each one becoming more personal, more like the conversations you’d have in person, and you realized just how much you looked forward to his messages.

***

By the third night, his check-ins about Ellie had evolved into full conversations, with you both teasing each other over the smallest things. You could practically feel his familiar energy through the phone, his replies carrying that dry humor you missed.

“So how’s the kid? Not being too much of a brat for you?”

“Oh, you mean like you?” you typed back with a smirk, knowing he’d take the bait.

“Oh, you’re funny now, huh?” came his reply. Then, a moment later: “You got her eating alright? She’s not just having toast for dinner, is she?”

“Nope. She’s been well-fed, thank you. Although she did have toast with her dinner… Does that count?”

His reply came quickly: “Only if you don’t want me to leave her with you again.”

You laughed, typing back. “I think she’d miss me too much. She likes it here. And she’s a great sidekick for all my trouble-making plans.”

There was a pause, and then your phone lit up with an incoming call. Joel’s name flashed across the screen, and you felt a spark of excitement as you pressed it to your ear, settling back into the couch.

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” came his low, familiar voice, a bit rough but warm, and the sound of it made something in your chest tighten. “Didn’t mean to call so late. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, not at all. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah?” he replied, a soft chuckle slipping into his tone. “That’s nice to hear.”

There was a moment’s pause, just the sound of him breathing on the other end, and then he continued, “So… what’d you two do today? Ellie still actin’ like she owns the place?”

“Oh, definitely,” you laughed, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “She and Dina spent most of the day getting into who-knows-what. They were in the yard most of the time, building some kind of ‘fortress.’”

He laughed, his voice softening at the mention of Ellie’s friend. “Good ol’ Dina. How’s Ellie treatin’ her?”

“She’s been an absolute riot,” you said, grinning. “Actually, she’s got a bit of a soft side, you know? She was in the kitchen with me for hours this afternoon, telling me all about her latest school projects.”

“Oh, is that right?” Joel said, sounding amused. “Did she mention her… colorful vocabulary?”

“Let’s just say I might’ve learned a new word or two,” you replied with a laugh. “Honestly, I think she’s turning into a bit of a chef herself. She’s been helping me cook, and I don’t think there’s a single vegetable left in the fridge that she hasn’t chopped.”

“Well,” he murmured, sounding both proud and amused, “guess I’ll owe you some restocking. Can’t have her raisin’ hell on an empty stomach.”

The sound of his laugh warmed you, and you could picture him perfectly, that soft, affectionate look he got whenever he talked about Ellie. It was in moments like these, hearing the care in his voice, that you realized just how close you’d become.

***

By the fifth night, the calls had become routine, a way to end each day that you looked forward to more and more. And it wasn’t just about Ellie anymore—your conversations drifted easily into personal territory, as though neither of you could help peeling back more layers.

“So,” he began one night after you’d described the latest “fortress” Ellie and Dina had built. “Tell me, did you put that burnt toast recipe to good use, or did you manage to surprise her with some actual food?”

You laughed, easing back into the pillows on the couch. “Turns out she’s the real chef around here. She makes me look like an amateur.”

“Oh, she got you wrapped around her finger, huh?” he asked, his tone playful.

“Hey, don’t get too smug. She tells me all kinds of stories about you,” you teased back.

“Uh-oh,” he replied, chuckling. “Guess I’ll have to bribe her to keep quiet.”

“Too late,” you said with a grin, letting your voice soften. “Besides, I kind of like hearing those stories.”

There was a pause, and you could sense the way his tone shifted, a hint of something deeper behind the teasing. “Guess I like tellin’ you things,” he murmured, voice low. “Maybe even missin’ it a bit.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the weight of his honesty settling over you. “I miss it too, Joel,” you replied softly, surprising even yourself with the ease of the admission.

The two of you spoke late into the night, laughter fading into softer moments of silence, your words becoming more intimate, your voices almost whispering as the hours slipped by. When you finally hung up, you lay in bed for a long time, the warmth of his voice still in your mind, a feeling of anticipation growing with each passing day.

***

By the seventh day, you’d already made plans in your head for his return, and that evening, as the familiar sound of his voice came through the line, you couldn’t help but bring it up.

“So, you coming back tomorrow?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual as you lay curled on the couch, phone pressed close to your ear.

“That’s the plan,” he replied, sounding pleased. “Should be back in the late afternoon, if the drive goes smooth.”

You smiled, unable to help the excitement that bubbled up. “Well, I was thinking… you should come by when you’re back. Ellie’s staying with Dina tomorrow night for a sleepover, so I thought I could make us something nice.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, his voice growing softer. “Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of us,” you confirmed, feeling a bit of a thrill at the invitation. “Figure you deserve a good meal after a week of takeout.”

“Darlin’, you have no idea,” he said, sighing as if he could already smell dinner cooking. “You’d be saving me from another sad hotel sandwich.”

“Well, consider yourself saved,” you said, smiling. “I’ll have everything ready.”

“I’m holdin’ you to that,” he replied, his tone a bit more serious now. “And here’s hopin’ you don’t put too much work into it. Don’t want you fussin’ over me.”

“Who says it’s all for you?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to make something nice.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” he chuckled, sounding amused. “In that case, you won’t mind if I drink all your wine.”

“Fine by me,” you replied, feeling a little thrill at the thought. “Just make sure you get back safe. I’ll be here, waiting.”

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning, and you could feel his pause on the other end, as if he were trying to find the right response.

“I will,” he said softly. “And I’m lookin’ forward to it, too.”

You stayed on the line a few minutes longer, listening to his voice, savoring every laugh, every moment of quiet as though storing it away. When you finally said goodnight, there was a sense of calm in you that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the week, a feeling that this invitation wasn’t just about dinner—it was about something new waiting to unfold. And as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but feel that anticipation grow, knowing that tomorrow, you’d be seeing Joel again, sharing a meal with him, with no one else around.

*** Joel hadn’t expected the week away to feel so long. Business trips were something he knew well enough, the routines, the usual humdrum of it. Normally, he could get through them easily, mentally detaching until he got back home. But this time, it had been different from the moment he’d pulled out of the driveway, watching you wave him off with that teasing smile of yours.

The first couple of days had been busy enough to keep his mind occupied, the meetings back-to-back and the hotel nights filled with calls and emails. But every now and then, he’d feel a pang of something. He’d glance at his phone, half-expecting a message from you, maybe one of those playful, bratty texts you’d been sending to rile him up about leaving you with Ellie. It was a small thing, but he’d already started looking forward to hearing from you, catching himself checking his phone in between meetings like some kid waiting on a crush.

When your first message did come through, it had been nothing special on the surface. Just a quick update on Ellie, a casual check-in. But when he saw your name light up his screen, he’d felt a small thrill, an unexpected warmth in his chest, and before he could second-guess himself, he’d replied.

And that was how the calls had started. That first night, he’d dialed your number, telling himself it was just a friendly check-in to make sure you hadn’t let Ellie set the house on fire. But then you’d answered, your voice soft, welcoming, with that unmistakable smile in it that he could practically feel through the line.

“Hey there,” he’d said, his voice a little gruff, trying to keep his tone casual.

The second he heard you reply, “Joel, how’s it going?” he’d felt something settle in him, something he hadn’t realized had been unsettled until then. He didn’t know how long he sat there talking, asking you questions, listening as you filled him in on the smallest details of your day. But he knew he didn’t want the call to end.

That first call should have been enough, but the next evening, he found himself looking forward to hearing from you again. This time, he didn’t bother with the excuse of Ellie; he just dialed your number, letting it ring, waiting with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

And so it went. Every night, he’d sit alone in his hotel room, phone pressed to his ear, waiting to hear your voice. And with each call, he found himself getting a little less careful, letting his guard slip just a bit more. You made it easy, somehow, drawing him in with your playful teasing, the way you’d laugh at his dry humor, the way you’d draw out each conversation like you didn’t want it to end either.

As the week went on, he found himself thinking of you more and more. He’d be in the middle of some mundane task and suddenly catch himself wondering what you were up to, whether you were laughing at something Ellie said or spending the afternoon in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you cooked. He’d never had that kind of restlessness before, that itch to hear someone’s voice, to fill the quiet space with their laughter.

And it wasn’t just your voice he missed. It was you—your presence, your warmth, the way you’d look at him with that quiet challenge in your eyes. He caught himself thinking back to the way your hand would brush against his when you passed him something, or the way you’d flash him a smile when you were trying to annoy him, like you were daring him to keep up.

It was a gradual realization, one he didn’t really want to face but couldn’t ignore. He’d caught himself feeling things he knew he shouldn’t—things he’d been determined to avoid, out of respect for you and for the memory of his best friend. But the truth was undeniable now, and it sat heavy in his chest as he lay in the dark of his hotel room, thinking about the way he felt whenever he heard your voice.

He’d known you forever, since you were just a kid. He’d watched you grow up, become the woman you were now, proud and stubborn and beautiful. But that was exactly the problem—you were a woman now, not the girl he used to know. And he wasn’t blind. He saw the way you looked at him sometimes, the way you’d laugh at his jokes, the way your eyes would linger just a second too long when you thought he didn’t notice.

It thrilled him in a way that scared him—this newfound closeness, the feeling of waiting for each night like it was something forbidden, like it was a secret just for the two of you. Part of him wanted to pull back, to ignore the pull, to treat you as nothing more than a friend, maybe even a daughter. But another part of him, the part he tried to keep buried, was hungry for those conversations, for the laughter and the warmth you shared. The part of him that felt alive every time he heard your voice, that wanted to reach through the phone, close the distance, and tell you exactly what he was thinking.

When you’d invited him over for dinner after he got back, he’d felt that thrill rise in him all over again, the thought of just the two of you, no one else around, the house quiet and warm and waiting. He’d told himself it was just dinner, nothing more, but the anticipation felt heavier, more electric, as though something big had been set in motion, something that couldn’t be stopped.

And now, lying there in his bed, hours away from seeing you again, he felt that familiar tug, the quiet thrill of hearing your voice, the way it softened at night, like a melody only he got to hear.

Joel sighed, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to push the thoughts away. He knew he was crossing into dangerous territory, that the feelings stirring in him weren’t just friendly anymore. But each time he thought about pulling back, about putting some distance between you, he knew he didn’t want to. Not really. He knew that the second he heard your voice, that careful resolve would crumble.

It was dangerous, he knew that much. But it was also thrilling, in a way he hadn’t felt in years. And as he lay there, counting down the hours until he could see you again, he found himself thinking less about what was right or wrong and more about the possibilities—the uncharted places that might await him if he just let go.

***

Joel had barely parked his truck in your driveway before he was out and making his way to the door, his heart beating faster than he’d like to admit. It had only been a week, but it felt like longer—a week of late-night calls, teasing texts, and that quiet, unmistakable thrill that seemed to settle in his chest whenever he thought about seeing you again.

He knocked on the door, taking a quick breath to settle himself as he waited. When you opened it, his heart jumped just a little. You looked radiant, like you’d spent the entire day preparing, and the faint smell of spices filled the air behind you.

“Hey, you,” you said, smiling warmly, your eyes lighting up when you saw him.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, his voice softer than he’d planned. His eyes traveled over you, taking in the way you looked a little nervous, as though you’d put a lot of thought into this evening.

“Well, come in, then!” you said, stepping back, and he followed you into the warm, inviting space you’d transformed for the evening. The dining table was set neatly with wine glasses, a bottle breathing nearby, and the air smelled incredible.

“Hope you’re hungry,” you said, leading him into the kitchen, where a beautifully roasted duck sat on the counter, nestled in a rich, glossy orange and ginger sauce.

His eyebrows rose, impressed. “Looks like I should’ve skipped lunch.”

You grinned, rolling your eyes a little as you grabbed plates. “Well, I figured I’d go all out. I mean, what’s the point of calling this a ‘welcome back’ if I didn’t make it memorable?”

He chuckled, following you to the table as you set the plates down, duck on one side, crisp asparagus on the other. “Trust me, I’ll be rememberin’ this. Feels like I stepped into some kinda fancy restaurant.”

You shook your head, a pleased blush coloring your cheeks as you poured the wine, and you clinked glasses before taking your seats. For a moment, the two of you just savored the first few bites, your nervousness giving way to pride as you saw his reaction.

“Damn, that’s good,” he said, eyes widening as he took another bite. “How’d you get this good at cookin’? I don’t remember you makin’ stuff like this when you were younger.”

“Well, things have changed since then,” you replied, laughing as you took a sip of wine. “And don’t act like you ever stayed for my cooking—always busy with work and keeping an eye on Sarah.”

Joel smiled, tilting his glass toward you. “You’re right. Guess I missed out.” His gaze held yours a beat too long, and you felt your cheeks heat up again.

“So,” you said, trying to focus, “how was the trip?”

He groaned, setting down his fork and giving you a look that made it clear he’d rather forget it entirely. “Long. Boring. Could’ve done without half of it.” He shrugged, his voice softening. “But… it wasn’t so bad. Got to talk to you each night, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip, your heart fluttering at the warmth in his tone. “Guess I kept you from going crazy, huh?”

He laughed, reaching across the table to give your hand a light squeeze. “You could say that.” His hand lingered for just a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles before he pulled away, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a spark of something unspoken. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

The meal drifted on, conversation flowing easily, the two of you swapping stories, laughter filling the room as you sipped on wine. You told him about Ellie’s antics while he was gone, her mini “fortresses” with Dina, the chaos in the yard.

“Sounds like she hasn’t changed much,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “That kid could cause a scene in a church.”

“Actually, she’s been amazing,” you replied, laughing. “Really. I wouldn’t have expected it, but she’s practically taken over. A little mini you, you know?”

“Oh, she’s way more trouble than me,” he teased, giving you a look that was half challenge, half admiration. “But I’m glad she didn’t give you a hard time.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, letting the warm flavors of the wine and pasta fill the spaces between wordsJoel leaned back, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

“Guess who sends his regards,” he said, smirking. “Tommy. Says he remembers the last time he saw you, and that he hopes you’re well.”

“Tommy?” you laughed, eyebrows raised. “Last I saw him, he was still Tommy the Troublemaker. Can’t even imagine what he’s up to now.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he swirled his wine. “Well, believe it or not, Tommy’s about to get married.”

You stared at him, stunned, and he nodded, clearly amused by your reaction.

“He found someone who puts up with him, huh? That’s got to be one patient woman,” you teased.

Joel laughed, a rich sound that made the room feel warmer. “Yeah, she’s got her work cut out for her. But he’s serious about her. Wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Shaking your head, you tried to imagine the Tommy you remembered settling down. It seemed impossible, yet oddly reassuring. It felt like a reminder that people could change, could find a new path even if it seemed unlikely.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath as you let the conversation quiet down a little, the familiar nervousness returning. Now was the time to tell him about your plans, and you wanted it to be just right.

“I’ve been thinking about something, Joel,” you said, your voice soft, looking down at your glass before meeting his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about staying here. Moving back… for good.”

He stilled, his gaze locking onto yours, a glimmer of surprise and, you thought, happiness in his eyes. “Yeah?” His voice was barely a murmur, almost as if he were afraid to break the spell.

“Yeah,” you replied, a little laugh escaping as you tried to find the right words. “I thought… well, I thought maybe I could open up a small café or something. Nothing big. Just a place to cook, make people happy.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak, just looked at you with a soft, admiring gaze. Then he reached over, taking your hand again, his fingers warm and strong around yours. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But I’ll be honest… I like the idea of you stayin’.” He squeezed your hand, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Feels right, you know? Feels like… you belong here.”

Your heart thudded, his words sinking in with a warmth that filled you from head to toe. “Thank you, Joel,” you murmured, the words feeling inadequate. “Really. It means a lot.”

He just nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m just selfish,” he teased, his voice a quiet rumble. “Don’t wanna lose my dinner dates.”

The two of you lingered at the table long after the meal was done, the bottle of wine nearly empty, the air between you comfortable, charged with a quiet intimacy. But then you glanced at the plates and stood, stretching. “Alright, let me get these cleaned up.”

But as you started to stack the plates, Joel rose to his feet, crossing his arms with a stubborn look in his eyes. “Oh, no. You went to all this trouble cookin’—I’m not letting you clean, too.”

“Joel, I invited you over. You’re the guest, so just let me—”

Before you could protest further, he reached over and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close in one smooth movement. His hand rested at the small of your back, his grip gentle but firm, and the sudden closeness made your heart race. He looked down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

You felt the warmth of his breath against your cheek, your pulse skittering as his gaze held yours. “Maybe you’re just too used to getting your way,” you shot back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he released you but kept his hand at your waist, guiding you toward the sink. “You’re not gettin’ out of helpin’ me this time.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile spread across your face as you leaned against the counter beside him, picking up a dish towel. “Alright, fine. But only because you’re so determined.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm as he started washing a plate. His hand brushed against yours as he passed it over, his gaze flicking to you with a look that made your stomach flip.

