#its like a booth seat that's surrounded by walls on three sides in a little alcove

[hellsite-detective]

What's that one post with build a bear? It was build a sub workshop, or something.

this post was a real simple one, and one i had seen before to boot. this should be a cakewalk. i took a stroll down to the Search Bar and asked the big boss Google if they knew anything about "tumblr build a sub." i was thinkin' they were gonna hand me a photograph like always and call it a day. but no, not this time. they handed me a nice spread of information. plenty of screenshots, sure, but also the direct link to where i could get this post. i grabbed that up, thanked Google for their time, and went along my merry way...

here's your post anon! this is a real classic if i've ever seen one. have a great day!

Post Case: Closed

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.

DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”

pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content

summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's

Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  

You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 

When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 

You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 

Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 

Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 

Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 

Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 

The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 

You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 

You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 

You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 

“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 

Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 

“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 

His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 

“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 

A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 

You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 

“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 

“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 

You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 

“This might sound dumb—” 

“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 

“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 

A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 

“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 

“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 

“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 

“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”

There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 

With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 

You visit his office almost every night. 

You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 

It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 

You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 

But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 

When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 

“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 

Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 

“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 

You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 

You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 

“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 

A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 

Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 

“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 

You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You snort, “Excuse me?” 

“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 

Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 

“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 

You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 

“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 

Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 

“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 

His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 

You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 

Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 

Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 

He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 

You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 

Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 

“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”

His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 

“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 

Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 

“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 

You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   

“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 

Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 

“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 

The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 

He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 

“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 

“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 

He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 

“Will you repeat your sins?” 

“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 

His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 

Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 

He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 

Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 

When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 

“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 

“Thank you, Father.” 

[shedontsmelltoogooddarious]

The Hitcher (2007) fic.

I've been talking about the 2007 version of The Hitcher with @thesightstoshowyou , especially with our HCs between her version of John and my Flint. Hope yah like it!

“You look like shit, kid.” 

He smirked, walking around the gorey mess of what should had been a person. The gorey heap stirred, a sickening squelch sounding out as the thing attempted to prop itself on its front arms. No success. It groaned in frustration, a single eye cracking open to look up at the grizzled man. “You don’t look too hot either, hobo.” 

John busted out laughing, squatting down to prod at its bloody cheek- prompting a hiss. “You ain’t human, are yah? You sure are interesting tho- and I like interesting.” 

A pair of strong arms lifted the creature off hot asphalt as maggots rained down, along with rotting bits of flesh being stuck to the road- John was unphased by it. They were placed in the back of the Fire-bird, before a blanket was thrown over them. 

“Dunno how long you’re gonna last for me, kid, but this is better than rotting on the side of the road.” 

“Let me die, please.” 

“Nah.” 

The engine revved to life.

—-----------------------------------------

They sat in the diner booth, waiting for John to return as they had their knees to their chest, holding their head down with their senses flooded with the sounds and scents of the place. Their oversized hoodie hid most of their scars that littered their body, along with various burn marks from their overdue time in the sun, causing them to bare an uncanny resemblance to Freddy Krueger. They looked up at the clock above the counter; half past ten. John should have been back half an hour ago. Looking around, Flint couldn’t catch any sight of their captor. 

Come on Flint, you can do this.

Gingerly, they got out of the booth- if their heart was still beating, it would have been pounding against their chest. A knot formed in their stomach- they had to try. Quickly now, Flint made their way to the counter before getting the waitress’s attention with a gesture of their mangled hand, the sight causing a few brows to raise. “Ma’am, I need you to call the police.” 

Flint stated, their voice shaking. “Please, I’m being held captive by The Highway killer.” 

The last sentence prompted the waitress to quickly nod as she dashed away to grab the phone hanging off the wall, the cook having overheard as he peered out of the kitchen window in concern. Everything fell silent, save for the analog clock on the wall and the television mounted to the corner with a rerun of Wheel of Fortune. A predator had walked in, and his sharp eyes had caught sight of his vampire being surrounded by people, people who weren’t him. He whistled, a cheery little tune that filled the deafening silence. There were only four of them, including himself. “Flint, honey, did I ever tell yah my own version of the three little pigs?.” 

He asked, taking his seat beside them. Flint shook their head, shaking, their fear threatening to burst through as they struggled to swallow it down. John smirked with his stubbled face, chuckling. 

“Well, there were three little pigs, except one wasn’t a lil’ piggy but a naive, foolish little wolf who decided to trust the two other piggies.” He reached into his leather jacket. “Now, her daddy was crazy, so crazy that he went and butchered them lil’ piggies up and made em’ into bacon.” 

He pulled out his revolver, aiming for and shooting the waitress between the eyes, before swiftly shooting the back of the cook’s head. Blood splattered across the yellowing wall as Flint suddenly wretched and vomited over the stool they sat on. John could only sigh before pulling out a cigarette to light it, eyeing his kid beside him. “You just had to be stupid, didn’t yah Sparky? Now look at what you made me do.” 

He mockingly tsked, grabbing their arm as he yanked them away from the grotesque murder scene. “I found as a room off the side of the highway fifteen miles from here, you’re gonna wash up and think about the damn consequences of your actions.” 

John took a drag of the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, pulling out of the diner as cops could be heard from the distance. Flint’s chance of rescue was slowly fading away behind them. “Drink this.” 

John handing Flint a flask, they gulped- knowing what was in it. They gingerly took it, grimacing. 

“Th-thanks, John…” 

“Drink it this time or else I’ll make you like the last time.” 

Flint nodded, wondering if it was too late to jump out of the Firebird.

[bubblyhoney]

can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk

places i used to go

warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 2191

A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd

inbox/requests: open

-

The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.

“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.

“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.

“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.

“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”

You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.

You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.

“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.

“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.

The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.

“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.

“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.

“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.

“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.

“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.

“Are you—?”

“What?” You reply right back.

“Nothing.”

Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.

“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.

“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”

You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.

“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.

“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.

The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.

“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.

“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”

“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”

“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.

Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.

Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.

“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.

“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.

You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.

“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.

“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.

“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.

The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.

“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.

You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.

“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”

You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”

He just smirks.

“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”

“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”

He just shrugs and continues down the side street.

“Is this the park you were talking about?”

He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.

“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”

“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”

It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.

“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.

“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.

You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.

“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.

“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.

You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.

“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.

You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.

You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think

[maeve-writes]

Heroes

Pairing: Stripper!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Stripper!Steve Rogers

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI 

Warnings: Adult situations, alcohol consumption, allusion to mild cheating(??). More to be added later.

Summary: It’s your friend’s birthday and you’re dragged to the Heroes club. You’re not one for that kind of place, but you quickly change your mind after you get to play the damsel in distress for a pair of Brooklyn babes. 

a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. This is the second story I’ve written in a while. Forgive me?

You normally don’t go to these sorts of places but it was your friend’s 30th birthday and it was on her bucket list. Luckily, you weren’t talked into planning any of it, just had to toss in some cash for the fee to get in and the never ending flow of drinks, plus the very special Birthday Girl Dance package.

It took you three years after the second Magic Mike movie came out to watch the first one. The idea of male strippers seemed odd. But, when you really thought about it, so did female strippers. 

Nevertheless, the night ultimately wasn’t about you, it was about your friend and her birthday. You were happy to be there with your friends, enjoying the celebration and drinks, seeing hot guys take off their clothes was a weird added bonus.

Heroes was the club to go if you wanted to see buff dudes bare it all. Tara, the birthday girl, had been raving about it for months. She found videos of it online and shared them in your group chat. That, of course, had your other friends looking for more videos and all of them started to have their favorites.

“Girl, some of them even give private shows,” Sonya, the oldest and who was supposed to be the responsible one of your group, mock-whispered excitedly.

You tried not to roll your eyes as your gang was escorted to the front table near the stage. It was a semicircular booth where small round tables came up from the floor, big enough for drinks, but small and spaced out enough to allow for bodies to move around and in between.

Your host was a slender built guy on the younger side, barely old enough to be allowed in. He had a baby face and a boyish smile, but his muscles were well defined as the club forced him to be shirtless save for the small bow tie around his neck with a spider in the middle, and the tiny pair of shorts that cupped his rear which stayed there by what you guessed was his will or magic. Maybe both.

“Here you are, ladies,” he guided, instructing Tara to take her seat near the middle. “The name’s Peter- uh Spider-Man. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

That set off a fit of giggles from your friends which caused a full body flush from your waiter. His embarrassment tugged at your heartstrings. “New at this, Mr. Spider,” you asked.

His flush darkened and he rubbed absently at the back at his neck after he passed out the menus. “It’s Spider-Man,” he corrected you, “but is it that obvious?” You tilted your head and scrunched up your nose, parting your pointer and thumb a small ways apart. He laughed in return, his shoulders relaxing a little. You gave him a wink and a smile before the rest of your friends attacked the poor kid with their drink and food orders.

You felt sorry for the guy, but he seemed to have loosened up a bit since your small, playful banter and your friends ate up his boyish charm. 

While you waited for your turn to order, you looked around the club to find its sleek design, not something you thought a strip club would offer. The walls were painted black, accented by silver framed posters of the dancers. Above each were white neon lights that spelt out their Hero name.

The rest of the booths were like your own, made of soft black cushions, black metal bases which were illuminated underneath by white light. The tables that sprang from the ground were polished silver necks with textured tempered glass tops to keep drink slipping and spilling to a minimum.

Of course, all of the booths surrounded the stage, which was mostly closed off by a thick black curtain, save for the large catwalk that split half of the sitting area in two. It was wide enough to fit three large men comfortably across it, shoulder to shoulder, and from some of the videos your group shared, they had done so before.