The cleaning took longer than it should have, the two of you slipping into an easy rhythm, shoulders brushing, quiet laughter filling the kitchen as you worked side by side. Every so often, he’d nudge you, or you’d “accidentally” flick water at him, and he’d just shake his head, giving you that smirk that seemed to melt you from the inside out.

It felt comfortable, natural, like you’d been doing this forever, and yet every touch, every shared glance held a charge, a warmth that neither of you wanted to break. It was domestic, yes, but it was also more than that—something electric, simmering beneath the surface, neither of you acknowledging it out loud, but both feeling it as surely as the water running over your hands.

Finally, with the dishes done, he turned to you, wiping his hands on a towel and looking at you with a small, satisfied smile. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the counter with a grin. “I guess I’ll let you help next time. You might even have a knack for it.”

He chuckled, setting the towel down as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Maybe I just like spending time with you.”

The words hung in the air, neither of you breaking eye contact, and for a moment, it felt like the world had quieted around you. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears, the warmth of his presence filling the small space between you, a quiet tension building with each second that ticked by.

And then, just as quickly, he cleared his throat, stepping back with a small, almost shy smile. “Well, thanks for dinner. I’d say you’ve set the bar pretty damn high.”

You smiled, feeling a blush spread over your cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The evening ended in a comfortable silence, the two of you lingering in the doorway as he put on his jacket. He turned to you one last time, his gaze soft, warm, lingering on you as if he didn’t quite want to leave.

“See you soon, alright?” he said, his voice low, a quiet promise in his words.

You nodded, smiling as you watched him go, the warmth of his presence lingering in the house long after he’d left. And as you closed the door behind him, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted, that tonight had been a step toward something you both felt but were just beginning to acknowledge, something that went beyond dinner, beyond words—a feeling that would stay with you long after he’d gone.

[pepi1989]

Hey there ❤️💃 love your stories! Ben’s been my fav for a while now and his stories? *chefs kiss* So fun and sweet, I absolutely love the slightly angsty one AND cuddly sweet ones 🥰

And it got me thinking and lost in daydreaming… how about a Ben one where tennisplayer! reader TM is mad at him, like seriously angry at him because he messed up for whatever reason and he works hard to get reader back?? Is that weird??

PS: also super happy everything went well with your surgery!

Hi babe! Thanks for the love 💖 I’m so happy you’ve been enjoying the stories!! And thank you so much for the kind words, everything’s going great now 💕

Making Amends - Ben Shelton

It’s not like I go around comparing myself to her. She's his ex, sure, but she was supposed to be out of the picture. And I didn’t mind when her name came up, Ben’s past is his past, just like mine is mine. But today, when I found out why he wasn’t there at practice? That was different.

We had a session planned, something fun, just the two of us hitting on the courts before the next tournament. I’d been looking forward to it all week. It’s our thing, the way we connect beyond the relationship stuff. So when I showed up, racket in hand, only to find out he wasn’t coming, because he was with her?

That stung.

I didn’t even want to know what he was doing with her. Something about helping her move, or some other lame excuse. But all I could hear was that he dropped everything for Olivia without even bothering to let me know. And suddenly, I’m the last priority.

My phone buzzes again. I glance at the screen.

Ben: Please just talk to me.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, fingers hovering over the screen, unsure if I should finally give in and answer. I’m so angry, but at the same time, the silence between us is starting to feel unbearable. We’ve never gone this long without talking.

Before I can stop myself, I hit “Call.”

The phone rings twice before he picks up, voice breathless like he’s been running.

“Y/N?” His voice cracks a little when he says my name, full of hope and worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice low but sharp. I don’t waste time on pleasantries. There’s no point. “Why did you blow me off for her?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, just long enough to make my heart sink. He’s searching for the right words, but I’ve already run through a thousand things in my head, and none of them make me feel better.

“I didn’t blow you off,” he says finally. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then explain it to me, because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

I hear him exhale deeply, like he’s trying to calm himself down before he speaks. “I know it looks bad, and I’m sorry I missed practice. But Olivia needed help, and I thought it’d be quick. I should’ve told you. I should’ve texted-”

“You should’ve,” I cut him off. “But you didn’t.”

He’s quiet again, and I can picture him, running his hand through his curls the way he does when he’s stressed. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” he says softly, “because Olivia doesn’t matter. She’s just someone I used to know. I didn’t think you’d care.”

That’s what gets me.

“I do care, Ben. I care when you blow me off without a word. I care when you don’t even think I deserve to know where you are.” My voice cracks, the frustration and hurt all bubbling to the surface. “I care when you make it feel like she’s more important than me.”

“I swear, she’s not.” He’s quick to reply, panic creeping into his voice. “She’s not. It was just… bad timing. You know I’d never choose her over you.”

“I don’t know that,” I say, my throat tight. “Because it feels like you did.”

He breathes out a curse, and I can tell he’s pacing now, probably somewhere in his apartment, trying to figure out how to make this right. “I messed up, I know I did. But please believe me, I was just trying to be helpful. That’s it. There’s nothing going on with Olivia.”

I close my eyes, leaning back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. His voice sounds so sincere, but my mind is still spinning, replaying all the ways he didn’t choose me today. All the moments he could’ve told me and didn’t.

“What do you want me to say, Ben?” I ask, my voice quieter now, the fight starting to drain out of me. “That it’s okay? That I’m fine with this?”

“No.” His voice is firm, but gentle. “I don’t want you to just say it’s fine. I want you to tell me how I can make it right.”

I let out a shaky breath, pressing my fingers against my temple. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll do anything,” he says quickly, his voice softening. “I’ll make it up to you. Cancel whatever plans I have, make sure I never do this again. Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

I can hear the desperation in his voice, and for a moment, I wonder if maybe I’m being too harsh. But then I remember the empty courts, the way he didn’t show up for me today. I shake my head, even though he can’t see me.

“I just… I need some space right now.”

His silence feels heavy, like he’s holding his breath, trying to figure out what to say next. “Okay,” he finally whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll give you space. But I’m not giving up on us, okay? I’m going to fix this.”

I spend the next few days in this weird limbo, trying to sort out my feelings. Ben’s been good about giving me space like I asked, but the absence feels heavier than I expected. I miss him. But every time I think about texting him, that knot of frustration tightens again.

Then, on the third day, I find something waiting at my door.

A bouquet of flowers, wildflowers. There’s a note attached. I hesitate before picking it up, then unfold the paper carefully.

"I know I messed up. I just want to talk, please meet me at the courts? 7 PM. I’ll be waiting. - B"

I run my fingers over the handwriting, my chest tightening. It’s simple, but somehow, that makes it mean more. I know Ben, and I know that when he says he’ll be waiting, he will be, no matter how long it takes.

Part of me is still hesitant, the sting of our last conversation fresh in my mind. But I also know that if I keep pushing him away, I might lose him for real this time. And that scares me more than anything.

By the time 7 PM rolls around, I’m at the courts, the setting sun casting long shadows over the asphalt. My heart is racing as I spot him, standing there with his racket in hand, glancing around nervously. He sees me before I can even step onto the court, his brown eyes lighting up with relief.

“You came,” he breathes, walking towards me.

“I wasn’t sure if I would,” I admit, crossing my arms. “But I guess I’m here.”

He nods, swallowing hard like he’s trying to figure out where to start. “I know I messed up. I know I should’ve told you about Olivia, and I hate that I hurt you. You didn’t deserve that.”

I stare at him, trying to keep my face neutral, even though my heart is aching. “So why didn’t you?”

Ben lets out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time. But I get it now. I made it feel like you didn’t matter, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. You’re everything to me. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, and before I can stop myself, the wall I’d built around my heart starts to crumble. I drop my arms, looking down at the racket he’s holding.

“You brought the rackets,” I say quietly.

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Thought maybe we could practice, like we were supposed to. No interruptions this time. I promise.”

I bite my lip, the tension slowly leaving my body. I missed this, him, us, the way we understand each other even in the middle of all the mess. I take a deep breath, letting the last bit of anger slip away.

“Okay,” I finally say, stepping onto the court. “Let’s see if you can keep that promise.”

Ben’s smile widens, and I can tell he’s trying to hold back the excitement as he hands me a racket. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll prove to you I can be better.”

We play for a while, the rhythm of our movements familiar and comforting. Every hit feels like a small piece of the puzzle falling back into place, and slowly, the tension between us starts to lift. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

After an hour or so, I’m panting, bent over my knees, laughing as Ben grins at me from across the net.

“You still mad at me?” he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes.

I straighten up, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “I was pretty mad, yeah.”

“And now?”

I pretend to think about it, dragging out the silence just long enough for him to shift nervously on his feet. Then, I smile, really smile, for the first time in days. “I think you’re starting to make it up to me.”

He drops his racket and jogs over to my side of the net, eyes bright with relief. “Good, because I’ve got a lot more making up to do.”

Before I can reply, he pulls me into his arms, holding me tight like he’s afraid to let go. I wrap my arms around his waist, breathing in the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in days, I feel like everything might just be okay again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair. “I’ll never put you in that position again.”

“I know,” I say softly, resting my head against his chest. “I believe you.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his brown eyes full of warmth and love. “You do?”

I nod, smiling up at him. “Yeah. I do.”

Ben grins, that boyish smile I fell in love with, and leans down to kiss me,soft, sweet, and full of all the promises I know he’ll keep.

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl - ch 11

Now we're getting into the fun part! 😋 The metaphorical shit is about to hit the fan as Frankie and our reader get ready for their one year anniversary on September 26, 2013. I had a lot of "fun" writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it even though I'm now taking a seriously hard left turn with this series, away from the fluffy little bubble I've wrapped us in. The warnings will contain spoilers so I've put them in a separate post and will update them as I go: Warnings

Word count: 6.2 k

Chapter 12

Chapter 1, if you want to catch up from the beginning

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories

“Cariño! I’ve got to go now, come kiss me!” Frankie calls through the apartment as he pulls on his boots, hastily tying them up before he tugs on his jacket. “Carinooooooo!” he wails, “come kiss me goodbye, I can’t leave if you don’t kiss me!” 

You spit out the toothpaste and rush to rinse your mouth, before opening the bathroom door, looking over at your baby of a boyfriend who’s currently standing by the door, bag in hand, making puppy eyes at you. “Cariñoooooo!" he wails impatiently while you pad over to him on bare feet, shaking your head. 

“You’re such a baby, Francisco Morales,” you wrap your arms around his neck as he bends down and gives you a wet kiss on your lips before trailing more wet kisses down your throat. 

“I can’t leave if you don’t kiss me,” he gives you a fake pout as he stands up. “You’re sure you’re ok to pack everything up on your own? I’ll be back as soon as possible so we can just load into the truck and go.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’ll do some laundry and pack the last of the food. Just ring me when you leave work and I’ll be ready to go when you’re back.” 

“Ok, hermosa, mi amor, my gorgeous cariño, happy anniversary, my love,” Frankie captures your chin between his thumb and fingers and you smile up at him as he gives you another long kiss. 

“Happy anniversary, Frankie, my love,” you mumble against his lips, giggling as he tries to push you up against the door, groping at your ass, “I thought you had to leave.” 

“I do, fuck, but I don’t want to,” Frankie sighs, and plants a final kiss on your mouth before he opens the door and heads out, “I’ll see you this afternoon, hermosa,” he smiles, “te amo.” 

“Love you too, Frankie.” 

You lock up behind him and continue to get ready. The plan is to head out of the city and up to Denny’s cabin as soon as Frankie’s back from work. You’re working from home today to save some time, you’ve set aside manuscripts to read and that’s best done from home anyway. 

Frankie had surprised you a couple of weeks ago by telling you he’d asked Denny if you two could borrow the cabin for your anniversary, have a little holiday together. Today was exactly one year since you met at The Outback Bar and it had been the best year of your life thanks to Frankie. A weekend escape, just the two of you at the cabin, sounded like the perfect way to celebrate. To make matters even better you’d closed on a house just a few days ago, all the paperwork signed, you didn’t even have the keys yet, but you’d still spent the past three days mentally decorating the whole place. Frankie had sent Lucía pictures of the house and her room and she’d been over the moon to see the pictures of the pool outside. Now you were planning on throwing your very first Thanksgiving dinner at your new house together with Frankie and Lucía. 

You allowed yourself to get lost in daydreams for a while as you finished your breakfast and cleared the kitchen, throwing a load of clothes in the washing machine. While it ran its cycle you sat down at your small home office and went over the manuscript. 

Frankie called you just after lunch with bad news. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, I think I’ll probably be later than I thought, things are fucking crazy today,” he sighed over the phone. “One of our choppers crashed, we can’t get hold of the pilot, I’m just fucking praying he’s ok, Denny’s on his way out there now.” You can hear him rub his hand over his face, rough against his scruffy beard, “And I’ve got to fly three doctors to different locations, apparently they’re swamped, all kinds of crazy shit happening, it’s like it’s a full moon night but it’s midday.” 

“It’s fine, Frankie, just fly safe, you’ll get here when you get here and if it’s too late we’ll drive up tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to be with you all weekend,” he huffs, “Fuck, I’ve got to go, Denny’s on the radio. Talk soon, cariño.” He hangs up before you have a chance to say goodbye. 

By the time seven pm rolls around you have everything packed up for the trip to the cabin, you’ve been checking your phone for Frankie’s phone call for the past hour. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said things were crazy today, you’d gone down to the corner store for some snacks for the road and found it closed, shutters down even though it was only five pm, the streets empty. And on your way back to the apartment you’d seen a police car crash into a small car. You’d started running over to the crash to see if you could help but a police man had stumbled from the cruiser and yelled at you to get back inside, to stay away. Something in his voice had scared you and you’d turned back straight away, running back to your building and up the stairs. 

Once back in the apartment you’d locked the door and tried calling Frankie, but he didn’t pick up. That wasn’t unusual, he usually couldn’t answer when he was flying, if you really needed to get hold of him you’d call Denny and he’d patch you through on the radio. But you tried Denny too and there was no reply there either, not on his cell or the landline to the airfield. 

So now it’s seven pm and you’re getting antsy. There are an extraordinary amount of police sirens outside, the news are talking about riots in the streets downtown, but the footage makes it look more like a warzone and the local news cuts the broadcast when someone attacks the camera man. 

At nine you’re pacing the apartment, back and forth between the big window facing the street and the small window in the kitchen overlooking the parking lot. When your phone rings you jump, and relief floods your chest when you see that it’s Frankie. “Frankie, where are you? Did you see the news?” you ask when you pick up, but you’re interrupted by him straight away. 

“Cariño, where are you? Still at home?” He sounds stressed and he’s breathing hard. 

“Yeah, I’m at home, waiting for you, of course. What’s going on, are you running?” You press your phone to your ear, trying to hear what’s going on around him, you can hear people shouting in the background. 

“I was, I’m trying to get away from Washington Park, I…I got into some trouble,” he stutters, “some guy was beating up another guy and I pulled over to stop him, I had to pull him off the other guy but he was fucking crazy, like high on salts or something, never seen anything like it. He came after me and I had to…I’m sorry cariño, I had to…take him out.” 

You hear the shame in his voice, you’ve only talked a couple of times about the guy in the bar Frankie beat up because he thought he’d hit you. He knew his skill at violence scared you and he’d done his utmost to prove to you that he wasn’t a violent person. But now he’d had to take this guy out, in self defence, and he was trying to explain it to you. 

“Just get home, Frankie,” you say, “we can talk when you get here, just get home.” 

“I’m trying, hermosa, but the police turned up and…fuck…hang on.” 

You hear his heavy boots shuffling over broken glass and hard ground, he grunts as he seems to move through or over a structure, nearly dropping the phone. 

“Ok, I have to keep moving, hermosa,” he pants, “the police turned up and…they thought I’d killed the guy, the didn’t see him beating up the other guy an-” 

“You killed him!?” your eyes are wide, you’ve stopped dead in your tracks in front of the big window. 

“I don’t know, cariño, the police came, they pulled their guns on me, I had to run and-”

“Frankie, why the fuck did you run from the police? You’re gonna get into so much more trouble now!” 

“I couldn’t stay, something isn’t right, some weird shit is happening all over town.” 

“And fucking running from the police after beating someone to death is the way to make it less weird, Frankie?” you spit out, you’ve been worried about him for hours but now your nervous energy shifts into anger at his stupidity. “Just get the fuck home and we’ll deal with this mess in the morning, or just maybe just turn yourself in, it’s gonna look so bad with you running from the scene.” You sigh, pushing your fingers through your hair, “Frankie, why’d you have to be so reckless?”  

Frankie bristles, you can hear his anger, “You don’t understa-” he begins but suddenly your phone goes dead, cutting him off. You look down at the screen and curse, you have no reception, there are no bars, it looks like the service has overloaded or gone down.

“Fuck,” you say out loud, and turn it off, maybe a restart will help, but no luck. Your phone is still dead and when you try calling Frankie on your landline phone it goes straight to voicemail. You leave a message, telling him to just come home as soon as possible. 

After that there’s not much to do except wait, you resume your path between the kitchen window and the living room window, stopping every now and then to flick through the news, all hell seems to be breaking out across the state, even the country. You try calling Frankie a few more times but it still goes straight to voicemail. The knot in your stomach is growing, making you feel nauseous with nerves. 

You call Pope but there’s no reply so you call Will’s landline. Hannah picks up and she’s frantic with worry about Will, he’s not back from work and she can’t get hold of him either. Benny was meant to have dinner with them and he’s taken the car to try and go pick up Will at work but with the cell phone services down she can’t reach him either.  

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” she almost cries, “I saw people running down the street just now and I don’t know if I should leave or what?” 

“No, just stay put, Will or Benny will come back there so just lock up and wait,” you say, you can’t stop yourself from biting your nails, you feel panic rising in your throat.

You promise to keep in touch and update each other, when you hang up you feel sick to your stomach. You desperately want Frankie to come back, you need to see him and feel his arms around you, tell you it’ll be alright, but no matter how many times you call, you only get his voicemail. You ring a few extra times just to hear his voice repeat the same message. 

“Hi, this is Francisco Morales, I can’t pick up right now, please leave a message.” 

“Please, please, please, Frankie, come home, come home, baby,” you whisper into the phone as you listen to his voice again. 

Night has fallen outside and it’s even worse, around the city fires have broken out and from your apartment you can see a couple of them burn out of control. Just after midnight the news channel stops broadcasting, suddenly, in the middle of an update. You flick through the channels but there’s only static on all of them. 

You call Will’s place again but there’s no reply, you hope that means Benny has brought back Will to Hannah, and they can’t pick up right now, maybe they’re on their way here. 

Just as you’ve put the phone down it rings again and you snatch it up. 

“Frankie?” you almost cry down the receiver but instead you hear Pope’s worried voice. 

“Is Frankie there?” he asks, you can hear the stress in his voice. 

“No, he called at nine, he…he was in some trouble but I don’t know…he was on his way home, but he’s not here yet,” your words rush out, “Pope, what’s  happening? I can’t get hold of Will or Benny either and I’m freaking out!” 

“I don’t know, it’s a shit show, people are…listen, I’m not too far from you, I’ll try and make it over there. I’m on a military frequency so my phone’s still up, I’ll call you if anything. Just stay put inside, keep the door locked.”

“Yes, yeah, of course, I’m waiting for Frankie, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, double checking the lock and deadbolt on the front door. 

“Do you have a weapon, a gun, baseball bat, knife, anything?” he asks, you can hear him jogging, his shoes drumming along whatever hard surface he is on. 

“I don’t know, I don’t think we have a gun, we have a baseball bat, and the kitchen knives,” you frown, looking out the window again, “Pope, why do I need to arm myself, are people looting?” 

“Yeah, they’re looting and it’s getting violent, so stay inside, and don’t open to anyone except me or Frankie. And don’t talk to anyone but me or Frankie, ok?” 

“Ok, I’ll dig out the baseball bat straight away but…but just get here, please, Pope, I’m really scared.” You leave the window and go to the closet in the guest room where Frankie keeps his old bat. 

“I know, I know, I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

“Hurry, please, and stay safe, Santi,” you say, you can feel tears gathering on your lashes as your voice starts to wobble. 

“I need you to be strong, ok,” Pope’s voice is firm, as if he’s giving a soldier orders, “I need you to handle yourself, if someone tries to come through that door, you need to defend yourself, do you understand? Even kill them if it comes to that, do not let anyone attack you.”

“Santi…” you stumble, “I can’t..”

“I know, but you have to. This is serious, Frankie’s not around so I need to make sure you’re safe, and for you to be safe, you need to be ruthless now, do you understand?” His voice has a sharp edge, he’s breathing hard, moving fast trying to get to you, and the reality of what he’s saying hits you. 

“I promise, Pope,” you whisper, “I’ll…I’ll try my best to defend myself, I’ll try.” 

“Good, I’m about an hour away on foot, but it’s slow going. Give me two to three hours and I should be there.” 

“Stay safe, Santi, please,” you beg, pressing the receiver of the phone to your ear, as if hearing the voice of your friend will keep him and you safe. 

“I’ll try my best, and stay strong for me, and for Frankie, ok?” 

“I will,” you promise. 

… 

When his phone dies, Frankie hears the click and then nothing. He had a feeling this would happen, it’s mayhem in the city and the system is bound to be overloaded, so the lack of reception is no surprise, but he still curses under his breath. 

He was moving down narrow back alleys, jogging fast, staying off the main streets, avoiding people, especially any police, as he tried to get away from Washington Park. When he’d put some distance between himself and the park, he’d stopped to call home. He’d crouched down just behind a dumpster, keeping out of sight, while he talked to her. Now he stands up carefully, looking up and down the alley and considers his next move. The keys to his truck are in his pocket, it’s still where he left it by the park, he could maybe try to get back to it but the police are sure to be there. 

But something, at the back of his head, tells him he needs to keep moving and get home as fast as possible. Things are not normal, the whole day has been a shit show, but now, now it’s getting out of control. The man he’d tried stopping beating up the other guy had been raging, he’d turned and attacked Frankie so fast he’d barely had time to react. Only his instincts from the army, slower now but still just under the surface, had saved him from getting bit, fucking bit! 

The guy had actually tried biting him when Frankie sidestepped, and tripped him up, making him fall to the ground. He’d been on his feet in a flash and Frankie knew the guy was high on something when he saw his eyes, so he’d sidestepped again and swung an elbow to the guy’s head, hitting him in the temple. It had been harder than he’d intended but the sudden attack had his adrenaline running high, and the man had dropped to the ground and remained motionless. 

As he started running, when the police pulled up, his only thought was to get away as fast as possible. But as he ran, as he put a couple of blocks between him and the park, he saw others starting to act strange. When a city bus crashed into a taxi he dodged into an alley, the passengers on the bus flailing about inside as if they were locked in battle with each other. Frankie’s gut was yelling at him that something was very wrong, this was not just a weird day, this was something else, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what was going on. So he’d stopped to call her, to hear her voice and make sure she was safe, and let her know he was trying to get home. 

The way the call ended, when the phone network died, left a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with the unfolding mayhem in the city. This weekend was meant to be about them, he wanted everything to be perfect, and now the last words between them had been anger. The small box in his jacket pocket represented everything he wanted for their future, and more than anything he needed to get back to her, to explain what had happened and get them out of the city for their anniversary. Whatever the fuck was going with everyone else, he needed to be with her, at the cabin, and ask her to be his wife. Everything else was secondary. 

Frankie drew a deep breath and started moving back towards Washington Park. He needs his truck, it’s their best chance at getting out of the city. Hopefully the police had been called away on something else, letting paramedics deal with the guy he’d taken down, maybe he hadn’t actually killed him. 

He stays on side streets and alleys, keeping low, staying out of sight. When he sees the door to a gun shop wide open, he pauses, considering the risk. A gun would make him feel safer, but looting one now, is pretty shitty behaviour. The thought stays with him for only a second, before he cautiously moves into the shop. The back of the shop is dark but quiet, broken glass crunches under his boots as he moves towards one of the display cases. There’s rifles on the wall but they’re too hard to hide, instead he quickly finds a Glock among the wreckage, the familiar gun feels solid in his hand. 

There’s ammo behind the counter but when he steps around it, he sees the woman, splayed on the floor, face down. He stops in his tracks, staring down at her still form for a beat. She’s wearing a pink t-shirt and he can see the blood where it’s been ripped open over her shoulder. It doesn’t look like a significant amount of blood but he can’t see her face, can’t tell if she’s alive or not. 

There’s a box of ammo near him and he quickly loads the gun, sliding a full magazine into the Glock. He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the day has been, but he keeps his gun trained on the woman, safety off, while he carefully moves towards her. There’s more ammo behind her and he wants to pick it up, but he also doesn’t want to leave her injured or dead without checking on her. 

Gently he nudges the toe of his boot against her hand, shifting it slightly, and he hears a deep growl, inhuman. The sound makes him take a quick step back, more glass breaking under his feet with a loud crackle. The woman lifts her head and turns to look at him for a beat. All Frankie has time to think is that her eyes have the same rage as the man at the park, she scrambles to her feet and launches herself at him. He fires his gun on instinct, the bullet hitting her cheek, the close range making it explode out the back of her head. 

She drops instantly as Frankie holds the gun trained at her. It takes a split second for his training to kick in, but then he moves. Stepping over her, he grabs two more boxes of ammo, stuffing them in his pockets, before he quickly throws himself over the counter and heads out the back door he came through, checking the street before he leaves. Walking fast, but not running, he puts the safety back on the gun and shoves into the back of his trousers, out of sight under his jacket. His breathing is normal but he can feel adrenaline pumping through his system, muscle memory makes him move through the city as if it’s hostile enemy territory. 

What the fuck is going on? What was that? Bad batch of some drug on the streets? 

As he moves back towards the truck he checks his phone, there’s still no reception. There are more people on the streets now, more cars too, all heading for the freeway. He sees a family hastily throw bags into a car, a cat in a travel cage stuffed into the back. Other cars speed past, full of stuff, people are packing up and leaving. The sight makes him anxious, he needs to do the same, get back home, get to her, and get the fuck out. 

Screw the weekend, we need to get the fuck out of the city fast, whatever this is, it’s not gonna be over by Monday.

He finally spots his truck, parked where he left it, the man he’d knocked out nowhere in sight, and no police. Quickly scanning the area for signs of trouble, Frankie crosses the street and gets into the truck. He breathes a sigh of relief when he can lock the door and the engine rumbles to life. He can see traffic lining up on the other side of the park so he takes a side street, mapping the best route back home in his head as he tries to drive as fast as he can, people are running along the streets, cars speeding past and it gets worse the closer to downtown he gets. He tries to skirt around it but as he turns down a side street he finds it blocked by a truck that’s crashed into a building. 

“Fuck,” he breathes under his breath, there’s fire under the truck and he can see people on the other side. Quickly he reverses back onto the main street and turns left, heading a few more blocks down. The traffic’s getting heavy and it’s getting harder to avoid getting stuck, up ahead he sees cars grinding to a halt and in a last second decision he pulls a hard right and turns down a narrow alley, he knows it connects to another big road after a couple of blocks but it will get him closer to home at least, almost all the way there if it’s clear. He barrels through the alley, slowing down only to take the sharp turn onto the main road, and speeding up as he sees the way ahead of him clear. The harsh headlights flooding the cabin of his truck is the only warning he has when the bus slams into the passenger side of the truck. The screech of metal and tyres is the last thing Frankie hears as the world outside the shattered windscreen goes spinning and turns to black. 

…

Your body is telling you to sleep but you can’t, it’s almost three am and you’re on the couch, with a painful knot in your stomach. There’s sirens wailing outside, close by, and you’ve heard screams of terror and pain throughout the night. Frankie’s baseball bat is next to you on the couch, your hand shoots out to grab it whenever you hear a sound, your nerves on edge, the big kitchen knife on the coffee table. You’ve cried yourself dry with worry, Frankie’s not home, Pope hasn’t arrived either, you feel like you’re all alone in the world and every minute you’re fighting to keep the panic down. Pope’s words, keep strong for me and for Frankie, roll through your brain, it’s all you’ve got to keep you from falling over the edge. 

A loud crack rings out somewhere in your building and you shoot up to your feet, it sounded close and it sounded like a gunshot. Straining your ears you try to hear more, but the wailing sirens from outside make it hard to make out anything. Slowly moving closer to the front door, you grip the bat in your hand. You stop in the hall, holding your breath and listen intently in the silence. Suddenly you hear a shoe scuffle against the floor outside your door and you bite down hard on your lip, your heart is thumping so loudly it’s deafening. 

A soft tap on the door startles you enough to make you jump back into Frankie’s sneakers on the shoe rack. 

“It’s me, Pope, open the door,” Santi’s familiar voice filters low through the front door and you almost cry with relief, stumbling forward to unlock it. He comes through it as soon as it’s open enough to let him in and he immediately closes it behind him, locking and sliding the deadbolt in place. When he turns to you, you throw your arms around him, and you feel him grab hold of you, squeezing you tight as he pulls you into the living room. 

“Santi, I’m so scared,” you sob, fighting back tears, as he sets you down on the couch, “what’s happening?” 

“I don’t know yet, Frankie isn’t back?” he asks, looking around the living room. 

“N-No, I haven’t heard from him since the cell network went down,” tears well up in your eyes, “h-he said, he was coming back here. But that was six hours ago, Santi!” The tears spill over as fear overcomes you and he sits down next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently shushing you. 

“Deep breaths, hermana, you need to focus,” he turns you around, putting both hands on your shoulders, squeezing them as his eyes lock onto yours. “Listen, I need you to stay with me now, ok?” 

You nod weakly as Pope wipes your cheek with the back of his hand, “We need to pack essentials and get out of here, there’s a couple of dirt bikes in the garage under your building, I’ve got the keys and-” 

“I’m not leaving without Frankie,” you say immediately, leaning back from Pope instinctively. “I have to stay here until he comes back.” 

“You can’t, it’s not safe, I have to keep you safe while Frankie’s not around,” Pope grabs your shoulders again, as if to press it into you but you baulk. 

“If I leave, with the phones down, he won’t find me. He said he was coming back here and I said I’d stay until he came back,” you pull away from Pope and stand up, moving to the window to look down on the street again. 

“Hermana, you haven’t seen the city, it’s chaos,” he’s stands up and comes after you, grabbing hold of your arm, “I don’t know what’s going on but people are unhinged, losing control and attacking each other,” his grip on your arm loosens a little but he’s turning you to look at him, “I don’t want to scare you more, but it’s bad out there, people are dying.” He falters, hesitating for a few seconds, “I’m sorry, this isn’t going away anytime soon, and Frankie might not make it back.” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that!” You feel panic rising in your chest and you push him away.

“I saw a woman…she was…she killed a child, it’s that bad out there,” Santi grabs you again, a pained look on his face, pleading, “I’m sorry, Frankie is a very capable soldier, one of the best, but it took all I had to make it here.” 

You pull your arm from his hand, “He’s coming back here, I’m not leaving without him,” you spit out and step back into the living room, crossing your arms as you turn back to Pope, he’s looking at you from the window. 

“I can’t leave you here, Frankie’s my best friend, my brother, and you’re the love of his life, I’ve got to keep you safe. For him, hermana.” He’s pleading with you but you shake your head even as tears well up in your eyes again. 

“If you want to help Frankie, get to Lucía. Take one of the dirt bikes, get her and we’ll meet you at Denny’s cabin.” You’re staring at him, your jaw set, you know Pope can’t argue with that and he has no choice. As he drops his chin to his chest you know you’ve got your way. 

“Ok,” he sighs, “I’ll go and get Lucía, but you have to promise me that if Frankie’s not back by Sunday morning, you take the other bike and come up to the cabin too,” he’s walked over to you again, looking down at you with dark eyes, “if he’s not back by Sunday morning, he’s not coming back. Take the bike, get to the cabin.” 

“He’s coming back, Santi.” 

“I really want you to be right, hermana,” he sighs as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. You slump against him, you can feel your body shaking with the onslaught of nerves and adrenaline. 

“He has to come back,” you whisper into his chest, “he has to, he has to, he has to,” you repeat as a mantra as Pope gently strokes your back. 

You don’t notice when Pope carefully lays you down in your bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your exhausted body and mind shuts down for a few hours and lets you sleep without dreams. When you wake with a start, daylight is starting to creep through your window, and for a second it feels like a normal morning, until you see Frankie’s side of the bed, empty. 

You push back the blanket and make your way out to the living room to find Santi on the couch, two guns and a rifle laid out in front of him. 

“Morning,” he says, looking up at you. “I hope you managed to sleep some.” 

You sit down next to him on the couch, watching his methodical movements with the weapons, “Did you sleep at all?” 

“No, I kept watch, but it’s fine,” he adds as he sees your concerned look, “I’m still running on adrenaline and I’m used to it. Pulled plenty of all nighters in the army.” 

“Did anything happen while I slept?” You move to the kitchen and open the fridge to pull out some breakfast, the inside of the fridge is dark. 

“The electricity and the military phone network cut out about an hour ago,” Pope nods at the fridge. “Eat whatever might go bad first.” He stands up and grabs a backpack, you recognise it as Frankie’s spare one. “I’ve packed enough to keep me going for a few days, and I’ve done the same for you and Frankie,” he points to a bigger backpack, Frankie’s hiking pack. “I’m gonna try to get to Lucía now, you and Frankie head to the cabin as soon as possible. Get out of the city, that’ll be Frankie’s plan too.”