When Peter- there was no way you were going to refer to him by his Hero name- got to your order last, you could hear other rowdy groups start to file in. A couple of bachelorette parties, a girl’s 21st birthday, and a Happy Divorce Finalization Day were all joining you. Your friends quickly became friends with everyone in the room, so even if the show sucked, at least all of you could get drunk and have fun.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice rang out above you. Cheers burst from the crowd and every light in the room popped out and stayed out until the room fell silent. “Now that I have your attention…” A tall, dark man walked out from the split of the curtains. He wore a wireless microphone over his ear, an eyepatch over his eye which rested just above a self assured smile. Dressed in a fitted pair of leather pants and combat boots, he strode to the center crossroads of the stage and catwalk, “My name is Director Fury. I will be introducing you to your Heroes tonight.” He paused for another round of catcalls. “And hopefully we can save you from the Villains, too.” That drew out louder screams from the crowd.

“Now, what do we do to the bad girls like you,” he paused, looking pointedly to the crowd, “we contain,” he pulled a piece of rope from the back of his pants and tossed it into a group nearby, “detain,” he pulled out cuffs and twirled them around a finger before he threw those out as well, “and entertain.” With that, the bass dropped and the curtain flew open, behind Director Fury were the Heroes (and Villains) in all of their sweat slicked glory. 

Once the Director stepped aside, the seven dancers on stage began their opening routine. Dressed in black vests and tear-away leather pants, the men paraded around the stage and catwalk to the thump of the music, pulling off pieces of their clothing as they went. The women around you went wild, snatching at whatever was tossed their way, fighting playfully for it. While it seemed incredibly silly, Tara was having the time of her life and you absently sipped at your Tequila Sunrise while you scrolled on your phone. 

The dance number finished not two minutes later with a screaming cheer and standing ovation from the rest of the already slightly tipsy crowd. Director Fury came out while the dancers disappeared into the back to get ready, he worked the crowd, mentioning the brides-to-be and promised them a very special wedding gift before the night was over. “But I heard there were a couple of birthdays here,” Fury said, looking between your group and the one behind you. “Now, I’m going to get the young gun back there in a moment, but… a little bird told me that you,” he pointed to your friend, “are a very big fan of our first Hero of the night.” 

Tara squealed and stood up, “Fuck yes, I am. God bless Captain America! ...and dat ass!”

It was obvious that Director Fury was trying to keep his composure, but the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to join in on the laughter from the crowd. “Well, he is certainly blessed,” he replied, “and ladies, you will be, too, when you see him at full salute.” He winked and started to walk off stage, “Captain? Duty calls…”

Some sort of abomination of the Star Spangled Banner started to play, remixed with drum and bass. You looked up to see what kind of horror show would come from something treasonous as what bled from the speakers around you, you were met with over six feet of muscle covered in a fitted blue suit, fingerless leather gloves on his hands, and a round metal shield on his back painted red, white, and blue. 

The Captain’s background was what looked like a large war ship with painted ski-masked bad guys spread throughout the levels. His stage allowed him ramps and poles to move up and down, which he used freely. He used a mixture of acrobatics and dance to move across the stage, tossing the shield around, “fighting off the bad guys” and losing his clothes in the process. By the end of the song he was left in just the leather gloves and a very tight pair of shorts, much like the ones Peter wore, except the Captains had the same pattern of his shield printed across the backside. 

Tara’s screams knocked you out of your daze and you realized you hadn’t stared down at your phone at all during the Captain’s dance. You watched all five minutes of it and couldn’t tear your eyes away. Heroes wasn’t about getting drunk women horny, they wanted to put on a show, too. You clapped lightly, though it was drowned out by the cheering around you, but unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t unnoticed. 

Fury was out once again and he brought up the first bachelorette of the night. He put her in a chair on the catwalk and gave her a candy-garterbelt. Then he asked her waiter, a guy named “Ant Man”, to remove it with only his tongue, which he happily obliged. 

Peter cut off your view with another drink, one you didn’t order. “On the house,” he said with a lopsided grin and placed the red, white, and blue layered drink next to your nearly empty Sunrise. Before you could ask him who ordered it, the candy garterbelt was being tugged between the bachelorette and her waiter. It ended in a tongue-y kiss and the ladies went wild. 

“Let’s hope her future husband doesn’t mind,” you muttered and turned your attention to your phone once again. Director Fury, thankfully, broke up the awkward scene on stage and began to introduce the next dancers. It was a pair, brothers, apparently, and they worked on the good versus bad troupe. Thor and Loki were opposites in every sense of the word. Thor was a large blond with a commanding presence. He had a bright smile and sun kissed skin that looked great in his red and gold trimmed briefs. But his brother was slender, graceful - almost cat-like, with dark hair and a mischievous grin all wrapped in flawless alabaster skin. They didn’t look like brothers, but they moved around each other like they had been together all of their lives, and knew each other’s moves. 

You only caught half of their story, as you were already halfway done with, what you found out was called the American Glory drink, and half wondered if that was what Captain America tasted like. Fury was up again and had the young lady celebrating her 21st birthday take two shots and lick the salt from Thor and Loki’s still sweaty chests. 

Peter found his way in front of you again and said that someone needed to talk to you about your card being declined. You frowned and excused yourself from your friends to find out what was going on. There shouldn’t have been a problem, you got paid the day before, there was plenty of money in your account.

You were taken to a hall that connected what seemed like offices, the dressing room, and the route to the backstage. “Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly, “they said this was the only way to get you back here. Gotta go.” He waved and jogged back out to the lobby.

Confused, you were about to shout out after him when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned, you faced that wall of American muscle beaming down at you. “Hey there,” he greeted, a smile almost blinding you from its perfection. “Don’t be too mad at the kid, I asked him to get you back here.”

“What,” was all you could get out. He was thankfully dressed, but his muscles were straining against the white tshirt and the gym shorts did not hide the package he carried. Even with all of that, what mesmerized you most was his eyes, sparkling blue and bright with amusement. 

“This next bit requires audience participation and he had someone in mind,” the Captain replied like he explained everything.

“We had someone in mind,” a voice corrected behind the door you two stood near. You tore your eyes away from the blond and eyed the wood barrier suspiciously. 

“Don’t worry,” Captain America laughed, capturing your attention once again, “it’s nothing too dangerous or embarrassing. You just have to sit there, pretend to be tied up, and me and Buck will dance around you.” He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in thought, “Well, actually, you really will be tied up, but we promise we’ll let you go once we’re done.”

“Or not, if you don’t want us to,” came the voice again, which made the Captain laugh.

You blinked up at him and frowned, “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he shook his head. “We might dance on you a little, if you don’t mind, the crowd likes it. But if not, we can work around that.” The thought of Captain America in those tiny shorts grinding on you was a very nice thought.

“‘Sfine,” you shrugged.

He beamed and reached out to squeeze you on the shoulder, his touch lingering and his thumb running along your collarbone. “I’ll let the stage team know.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and knocked on the door next to you both, “Five minutes.” When he heard a ‘yeah, got it’, the Captain motioned you to follow him. 

The stage crew took over and the Captain disappeared to get ready. You were told about the chair you’d be sitting in, the rope that would be tied around your chest and if you would be okay with it. There was some hesitation on your part, but ultimately you agreed. They brought you on stage, a winter wonderland of sorts and placed you on a log-like chair. The rope wasn’t tight, but it was obvious you were the damsel in distress. 

“One of you was taken,” Director Fury said from the other side of the curtain in front of you, “by The Winter Soldat. Will she survive? Will she be saved?” All of the lights turn off once again and an industrial heavy beat thrummed through the speakers, rattling your bones. Red stage lights shone down on you when the curtain pulled open and your friends lost their minds.

To your right you saw a figure stalk out of the dark, red light bouncing off a silver metal arm. A mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were trained on you like you were prey. His black muscle shirt clung tightly to his chest, one sleeve missing to show off his arm, and his black tactical pants stretched against his thick thighs. You could feel the shaking of the stage from the stomps of his booted feet.

Eyes wide, you stared at him until he stopped short of your chair on cue with the music. His nostrils flared lightly before he moved again, the music flowing with him. He slung one leg over the side over your chair, straddling you. The metal arm clamped the wooden back rest of the chair and he narrowed his gaze. Lights flash around you, strobing from red to white and back again until they settle on the house lights. 

Soldat began to roll his body with the tempo, blue eyes locked with yours. You could hear the screams behind him as he dancing, but neither of you were paying attention. 

His hips circled until he’s seated on your lap, you’re practically nose to nose. He brought his flesh hand to the side of your face and you could feel it trembling against your skin. With him that close you could hear him mutter in some other language that isn��t English, you’re guessing Russian, but you’re not sure. Either way, you felt crushed by his weight and you liked it. You didn't want him to go. 

But the music changed and the lights started to flash again, red, white, and now blue mixed in. Captain America joined the two of you on stage and Soldat slipped from your lap. Just as Thor and Loki had before, these two moved around each other like they were made from the same mold. 

During the fight, pieces of clothing were tossed aside and at one point you were freed from your bonds. Soldat pulled you up from your chair and up against his chest, your backside pressed so tightly against him you could almost feel his heartbeat. He moved you with him as he continued to fight the Captain.

Until seconds before the song ended and the music swelled, the Captain landed one good blow to Soldat and sandwiched you between them. The Winter Soldier recalibrated and recognized his old friend and you. He pulled the Captain into a big bear hug and then picked you up bridal style, taking you off stage with cheers from the crowd.