He comes over to you where you’re standing by the kitchen counter, frozen in your movements. “Remember what I said last night, hermana, I’m sorry, but if he’s not back by Sunday morning…” he pauses and grabs hold of your hand, squeezing it tight, “if he’s not back, you have to leave by yourself and get to the cabin. Promise me,” his dark eyes are bearing into you as his fingers wrap around your own. 

“I promise, I’ll leave if he’s not back by Sunday morning,” you say, your voice barely over a whisper. 

“Ok,” he gives your hand another squeeze and goes back to Frankie’s backpack. “I’m leaving a gun with you, and some ammo, it’s in the pack,” he shows you the boxes in an outside pocket. “This is your gun,” he picks up one of the handguns on the coffee table, “it’s easy enough to handle, I’ll show you.”

“Where did you get them?” you ask, “did you just happen to have two guns and a rifle on you yesterday?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Santi looks at you, “I broke into a gunshop and took them.” He sees the way your eyes widen and holds up his hand, “Look out of the window, the world is falling apart, I don’t know what is happening, but looting three guns to protect myself and you, is the least of our worries right now.” He picks up the gun and motions you over and shows you how to hold it, “Grab it like this, both hands, keep it steady.” 

The gun is heavy and cold in your hands, “You really think the world is falling apart?” Your voice is quiet as you adjust your grip as Pope moves your fingers. 

“The first thing I heard yesterday was that something was going on in Indonesia, then Rotterdam. Here, put your thumb like this.” He moves your thumb to cross over your hand, “then there were news reports from all over the US. And if things are as bad there as they are here, then yeah, I think the world is falling apart.” 

He steps back and looks at your grip on the gun, “That’s it, hold it like that and squeeze the trigger when you’re ready.” 

You pull back on the trigger and the gun clicks. “So we get to the cabin and then what?” you ask, looking down the barrel of the gun, feeling the weight. 

“We hold down the fort, wait it out, until it’s under control again.” Pope gently takes the gun from your hands and shows you how to load it, making you go through the motions several times. When he decides you’ve got a hang of it, he takes the gun and gives it to you, “Safety on, keep it within easy reach. I should’ve gotten you a holster but stick it in the back of your pants for now, keep it on you at all times, ok?” 

“Ok,” you nod, doing as he says before looking up at him. “Do you think the others, Will and Benny, will come up to the cabin too?”

“If they can, yeah, it’s the most logical choice.” 

He turns and grabs the smaller backpack and his jacket, “I’m leaving, I’ll get to Lucía, get her and her mom, if I can, back to the cabin. Sunday morning, ok?” 

“Sunday morning I leave if he’s not back, yes, Santi.” You nod, your jaw tight. 

“Ok. And listen, when you do leave, with or without Frankie, don’t trust anyone. People are attacking without warning, like animals.” Pope’s eyes are on you, imploring you to understand, “Anyone moves towards you, shoot them, aim for the torso to bring them down, then head shot, to kill. I know it’s not going to be easy, but if you want to survive, you have to. Get to the cabin, I’ll be there.” He pulls you in for a big hug, squeezing you tight and you hold on to him for as long as you can before he pulls away. 

“Stay safe, Santi.” 

“You too, hermana.”  

You walk him to the front door and watch him as he listens through it for a couple a minute, the landing outside is silent. Carefully he opens the door, gun drawn, and peeks outside. Daylight is filtering through the windows, shining some light into the stairwell. With a final look at you he steps through the door and you close it behind him, locking it securely again. 

Walking back to the living room, you sit down on the couch. Twenty four hours until Sunday morning.

All you can do now is wait.

Chapter 12

[justjams2003]

Between two Gods-4

Paring: Alpha!Thor Odinson x Omega!Reader x Alpha! Clark Kent

Warnings: A/B/O, mating, breeding, threesome, oral sex (both male and female receiving) P in V. Mxm, mxmxw, afab!reader, possessive!Thor, possessive!Clark, guys kissing, rutting, knotting

Masterlist

Part 3~Part 5 (coming soon)

Word count: 2k

Dividers: @benkeibear @poison-aesthetics

When your mates are two gods, your heat is something of a girl’s wet dream. It was honestly more enjoyable than any daydream. Your mates took a week off and in turn your heat was spent with day and nights of knotting. By the end of it, you had to buy a new bed and also new bed sheets. It was rare for any of you to be wearing clothes, except when eating of course.  

You ensured that the moment your heat finished, that you three went house shopping. Though, you struggled to choose. If it was by the woods, it doesn’t have a farm like Clark wants. If it has a farm, it isn’t by the forest, like you want. And if it has both, it isn’t big enough like Thor wants. It was starting to frustrate you. Your own bachelor flat is growing small, especially with all the boxes standing around.  

Or maybe it’s more than that that is irritating you. “Thor! You’re late. Now dinner is cold, and I’ve already packed the plates away. Cold pizza and paper plates for you.” You scold at the God of Thunder, not even greeting him. He frowns, turning to his fellow Alpha. He drops his hammer and hangs up his cape.  

He shakes his head and then, without warning, pulls you closer by the waist and giving you the most passionate kiss. And when you come up for air, the anger has dissipated from your eyes. “Hello, my dear omega. Why yes, I have missed you, my dear.” He gives you his charming smile and then your legs are Jello.   

He then lets you go, after hearing your phone call. He sits down on the couch next to the other Alpha. “Hello, my pretty boy.” Thor smiles, lifting Kal’s chin and giving him a sloppy kiss. “What’s got our girl so fussy?” He asks, pulling the other alien into his side. “It’s the same as yesterday, we’d gone to 5 more house showings and none of them were ‘just right’.”  

“Hi mom,” You call into the phone after picking up Martha’s call. “Hello dear, so nice to hear from you stranger.” You can’t help but laugh. You’ve gotten really close to her over the past few years. “Yeah, I’m sorry. We’ve been so busy. You’d be really happy to hear that we’re trying for pups.” You can hear the excited squeal from the phone.  

“That is such good news!” You can hear the birds in the background. “Not only that, but we’re looking for a new house. Clark wants a farm, Thor wants a million pups so a million rooms and I want something by the forest. Our apartment is already packed up but we haven’t bought any house yet.” She sighs, looking at the state of her normally neat apartment.  

Martha is quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you move in with me?” She asks, and you bite your lip. “I have the farm, it’s right by the forest and it has 6 bedrooms. One for me, one for you three. That leaves four extra bedrooms.” It’s sounds almost too good to be true. It’s exactly what they want. “I’m growing old and I miss the company.” She adds, trying to win you over.  

“Hold on.” You put your own mother-in-law on hold. You scatter over to your partners, plopping in both of their laps. “What if we move in with Clark’s mom? She has the big empty house, the farm, the forest.” You give them the biggest doe eyes you can muster, pushing out your bottom lip.  

“Of course, my lady, whatever makes you happy.” Clark gives a similar reply to Thor. You return to the phone call. “It sounds like a fantastic deal. The boys agree. We can’t wait!” You squeal out, hugging your partners closer before finally saying goodbye to Martha.  

You yawn, stretching out your body. The boys didn’t allow you to lift a single box and yet you still feel exhausted. You’re starving but there is nothing that seems like it would stay down. “Are you alright, dear?” Martha ask, handing her a glass of water. “I don’t know, I’m just so tired and so hungry but so nauseous.” You mutter, swallowing the stomach acid with the water.  

“Dear, that doesn’t just sound like fatigue or a stomach bug.... You said you already had your heat, yes?” You can only nod to her question. “Lucky for you, I prepared for this. There is pregnancy test in your ensuite.” Your feet moved faster than your body. Your partners went to get dinner, not wanting you or Martha to cook after a long day of unpacking.  

You wait in anticipation, sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for the timer to go off. And when it finally does, you feel the panic rise in your throat. Why you’re panicking, you’re not entirely sure. Maybe that once Thor knows, he’s taking you straight to Asgard, no questions. Your legs are shaky, you grab the test from the counter.  

Two pink lines.  

Pregnant. Very pregnant.  

There is a knock at the door. “Hello dear, dinner is here.” It’s Clark, relief forms in your stomach. Your shaky hands open the door. You have to tell them. They’re your Alpha’s. They know what is right for you and your pup. “Are you okay?” He asks, wiping the tears which had fallen without your knowledge.  

Your only reply to him, is the tick in your hand. His brows furrow before you clarify it to him. “I’m pregnant.” It takes a moment to realise in his head, before he scoops you up into his arms. He gasps and yells with glee. So much so that Thor comes running up the stairs. “What is the matter?” He asks, seeing your close embrace.  

“We’re going to be dads!” Kal exclaims, knowing just how choked up you are. A huge grin covers Thor’s face. He pics the both of you up in a huge bear hug. “I can’t believe it!” Tears are forming in his eyes and it too makes you want to cry even more.

“We must haste for Asgard, at once.” Thor exclaims, looking to repack all your clothes. Or even leave them there and dress you completely in Asgardian clothes. Both you and Clark.  

Clark places a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Please, Thor. We’ve just moved, she hasn’t even had chance to nest yet. I’m sure she wants to tell her brothers too, before we leave.” He reasons, he could smell the anxiety coming from you when Thor came up the stairs. He knows going to Asgard is for the best but, certainly it can wait? 

It doesn’t much but two pairs of whimpering eyes for Thor to cave. “Fine. But we’re not staying past the first trimester.” His voice is stern and there is a hint of Alpha voice. The other mates bare their neck, showing that they submit to these rules. “Can we invite my brothers then, next week?” You ask, placing your hand on his chest.  

“Only if we get kisses.” Clark commands and you smirk at his dominance. He’s so soft at times, you do appreciate it, he and Thor balance each other out perfectly. With that you obey his order. Giving them both a deep sloppy kiss.  

The sun shines through the bright balcony, the sheer white curtains blow in the wind. The bedsheets are dispersed and tangled between legs and arms. All you can see is blue. The light, sky blue of Thor’s eyes, avoiding your own. Then the rich, navy blue of Clark’s, also watching your Alpha’s move carefully.  

Like Thor said, the day after your brothers left, he’d packed up everything and transported you to Asgard. Frigga was so excited to see you again. It was rare that you went to Asgard and it was usually short and sweet visits. You’ve never been here for more than a week and now you’re stuck here for nine months.  

You can feel the burn between your legs, and the sticky mess coating your body still. “Do you have to go?” Clark asks, reaching out for Thor’s hand. The blonde god takes his hand and places a gentle kiss. “I do, I do apologize my loves, but my father has called for me.” He takes your hand and places a kiss as well.  

It’s a strange feeling. Back on earth, whenever Thor was home the both of you would have his full attention. Now that he is back home, everyone wants his attention. His duties as Prince and Alpha take more of his concentration that you thought it would. You’re glad you have your other Alpha, but still.  

When Thor’s gone, you miss him. When Clark’s gone, you miss him.  

Then he bends down and plants a soft kiss on your stark-naked belly, there’s rarely a bump, rubbing circles before eventually standing back up. “Love you, my loves,” he waves goodbye before leaving for his day of duties. You groan at the sunlight and roll over into Clark’s arms.  

He lets out a chuckle and soon he hears your snores again. The maids come in soon though and he asks them to fill the tub. When the time comes, he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. “Noo, let me sleep.” You complain, but when the hot water hits your back the complains die down.  

Soon enough, Superman joins you in the tub. But the silence is so loud and you finally decide enough is enough when Clark lets out a loud sigh. “What’s wrong, my Alpha?” You ask, enjoying his touch as he washes your legs. “Just that. I’m an Alpha, I’m a superhero. I’m the Superman.” You furrow your brows but allow him to speak.  

Again, he sighs, “I spent every day of my life protecting the people of Earth, before you, before Thor. Now, I’m here, mating day and night with lavish amenities and maids attending to my every need.” You can’t help but chuckle and lift yourself into his lap.  

“Oh, my dear, are you feeling a bit unimportant?” You coo, wrapping his curls around your fingers. He laughs again, “Something like that. I can’t help but worry about them. They’re just so destructive to themselves.” Now you really howl at his words.  

He blushes at your laughter. “My love, you do not owe them anything. Their own eradication is not your fault. Think of it like this, when Thor becomes king, the people’s own slaughter will be his fault. Because they chose him to be their protector. The other humans, did not chose you.”  

You smile, hoping that you’re not sounding too insensitive. Also hoping that the words you speak of the Asgardians will never happen. He doesn’t answer, only drawing circles on your skin. “You threw that onto your shoulders only because you’re stronger.”  

He can’t help but grin, you just know him so well. He groans and hides his face in the crook of your neck. “But they’re so fragile!” You roll your eyes at him. “If they’re so fragile, then I’m so fragile! So very weak, a weak human omega. Is that what you’re going to say to your child?”  

Clark knows he’s really dug himself a hole now. “Huh? When your little boy looks up at you and says, ‘daddy I want to be like you some day,’ will you look down and say, ‘no, you’re weak, you half human.’?” It’s a rhetorical question but you can tell he still believes it.  

“No?” He seems uncertain of himself. “Yes, no.” You nod to him, trying to guide him to the right answer. “No, I want you and our pups to stay home forever so that we can protect you. I’m sure Thor agrees.” He nods with a shit eating grin. You shake your head. “Quite the opposite, he’s very excited to take them into battle.”  

Clark’s face goes pale, “The pups will grow up. They will spread their wings and will refuse to listen. They will get hurt. But they will learn from it and so must the humans.” He sighs and pecks your mouth. “What will we do without you?” He asks, picking you up out of the bath after cleaning you.  

“You’d work for 160 hours a week and the other eight hours you’d just have hot gay sex.” You giggle to yourself; the pregnancy has made your tongue a little lose. Clark clicks his tongue at you, “You’ve got such a filthy mouth.” You can’t help but wink at him, “You should know.”  

[copper-wasp]

Distractions - Cidolfus Telamon/Fem Reader

✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warning Tags: Light Dom/Sub (including choking and hair-pulling) ✦ Words: 1918

• 🙪 ● AO3 ● 🙪 •

It felt like Cid had been gone for weeks, though in reality it had been just two days, and he was due back just after sunset today. Wylla had been pent up from the moment he left, barely able to concentrate on her duties at the Hideaway. Her thoughts kept slipping to how his hands felt on her body, soft and strong at the same time, losing focus so much that she didn’t even realize Tarja was calling her name and wondering why she had been sweeping the same corner of the infirmary for the past ten minutes.

“Forgive me,” she said with a wilting smile, “I am horribly distracted today.”

“Quite all right, I know you’re happy that Cid will be back soon,” Tarja replied knowingly, having provided certain droughts to her a few times previously.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t let my… personal feelings affect my duties,” she continued, “Imagine how he’d rip into me if he found out I’ve been daydreaming since he left….”

“I imagine he’ll be ripping into you regardless,” Tarja mumbled, making Wylla bark out a laugh. 

“Listen to you with the witty retort, I must be rubbing off on you,” she teased, glad that she didn’t have to speak properly around her.

“I imagine Cid will also be rubbing-“

“Stop that!” she replied with a laugh, fully abandoning the broom to take her flushed face elsewhere, hearing the healer laughing in her wake.

Wylla made herself scarce until she heard some of the others welcoming Cid back to the Hideaway. She met him near the bottom of the stairs, caressing her hand down his arm to get his attention. 

“Ah, there you are,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“A little,” Wylla replied, looking him over. 

“Only a little?” he replied with mock hurt, covering his heart with his hand.

She brushed some dirt off his coat, using that as an excuse to drop her hand lower to caress between his legs, hoping that would telegraph just how much she had missed him.

“Just the tiniest bit,” she said, pressing her lips to his. Cid chuckled, tugging her into an embrace so he could slide his leg between hers.

“Come up to the solar with me?” he offered, his trousers getting tighter by the moment. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Wylla teased, stepping away from him to start up the stairs. Cid waited a moment, watching her arse in her tight leathers as she ascended before following, ready to rip them off of her.

He had already started unbuckling his sword belt before the solar door closed behind him, propping them up against the wall before she met him for a fiery kiss, both of them wound up from being apart. His gloves came off next, tossed to the ground as well, his hand moving to the side of her neck, her skin warm and soft. His other hand grabbed at her rear while she unbuckled the clasps on his coat. He shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor, her hands already tugging his undershirt out of his waistband. 

Cid grasped her chin, her hands pausing in their task when he swiped his thumb across her bottom lip with a torturous slowness. He foolishly thought he was in control until he felt her tongue against it, a quick warning before she sucked the digit into her mouth, holding his gaze. 

Wylla backed away from him, releasing his thumb with a soft pop, her hands now working at the ties of her blouse. He tried to follow, but she held out her hand, seemingly wishing to give him a striptease. He was already hard, unconsciously adjusting himself to try to relieve some pressure. 

Her shirt and camisole came up over her head, Cid wanting so badly to reach out to touch those gorgeous tits, but he managed to resist, watching her push down her leggings and smalls in one go. She turned to show him her arse, gently shifting her weight to grab his attention. 

“Take off your clothes,” she requested, walking slowly over to his bed. His jacket hit the floor in record time, balancing precariously on one foot to tug off each boot. He paused briefly when she crawled onto the mattress, damn near presenting her cunt to him before she moved onto her back, beckoning him over. Quickly removing his remaining garments, he strode purposefully over to her, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss.

“Touch me, Cid,” she directed, reaching down to stroke his forearm. Her thighs rubbed together, trying to relieve even the slightest bit of pressure built up between her legs.

“I’ll do one better,” he promised, sliding his hands between her knees to pry them apart. He stuck his shoulders between them before she could clap them shut, his lips beginning a tantalizing trail of sloppy kisses up her inner thigh. 

“Cid, d-don’t!” she frantically whispered, fruitlessly hoping everyone else was gathered as far away from the solar as possible. A show was all but guaranteed when he used his mouth on her, Wylla never able to control herself. He paid her no mind, his breath warm on her sex as he spread her open. He licked her from her entrance to her bud, groaning at just how good she tasted.

“You…you… bastard -oh, fuck, ” she mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to muffle a loud moan. He hummed against her, his tongue tracing her cunt, looking up to catch her gaze, half-lidded but entirely focused on him. 

“As if you weren’t thinking about me doing this to you all day,” he teased, glad when she groaned annoyedly in reply. He propped her legs up on his forearms for a better angle, sliding his tongue inside her, only to spread her slick up to her swollen, sensitive bead. He sucked and licked at her, wringing noise after delicious noise out of her until he felt her fingers weave harshly into his hair and tug, her body quivering with her climax. She had managed to muffle the loudest of her moans, but a series of additional ones still echoed to the rafters.

“Tell me, Wyl, do you like seeing my head between your legs?” Cid asked between gentle licks to lap up all of her delicious slick, seeing a smirk creep across her lips. 

“Yes, Cid…very much,” she replied, focusing on slow, steady breaths, her body feeling light and warm, skin tingling just a little. Wylla felt his weight above her, but she placed her hands on his chest to begin pushing him away. Since he’d been so kind as to bring her to climax with his mouth, she thought she’d do the work for him.

“On your back, please,” she requested, Cid not giving any resistance, her fingertips painting arabesques down his chest. Her lips followed, painting a trail of kisses over his skin. She straddled him, rolling her hips just a bit so his cock would rub against her belly.

“I was thinking about you today,” she admitted, leaning down to kiss his lips. “And yesterday. And the day before. You are quite distracting.”

“Do tell, love,” Cid said, tilting his head to allow her easier access to his neck. 

“All I could think about were those warm lips and strong arms of yours,” she continued, laying it on thick, feeling him start to squirm beneath her. “The scratch of your beard and that sweet smell of smoke that just clings to your skin.” She nipped at him, just below his ear, feeling him shiver. “Imagining your hands on me, always knowing exactly where to touch.”

“Mhm…what else?” he asked, eyes closing, his cock weeping and ready to be buried within her warmth.

“Your cock’s not bad either,” Wylla whispered, trying not to giggle.

“Ah, fuck, Wylla,” Cid moaned, ready to be annoyed until he heard her erupt in laughter, her lips meeting his again in apology. She licked into his mouth, feeling him give her a light slap on her cheek before he grasped a handful of that supple skin. She lifted her hips, Cid’s hands helpfully keeping her steady while sinking down onto that not-bad-at-all cock, her cunt so wet and welcoming. 

“Oh, Cid,” she sighed, sitting up straight to grind her hips down on him, her palms planted firmly on his chest. He had planned to help her, guide her hips with his hands, but he was completely mesmerized, only able to watch as she took her pleasure and gave him his, biting her lip with her eyes squeezed shut. 

Cid felt his own eyes start to roll back when she clenched around him, her thighs tight against his sides. He fumbled for her hand, drawing it to his mouth to kiss her palm, her deep, pointed rutting bringing him to the brink far faster than he anticipated. “Mmph… Wyl- ” he mumbled against her hand, nearly about to climax. She was relentless, daring him to pull out with her thighs a vice around his hips. Cid cursed, unable to hold back any longer, spending himself deep inside her. “Fuck… fuck, Wylla…. ”

She ignored his protests, her fingers sliding down her belly to inch herself over, sucking in a heaving breath as she crested. She looked down at him with a look of utter amusement, Cid’s own mouth curving into a grin before he grasped her hips to quickly maneuver her onto her back.

“You,” he began, sucking a bruise on her neck, “You… made me finish inside you.”  He nipped at her skin, shallowly thrusting inside her still.. 

“I’ll see Tarja in the morning,” Wylla assured, tugging his head up to kiss him. She felt him grin, his palm caressing down her side.

“Though, on the other hand, it would be entertaining to watch you try to scout with a round belly,” he replied, resting his hand over her navel. 

“Maybe someday, Cid,” she said with a nod and a sweet smile. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about children with him; he had already proven a loving father to Mid, and Wylla had no doubts that he would be the same with their baby.

“Aye, someday,” he agreed, though the fear of condemning a child to a life of a bearer was never far off. 

He gazed sweetly at her, coming in for a soft kiss to lull her into a false sense of security, thinking that this was all, that she had won. Wrapping one hand around her neck, he pressed his thumb against her pulse, biting at her bottom lip when her lips parted to gasp.

“But for now, I simply have to punish you for that little stunt, ” he replied, thrusting back into her hard before withdrawing completely.

“Punish me? After I made you feel so good? Truly? ” she pondered, a devilish look in her eyes. She yelped in surprise when he wrestled her onto her stomach lightning-fast, the slap of his hand on her arse making her jump. 

He pressed himself against her back, biting at the shell of her ear. “You’ll be begging me to stop.”

“I accept your challenge, Sir,” she haughtily replied, already having an idea of exactly what Cid would try. He wove his fingers into her hair and twisted it enough to lift her shoulders off the bed, an excited moan reaching his ears. He licked a long, wet stripe up her neck, nipping at her jaw. 

“Let’s begin.”

-:- -:- -:-

Thank you for reading!

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

between the lines | chapter 01

rúben dias x original female character [+18]

synopsis: isabella is a sports journalist covering the premier league. she has sworn to never get involved with a football player. that is, until she meets a handsome portuguese defender. warnings: incorrect journalism references; timeline of events are not faithful to real life; i have never been to england; mutual pining; romantic comedy;  minors dni.

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Chapter 01 — Are you Tottenham in disguise?

It was a chilly day in greater Manchester, and in the morning I decided to pay a visit to my little niece Lucía. She had recently achieved the incredible ability to pronounce my name. Well, not my name exactly, but she does say ‘tía’ with the confidence of a young lady that knows I would die for her.

“She’s so cute!” I say cheerfully. Sienna, my sister-in-law, dressed up the baby in several layers of pastel colored clothing as we prepared to take a walk with her. Baby Lucía looked like a little package of cotton candy. The cutest.

“I know, and you’re welcome!” Sienna winks at me as she puts Lucía in her stroller. She enjoyed being walked around the neighborhood for a couple blocks before going to her daycare. Lucía had a strict and healthy schedule, it actually makes me jealous. The baby has a morning routine! She uses moisturizer! “So, you’re working today?”

“I am! City and Arsenal, later today. Want to bet on the score?” We used to do this every week, the loser would buy ice cream.

“2-1 for Arsenal.” Sienna says.

“I’m going with 3-1 City.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Sienna looks at me excitedly. “Oh my god, I completely forgot!” She starts giggling. “You’re not going to believe it!” The thing about my dear in-law is that she never goes straight to the point.

“Sienna, come on! Just tell me. What is it?”

“Lucías’s pediatrician is single!” She raises her eyebrow, suggestively.

“Yes, and…?”

“He’s a great guy, I swear! Carlos and I agreed you two would be perfect together. Your brother didn’t tell you?”

No, my brother didn’t tell me. He probably didn’t think it was important, as Carlos never thinks anything is important ever. I’m just glad to hear he’s thinking about my happiness when I’m not around. After delivering Lucía to her important daycare business, we walked together to the Metro. I would be meeting with Melissa Reed, who worked at DAZN, near the Etihad, for lunch. Sienna was being kind enough to walk with me, but I quickly learned her intentions. She’s been trying to set me up with her friends and cousins since the first time we met. Now we upgraded to pediatricians. That 's interesting.

“I don’t know… If things go south it will be awkward between you guys. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“The guy is a professional, alright? It won't be awkward, don’t worry!”

“How old is he?”

“Less than 50?” She crunches her nose and I laugh.

“Less than 50 is nice. I guess… Set me up?”

What do I have to lose, honestly? I’ve been single for the past 3 years and have been spending my nights daydreaming about football players. Dinner with a doctor under 50 would be nice for a change. Sienna hugs me while promising me I won't regret my decision, which is always a sign someone is making a bad decision, by the way. Melissa agrees with my sister-in-law, when I tell her about the possible upcoming date.

“You need to get out there, girl. If I had your face and your titties, I would have a long line of men at my feet!”

“Well, you do!” I point at her. Mel is gorgeous and an avid heartbreaker, she’s almost a decade older than me, so sometimes she can behave more like a mentor, or an older sister. We met quite recently, through work, always bumping into each other at press conferences, and she quickly became a close friend. 

“You need to be more confident. Words of reinforcement really help, you know?” Mel says, “Just say ‘I’m interesting, I’m smart’.” She fixes her posture, looking at me assertively.

“I’m interesting, I’m smart.” I repeat with a whisper, trying to copy her pose.

“Yes. Go ahead, ‘I can do anything I set my mind to’.”

“I can do anything.” There's a silence as we nod at each other. “I could fix Chelsea.”

“You could fix Chelsea! You really could.” She pats me in the head. “And you're going to rock this date with a hopefully handsome doctor!”

And then, there was the match. So, listen, the thing about working with what you love is: sometimes that’s your only option. When I was a teenager I went through what we called a phase. I stopped talking, I didn’t want to go to school anymore. I lost interest in all my previous hobbies. My dad, who thank god was still alive at the time, took me to a shrink. The guy asked a bunch of questions and all I remember was that in one of my answers I told him ‘the only thing that gets me out of bed is football’. All these years later and that’s still true. 

I worked on the weekend after my dad died even though I hadn’t eaten anything for days. Football is my religion. So I have nowhere else to go. I went to college and graduated in Journalism and immediately started working with the sport. And it’s at night like these that I’m reminded of why I made this career decision. 

It was clear it was a special night hours before the match, there were a lot more reporters and former players in the stadium than the usual. A proper special occasion, with the Prem trophy being displayed in the middle of the field before the game. The City fans cheered like it was Champions League night. Incredible atmosphere. Later, after the Blue’s 3rd goal, one of the chants accused Arsenal of being Tottenham in disguise, referencing the London rivals recent 6-1 loss. I went into the Etihad press room buzzing with excitement. Of course, I interviewed Rúben. I’m in charge of trying to talk to him ever since a lovely interaction with my boss.

“You speak Portuguese, right?” He asked.

“Well, no, but I’m spanish.”

“That will do.”

So now I have to interview every player born in the Iberian Peninsula or in Latin America, regardless of the language I speak. I’m just thankful nobody told him Italian and French are also romance languages. Rúben was shining and smiling brightly, the man looked ridiculously beautiful when he was happy. As he should, it was a magnificent victory and he earned that smile.

“Olá, Isa!” He says.

Oh, shit. He remembers my name. Of course he does, I mean, we talk practically twice a week. Shit. Quick, say something cool. Something sensual, but professional. Make him want you, but don't let him know you want him as well.

“Hi.” I end up saying. The rest went as usual, ‘are you feeling confident about the title’, ‘what are your thoughts on the team performance’, etc. He was charming and polite, and 100% not flirting with me, no matter what my stupid brain tried to convince me. Just because a man has beautiful brown eyes doesn't mean he’s trying to sleep with me. Unless…

“See you Sunday?” Rúben asks as we say goodbye and I just nod, dumbly. I don’t remember him making such questions before. Or maybe I’m just holding on to silly signs because I have a big stupid crush on him.

Sienna: thanks to haaland i’m not paying you ice cream :) also, date set with sexy doctor  monday, lunch, your favorite restaurant and you’re welcome :p

She sends me a picture of said sexy doctor, and I’m obliged to agree with her. He definitely looks younger than 50 and on a 0 to 10 ranking, very close to an 8. Next day I’m in London, meeting up with Sebastian before heading to the Tottenham Hotspurs Stadium.

“Por favor, Isa, let me say ‘bottled’, it’s all I have left today.” The Spaniard says grinning at me.

“You had a rough week, take all the victories you can get, my friend.” I pat him in the back as he laughs. Seb then puts his arms around me as we set up our equipment, still grinning.

“Hey, can I ask you a favor?” 

“Sure…?” I speak, unsurely.

“If my team loses today, just shoot me.”

Working with football is amazing, but being a football supporter is really something else. It’s common for correspondents to get attached to a team of the league they’re covering. For me it never really happened, since I keep moving from league to league every couple of years. Thank God, being a Valencia supporter since a little kid,– thanks, mom and dad – I suffer enough.

I decided to spend the night in London, and only go back home tomorrow morning, so after work I go to the least expensive hotel room I could find. Seb and Melissa accompany me for a few drinks at the hotel bar and then once again I go to bed daydreaming about the one who should not be named. I cowardly open his Insta profile while hiding underneath the covers, like that’s going to protect me somehow. 

Except, there’s something different this time. Holy shit. He 's following me. That’s normal, right? Yeah, we’re basically coworkers! No need to freak out. Come on, Isa, get a grip. He’s not the first player to hit the follow button and he won’t be last. In fact, I have a long list of answered and unsolicited DM’s from the most random players, but we don’t have to go there. After weeks of creepy stalking the poor fella, I follow him back immediately. Maybe that will help. We’re officially practically coworkers now, in a way, right? Just a couple of colleagues who follow each other on social media. No more blushing, no more drooling over shirtless and carefully curated thirst traps.

I open the picture Sienna sent me of the pediatrician. Okay. Monday, lunch… My favorite restaurant, even! Sounds like a good plan.

[kaysfanficcorner]

Out of This World Chapter 6:

Message In A Bottle

Author’s Note: Hey everyone!! Welcome to chapter 6. I genuinely hope you love this chapter as much as I do. I had so much fun writing it! We’re finally getting to the good stuff with these two! Please know that I took the liberty to make up some things about Nevarro for this chapter. This chapter was heavily inspired by the Strangers Like Me sequence in Tarzan from 1999, and I probably listened to it fifty times while writing this. Also if you haven’t figured it out already my take on Din is that he’s a sweet boy and a huge softy so be forewarned that it’s only going to get worse from here on out. If you’d like to join the taglist please let me know!

Summary: The Mandalorian and the Earthing spend a week on Nevarro enjoying their time together with the child.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Earthling Reader

Warnings: cursing, angst, mentions of emotional abuse (in the past), mentions of thc use (in the past) , FLUFF, explicit sexual themes. This work of fiction is strictly 18+.

Music Inspiration:

Strangers Like Me - This song heavily inspired the themes of this chapter. Not referenced directly.

Head Over Heels - Directly mentioned

Moonage Daydream - Requested by @missbabyjay

Message In A Bottle - Directly referenced, themes inspired

I Saw the Light - This is the song that I envisioned at the very end of the chapter, not directly referenced

AO3

*****

“So I’ve been thinking,” you, the Earthling woman stuck in a galaxy on the other end of the vastly infinite universe, begin a conversation with your cosmic companion clad in Mandalorian beskar. You’re seated across from him at the very same restaurant where you had first sat across from each other and negotiated the terms of your sort-of employment upon his ship all those months ago.

Thinking about how nervous you felt around him that first time you’d met, compared to how comfortable you are in his presence now, brings a warm smile to your features as you bounce the kid in your lap. If someone had told you on that fateful Nevarro evening that you would be on the verge of completely falling for the guy by now, you’d have laughed in their faces. Sure, you had found him attractive in a weird way, but you’d expected it to start and end with that. 

The fact that you’d almost slept with him only a few hours ago is hard to wrap your head around. It feels like that had been a dream. You can still feel the ghost of his fingers on your skin, goosebumps crawling up the back of your neck at the thought of how it’d felt to let him touch you so intimately. Idly, your free hand snakes up to your neck as you hold the little planet pendant he’d given you between your thumb and forefinger, letting the tiny thing run back and forth along the thin gold chain. Having him adorn you with jewelry was the highlight of that entire interaction. 

Mando’s suddenly saying your name in his modulated voice as he waves a gloved hand in front of your face, and you snap out of the memory. 

Laughing, you shake your head at him with a grin, “Shit, sorry. I got lost thinking about this morning.”

“Mm,” he responds, the way he hums letting you know that it’s been on his mind as well. Then he changes the subject back to what you’d started to say a moment go. “You said you’ve been thinking about something?” He urges you to finish your thought, head moving as he looks you over. You wonder if he’s raising an eyebrow at you, liking to think that he is.