Once you’re all off stage, he sat you down with a hearty laugh. “You did a fantastic job, sweetheart,” the Soldier praised, running his metal hand through his chin length brown hair. “Couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner.” Flushed from embarrassment and arousal, you continued to stare at him until you were joined by the Captain. “I told you she’d be great, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Buck, you know how to pick ‘em,” the blond agreed with a smile.

“Thanks,” you replied breathlessly, finally coming out of your stupor. “That was… fun. I’m just going to go back to my seat now, I guess.”

“Wait,” the one named “Buck” jumped to stop you, “we were wondering if you wanted a private show?” You heard about those from Tara. You knew that they were exclusive and very expensive… and sometimes had happy endings. They seemed to sense your hesitation because they both added in unison as they eyed you up like you were a four course meal, “For free.”

“I never turn down free anything,” you shrugged. The pair turned to look at each other and their smiles turned to wicked grins. You aren’t sure what you got yourself into, but you’re pretty sure you were going to enjoy it.

a/n: Part Two coming soon... with smut!

[neesieiumz]

No one else F. Vermillion

Summary: You and your love struggled through a lot, haven't you?

A/N: God this is so late! This is for a collab with the ever so lovely, @vs-redemption. It was for her 1k Captains collab and I got so busy with packing and moving in for college that this completely slipped my mind. So please, just enjoy this! I worked as much as I could!

Word count: 1.8k

The sun was out and about, the heat beating down against your body. Although the wind blew around you, there was no coolness to it, only throwing around hot air. You raised your hands in the air, taking in a deep breath as you crossed your right hand behind your left. Purple light surrounded your grimoire as the same color lightning sparked and surrounded you. Slowly you opened your eyes, eyes locked on the target before you. Cupping your hands together, the purple lighting surrounded you became attracted to the growing force within your hands, raging and buzzing around it.

“Lightning Magic: Glimmer Spada.”

Holding out the ball of concentrated lightning out, a bright purple beam blasted out of it. It took up the shape of a sword, and made a clean vertical cut clean through the target, through the trees, and even the rest of the forest. It left a thick black smoke behind, and the bark of the target and tree were charred. You let a breath of contentment, a smile curling up on your face. You released your hands, stretching them out as you went to the pile of things you brought. Behind down to pick up your towel, along with your bottle of water, you heard a rustle of leaves near you. Eye perked up, your body was alert as a body pushed itself through the leaves and the trees.

Wild, red hair, and a long red cape to match. You relax as Meroleona found herself in your little training area. You placed your water down as she eyed her, her familiar wild smirk landing on you.

“Lady L/n, I’ve been looking for you!” Her haughty gruff voice rang out through the forest.

You smiled, wiping your face with the towel, “Mero, how long has it been?”

The last time you saw Mero was when she took the Crimson Lions to Ultime-Volcano Mountain Trail. You didn’t go, unfortunately, wanting to stay back with your fiance during his coma. So, it was nice seeing your future-in-law after so long. You knew she came back when Fuegoleon woke up and the two of them went back to Ultime but you were busy training your younger cousins. Despite the sweat dripping down your body, she came up towards you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and pulling you close.

“It’s been too long, how about we catch up? What say we spar?”

You froze mid-sip, your eyes slowly moving to look at the smiling woman beside you. Despite all your training, you knew that you didn’t hold a candle to her power and abilities. She was a different breed. Knowing this, she just snickered and began to guide you out of the forest.

“Nevermind, let’s do lunch.”

---

After you took a shower, you changed into an all-red outfit, the color similar to the Crimson of the Vermillion Family. You wore a cropped coaster top with thick straps, a matching blazer, and dress pants. You wore dark boots before moving your ring from its chain to your finger. You pulled your hair from a messy bun to a low ponytail.

You followed behind the older woman into the private restaurant, leading up to the hostess who immediately greeted the two o you.

“Lady Vermillion, Lady L/n! Oh es, your table is this way!”

Mereoleona said nothing while you thanked her as she took your menus to a booth. She placed them down and immediately left the two of you alone, closing the door behind her as she walked off. You sighed taking the scenery as you took a seat. The stone walls and wooden floors were rustic, reminding you of your grandmother’s old cabin back when you were younger. You smiled, taking a breath before grabbing the menu before you.

“So, how has my bone-headed brother been treating you?”

You glanced up at Mereo, eyes looking away from a meat special they were having. You smiled at the thought of Fuegoleon, the love of your life. Currently, he was doing another training expedition with some of the Crimson Lions. So you were by yourself in the Vermillion Residence for the most part, save when Mimosa would come to visit. Although you were still a member of the Crimson Lions, you mostly stayed behind for home defense just in case something happened. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Fuegoleon to be gone for hours or days at a time. Although he wasn’t home for a lot of the time, when he was, everything was such perfection.

“He’s treating me just fine, don’t worry Mereo.” You smiled down at your menu, before choosing one of the things on the menu.

“How’s the wedding planning?”

“We’ve been taking our tome, he’s been busy with everything that’s going on. Things with the Spade Kingdom and what-not.”

She hummed, before looking down at her menu. The waitress came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses, placing each of them down before you two. Mereroleona took the bottle, uncorking it with her bare hands before pouring the two of you a glass. You smiled, thanking her before taking yours and taking a sip. The smooth fruity taste of the win hit your tastebuds in the right way as you gave another smile towards Mereo.

“I see…”

From there, the two of you talked, about anything really. The new spell you were training, her own training, (which is basically all she does), and little quips about her brother/your fiance tat made you both giggle and snicker.

--

You sighed, leaning against the window, staring out at the group of Crimson Lions training in the field. Although your eyes stared at them, your mind was far away.

“Fuegoleon!”

Eye teared up, burning with pain, you rushed up to your finance. He was currently laying across the bed, blankets pulled over him. You let out a shaky breath as you slowly reached out to him, the only sign of him being alive was his shallow breathing. That’s when you glanced over to his right, before eyes widening at the lack of his right arm. You must have been rocking back and forth, because you felt a hand rest at the small of your back, staying you. Your hands crumpled at your dress as you pulled the skirt up, allowing you to sit comfortably by his side. Your hands raked through his red hair, still dirty from the fight he just partook in.

Lips trembling, you shuffled your body to lay next to him, “my Fuegoleon.”

“.../n…. Y/n… Y/n!”

You gasped, jumping up slightly as you heard your name. Turning around, you found Fuegoleon standing not too far from you, eyes shining with concern. Oh, he was back already? You must have not seen him return, despite your eyes staying near the entrance once you came back from lunch with Mereo. The light from his arm caught your eye once more, the makeshift arm moving up and down as your soon-to-be husband walked towards you. Using his regular arm, he reached out towards you, cupping your face.

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

You just shook your head, turning away from him. He, however, didn’t take that, grabbing you by the arm before turning your around once again.

“Speak to me, please?” You could hear a soft pleading in his voice.

You sighed in resignation, before opening your eyes to look at him. His arm went from your own to your waist, pulling you closer. You felt a sudden heat, a force softly grabbing at you by the chin, before making you look at him.

“I just, I guess I’m just… I’m just remembering, back when you were in a coma.”

His grip around both your waist and ace loosened, and the slight drop in pressure allowed for you to escape his hold. You turned back towards the window, leaning against the windowsill. You could hear Feugoleon sigh, before walking up behind you. His two arms came up and rested themselves upon your shoulders, pulling you back towards him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and bent down, resting his head on top of your shoulder.

“I knew that must have been so difficult for you.”

You chuckled, all though there was no humor behind it, “you were the one in the coma.”

“It still must have been difficult for you, seeing me passed out with no way to talk to me. No idea if I’d ever wake up.”

“What do you mean?”

The doctor sighed, staring at you and the rest of the family, “Captian Vermillion was gravely injured, with the loss of his arm. There’s no way to say if he’ll ever wake up.”

You could felt your ears pop, and then you were on the floor. Right before you could hit it, Leopold caught you, holland you up by the shoulders. The rest of your family only gasped, whispering amongst themselves about the recovery of the current head of the Vermillion family. You ignored them all, you couldn’t even hear Leo’s calls for you. Your head buzzed around, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak. Fuegoleon.. your fiance? The love of your life? He could... Never recover? You may never see him again?

“We’ll monitor him, but the more time he takes, the less of a recovery chance he has.”

You only sighed, snuggling into his hold even more.

“We dealt with it though, and look, you recovered well. You even got one of the four elemental spirits,” you mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t difficult.”

“Y/n, you have to eat something. You’ll lose your strength.”

You could only shake your head, the friction of the bed rubbing against your head. It had been a week and some days since the doctor told you about Fuegoleon’s condition, a whole three weeks since he had been in a coma. You hadn’t left his side, hadn’t changed your clothes or anything, keeping yourself right by his side. Hoping to be there when he wakes up.

“Y/n please, you know he wouldn’t like to hear you are not eating, not taking care of yourself.”

You shook your head again. If your love couldn’t eat, you wouldn’t either.

“But, you’re right, I did recover, and I gained power even more than I could imagine.”

You smiled at that, sighing at the small kiss and nips he left on your cheek and neck.

“And now look at us, preparing for both a war and a wedding. Who other than you, could ever become part of the Vermillion family?”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that came out of your mouth, squealing as he scooped you up into his arms. He carried you out of the room, mumbling something about having a walk in the family gardens.

[no-droids]

Rushed

Part Seven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.9K haha NICE

Warnings: SMUT, mildly jealous Mando, penetrative sex, slight degradation, slight edging, cumplay whoopsies

A/N:  Listen I was planning for there to be a soft moment at the end of this where they talk about some personal shit but then the smut went too fuckin hard and I couldn’t make it fit so it’ll happen next time no worries

***

The first thing you see when you blink your eyes open is… green.  Green, and sideways.  Three little fingers, grabby as usual, clutched onto a strand of your hair and tugging.