“I want you to teach me how to be more like you,” you say plainly, eyeing him for a reaction.

“In what way?” Din asks skeptically.

A droid comes over and drops a bowl of unappetizing looking, half-alive food in front of the kid, who begins to slurp it up happily. You smile down at him before fixing your gaze back on the Mandalorian across from you, attempting to look serious. “To defend myself, to fight. I want to know how to protect myself without a blaster. I’d like to see if the warrior you think is inside me can find her way out.”

Mando stays quiet for a moment, watching the kid eat before he answers you. “Are you sure?”

Nodding, you reply, “Very much so. We’re only six years past the Galactic Civil War. Clearly I should know what I’m doing because that’s not going to be last last time any of us are in danger. And besides, I’d like to feel more like equals.”

Leaning forward, he drops his voice down low enough that only you and the kid can hear, “I don’t need you to fight like a Mandalorian for us to be equals, Cyar’ika.”

You roll your eyes a little, but a playful smirk pulls itself up the left side of your mouth. He’d told you back at the inn that cyar’ika is Mando’a for darling, so hearing him call you that in a public place is enough to make you feel giddy. Assuming that he’d said it in order to get his point across, you want to make sure that you get your own point across too.

“This isn’t for your benefit, Mando. It’s for mine. I genuinely want this.” Gaze serious, you long to reach across the table and touch his hand for further emphasis. The restaurant isn’t very crowded, but you abstain regardless.

He seems to mull this over for a moment, “If it is truly what you want, then will teach you how to fight like a Mandalorian. Training won’t be easy. It will take time and dedication.”

“I know I can do this, or rather, I want to prove to myself that I can do this. That I’m not just some weakling from a planet of humans that can barely make it to their own moon. I used to feel thankful that I was privileged enough to never know what fighting for my life felt like, but I think that my life was very small because I’ve never had to leave my comfort zone. I can’t shake this feeling that I was meant to be here, that there’s something out there in this galaxy for me. A bigger life, maybe. And besides, we’ve got all the time in the world,” you add with a little grin, “I’ll stay with you on the Space RV for as long as you’ll have me.”

Mando’s voice takes on a somber tone, “There is an open invitation for you to stay as long as you like. Even when the reason you joined me in the first place is no longer with us.” 

He’s talking about the kid leaving, and your heart sinks at the thought of it. Eyes casting down to the child in your lap, your chest begins to ache. “So we’re really going through with that when we leave Nevarro again?”

Sighing, he nods once. “It is my duty.”

“I know, I just wish it didn’t have to be.” 

“I know.”

Suddenly the seat beside you becomes occupied, and you look over to see Carasynthia Dune seated to your left. She looks between you and the Mandalorian and raises an eyebrow. “Why do you guys seem so miserable?”

Your eyes flick over to Din with a knowing glance, then back to Dune as you shake your head. “No reason. I guess we’re still pretty worn out.”

“Mando told me what happened. I know it’s hard, but for what it’s worth I’m proud of you,” she says, knocking into your shoulder with her own. 

Odd as the sensation is, you’re thankful for her pride. It’s affirming to feel like you did the right thing, even if it was the morally comprising thing. “Thanks, Cara. Mando here was just agreeing to teach me how to fight properly. Hopefully next time something like that happens I’ll be more prepared.”

The Marshal looks over to the Mandalorian and then back to you with a little smirk. “Oh really? Well, while you’re here if you want any help from me I’d be glad to offer my services.”

Mando looks to you, “That’s not a bad idea. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve trained someone together.”

“And this is not as time-sensitive,” Cara adds.

You look between them with a raised brow, “Okay, that’s a story I expect to hear at some point. So when do we start?”

Cara shrugs, “I’m not busy today. Why not now?”

Once the child is finished eating, all parties involved vacate the restaurant and head for the outskirts of town. Nevarro really is growing into a city that could eventually be seen as a respectable place to settle down. It’s people are kind and polite, the physical structure of the town itself is growing more aesthetically appealing by the day. Greef Karga’s hard work seems to be paying off.

Eventually you realize that Cara is leading your group close to where you first fell from the sky when the black hole spat you out. You haven’t set foot here since the day it happened. Suddenly triggered by this realization, an odd feeling washes over you and you feel almost sick with anxiety thinking about the events which led to your arrival in this galaxy. What your family had put you through. How you had been wishing, praying to deities you don’t even believe in, for something to take you far away from everything bad in your life only to have it replaced with good.

An intrusive thought echoes through your fraught mind, and you imagine another black hole forcing itself open. Horrific black tentacles much like those in the Anzat’s dead face snake out of it’s abyss to catch hold of you and drag you back into it. Drag you back to your old life where you felt small, inadequate, and unloved. 

Unthinking, you grab for Din’s hand and squeeze it. Shallow breathing starts to find you as you  feel panic rising in your chest. You really don’t ever want to go back there, and it’s far  more apparent to you now than it has been this entire time. Mando aside, the kid aside, and life in space aside, you know in your rapidly thumping heart that should you go back to Earth something in you would die forever.

Cara is a few paces up ahead walking beside the child, so Din squeezes your hand back and looks down to address you with a low voice full of concern, “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, “She’s leading us close to where I landed when the black hole spit me out. It’s probably a five minute walk from here.”

“Does this frighten you?”

“A little,” you try to breathe slowly, “I don’t know why but I got scared that another one might snatch me up and send me back, and now my heart is so full of dread that I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t go back there, Mando. I fucking refuse.”

“It’s incredibly illogical that it would happen,” your Mandalorian tries to soothe. 

“I know, but that’s how afraid I am to go back. I never told you what happened that day, did I?”

He looks ahead to Cara and the kid, then he shakes his head once and looks back over to you, “Only in so many words. The subject seems sensitive to you so I never pressed.” 

You sigh, “I hate thinking about this, but I’d like you to understand why I feel this way.”

*****

Earth. 2023. Day of the Incident.

Blasting “Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears at nearly full volume, you’re screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs as you dance around in the driver seat of your blue Honda Civic at a stop light. The old girl has seen better days, with one speaker on the verge of death, a broken glove box, and no sun visor on the driver side of the windshield. It had just fallen off into your lap one day, as most things in this vehicle have just decided to give up on you mid drive. It’s a piece of shit, but it was the first car you bought as an adult so you love it regardless and fully intend to drive it into the ground before you eventually buy something else.

You’re having a great day. One of the better days you’ve had in recent memory. It’s been two months since Grandad was declared legally dead, and one month since the funeral you did not attend. 

That being said, you decided to take a few days off from work and give yourself a mini stay at home vacation so you’ve been out enjoying yourself all day. Full of edibles and your favorite shitty mall cheese fries, you’d taken yourself out on a movie date. It’s been a while since you’d been to the theater, so you went for a double feature. A new horror movie that only kinda sucked, and the next installment of a stupid comedy series you’ve enjoyed since high school.

You feel more at ease as the lovely day goes on, and when it finally comes time to go back home you enjoy blaring your music so loud that you’re sure that this is the day the right speaker will finally give up on you. But you could care less. You’re actually enjoying yourself for once.

Then you pull into the driveway of your home, and all of the color drains from your face as your heart sinks into your feet. 

Your Grandmother is here. With some guy you don’t recognize. Anger rises in your chest like a pot that’s about to boil over. She looks so polished on the surface. Immaculate hair and makeup, fine jewelry and clothing. But under the facade you know that there’s a heart of stone and a narcissistic personality just waiting to show themselves. 

Gritting your teeth, you get out of the car and shake your head at the intruders. “Fuck off,” you say firmly, “I don’t want whatever it is your selling.” 

Your Grandmother scowls at you, wrinkled face contorting into an ugly sneer. Her voice has a thick layer of fake sweetness to it, “That’s not very kind, sweetheart.”

You snort, “Oh, how silly of me. I forgot my manners. Fuck off, please.”

“I would watch how you speak to me, young woman. This is my lawyer, Mr. Burns. You wouldn’t want to do something that’ll get you into trouble. Again.” She looks so pleased with herself, and you wish there was a way you could deck her and get away with it.

Slamming the car door, you come to stand on the walkway that leads to the front door of your little rancher home. “Well I guess I should thank my lucky stars that you didn’t call the cops on me again. Oh, wait, I haven’t fucking done anything. Just like last time. You’re the one trespassing on my property. Maybe I should return the favor and give them a ring.”

“This is not your property,” she says with a smirk.

“Yes it is. He left it to me. You read the same will that I did.” 

Your Grandmother looks to the lawyer. A sniveling little man with a bald spot and glasses, he adjusts said spectacles and looks at you with an awkward facial expression. 

Mr. Burns clears his throat, “Upon researching the legal documents surrounding this property, I found a discrepancy. Your grandmother was never removed from the deed because your grandfather missed a page upon signing the document, so therefore her removal is not valid. You’re welcome to find legal representation and fight my firm on this matter in court, but your grandmother is still a homeowner and you are not.”

“That’s… No. That’s fucking impossible. Leave me alone, get out of my life.”

“Filthy-mouthed Godless brat,” the old woman sneers at you, making you want to curl up into yourself like a little kid again. She’s had this effect on you for most of your life and it’s infuriating that she can still make you feel so small and worthless.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask in a tiny voice, angry at yourself for cracking under the pressure of her evil gaze. 

“Because I intend to take what’s mine. Perhaps if you had not betrayed your family we could have made some kind of arrangement, but that ship has sailed.”

“I love that I stood up for myself and tried to call you all out for abusing me and I ‘betrayed’ you. You’re a fucking psycho. All of you are dead to me.” 

The crone looks almost hurt for a moment, and then her face becomes sour again. She’s never looked more ugly to you. “You have until this time tomorrow to get out. If you’re still here when I come back, I’ll be calling the police. You can leave your keys under the mat. Don’t try to keep them, I’ll be changing the locks when the house goes up on the market so it won’t do you any good.” 

Dread fills your heart, eyes tearing up. You refuse to let yourself cry in front of her, to give her any satisfaction. “I can’t move all of my things out in a day. I have nowhere to go.”

She waves you off as if what you said is irrelevant. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out. I’ll have the rest of your belongings put in the garage and you can come get them at your leisure. If they are still there when I’m ready to sell the house I’m giving it all to a thrift store. Enjoy your last night here, sweetie.”

And with that, the horrible woman who you will no longer think of as your grandmother and the lawyer leave. You’re left standing in your front yard with your heart ripped from your chest. As soon as their vehicles are gone, you drop down to your knees and begin to sob. 

Shakily, you pull your phone from your hoodie pocket and begin typing out frantic text messages to any of the friends you think might let you crash on their couches for a few days. 

Your entire world is crumbling down around you, and you sincerely want to die for a few minutes.

Then you suddenly realize that dying would only give your family the satisfaction of knowing they won, so you pull yourself up from the grass and rush over to let yourself in. You don’t know how, but you’re going to find a way to fight for this house. It means too much to you. You can’t just give up.

Upon entering the house a new wave of anxiety and sadness floods your system, but you try to keep a level head as best as you can. Jupiter comes to greet you, and you pat her on the head with a shaky hand.

“We’ve got to take a little trip, homegirl. This is going to suck for a while but it’s going to be okay. I’m going to fix this.” You say down to her, reassuring yourself more than her. 

She meows in response, so you nod. Before jumping to crazy conclusions, you need to see these legal documents for yourself and confirm that what you’ve been told is true. There’s a chance that some of this was your grandmother bluffing. But first things first, you need to charge your phone and pack a bag in case this threat is real and your grandmother isn’t just trying to scare you into leaving. 

So you plug your phone into the charger in the kitchen and scramble around the house with your huge purple pet carrier backpack, frantically throwing in random items you think you’re going to need. Clothes, the iPad and it’s charger, and for some reason you throw nail polish in. Some of the items you pack don’t make sense, but you’re riddled with anxiety and it’s keeping your scattered mind from thinking straight. 

Then you go down to the basement, Jupiter in tow. This is where your grandfather’s very seventy’s looking office is located, and aside from cleaning it you’ve left everything in it’s proper place and barely touched anything in the five years he’s been gone. The hope that he’d return one day never once leaving your heart.

The room is covered in yellow shag carpet and wood paneling on the walls. Your grandfather’s scientific triumphs are on display all other the room, either hung up or on display beside his library of books. A telescope almost as long as you are tall is set up on a tripod facing the one small window.

Sitting down at the large wooden desk, you begin rifling around through drawers to see if there’s anything related to the house you can find. Most of it is scientific paperwork that makes absolutely no sense to you, so you slam a frustrated palm down on the mahogany surface. 

You have no idea what you did, but a compartment opens up and a little metal prong with what looks like a repurposed GoPro camera pops out of the desk. Blinking at it, you whisper to yourself, “What the fuck…?”

To which a robotic voice responds, “Voice recognition accepted. Beginning facial recognition scan.” A little red light like a laser pointer shines in your face from the prong, and the voice comes back with, “Facial recognition accepted. Beginning fingerprint recognition scan.”

And then the coster beside your grandfathers cigar ashtray lights up, and you’re so dumbfounded that you just stare at it. 

“No fingerprint found. Re-initiating scan.”

“Shit,” you mumble, sticking your right index finger down onto the glowing pad.

“Fingerprint recognition accepted. Welcome,” the robotic voice greets you by name and your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline.

The carpeted floor below the desk slides open to reveal a hatch leading straight down. Jumping down to your hands and knees, you try the wheel on the door and with some effort you’re able to pull it open. A thin tunnel with a ladder leading straight down into darkness is what greets you on the other side. Waving a hand down in the hole, you trigger the motion activated lights and watch as the tunnel illuminates itself for you. It looks to go about fifteen or twenty feet down.

“This has got to be a dream,” you mumble. Jupiter comes over to sniff around at the hole, so you scoop her up in one arm. “I’m not going down there alone, little miss.”

With Jupiter inside of her area of the backpack and the large thing strapped to your back, you carefully position yourself at the top of the ladder and begin a slow descent. It takes a moment, but your feet finally touch solid ground again and you’re suddenly standing in what is clearly a large laboratory. It’s so big that you know it has to run under some of the neighbors’ houses as well as your own.

“So you had a secret lab and you never told me?” You ask yourself, addressing the father figure who is obviously not there. All of this is so incredibly hard for you to process. 

It smells like a hospital, and the walls are all a clinical white. Equipment that you can’t even begin to wrap your head around is all over the room. It all looks like something out of Stanley Kubrick’s sci-fi classic “2001: A Space Odyssey”, which was your grandfather’s favorite movie of all time. You wonder if the design is intentional. There isn’t a single window or obvious other entrance. The hole you came down in is likely the only way in or out.  

Which is why you begin to panic when it suddenly shuts and locks itself. 

“Shit, no no no.” You put your backpack down and scramble back up the ladder, shoving on the door. After trying to find some way to open it and failing, you figure that there’s got to be some sort of control for it down in the lab, so you climb back down.

Jupiter’s part of the backpack wasn’t completely zipped, and the cat has wiggled her way free by the time your sneaker covered feet touch the floor again. When you look over to see her walking around on some of the equipment and it begins to light up and make noise, you curse again and run after her with the backpack. 

“Hey, stop that. I have no idea what this shit does and I don’t need you turning things on.” You nearly grab her but she jumps from one machine to anther, landing on ever more buttons and knocking a leaver into the opposite direction.

Then the room begins to shake as a circular pad on the floor glows. The cat jumps on a few more buttons and then comes to land on the eerily glowing floor. Rushing to her, you scoop her up in your arms, fighting her as she tries to escape your grasp. 

“Would you sit still? You might have really fucked us over on this one, Jupiter.”

A loud noise takes over your senses, your body tingling all over. You realize that you suddenly can’t move, everything becoming incredibly bright as you scream. After that everything fades to black completely. 

*****

Nevarro. Present Day. 

You look at Din as you finish telling him the story, feeling vulnerable and tired after reliving such a horrible memory. His body language seems on edge for a moment.

Then he stops walking to pull you into a hug. His voice is laced with animosity, “Those people are not your family. A clan should treat it’s members with respect and admiration.” 

“I’ve known that for a long time, Mando,” you mumble into his shoulder, squeezing him. “I’m glad they aren’t in my life anymore. I don’t want a family like that.” You can’t help but think that the family you do want is literally holding you, but you keep that thought to yourself. 

“Not to interrupt,” Cara’s voice breaks your train of thought, “but we’re here.” 

Looking around, you notice that she’s brought you to what looks like a little arena. Volcanic rock surrounding it, there’s a large and nearly perfect circular section of flat surface. The area is very secluded, far enough away from town that it’ll serve as a great practice ring. 

“We‘ll be right behind you,” Mando says, and Cara takes the hint enough to walk away with the kid in tow.