Gigantic, pitch black eyes blink slowly at you as you focus your vision, lifting your head just slightly from where it’s resting on a balled-up, makeshift pillow.  The baby coos at you, a musical and happy sound, tugging your hair once more as you take in your surroundings.

The cot you’re laying on is pulled out of the hull just partially, just enough to bathe your legs and the lower half of your torso in light while the upper half is still in the confined within the tight space inside the wall, but that still doesn’t explain how the kid got in here with you.  How did he climb—?

Something—a hand—comes down to thump over your ankle, not too hard but not really overly concerned about it either.  “We’re here,” grunts a modulated voice, interrupting your adorable little alarm clock.

Ah.  That’s how.

You immediately reach out and scoop the baby up into your arms just because you can, turning him around and holding his back to your chest as you cuddle him on the bed.  “Okay,” you sigh dreamily, kissing his wrinkly, hairy yet somehow also completely bald little head and gently smushing your cheek into it.

You settle back down with the kid for another few hours of rest, only a hand thumps down on your ankle again.  “Come on,” Mando’s voice drawls through multiple layers of metal.  “Let’s go.  Karga is waiting on us.”

Your eyebrows pull together, just as your little, little spoon starts to wiggle in your arms.  “What?  Who’s us?”

“Us,” he repeats shortly, pulling the bed the rest of the way out of the wall by your ankle but slowing it to a gentle halt right before it can reach the end of the tracks.  “Now hurry it up.  And stop smothering him.”

You groan and sit up in the brightly lit hull, blinking around at the… remarkably tidy ship.  

It wasn’t like this before.  Where’s all the clutter?  The first aid kits strewn about?  The excess pieces of gauze and tape on the floor?  The… the blood on the walls?

Your eyes fall to the corner near the hatch almost immediately, the sight of… The Incident.  Only you find it completely spotless, not a single thing out of place.  Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve actually ever seen the hull cleaner than it is now, even when you’ve spent literal days working at it.

There should be blood there.  There was a pool of blood there.  Wasn’t there?  There was a pool of blood right there, right in that little space between the—

“Hey.”  Your jaw is caught in a gentle grip and pulled left just a little, and you suddenly come face to face with a metallic visor.  His helmet is nothing but sharp angles and your own warped reflection staring blankly back at you, but his hold is steady and his voice is soft through the modulator.  “Us.  You, me, and the kid.  Right?”

You blink at him, suddenly reminded of the child held in your arms.  And then you nod slowly at him, hearing the baby gurgle softly near your chest as he looks up at Mando.

“I’m not leaving you today,” he tells you, moving his hand up to cradle the side of your face.  “But I also have to meet up with Karga.  It won’t take long.”  He jerks his helmet to gesture over at the open hatch, before looking back at you and brushing a thumb across your cheekbone.  “So let’s go.  Okay?”

You nod once more.  “Okay.”  But then you remember the blood all over your hands and clothing.  “No, wait, Mando—I have to change clothes—”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupts.  “Come on.”

“Yes, I do,” you protest, gathering the child in one arm and bringing the other up to show him.  “Look, I still have blood all ov—”

A black, long sleeve tunic.  Baggy, clean, and worn.  Not what you passed out in.  Not actually your shirt, you don’t think.  There’s not even gauze covering your arm anymore.  The blood���s been wiped away and the wound marring the inside of your forearm completely healed overnight.

“Hey, look at me,” he says once more, bringing his other hand up to hold your face completely still in front of him.  The baby makes grabby hands up towards him, but Mando just stretches your neck and makes you lift your chin to keep your attention focused on him.  “I let you sleep for as long as I could.  But we have to get moving now.”

You nod, trying to figure out how you feel.  Grateful, you suppose?  That he did as much as he could to erase what happened yesterday?  If he asked, you probably wouldn’t want to talk about it, so… so what’s the problem?

Nothing.  Nothing is a problem.

***

Alright, so maybe you… get it.

You get it now, why E-Bacta is just as sought after as spice.  You can still feel traces of the partial dose lingering in your bloodstream even now, even while trailing behind Mando and his equally reflective spherical shield as you three make your way into the crowded cantina.

You feel… physically, you feel spectacular.  Glowing.  Radiant and awake.  Not so much high anymore, but almost like the Maker hit a reset button on your entire body.  You’re incredibly well-rested, no aches or pains, absolutely nothing to suggest something major happened last night.  You know you should at least have some trouble walking, but you don’t.  Fuck, even your skin feels clearer and healthier than ever before.

If you hadn’t killed someone yesterday, you might even have a spring in your step.

You’re… you just have to stop thinking about it, you tell yourself.  You’re being stupid and childish.  You killed one fucking person in self-defense.  Mando disintegrates people.  He’s taken out more people with fucking doors than that, of course he’s not going to openly acknowledge it unless you bring it up yourself.

You’re so lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t respond when a booming voice calls your name over the chatter and music.  It’s… it’s almost a bit startling to be recognized first when you’re standing next to someone like the Mandalorian, and you immediately whip around as a warm, equally as loud, “Mando!” soon follows it.

A hand is clapped down on top of your shoulder, Greef Karga beaming at you both as he mirrors his other hand on Mando’s pauldron.  “And baby!”  He adds brightly, catching sight of the little green monster hovering next to you.  “Hey, baby!”

“We don’t have much time,” your companion immediately informs him.

“Oh, of course not!”  He turns his head to look down at you with a wide, almost secret smile.  “Always down to business, isn’t he.  Never one to dally with small talk.  Come, join me!”

You casually trail a few steps behind everyone, feeling just slightly out of place in the dusty cantina even with the forward acknowledgement from Mando’s guild contact.  You’ve met him once or twice, never for very long.  It’s... unexpected, the sudden attention.

Mando unclips his rifle and leans it against the table before taking a seat, and then you slip into the booth next to him, huddling your arms inwards a bit and trying to take up as little space as possible.  Greef gestures for a round of drinks from one of the rusty droids prattling around the bar as the bounty hunter beside you eventually presents three pucks to him.

“I seem to remember you leaving with four of those, last time you were here,” he remarks, visibly surprised.  You don’t know why, but you immediately stiffen, even though Mando doesn’t move a muscle in response.

“The last one wasn’t worth the effort,” he eventually grunts.  You keep your head tilted down just slightly and Greef’s attention is subsequently captured by the droid as it approaches the head of the table, taking three shots of glowing blue liquid from its circular tray and then waving it away.  He places one of the glasses down in front of you.

“I like the days Mando decides to collect,” he says to you, holding up the other two shots of alcohol in both hands.  “The droids are stupid, they always bring over an extra drink.”  He winks at you, tipping one of them in your direction.  “My gain.”

He downs the drink, and you blink down at the one meant for you.  It would be impolite to refuse it, right?  But you don’t really... really feel like drinking right now, especially considering you woke up probably not an hour ago.

“Come on!”  Greef eventually gestures, before downing the other shot of glowing liquor.  “Don’t tell me you’re as much of a stick in the mud as this one is.”

Your hand comes out for the shot glass without thinking.  Mando is completely silent next to you as you tip your head back and drink the entire thing in one gulp, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat.  The man sitting across from you smiles, before digging his hands around in his pockets for payment.

A palm quietly settles on your knee under the table.

“As promised,” Greef exchanges a sizable portion of credits for the pucks.  “Someone is already collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

Mando nods his understanding, but doesn’t say anything in return.  Neither do you.

“So.”  Greef slowly settles back in the booth, looking between the two of you.  “This is new.”

“The next job, Karga,” the bounty hunter next to you reminds him shortly.

“Is he this pushy all the time?”  Greef turns and asks you, pointedly ignoring Mando.  “This rushed?  Or is it just because he doesn’t like me?”

“No,” you answer on instinct, and when neither one of them say anything, you eventually flush a brilliant shade of red and realize they’re waiting for you to elaborate.  “He’s not… al-always rushed.”

Greef blinks at you a few times, and then he quite suddenly barks out a laugh, loud and abrupt enough to make you jump.  While chuckling, he pushes four new tracking fobs across the table.

“I was only going to give you three of these, since that’s all you came back with,” Karga says, gesturing for another round of drinks with a lazy twirl of his finger.  “But I like her.  More than you, Mando.  So I’ll forgive you this once, but try not to make it a habit.”

“And you’ll get two extra drinks this time as a token of appreciation.”  Mando slides his hand down to cup your knee and give it a gentle squeeze.  “We’re leaving.”

“Of course you are,” Greef huffs, watching you both scoot out of the booth and gather your things.  “It’s already been five whole minutes since you first sat down.  Far too much socializing for one day.”

“Thank you for the drink,” you tell him politely.  “It was very nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise!”  He projects, widening his arms and beaming up at you.  “If you ever get tired of him, you are always more than welcome here on Nevarro.  You’re far nicer to look at than anyone else in this sector.”

Mando’s palm rests low on your back, his voice quiet through the modulator and partially lost in the chatter of the crowd.  “Let’s go, sweet girl.”

Greef waves three fingers at the kid in his metal sphere.  “Bye, baby!”

Mando doesn’t let go of you.  Not when you turn around and start walking away, not when you leave the cantina, not when you’re making your way through the busy Nevarro marketplace afterwards.

“That was rude,” you eventually turn your head and tell him under your breath, not at all used to him walking side by side with you like this.  You usually always trail slightly behind the both of them, but his arm on your lower back keeps your strides aligned with his.

“I know,” he agrees lowly, guiding you through the crowded public square, the kid hovering in his shield next to you and blinking up at all the excitement going on around him.  “He was being too bold.”

“I mean us, Mando,” you correct.  “We were rude.  He was being friendly.”

“Karga doesn’t have friends,” he responds lowly.  “He has business associates that tolerate him because of his connections and position in the guild.  You were already nicer to him than most of his contacts ever are.”

You don’t say anything back to him.  How long ago was it that you were likewise nothing more than a business associate Mando tolerated?  Less than a few weeks, maybe?

And yet, it’s only when you reach the ship that he finally lets go of you.

***

You love the kid.  Honestly.  You’d die for him.

But sometimes.  Sometimes you just want to… step on him.

Okay, no—you shouldn’t say that.  He might choke you in your sleep with his insane fucking demon powers if he hears that.  No, it’s just… it’s like he feeds off the energy around him sometimes.  Which is great, especially when you’re exhausted and his naps tend to align with yours.  Canto Bight was a different situation considering you were in such an incredibly crowded area, but in hyperspace?  The kid only has you and Mando around to take his cues from.

Which means, if you’re buzzing with energy and just waiting for him to fall asleep, guess what?  Guess who suddenly gets a second, or third, or fourth wind?

It’s never ending.  The moment you think he’s about to pass out, he bounces back with even more energy than before.  Sure, he’s cute and all, but that shit only lasts so long.  It’s a facade meant to deceive everyone and it’s all just a clever, systematic fucking ploy.  After all, if you needed someone else to feed you and protect you and take care of you for the first fifty plus years of your life, evolution would make you adorable as fuck, too.

Hours.  Maybe even a full day or so before the little shithead finally decides to close his eyes for longer than a few seconds.  Mando so graciously left you alone to babysit him while he shut himself away in the cockpit and navigated to the nearest quarry destination, and the baby was such a handful from the second you stepped back on the ship, you didn’t even catch where you’re headed to.

Not to mention all the cleaning Mando did earlier today leaves you with little to nothing else to do to occupy your time besides supervise the little terror.  And of course, the entire time, all you can think about is Mando’s hand on your thigh under the table.  The way his voice sounded calling you an endearment in public.  

How he felt railing into you last night.  How you wish you could still feel it now.

You close the kid’s shield and stow him safely in the pitiful little cot you slept on almost the exact second he falls asleep.  You don’t waste any time.  You’re immediately climbing up into the cockpit to seek out your armored companion.

Mando is sitting with his back to you in the pilot’s seat when you open the door and quickly shut it behind you.  You lower yourself into the copilot’s chair on his flank, completely silent.

He doesn’t move.  Neither do you.

Time passes differently in hyperspace.  It’s almost like everything somehow drags and blurs simultaneously.  Over the handful of months you’ve been partnered together, you’ve probably spent a little less than half that time in hyperspace with Mando, and excluding these past few weeks dedicated to locating this last set of quarry, it’s hard to recall any one singular instance from the hundreds of hours you must’ve spent with him in this exact setting.  Hyperspace, silence, and this damn cockpit.

Except—except this time, everything is different.  This time, you’re hyper aware of every second that passes as you sit behind him, not moving a muscle.  Your eyes are glued to the headrest behind his helmet, your jaw clenched and your nerves buzzing at the proximity between the two of you.  Though the ship is deafeningly silent, the energy burning inside you almost makes it feel like it’s too loud in here.

Mando can feel the tension.  You can tell, because it’s steadily continuing to rise.  If you were just left to simmer by yourself, you probably would’ve just plateaued at some point.  As it is, he almost acts like an amplifier, reflecting the anticipation in the air as much as he is the starlight overhead.

You’re feeding off each other like always.  But unlike all the times before, this time, you’re the initiator.  

This time, you want to fuck.  

His chair slowly turns around to face you.

And then you both just look at each other for awhile in perfect silence, like Mando absolutely fucking knows it.  Like he knows exactly how much you fucking want him again, and he’s dragging it out.  Savoring the way you’re perched on the edge of the seat, staring at him and waiting for him to make the first move.

“If there’s something you want from me,” he eventually tells you, shattering the quiet with his modulated voice.  “All you have to do is say so.”

Fuck, he has no idea.  You want more than something, you want everything from him.  Anything he’s willing to give.

Instead of answering him, though, you quietly stand up and take a few steps closer to him.  Mando doesn’t move a single muscle as you slowly hook your thumbs around the waistband of your pants and begin pushing them down your thighs.  He just watches you silently as he sits back in the pilot’s chair, likely taking note of the way you consider taking your shirt off for a second as well but then ultimately decide against it.

You probably would’ve taken it off if it was actually your shirt, but something tells you he likes you in his clothes.  After all, he could’ve dressed you in your own clothes last night, but he didn’t.  He knows where you keep your go-bag, he knows how easy it would’ve been to dig through it for a clean shirt.  But he didn’t.

So, with nothing but your undies and his dark tunic draped over you, you carefully brace a hand on his pauldron and lift your leg to settle yourself down on his lap, situating yourself between him and the flight console and straddling the hard beskar on his thighs.

“There is something,” you eventually admit, dragging your palms along the unarmored curves of his sides.  “Something I want from you.”

“It’s yours,” he says immediately, both of his hands coming down to settle on your thighs.  “Tell me.”

Fuck, the unhesitating conviction almost throws you for a second.  The way he’s looking at you through the helmet, so fucking sincere.  You bite your lip and consider him for a moment, his body physically barricaded from you as much as he always is but never looking or sounding so open before.

“Will you take this off?”  You eventually whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to the beskar shielding his face.  “I want to kiss you.”

“It’s—it’s too bright in here,” he tells you, sounding a little out of breath underneath it.  “You’ll be able to s—”

“I won’t open my eyes,” you promise, kissing the front of his visor once more.  “You can put it back on right after if you want, I just—I need to kiss you.  Please.”

His fingers tighten on your thighs, and your own reflection is the last thing you see before you’re slowly and purposefully squeezing your eyes shut in front of him.  You carefully let your fingers drift up on his chest plate, over the rigid lines of his collar bones, before finally bumping into the hard metal at the base of his helmet.

His hands immediately lift to cradle yours, quick enough to imply it’s entirely instinctual.  While his hold isn’t painful, it’s strong enough to keep you still.

So, you wait.  Patiently, with your eyes closed, hoping he trusts you enough to give this to you.  When he doesn’t pull your hands down, you press a soft kiss the beskar again, and then slowly begin pulling the helmet up.

“Wait,” he murmurs.  Wait.  Not a stop, not a get away from me, not a don’t even think about it.  Just a… wait.

You pause and don’t move.  With the way you’re wrapped around him like this, the tips of your toes barely rest on the ground, but you can still feel the floor of the cockpit start to circle underneath you.  Mando’s thighs shift underneath you as he slowly rotates the pilot seat all the way backwards, keeping his hands anchored to yours as you continue to hold onto the bottom of his helmet.

It takes you a second to realize what he’s doing.  Most of the light source in here comes from the stars streaking across the observation transparisteel, but it’s concentrated at the front of the ship where all the glowing buttons also happen to be.  He’s silhouetting his face as much as he can by facing the ladder to the dark hull.

It’s pointless, you immediately recognize, so you readily let him have it.  You know well and good that if you slip and open your eyes for even a split-second once he lets you take his helmet off, the cockpit is too bright to keep Mando hidden regardless of what direction he faces.

These are high stakes.  But the prize is far too appealing to pass up.

So you kiss the cold beskar again and slowly begin pulling the helmet up once more.  And this time, he lets you.  This time, he holds the backs of your hands and lets you keep kissing the metal as you gradually lift it up, your crotch still pressed tightly to his even though there’s now much more open space behind you to utilize now.  Your lips touch the hard edge of the helmet and you dip your chin to follow it downwards, and then suddenly you’re touching something soft and giving, something that instantly parts and licks into your mouth before you’ve even removed its shield halfway.

Heat burns through you and you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted.  You completely forget your task as soon as his tongue is in your mouth, but Mando’s hands around yours help you guide the helmet off completely, before carelessly tossing it to the side as he kisses you.  He’s grabbing hold of your jaw and fitting his mouth perfectly to yours before you even hear the beskar clang against the metal floor.

You keep your eyes shut tight as you immediately relax into his body, making a soft noise and melting into him.

Fuck, this is worth it.  This.  This, right fucking here, this is worth everything.  Sitting on this forsaken ship and waiting on him for days or even weeks to come back, never seeing his face, always having this damn beskar separating him from you—it’s all fucking worth it when he kisses you like this.  When he makes a low sound in his throat and moves his mouth against yours like he was just fucking made for it, wraps one of his arms around your lower back and presses you tight against him while the other holds your jaw open.

You can feel yourself get wetter the longer he drags it out, every second he spends slowly biting your bottom lip and tasting you is another dark spark of arousal between your legs.  It’s lazy and hot and so, so good, you nearly whimper into his mouth and push your hips down on top of him.

The navcomp beeps a few times, the autopilot function signaling an upcoming drop from hyperspace.  Apparently your destination was much closer than you expected.

“Shit,” he huffs, breaking away from you.  “Shit—we were supposed to get bacta on Nevarro, I—shit.  I forgot.  You… y-you distracted me.”

“Tell you what,” you bury your face into his neck and reach your hand down between you two, wiggling it into his pants.  “We’ll just promise each other real hard not to get stabbed until we can get more.”