You and Din break apart from each other, Din keeping a hand on your shoulder as he looks down at you. It’s not often that you wish to see him without his helmet, but this is one of those instances. “So now you know why I don’t want to go home,” you say with misty eyes, “why I can’t stand the thought of it. There’s literally nothing for me there.”

Din responds by leaning his head down to gently bump foreheads with you in a Mandalorian kiss. His head lingers there for a moment. “This can be your home,” he whispers.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” you counter, looking right into the visor. 

“I mean it,” Din breathes. He lifts up, motioning for you to follow as he begins making his way over to where Cara is waiting for the two of you. Then he laughs a little and looks back over his shoulder at you, “That cat is not allowed in the cockpit by herself anymore. I don’t need her jumping us to the other end of the galaxy.” 

You laugh as well, “I try not to let her up there unless she’s supervised.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I find her sleeping up there and you’re nowhere to be found.” 

“Butthead,” you poke your tongue out at him, grinning when he makes a noise of feigned offense.

Joining Cara and the kid, you look between both of your warrior friends and clap your hands together. “Alright guys, what are we going to start with? Punching? Kicking?”

Din and Cara look at each other and nod, then back to you. Cara smirks, “Hold your banthas, you’ve got to learn how to dodge an oncoming attack before you can even think about attacking first.”

“Blocking and dodging are essential,” Din agrees with a nod.

You can’t help but groan.

*****

“I can’t feel my legs, you’re gonna have to carry me back.” 

Din watches you throw a dramatic hand to your head, leaning back against a rock as you pretend to pass out. The short, purple hair upon your head is nearly soaked through, laying in damp little clumps on your forehead. The impractical Earth shirt that you’d been wearing the first time Din ever saw you is equally soaked through, clinging to your form. He’s never seen you strain your body with exercise in the way he did today, and how hard you pushed yourself only serves to make you more lovely to him. 

Cara is already back in town, having been called away on marshal business, so its just the three of you out here as the sun begins to set. The sky is turning a lovely shade of violet above each of your heads.

Din comes to squat down in front of you, shaking his helmeted head, “It hasn’t even been one day.”

Opening one eye to look at him, you grin widely, “I was just being silly. To be fair you guys did make me squat more than I’ve ever squatted in my entire life. My thighs are on fire. And my arm hurts where she punched me.”

You’d taken a few of Cara’s hits before getting the hang of blocking them, but none of it had discouraged you. In fact, it only seemed to egg you on harder.

“I told you this wouldn’t be easy,” he replies with a playful tone. 

You throw him a pointed look, “I don’t want this to be easy. I’m trying to challenge the expectations I have for myself.”  

Under the beskar Din is smiling very warmly at you, “I’m teasing. You did very well today, Cyar’ika.”

“Thanks,” you groan a little as you stretch your legs out straight, “I can’t wait until we move on from blocking and dodging. This sucks.”

“Soon enough,” Din agrees. He looks over to the pram where the kid is out cold, smile faltering for a moment. Taking the kid to his own kind has been on his mind all day, and he wants to avoid it for as long as he possibly can. An incredibly irresponsible idea strikes him, and he looks back to you with hopeful eyes in spite of the fact that you cannot see them. “I was going to suggest we leave Nevarro in another day or so, but perhaps we should extend our stay for a little longer. I can’t train you as well on the ship as I can here. There isn’t enough room.”

Your brow reaches up towards your hairline, following his gaze to the pram and then back to him. “Isn’t that going to interfere with things?”

Din shakes his head, “It shouldn’t. A week won’t be that much of a delay. We might as well make the most of our time here while we have it.”

You seem pleased with his suggestion, a beautiful little smile playing at your lips. “I’ll have to make runs to the ship to go check on the cat, but I’m not opposed to staying for a little longer.” 

Standing, Din holds both of his gloved hands out to you. You take each one of his appendages in your own, letting him gently pull you up from the ground. Once you’re standing to full height again he pulls you the rest of the way into him, wrapping his arms around you. Din leans his head onto your shoulder with a sigh, eyes slipping closed as he breathes in your scent. 

“None of this is easy for me,” his voice is barely a whisper.

Din feels you begin to rub circles into his lower back with your left hand, cradling his metal covered head onto you with your right. “You mean us? Whatever this is between us?” You ask quietly into his neck, sounding faintly afraid.

He shakes his head on you, “You. The kid. I’m not used to caring for other people this much.”

Mumbling into his shoulder, your voice is full of mixed emotions, “What about the other Mandalorians from your covert?”

“That’s… different,” he says, “It’s tied to a sense of duty. With you, there’s no duty involved. I just want this. I want you. And with the kid, it started as a sense of duty but now it’s grown into something else entirely.”

“It sounds to me like you love him, Din. Like any good parent loves their child.”

“But I have to do what’s right, what’s best for him.” 

You pull back enough to look at him again, but you don’t break the embrace. “No offense, but who are we to decide what’s best for him?”

Din’s head tilts down, gaze somber behind the visor. “When he meets his own kind, it will be up to him to decide. This is The Way.” 

“Maybe one day I’ll truly understand what that means,” you say with a small laugh.

“One day,” Din repeats almost dreamily.

Dislodging yourself from his arms, you take a step back and yawn. “So I don’t know about you, but I could really use a shower and another night of sleep in that big comfy bed.”

Din nods, modulator hissing a little as he responds, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Nightfall comes rapidly on Nevarro thanks to it’s orbital path, so by the time the three of you reach the inn it’s incredibly dark out already. Luckily reptavians don’t fly this early, so Din isn’t worried about catching one’s eye. The kid stays asleep the entire time, curled up in a little blanket inside of the closed pram as it floats beside Din to the left. You walk beside him on the right, and he worries that he’s pushed you too hard as he watches you struggle to take full steps by the end of the short journey. 

“Make sure you stretch,” Din says as you’re entering the rented room, “Those muscles are going to feel even worse tomorrow.”

“I was already planning on it,” you reply with a groan, throwing your bag down on the bed to dig out a change of dress. “But first, I need to get these damp clothes off and feel clean again. Can I go first?” Gesturing towards the fresher, you jab a thumb in its general direction.

“Of course,” Din agrees, enjoying the look of happiness that crosses your features.

“Thanks, I’ll be out soon.” And with that, you’re shutting yourself into the small space. Din can hear the water running on the other side of the door.

Din stands there for a moment, just staring at the fresher door. He knows exactly what he wants to do next, but he’s unsure if its the right thing to do. To Hell with it, his own voice eventually whispers inside his head. He begins to strip himself of all armor and heavy clothing, placing it on the desk as he had the night before. Once he’s down to just a shirt and pants, he double checks that the child is indeed sleeping deeply inside of the pram and ensures that the pod is shut again when he’s done surveying his foundling. Hopefully the kid will just stay asleep for the remainder of the night, but just incase he won’t Din needs to execute his plan as quickly as possible. 

He moves to the fresher door, knocking lightly. 

“It’s unlocked if you need something,” your voice filters through from the other side. 

And so Din enters the fresher, closing the door behind him. He chooses not to speak as he looks at the frosted shower door, the silhouette of your naked body on the other side filling him with a warmth that he once thought to be dormant inside him. It’s not even a clear view of you, but damn are you stunning. 

The shower itself is roomier than the narrow thing back on the Razor Crest, with the rest of the fresher being of a much nicer quality as well. Half the time Din just uses the sonic while back on the ship, simply because it’s less of a hassle. This room, however, was intended for people to luxuriate themselves. The one on the Crest was intended to get the job done.

“Hello?” You eventually call out, voice puzzled.

It’s now or never, so he begins to remove his pants and undergarments followed by his shirt. The mirror is already fogging up considerably, but he catches a glimpse of himself in its hazy reflection and admires his physique for a moment. Nude save for the beskar upon his head, he sincerely hopes that this next move is going to go over well with you.

Din’s hand grabs for the shower door handle, gently sliding the thing open. He doesn’t look at you yet, though. He feels as if he should be granted permission first. 

You squeak out his name again in a questioning tone, voice sounding genuinely surprised. 

“I was hoping I could join you,” he says quietly, his own voice low as his eyes continue to cast downward and away from you. All he can see is your feet. 

Din begins to worry that he’s overstepped his bounds when you don’t answer right away, but then he feels a wet hand wrap around his wrist and he’s suddenly being yanked forward.

“I would love for you to join me,” the tone of your voice is so lovely in this moment that Din’s chest swells at the sound of it.

He looks at you then, breath hitching in his throat as his eyes soak up every inch of your gorgeous body. Hot water bounces off of your supple skin, some of it running in miniature streams down your thighs. He follows the trail all the way up to the lovely patch of hair between your legs, then up past your hips and bellybutton to the exquisite breasts. What really sends Din over the edge, is the fact that you’re still wearing the necklace he gave you on the slim neck he wishes he could sink his teeth into.

“Mesh’la,” he breathes. Then he realizes that you’ve been doing the same exact thing, admiring his naked body for the first time with hungry eyes.

“Fucking perfect,” you breathe back, and finish pulling him all the way into the shower. 

Din slides the door shut behind him, moving into the hot water with sharp hiss. “You really like to burn, don’t you?” He chuckles.

You giggle a little, wet hair falling in your face as you look up him. “What can I say? I love hot showers. Is the helmet going to fog up on you?” 

His hands find your hips, gripping slightly. “No, its designed to withstand most conditions. I can see just fine.”

“Mm,” you hum, mimicking the sound he often makes when he doesn’t have much to say at first. “What about washing your face? Or your hair?”

He shrugs, “When you’re finished I’ll just stay in a little longer.” You seem to look a little uncomfortable for a moment, so Din brings a hand up to move some of the hair from your eyes. “What is it?”

“I don’t really want the first time we have sex to be in a shower.”

“That was not my intention,” hidden, Din can’t help but smile fondly at you, “I just wanted to be close to you.”

“Well in that case,” you shuffle forward a little, pressing your bare body to his as you snake your arms around his neck. 

Din has no idea how long the two of you are in there together, but in his mind it mind it goes on for hours. Hands all over as you wash one another, slowly scouring fleshy new terrain. Examining each other’s forms with almost scientific interest, each of you treating the other like some sort of glorious discovery. Lips on his chest for the first time over a decade. There is so much physical touch that Din nearly gets dizzy from it at one point. His entire body tingles with sensations he’s not sure he’s ever felt, bright sparks constantly cascading throughout his nerve endings. He inevitably grows hard from it at one point, but neither of you bother to address it.

Eventually you declare that you’re ready to get out and go to bed, so you rise up on the balls of your feet to peck the side of his helmet, and suddenly Din is completely by himself in the water. You dry off and throw on some fresh clothes, and once you’re completely gone from the fresher Din slides the helmet from his head. He sets it on the counter just outside of the shower, finishing up with the quick routine of cleansing himself.

Once he’s done and standing in front of the fogged mirror, he wipes away at the cool surface in order to see his reflection. Din is sure he’s never looked this relaxed.

When he enters back into the room, clothed and helmeted once again, he finds you already curled up in the bed under the blanket. 

Yawning, you gesture over to the kid’s pod, “Let’s keep the kid in the pram tonight. There’s no point in moving him if he’s comfortable.” 

“Fair point,” Din agrees, killing the lights before coming to join you.

It’s not pitch black, so the two of you can still faintly see each other, Din more so than you with the helmet’s technology. You roll onto your side facing towards him, and he lays down facing towards you.

“I just realized something and I’m a little embarrassed,” you whisper shyly.

“What?” Din asks.

Giggling, you cover your eyes with one hand but splay your fingers out so that you can still look at him. “How old are you?” 

Din quietly laughs, “Have we never talked about this?”

“I guess not.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Propping yourself up on one elbow, head in your hand, you squint at him for a long moment. “Forty-seven.”

“Thanks, I’m glad that I seem old.” Below the beskar Din is grinning at you cheekily.

“Hey! I was just guessing! You’re kinda rugged, so I figured you were way older than me,” you squint at him even harder, “Are you older than me?” 

He shakes his head, chuckling, “Yes, but not by that much. I’m thirty-eight.” 

“Okay, so eight years older than me. Hmm what else haven’t I found out about yet?” Looking him up and down, your squinting eyes suddenly widen. “Oh shit! Your hair! Is it dark or light? My guess is dark based off of your body hair.”

“Mhm, dark. It’s brown. Somewhat curly.”

“Facial hair?” 

He nods, “A little bit. I like to at least keep a mustache and some on my chin. I look… odd without a mustache.” 

You scoff, “I thought you said you don’t have a problem with the way you look.”

“I don’t. I said I look odd, not bad.” 

“Okay that’s fair. What about your eyes? I’m going to guess green.”

He shakes his head, smiling. Din adores the fact that you’re this enamored with him. “Brown.” 

You close your eyes for a long moment, a content smile of your own crossing your features. “I’m trying to imagine you. Do you have any scars or anything like that? Missing half an eyebrow on one side?”

“Not really. I have both eyebrows. My nose is normal, if not a little big.” 

“Well now I’m convinced that I’m right, you’ve got to be handsome in there.” You gently tap the beskar with one finger.

Din’s face becomes serious, unbeknownst to you, so his voice changes to match the seriousness on his face as he gestures towards his head, “I’m... grateful that you find me attractive with this on.” 

You seem shocked by this, “Are you kidding? That thing is downright sexy. I can’t explain it, there’s just something about it. Maybe it’s how you wear it. The fact that you can just turn your head and say nothing but it completely changes the tone of a conversation. Your personality still manages to shine through the physical barrier. You know how to express yourself without anyone being able to see your real facial expressions.”

Din shrugs, “I had to learn how to do that.” 

“I actually worry that this,” you gesture between the two of you, “is weird for you because I’m not a Mandalorian and I don’t wear one of those.” 

Looking you over, Din decides to admit the thing he’s never spoken out loud to another person before, “I’m not proud of this, but I’ve never been able to see another mandalorian in the way that you see me. The helmet is not alluring to me.” 

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you say quietly, frowning, “you are allowed to be attracted to whoever or whatever you want. Unless… oh shit, is this actually forbidden or something? Are we breaking some sort of sacred Mandalorian rule?” 

Din shakes his head, “No. A Mandalorian is not required to take another Mandalorian as a mate. A bond is all that is required for a connection between two individuals to be considered valid.” 

You grin, eyebrows shooting up, “So are we each other’s mate?” 

Din had almost said the word “lover” a moment ago, it had been on the very tip of his tongue. Afraid that it would be the wrong thing to say, he’d instead gone with “mate” and now that you’ve jokingly pointed it out he feels incredibly awkward for his choice of wording. This is why he never used to talk unless he had to. In an attempt to recover he says, “Only if you want to be.” 

“I think I could be cool with that.”

He’s confused by your odd turn of phrase, but he can tell that you meant it in a positive way. Scooting towards him, you spin yourself around and press your backside up against Din’s front. He instinctively curls his legs up to catch yours, wrapping one arm around you as he pulls you in close.

You both fall asleep in less time than it usually takes, comfort and contentment aiding two weary souls in finding rest.

*****

As the week goes on, you find yourself spending every day out by the lava fields of Nevarro learning hand to hand combat from your Mandalorian. Sometimes Cara joins your group, sometimes its just you, Din, and the kid. 

On the second day, you force Din to do yoga with you so you can stretch out the tight leg muscles from the day before. It’s hilarious to see him do some of the poses, being that he insists on leaving all of his armor on. He’s covered in beskar attempting to do “happy baby”, and you really have to hold in your laughter because you don’t want him to think you’re picking on him. The kid joins in too, following your movements with much more ease than his father figure. 

“A happy baby would never lay like this,” Din huffs, rocking as he struggles to keep hold of his booted feet. He finally gives up and lets his legs fall back down to the ground, rolling over to jab a finger towards his green foundling who is rolling around on his tiny back with his legs in the air. “I’ve certainly never seen him do that and he’s happy most of the time.” 

Laughing, you sit up and shake your head at him. “It’s just a dumb name for it, it’s not supposed to be hyper-realistic.”

Later, after learning how to get out of a chokehold from behind, you take a break to do some art with the kid. It’s the first time you’ve broken out the set of supplies that Din bought on Nar Shaddaa, and the kid has a blast with it. At one point while you’re drawing flowers and animals on your board, the kid is drawling little scribbles on his own. Din’s seated beside you holding the kid in his lap, watching his foundling draw with interest.

When the kid turns around and holds up his work of art with a string of babbles, Din makes an odd little noise. It sounds choked, and it instantly grabs your attention.

“Wow, buddy. Is that us?” He sounds amazed as he lovingly pats him on the head, “Great job, kid.”

“Let me see, Green Bean.” You lean over to look at the kid’s art board, and your mouth drops open. To a stranger it would barely pass for a comprehensible picture, looking like three heaps of multicolored scribbles. But you can clearly see that the three scribbles are supposed to be Din, the kid, and yourself. The child’s green and tan form with big ears poking out is nestled between a back and purple scribble with extra purple on top, and a brown and silver scribble with a wiggly black T shape over the silver circle meant to be the head. The two big scribbles look to be holding hands above the green scribble’s head, long janky shapes meant to be arms touching each other at the ends. 