“That’s not—” his breathing stutters when you grab onto his cock and downright purr into the crook of his neck when you find him rock hard and throbbing, “that’s—n-not funny.  You’re lucky I even had that shot to give you.  Wouldn’t—wouldn’t have woken up nearly as happy as you did this morning if I didn’t.”

“How much of that would’ve been from the vibroblade though?”  You pull him out of his pants and moan hot air into the fabric covering his throat.  “Bacta on my arm wouldn’t have helped me walk any straighter, would it?”

Mando gets a single syllable out in response before you’re hooking your panties to the side and moving your hips forward, engulfing the hard underside of him between your slick, swollen lips.

His entire body jerks at the blazing heat of you, and he grits a curse when you gradually begin to move back and forth along the thick length of him.

“I don’t want you to do that next time,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  Your hips drag against his as you slide his cock through your drenched slit, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.  “Don’t do that.”

“You’re—you’re right, I’m—” Mando gasps, tilting his head to give you more room and hands coming down to clamp tight over your hips, “fuck, I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rough w-with y—”

“No,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, grinding your pussy against his throbbing cock.  “The shot.  Don’t do that.  Bacta kits only,” you gasp, tightening your hold around him as your clit drags over his thick erection.  “From now on, that’s all I get.”

“Fuck, come on,” he contests, slowly tipping his head back.  “It wasn’t that bad.  You barely felt it.”

“I know,” you whine, rolling your hips along his body.  “That was the worst part.”

“You—” Mando cuts himself off abruptly with a growl, his grip turning to steel on your hips.  “You… you wanted…?”

“I wanted to hurt today,” you moan, trying not to bite down on his neck with how fucking good it feels to rub your cunt along his cock like this.  “I wanted to feel you when I walked.  When I sat down in that cantina booth next to you.”

His fingers dig into your hips so hard, you’re forced to immediately stop gliding your slick pussy over him.  The navcomp beeps once more, this time rapidly.  Ten seconds until hyperspace drop.

One of your hands moves to clamp down over his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the back of his head.  You pull your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance.  And then you bite his neck and slowly start to sink down on him.

Mando grits out your name, just as the navcomp beeps reach a crescendo.

The Razorcrest is thrown out of hyperspace with a giant lurch in g-force that practically shoves your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock and then further, pressing him up so far up inside you with such a chaotic shift in gravity that Mando actually chokes next to your ear.  You’re surprised you can hear him at all, considering the blast of white noise at the rapid intrusion and the way you sob through your teeth as they dig into the thick muscles wrapped around his neck.

Fuck, he hits so fucking different from this angle.  He stretches you and fills you spectacularly, forces you to yield to him while you breathe heavy through your nose, wondering how dark of a bruise he’ll have on his neck from your bite.

Mando fucking likes it, though.  You can tell.  From the way his hand immediately comes up to tangle in your hair and hold your face in the crook of his neck while you gradually begin to pull your hips up, clamp down around him as hard as you can and slowly drag his thick cock out of your pussy, you can tell he fucking likes this.  He likes feeling your teeth in his neck while you start to fuck yourself onto him, riding his cock so steady and unhurried in the pilot’s seat of his ship.

“Fuck,” he nearly spits, his hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to leave a mark.  “Is this—is this what you n-needed, sweet girl?  Hm?  Just a little—little attention?”

You whimper, wondering how it feels so fucking amazing like this.  How the head of his cock is pushed up tight against your g-spot, spreading wildfire in your lower belly and seeping through your pelvis and into your upper thighs.  Fuck, you grind the head of his cock slow and hard against it and try not to dig your nails into his arms where your fingers are clutching tight to the dark fabric.

“Needed—Needed you to touch me in that cantina,” you whisper, already half out of your mind with the aching bliss, saying whatever the fuck comes into your head first and not thinking anything past it.  “Needed you to… to put your hand down my pants while you talked to Karga—”

“Shit,” he snarls, his hips jerking up into yours almost unintentionally with the sentiment.  “Shit—I—”

“I would’ve let you,” you moan, starting to move as best you can with his thrusts.  The positioning doesn’t allow for him to do much besides roll his hips in short, stunted movements, but it’s just enough to let you slowly build your pleasure until it’s simmering and burning through you.  “Do you think he would’ve still flirted with me if he knew you had two of your fingers inside me under that table?”

“Shut up,” he snaps, but it’s way too breathless and worked up to be anything close to threatening.  “Maker, you have to—have to sh-shut up or I won’t last—”

You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Your pussy is nearly drowning him now, slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him.  “Does that turn you on?”  You murmur, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady.

“Fuck—you’re—” Mando growls, tugging a fistful of your hair and fucking up into you as best he can in this position.  “You’re asking if it… if it t-turns me on to hear you s-say—say you wanna cum all over my fucking hand while I talk b-business with someone?  You f-fucking kidding… kidding me?”

Your cunt starts to tighten around him.  Fuck, the power trip you’re experiencing from being on top of him is starting to go to your head.  You feel brash.  Reckless and bold.  It translates to a quicker, harder pace, your hips starting to shove down onto him at the apex of his thrust upwards and hitting a spot inside you that flashes lightning down your spine.

“Fuck, I used to—used to th-think about it,” you gasp, your eyes squeezed shut and just trying to breathe through it.  “Some—sometimes.  Used to get off thinking about it.  Used to think about you and touch myself and make myself cum on the floor of your fucking ship, Din.”

Fuck, the sound he makes is one you’ve only heard once.  The time he had a jagged knife wound on his back.  An agonizingly tight, ragged gasp of a sound, the one he only makes when he’s in incredible pain and trying to hide it.  The blast of heat from it nearly sears through you and suddenly everything is pulling up hot and tight, settling low and locking your hips in position as you start to grind down hard on him—

Fuck, you’re almost there—you’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re almost—

But then suddenly you’re being lifted up, and you nearly sob into his neck and desperately claw at him when his cock falls out of you with the jostle.  But then you’re being carried backwards and your back is slamming down into the floor, and he’s shoving his arms under your legs and positioning your hips up over his thighs.  For a split second, your eyes nearly come open with the chaotic shift in position.  But as if he knew exactly what would happen, Mando claps his hand over your eyes and braces himself on the floor by your head with the other hand, and then—

And then he starts fucking you.

Actually, no, because that word isn’t nearly good enough right now.  One of the very few occasions where a word as universal as “fuck” just doesn’t quite seem to cover it.  It would be better to say he shoves back into you and starts shattering your entire galaxy to pieces on the floor of the cockpit, making you scream his name—his real name—as he starts jackhammering his hips against yours, hand held tight over your eyes and legs braced over his broad shoulders.

It’s fucking debilitating.  It’s absolute madness, snatching your body up and wringing it dry of any last traces of your sanity.  The adjustment to his angle and speed is like a nuclear detonation inside you, and it launches you higher than you thought you could go.  You just dig your nails into his arms and sob brokenly for him at the ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as he fucks you down hard into the floor.

His mouth is at your neck as he grits the words darkly against your throat.  “Fuck, you need to learn how to be quiet when I fucking tell you to, understand?”

“I’m—” you gasp, eyes screwed up so tight behind his fingers that you don’t even notice the tear slipping out.  “I’m s-sorry—”

“Fuck—shut up,” he growls once more.  Stars, he’s hard and throbbing and he’s shredding up against raw heaven inside you, and you can barely hear him over the sound of your crying, so fucking close to the edge and begging for him.  “Maker,” he snarls, bringing his elbow down next to your head and shifting his weight so he can reach down in between your legs, “if you want it that fucking bad, I’ll f-fucking do it.  I’ll rub your pr-pretty little clit in the middle of that fucking cantina next time just like this.  Make you cum right in front of him, show him that you’re fucking mine—”

You feel like you can’t even breathe anymore.  “He—he didn’t w-want to fuck me—”

“Everyone in that d-dirty piece of shit bar wanted to fuck you, you s-sweet little thing,” he grits, rubbing tight circles over your clit and pounding directly into your g-spot with such precision and force, your eyes roll back under his hand and your spine suddenly goes rigid.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Din,” you whisper, your voice frantic and rushed and breathless as you claw aimlessly down his chest plate.  Everything pulls up sharp and burning and you’re already starting to bear down on him, starting to slowly squeeze his cock and tighten down hard in preparation for it.  “I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Fuck, yes—” he gasps, “—fuck, let me f-feel you cum—let me feel this fucking cunt g-get wet, little girl, let m—”

He keeps talking, but you don’t hear him.  Everything is suddenly drowned out by the roaring of blood rushing through your ears, your body locking down so fucking tight around him that you wouldn’t be able to see anymore, even if his hand wasn’t clamped down hard over your eyes.

Din keeps fucking you as your orgasm slams through you with such force that your voice cracks, the blaze of white hot bliss ripping you apart.  He rubs your clit and holds you down and makes you take his cock the entire time, forcing you even higher through the explosive pleasure and muttering filth about how fucking gorgeous you are when you cum on him, how he wants to make you cum again but he can’t hold it back—

You’re saying something.  Repeating it, over and over again breathlessly in time with his ruthless thrusts, pleading and gasping it through shuddering tears.

Din—Din—Din—Din—Din—

“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” he groans, stuttering to a halt inside you.  You can feel him swollen and throbbing hard inside you now that he’s still.  “Can I—can I c-cum—o-on your—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not needing anything else.  “Please.”  He can cum wherever the fuck he wants to and you’ll beg for it all the same.

So he abruptly pulls out of you and drops your legs down from his shoulders, letting them sprawl out on the floor and shake as he clambers over your body.  His breathing is ragged and you can hear him jerking himself off already as he continues to climb over you.

“Fuck,” he nearly wheezes, “fuck, don’t open your eyes, sweet girl, don’t open your pretty f-fucking eyes, I’m gonna—” and then his hand is coming off your face and tangling in your hair to hold you still, “—fuck, you’re—you’re so f-fucking p-pretty, baby, m’gonna c-cum all over your pretty fucking f-f-face, I—”  His breath catches, and the only sound that can be heard besides his hand jerking himself off over you is a hoarse, tight, “open your m-mouth—o-open your fuck—ing—”

His body jolts with pleasure above you and a moan tears from his throat as you immediately do as you’re told.  And then he’s cumming, spurting thick ropes of his warmth all over your face and parted lips and gasping out curses and his satisfaction with you.  Fuck, you feel him paint your cheeks and mouth with it, feel him shudder and hear him growl your name as he lets go.

When Din’s body finally stops shaking and he slows down his hand around his cock to squeeze the last bit of it out of him, you wait a few seconds before asking.

“Do you want me to eat it or do you want me to keep it on my face like this?”  You whisper, eyes still obediently shut.

“Fuck,” he pants from above you, trying to catch his breath.  Metal clangs next to your head as he braces himself against the floor.  “F-Fuck—eat it.”

You immediately bring your hand up to gather the sticky warmth from your cheeks on your fingers and dip them in your mouth.  He watches you the entire time, even though you can’t see him.  He watches you eat his cum off your own face, your eyes closed and content to just lay here and clean yourself off as he catches his breath.

Suddenly his tongue is hot and wet as it slides under your jaw, gathering a bit that you missed and then attaching his lips to yours and pushing it into your mouth.  You hum under him and tangle your fingers into his hair, feeling him move back a bit to stretch his legs and settle himself down on top of you.

You break away from him and turn your face just in time to feel all the oxygen rush out of your lungs the second he plops down on you.

“Maker, you are so fucking heavy,” you say, trying to conserve as much air as possible while speaking because he’s making it so fucking hard to breathe like this.

“Tell me about it,” he sighs, nibbling at your collarbone and sounding completely undisturbed by your predicament.  “It wasn’t so bad when I was younger, but now my back is always just fucking killing me.”

“Fuck, get off,” you grab his pauldrons and try and shove him off you, your eyes clenching tight with the effort.  He eventually rolls off you, but it’s very obviously because he eventually decides to take pity on you and do it himself.  “I don’t even know what fucking sector we’re in but I’m pretty sure we’re gonna be dropping into an atmosphere real quick now.”

“Fuck,” Mando grunts, just as the navcomp starts beeping rapidly.  “Fuck, I can’t—can’t get up.”

“You can’t get up?”  You bite out, draping an elbow over your eyes so you won’t have to worry about accidentally opening them.  “Put your fucking helmet on and fly the ship before it crashes.”

He grumbles under his breath and eventually drags himself off of the floor, and the only thing you’re able to catch as he stumbles into the pilot seat and swivels around to face the console is “Karga” and “I was pushy.”

“Can I open my eyes now?”  You ask after a moment, feeling the thrusters kick in and hearing the beeping abruptly cut off.  The sound of metal scrapes across the floor before he answers you.

“No,” he eventually says, but the voice is modulated and run through a familiar filter.  “Keep laying there with your legs open like that.”

You would’ve snarked back at him if the last part of his response was nearly as sarcastic as the first part.  He almost sounds… vaguely serious.  “What are y—”

“Don’t move,” he tells you, and you still can’t fucking gauge the tone of his voice, especially now that it’s coming through fucking beskar.  “It’s the first quarry and the kid is still passed out.  I’ll land somewhere and… we can keep going.  Just for… just for a little bit before I leave.”

He… is he serious?  He wants to… keep going?  What does that even fucking mean?  He just made himself cum all over your face, what the fuck does he mean by “keep going”??

All you can do is lay there on the floor, waiting to find out.  After all, you stand by what you said earlier.

Mando isn’t always rushed.

[newathens]

in honor of everything that happened on aug 18th the good and the bad here is a scene from secrets that has been collecting dust for a year and may never get its moment but it is where luke castellan gets a chance to speak and it deserves to b seen at least once

LUKE:

     Fresh donuts sat up on the counter, the sweet smell of frosting wafting through the space. The place was warm; their air conditioner busted. It was a random Wednesday at eleven in the morning so there weren’t many bystanders, though the few that were around kept stealing glances towards me. A mother lost in thought touched her cheek and when she caught me looking back, ducked her head. I kept tapping the tabletop with my knuckles, wondering how hard I’d have to whine to get the waitress to give me a chocolate glaze. She’d already passed by three times out of worry.

     The shining, silver bell shook and rang as the diner door opened. 

     He stood in the entryway for a long moment, taking in the length of the diner. It took him two tries to notice me, but when he did, the neutral expression he’d worn shifted into a deep frown. He approached the booth slowly and held my gaze all the while.

    “Not funny,” Hermes said. I smiled with all the gusto of a fourteen-year-old.

    “Sorry,” I said, voice dropping several octaves as I aged ten years. “I couldn’t help myself. Too soon?” He took a seat without another word. Blonde hair, blue eyes—nothing much had changed; in fact, there wasn’t a trace of greying hair to be found. He seemed fit, youthful. “I thought we’d leave some mark on your complexions.” He gave a tight smile and said nothing, but in the silence I noticed it. An airy presence, circling around me much like the scent of the pastries. It wasn’t threatening, just curious, like a snake amongst the forest floor.

     He was checking me.

     I did the same to him and watched, rather gleefully, as his eyes widened in recognition. It felt strange, kind of annoying. Is this how gods’ felt? Striped raw, bodies vibrating like giant batteries next to one another?

       His search turned up short, but mine didn’t.

      “Jean pocket, out with it.”

      He sighed and placed a gold iPhone in the middle of the table. The caduceus shimmered on its back. 

     Oh, look who it is! Martha said.

     “Nice to see you,” I said.

     I didn’t say this was nice!

      “And you too, George.”

     Hey, Luke, he said, if you take over his position, will you get to keep us?

     “I’d hope so, you two are a riot.”

     “Comical,” Hermes said. “Both of you keep quiet.” We looked at each other again, ready to speak but unsure how to start. The waitress beat us to it.

     “How can I—oh!” She nearly snapped her pencil in half. Her eyes were wide on me, then on the next booth over, then to the other side of the diner. “Wasn’t there, I mean, there was a child—”

       “Can I have three of those delicious looking donuts, miss?” I asked. The waitress bit her lip absentmindedly.

        “Sure thing,” she said, “And you?”

        “Nothing,” Hermes said, then his eyes glowed. “Thank you, and apologies.” The waitress stared blankly, then walked off without another word. The donuts from the counter disappeared and reappeared at our table. 

      “Thanks,” I said.

      He let out a tired breath, “Lukas—”

      “Yes, father?”

     His expression soured, wind rattled the windows, but then it softened, his eyes shut. I stared at the caduceus, quiet now. He sat back in his seat, placed a steady hand on the wood, and stared out towards the street. Towards the shops and sidewalks familiar to us both.

     “We’re here to talk, correct?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then explain.”

.

     Hermes had the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, eyes closed. As the silence stretched on, the conversation played over in my head. Again and again and again. The whole time he barely said a word, not unlike him. . .but not all that comforting. The diner was empty now, though I hadn’t realized when it happened. No weapons, those were the terms, but it would be a lie to say that my palm wasn’t itching to call Backbiter to it. Martha and George slithered around the staff mimicking some sort of animated phone case.

     I should run.

     He stood without warning. I followed.

    “Let’s go for a walk,” he turned and left. Again, I followed.

     Late summer heat wrapped around us like a blanket as we exited into midday. The area was lively, busy shoppers and cyclists, joggers and freshly-washed cars. Sun shone down heavy on their exteriors and I squinted against the glint. It was way too bright—

     “There’s no one here,” he said. I turned. He was waiting on the sidewalk, body facing north, towards the path that would take you further inland. Away from the main strip, closer to the suburbs. “Just you and me.”

     “Right,” I said and shoved both hands deep into their pockets. I knew where we were going.

     Higher up the heat wasn’t as oppressive. Hot winds blew now and then, rustling dry leaves and pushing the scent of saltwater up from the bay. I breathed deeply out of reflex. We walked in silence. I kept our strides in rhythm. That was until I saw it.

     The beat-up white house with green hinges that had fallen into disrepair from neglect and misfortune was almost unrecognizable. A new coat of paint covered the siding, the chipping front door had been replaced, and curtains blew out of wide open windows. A lush, green lawn surrounded the property, split in half by a clean walkway bracketed with a rainbow of flowers. There wasn’t a single discolored, mildewed, decaying stuffed monster to be found. I jogged forward in spite of myself.

     “What did you. . .” I turned back. Hermes had slowed, taking in the scene much the same as I. He looked at me. “What did you do?”

     “Luke, this isn’t,” he stared at the house and his face twisted, “I haven’t done anything.”

     I swallowed a dry mouth and ran up the walkway, all caution lost to the innate yet unearned fear for a loved one. The door rattled under my fist as I knocked repeatedly, frantically. Hermes took his place on the tiny porch beside me.

     “Hello,” I shouted. “Hello, is anyone home? Hello!”

     “Coming! Just a moment,” a gentle voice rose from the depths of the house and a few moments later, a woman opened the door. Blonde hair, not frizzed, interrupted by streaks of gray. Green eyes; forest green, not neon. Healthy skin, not sickly. A warm smile that only grew wider as she took us in.

     “Mom.”