Tears fill your eyes, overwhelmed with emotion for this little child. You lean forward with your eyes closed and press a kiss to the top of his head, feeling his small hand lift up to touch your neck. An image crosses your mind then, one of the Mandalorian and yourself raising the child as your own, and you have to force yourself not to get lost in it. After this little vacation the plan is still to find where he belongs and take him there, and your heart is already cracked in two at the mere thought of it. 

“Great job, little dude,” you say with a grin when you sit up to look down at him again, “You’re such a good kid. You know that, right?”

“You really are,” Din agrees, scooping the kid up in his gloved hands as he lays down on his back, “The best kid in the galaxy.” He holds the green child up in the air, pretending that the little guy is a tiny starship as Din makes all kinds of mouth noises to simulate the act of flying. It’s hands down the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen Din do.

It is in that moment that your heart swells to the point of being painful and you realize how much you love these two people. What they truly mean to you. Din had said that you should all make the most of this respite on Nevarro, and so you intend to enjoy this time with the three of you all together as much as you can. Soaking in every second of it is your new priority for the next couple of days. 

*****

On the third day, you finally get to see what the kid’s powers are really like when he uses them to tear Cara off of you. She has you in a pretty good chokehold, wanting to see what Din had taught you the day before, but she actually chokes you to hard for a moment and the kid does not respond well to seeing you unable to breathe. Cara suddenly goes flying back a few feet, landing on her ass. You cough and sputter, catching your breath again.

“Really?!” Dune glares at the kid, “This force crap again? I am not trying to hurt her.” 

“Easy,” Din says, stepping in front f the kid’s pram. “He’s protective of us, and I didn’t like the way you were choking her either.” 

Cara rolls her eyes, “She’s going to have to learn what the real thing feels like if she’s going to have any hope of defending herself.”

“Cara’s not wrong,” you say, rubbing at your neck. You move over to where the kid is looking up at you with concern in his big eyes, throwing a thumbs up his way. “I’m okay, Green Bean. Promise.” 

“Fine,” Mando grunts, helping Cara up from the ground. “You and I should spar a little to show her what correct form looks like.”

“You’re on,” Cara agrees with a smirk. 

You take a seat on a rock next to the kid’s pram, watching as the two warriors square up to fight each other. You really do try your best to keep an eye on both of them and take mental notes, but watching the Mandalorian move with so much ease as he dips and dodges from Cara’s oncoming attacks is so distracting. Every move, every tiny gesture, makes your head swim and your core heat up. He’s mesmerizing to watch, quickly spinning himself behind Cara’s back and pulling her into a chokehold. Cara breaks free, dropping down and spinning to push both hands into Din’s stomach. He grunts, taking a step back to steady himself. 

“So that’s how it should look, but remember that how it feels is equally important... Are you listening?” 

It takes you a moment to realize that Din is talking and you quickly try to recover, but Cara laughs at you and speaks first. “She’s got stars in her eyes, Mando.” 

“I was paying attention, I swear!”

*****

This continues on for the rest of the week. You learn more in those few days than you thought possible in such a short amount of time, but you’re well aware that you’ll have a lot more to learn before you’re anywhere close to Din’s level of skill or Cara’s.

It’s the final day of your Nevarro vacation, as you’ve been calling it, and you find yourself seated at the city’s one restaurant again for breakfast. You’ve got the kid in your lap as you both eat, with Cara seated across from you. Din’s back at the inn eating his breakfast in private, so the two of you are enjoying a little girl time before he comes back.

You take a sip of caf, sighing into the cup as you look at Cara with mixed emotions. “Is it bad that I don’t want to leave? This week has been great.”

Cara shakes her head, “No, but I know Mando is still hung up on finding out where the kid belongs.” 

“It’s his duty,” you reply flatly, “I have to respect that even if I don’t really agree with it.” 

“So what’s going on with you two, anyway?” Cara’s question is surrounded by a bite of her food.

“I mean, I guess we’re a thing?” You shrug, “I’m trying to take this one day at a time.”

“So have you,” she looks down at the kid with a scrunched expression, “you know?”

“No. Almost, but no.” You sigh into your mug of caf again, eyeing her carefully as you consider what you want to say next. “I think I love him, Cara.”

It feels incredibly bizarre to say it out loud, despite having felt it and thought it for days.

“I thought that was obvious,” she says, grinning a little. 

Rolling your eyes, you groan, “Why do I want to throw things at you when we have these conversations?”

“Because I’m right. And because I can see that you’re still spending too much time over thinking everything.” Your first friend in this galaxy’s face suddenly becomes serious as she sits her bowl of food down on the table, looking right into your eyes. “Listen, I lived through a pretty awful war and I’ve seen a lot of horrible shit in my day. I’ve lost a lot of people who I’ve cared for. The rebellion fought for freedom so that people could worry about things like love, and not when the Empire was going to show up and ruin their lives at a moments notice. Take it from someone who waited too long and missed their chance. This life is too short not to get what you want out of it.”

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod at her and extend gratitude for her little dose of wisdom. “Thanks, Cara. You’re a good friend.”

“You’re welcome.” 

The kid makes a mess of his brown robe, so you sit him on the table to clean him off and that’s when you notice how crowded the restaurant is. It hasn’t been this crowded all week. Not once.

“What’s the all the hullabaloo about today?” Cara seems confused by your choice of wording so you laugh, “Why’s it so busy today? Is something going on?”

“Oh,” Dune says, “It’s a holiday.”

“How have I been here all week and not known this?”

She shrugs, “Beats me. Twice a year there’s an atmospheric anomaly that causes what the locals call a ‘light show’ at sundown. Nevarro holds a bi-annual festival in its honor, the ‘Festival of Lights.’ One in the warm part of the year to represent rebirth and life, and one in the cold part of the year to honor death. We’re coming up on the colder season, so today is the latter.”

You can’t help but grin, “That’s so cool. My favorite holiday back on Earth was all about honoring death, and it also marked the beginning of the cold season. It’s kind of lost it’s original meaning at this point though. So what’s this ‘light show’ look like?”

“I guess you’ll have to see for yourself when the sun sets.” 

Holding the kid below each armpit, you bounce him on the table top a little as you imagine him dressed in an Earth Halloween costume. “On Earth we dressed up as various creatures on Halloween as part of the celebration. Maybe I should find you a little witch hat, kiddo.” 

*****

After finishing his morning meal, Din sets out on the streets of Nevarro to meet you and the child at the restaurant and is shocked to see the city streets so full of life. There are vendors setting up small tables of goods to be sold, street performers preparing for their acts, and most people are dressed in pinks and purples which match the banners decorating the street lights.

“Mando!” Greef Karga’s boisterous voice interrupts his train of thought, and Din looks to his left to see the man himself approaching. “I’m glad you’re here. Today is going to be a very special day for Nevarro!”

“I didn't realize it was already that time of the year,” Din remarks, having been present for more than a few of the bi-annual light shows. It’s beauty is certainty a sight to behold, and he’s suddenly very excited at the prospect of you and the kid getting to see it for yourselves. 

Karga nods, grinning. “This year is going to be different. We’ve gone all out, spared no expense. And I’ll be making a speech in regards to Nevarro’s future as a respectable planet. The outer rim doesn’t have to be all outlaws and old Empire outposts. As of today I will no longer be a part of The Guild, and all trade here is to be done respectfully and legally.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Din agrees, continuing in the direction of the restaurant with Karga in tow.

“I hear you’re planning to leave tomorrow,” the older man says.

“I still have a mission to accomplish,” Din responds.

Karga stops and holds out his hand, Din takes it and the two men shake. “Well, please know that there is always a place for you and yours here if you ever wish to stay.” 

“Thank you, Greef.” 

Karga breaks off to mingle with more of the locals, and Din makes the rest of his way to the restaurant. 

Upon entering, he sees you and stops for a moment. Your back is to him, and you’re holding the child to stand on top of the table at which you’re seated. Cara is seated across from you, laughing, and you lean forward to touch noses with the kid as he also laughs and grabs at your purple hair. 

The sight of it warms him, and when he realizes that this will be the last day of pretending that things aren’t about to get very uncomfortable in regards to the child, a chill cuts through that feeling of warmth. Little pangs of pain jab him in the heart, but he remembers his creed and takes a deep breath to steady himself. Painful as it may be, This is The Way. 

“Mando, how in the hell did you not tell me that today is a holiday?” You say as he approaches the table. 

Din grabs the kid from you, holding him to his chest as he shrugs. “I didn’t think about it until this morning.” 

Looking up at him, your eyes are hopeful. “Well what’s the plan for today? I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.” 

“The spot we’ve been using for training would be great for a secluded view of the lights,” Cara interjects, smirking at you for reasons unbeknownst to Din. 

You grin at Cara then up at Din, “Well what if we poke around the festival for a little bit and then go out there to watch it? I think my body could use a rest day anyway.”

“That would be agreeable,” Din’s lips are tugging up into a grin of his own beneath the beskar. If he can, he just wants to make the two of you happy for this one day. He looks down at his foundling, “What do you think about it, pal?” 

The kid makes a noise of agreement, smiling, and Din feels himself becoming misty eyed. 

“I guess it’s settled then,” you agree, standing to join him. 

The three of you spend the better part of the day roaming through the festivities, watching performers do odd tricks, eating street food that Din saves for when he’ll have a private moment to eat again. Mostly the group just enjoys the celebration of life, soaking up the energy that this gives off. There are small sections scattered throughout the city devoted to mourning the dead, and Din thinks of his fallen comrades as the group moves past them. He’s sure you’re thinking of your grandfather, watching your facial expressions change as you stop to admire one of the shrines. 

At one point a woman drapes a pinkish-purple fabric over your head and says something to you in her native tongue before bowing her own head at you and walking off. 

“What was that?” You ask up to Din once out of earshot, and he gestures around. 

“The colors represent the colors of the atmospheric anomaly. It is seen as good luck to wear the colors on this day, that it will bring prosperity to your life. Just a superstition among the locals. She wished you a long and happy life, and for your fallen loved ones to have found peace in the afterlife.” Din smiles down at you, hidden as always. 

“It’s amazing how many languages you can speak,” you remark, eyeing him with admiration.

“We should continue your education in Mando’a,” he replies. 

With a little wink, you bump your hip into his slightly. “I would love that, ner burc’ya.”

“Cyar’ika,” Din replies lowly enough for only you to hear, wishing for privacy so that he would feel comfortable enough to reach out and touch you. Nights have been full of nothing but touching while on Nevarro, and Din finds himself slowly becoming addicted to it. 

Random children stop to greet you here and there. Some remark that they miss your presence at the school or ask about Jupiter, while others simply grace you a quick hug before running off to re-join their families. Din can tell that this touches you, and you look so incredibly soft to him in those moments.

When a stand selling plush toy versions of lava meerkats catches the kid’s eye, the pram floats over to the stand and the kid begins reaching for one with grabby little hands. One begins to lift up and float towards him, and Din has to quickly snatch it out of the air.

Grinning up at Din, you gesture towards the child with a loving expression. “Aw, look at that he wants a toy!” Din just stares at you so you begin to pout, “Oh come on don’t be a party pooper. Let’s get it for him.”

“It’s overpriced.” 

“So is everything here today.”

Seeing how much the child wants it, and thinking back to his thoughts earlier of wanting to make the both of you happy today, Din conforms with a sigh. He pays for the toy and hands it over to the child, who hugs it so happily that Din suddenly doesn’t care about how much it had cost.

After listening to Greef Karga’s speech about the future of Nevarro, you look to Din and motion with your head that you’d like to get out of the crowd. He feels similarly, and so the three of you exit the city to make your way out to the rocky fields where you’ve been spent the last several days. 

“Sunset will be soon, so I figured it was a good time to get out of there. Plus it was getting a little too crowded,” you say once the party arrives, sitting your things down on a rock. 

“Agreed,” Din says, setting the child down to play with his new lava meerkat. He immediately starts chasing after some sort of insect with it so Din calls after him, “Stay close, kid.” 

The two of you take a seat beside one another and you pull out the personal device from your bag, setting it up to charge in what’s left of the sunlight. Din looks down at it, suddenly feeling like he wants to understand more about the culture you were raised in. 

“Why do humans put so much emphasis on music where you’re from?” He asks, watching you for a reaction. 

You look at him and smile, “Music is one of the many ways us Earthlings express ourselves artistically. It can move people on an emotional level. You can have a terrible day, and then dancing and singing along to your favorite song can make you forget why your day was bad at all. As for the people who make the music, it can be a form of dealing with something that’s going on in their lives. One person can write songs about falling in love, another can write about something sad that happened to them. It’s all about how you feel in the moment. Even music without words can spark an emotional reaction, which is why we use music to amplify the emotional moments in films. On a personal level, music has helped me get through tough times and other times its simply been a source of joy.”

“Mm,” Din responds, unsure of what else to say.

“What about your culture? Are there Mandalorian songs?” 

“Yes, mostly war songs about the glory of our ancestors in battle.” 

You grin, laying back to look up at the sky with your hands behind your head. “I’d be interested to hear what that sounds like.” 

Din sits there for a moment, keeping an eye on the kid while he mulls over the impulse he’s feeling. Maker its been so long since he’d done this, but you’ve become the person he trusts most and he knows that you would treat his decision with respect. 

And so he begins to sing. At first the sound of it is so foreign to him that he’s not sure if he’s got the pitch right, but the ancient words flow out him as he chants the old war song. This one was always his favorite as a foundling, and getting to share it with you strikes a chord within his heart.

You’re sitting up again, staring at him in awe when he finishes. He’s avoided looking at you through all of it, but now he’s meeting your gaze through the beskar with a new sense of confidence after seeing your reaction. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” a little smile plays at your lips as you shove at his shoulder with one hand.

“It’s nothing special,” Din counters. 

You roll your eyes, “Yes, it is. You just shared a Mandalorian war song with me, and you sang it beautifully. That’s special, Din.” 

The kid waddles over to the two of you with his new toy, climbing up into Din’s lap as he stares at him with an equally awestruck expression.

“See? He agrees,” you laugh a little. 

“Play me one of your favorite songs,” Din lightly commands, tone soft. 

“Hmm,” you seem to ponder something for a moment, before grabbing the iPad and clicking around on it. “Aha, this is a good one. You know that shirt with the guy on it that I love so much?” Din nods, so you continue, “He’s a musician named David Bowie, and he was huge deal on Earth. This song is one of my favorites because it’s space themed. It’s called ‘Moonage Daydream.’”

Din leans his head back, allowing his eyes to slip closed as he listens to the odd music. It’s pleasant, even though the lyrics make absolutely no sense to him. You begin to hum along to it at one point and eventually you’re singing along to the words. He feels the kid leave his lap at one point, prying an eye open to see you dancing around with the foundling in your arms. 

The song changes over, and Din stands up to join you. “I’ve heard this one before, you play it quite a bit on the ship.” 

You look bashful for half a second, sitting the kid back down on the ground. He continues dancing with his meerkat. “Yeah this one felt relevant when I first got stuck here. It’s called ‘Message in a Bottle’ by a group called The Police. The lyrics are heavily metaphorical, but its about being stranded on an island after a shipwreck and feeling incredibly alone.” 

“I can see how that would have resonated with you,” Din remarks, head tilting down.

“Yeah, but now it feels like someone found my bottle and I’m not alone anymore.” You look up at him through thick lashes, and Din wishes for a split second that he could kiss you the real way.

Instead, he touches his forehead to yours to kiss you in the Mandalorian way. “Let the music play for a while.” 

As the three of you wait for the sun to finish setting, something that is rapidly approaching, your Earth music cycles through a few more songs. Each one is vastly different from the next, and its a marvel to Din Djarin that a simple planet creates so much variety. 

Then, just as the light show is about to begin, a song with a slower rhythm and lyrics that are clearly meant to be romantic starts playing. Without a second thought, Din grabs your arm and pulls you to him. He starts to gently sway his hips back and forth, guiding you to do the same in tandem with his movements as he dances with you.

In the pram floating next to you both, the child is already looking up at the sky with a mesmerized expression. You’re still staring at Din, so he puts a hand to your chin to gently point your face upwards. 

“Watch the sky, Cyar’ika.” 

Din’s seen the pink and purple swirls of light in Nevarro’s atmosphere many times, so his own eyes do not leave yours as he watches the spectacle in the reflection there. Your face lights up, both literally with pink hues, and figuratively as your mouth falls open into a wide smile. Your eyes shine, and Din never stops gently dancing with you.  

“Mesh’la,” you breathe, never taking your eyes off of the natural display of beauty above your head. 

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

@luc-k-y | @theslytherinwriter | @somewereinthegalaxi | @leithatnight | @missbabyjay