     “Luke,” she said and pulled me in to press a kiss to my forehead. I went as rigid as ice; she didn’t notice. “And look at you,” she said to Hermes, who hid his shock well. He had a smile on, pressed a kiss to her cheek, but I could tell somehow, that he was as clueless as I.

     The spell.

     “Come on you two,” she ushered inside. “I’m baking.”

     “Cookies?” I guessed. It was the wrong thing to say. She stopped midstep, hand on the doorknob, and stared at me. Both eyes open, mouth in a frown. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she blinked and shook her head, as if pushing away a stupor. 

     “No, pie. Do you like cookies?” She led us into the house. It was quiet, a television played low in the front room. Varied, jewel hues covered the walls, hiding the dirty eggshell they used to be. Tarps covered some furniture, though they were clearly being used. The wood floors shined from a polishing. The entire space smelled of pastry. Hermes followed faster than I. “Luke,” she called. She was leaning out the kitchen archway. “Lemonade?”

      “Sure,” I said but couldn’t move. Then Hermes called my name and I scoffed. 

      The kitchen was different too. All the grime had disappeared. All the appliances updated. The old, retro table had been replaced with a long wooden piece, and on top of it, were strawberries. Buckets and buckets of strawberries, contained in plastic, straw, wicker; anything that would hold them. The sweet scent was nearly overpowering here. My mom held out a full glass and brought my hand to it to make sure it didn’t drop.

     “Strawberries?” I asked.

     She looked at the table, “Oh! Yes, I’ve grown quite an affinity for them,” she shrugged. “Not sure why but. . . they’re pretty aren’t they?” A beep sounded.

     “May,” Hermes said as she pulled a tray from the oven. She looked over her shoulder. 

     “Yes?” 

     “May, are you alright?”

     My mother smiled—with a gorgeous set of pearly whites. Not possible, her teeth had yellowed and rotted years ago. “Of course, I am. It’s a beautiful day and I have two of my favorite people right in front of me.”

     “May,” Hermes said a third time, this one pained. I realized where I felt confusion, he felt hurt. My mother noticed. Her smile dropped and her eyes along with it. “May, the last time I saw you. . .it didn’t look like this.”

     She placed the tray on the stove and took a heavy seat at the table. The towering strawberries seemed to suffocate her figure. “I was very different, wasn’t I? But I don’t like to think about it. Why not have some pie and then you can go? I don’t expect you to stay very long.” She looked at both of us. “You never can.”

    Hermes huffed in misery. He came to sit by her side. I felt like I was watching a television show. This couldn’t be mine, this couldn’t be my parents. 

    He took her hand, “I don’t mean to put you through pain but I’m a little shocked. Your condition. . . wasn’t exactly fixable. I’d like to know what happened.”

    “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “About a year ago, I woke up. . .at least it felt like that. The presence of that thing disappeared, mostly. I could think straight again. I started cleaning up, there wasn’t anything else to do. The calendar on the wall was from the nineties. Found out someone had been paying the bills all this time,” she touched Hermes cheek and he smiled. “One morning I started working on the lawn. . .” she gave a sad, little laugh. “Apparently, I’d gained a reputation. The neighbors were so worried they tried to take the shears out of my hands, but once they realized. . .they helped me. People helped me fix up the house, gave me food, took me to the dentist, taught me how to use these new phones. They were so kind,” she sniffled. “I really didn’t deserve that much kindness.”

     “Of course you do,” Hermes said but she lifted her head towards me.

     “I don’t remember much. I get glimpses, pains even. But what I can recall, none of it is good. The memories. . .and the visions. Luke, honey, I’m so sorry.” The air was so thick I could’ve cut through it with Backbiter. I scuffed my boot against the linoleum. Silence snaked its way through the kitchen, like Martha and Geroge slithered on that phone.

    “There’s nothing to apologize for, Mom,” I said finally.

     “But there is,” she tried. “All that happened, the things I did, and then I just let you—”

     “There’s nothing you have to apologize for,” I said and the air shifted from thick to frigid. Hermes’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his gaze from my mother. Whatever. “So did you chuck all my old stuff? Not that it matters, I’m a little too old for Power Ranger pajamas.”

      My mother wiped at her eyes, “Oh no, I haven’t touched your room. Go take a look, it’s all there.”

.

     The tiny, off-white carpeted room with one square window was exactly how I’d left it a long, long time ago. The bureau had one drawer open. Angry crayon marks covered a low corner of the wall. The small, twin bed was made, but wrinkled. I walked up to it and ran a hand across the blanket. 

     I had the sudden urge to stay.

    It hit me like a brick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from my lungs. Anger followed soon after. What are you thinking? I thought to myself.

    You could go to college.

    You lost your right to a future.

    You don’t get to leave, Annabeth’s voice echoed.

    Through the window I could see the road; children playing across the street; a man starting up a lawn mower. It felt surreal, freakishly abnormal.

    Maybe this was a type of punishment.

    “What are you thinking?” Hermes asked. I hadn’t heard him enter.

    “I’m thinking I’m too big for this bed,” I said and turned towards him, hands in pockets. His cadecaus was out now. The snakes slithered the length of it, restless. “Not that it matters.”

[sams-sass]

Secrets in the Snow

Chapter One: The Frost

Hey Hey! Here is the first chapter to my new winter/Christmas fic series. I hope you guys like it! 

Read: 

Chapter 2: The Mountains Call

Chapter 3: The Winds Whisper

Chapter 4: The Fires Kiss

Chapter 5: The Hearts Desire

Summary: You and Sam find yourselves trapped in a cabin for Christmas. Fluff ensues. 

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, Christmas fluff

Parings: Sam x Reader

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

The other cars' red brake lights in the drive-through were blurry from the rain pouring down as you stared out the windshield. Your arms were crossed on top of one another and leaning against the leather front seat, your chin resting on them peacefully. Your body was folded into itself, legs spread apart, and back stretched. Dean was in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel while the other flipped through the radio stations. Sam was on your other side, his hands curled around a lore book. The line moved, and Dean looked up to drive the car forward.

"Y/N, what do you want?" He asked you, his face turning toward you slightly.

"Usual." You mumbled against your arms.

"You got it, kiddo." He said as he pulled the impala up to the window and rolled the window down, practically yelling the order over the pounding rain.

"It's coming down out there." You said, lifting your head slightly.

"Yes, it is." Sam agreed, his face turning towards you, a small smirk on his face. Dean pulled up to the next window and took the food the woman handed him, passing it over to Sam, who was waiting with his hands out. He looked in the bag and found your food first, giving it to you over his shoulder while still looking in the bag. Dean took the drinks from her and gently placed them in the middle of the two boys before pulling away. He pulled into the parking lot and took his food from Sam in their perfect synchrony of movements. It was moments like this with the two of them that made you forget about the bad for a moment. Classic rock coming from the radio, Sam's nose buried in a book, Dean moaning around his burger even though he eats one once a day. The harmony of the three of you together, no monsters in sight. Just pure relaxation. You leaned against the back door and stretched your legs out on the backseat. You unwrapped your food and dug in, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand in between bites because, as usual, Dean forgot to ask for napkins.

"So, where are we going?" Dean asked Sam, balling up his food wrapper and tossing it into the bag.

"Wyoming. From what it seems like, they have a werewolf problem." Sam took a sip of his drink, not looking up from the map. You balled up your wrapper and threw it into the bag as well, taking a large gulp of drink and once again poking your head between the boys.

"Where in Wyoming?" You asked.

"Lander," Sam answered.

"Ah, so right in the mountains." You nodded, laying your head to the side and looking up at Sam's profile. He turned and smiled at you.

"I see you're using that geography book I got you." He sounded proud, making you feel proud too. The moment was cut short by Dean making exaggerated gagging sounds. You whipped your head around and landed a swift punch to his arm.

"Ow!" He shouted, grabbing his arm before falling into a fit of laughter. Acting like children made you laugh, too, chipping away at the weight on all of your shoulders.

 --------------------

The loud rumble of the impala's engine sounded throughout the quiet and sleepy mountainside town. Your drive here had been beautiful, sweeping landscapes with racing rivers and snowcapped mountains that took your breath away. You all climbed out of the car and stretched out your tired limbs. You lugged your bag over your shoulder and made your way into the motel room, letting the crisp air fill your lungs. You stopped walking and tilted your head up slightly, looking up at a cloudless sky that seemed to go on forever. Your lips parted at how large the sky looked when no buildings were cutting into it, just endless blue. You made your way into the motel room and threw your bag down on the couch, leaning against the wall as you made your plan.

"Alright, since this is a pretty small town and we already know they have a werewolf problem, let's see where they could be hiding," Dean said, spreading the map over the small table and leaning on his hands.

"Well, if I were a werewolf, I would hide in the mountains. Small town, someone is going to find out sooner or later. I would hide where it would be harder for them to find me." Sam said, one long finger coming to point at the surrounding mountains out on the map.

"I agree." You said, pushing off the wall and coming to stand next to Sam.  

"We could canvas the locals, see if there is something in the mountains worth looking into." Dean nodded, standing up straight.

"Sounds good to me." You said, watching Sam nod his head in agreement.

About an hour later, the three of you walked into a local bar and sat down at a booth. The entire place was decorated for Christmas. Lights were wrapped around almost every surface. Green wreaths with red bows, dawned many of the walls. Pinecones with fake snow sprinkled on them sat in bowls along the mantle above the fireplace. A large Christmas tree sat in the corner; its ornaments and tinsel made a feeling of nostalgia settle within you. Sam sat next to you, his large body squishing into yours, making you giggle. He always looked so big compared to everything else. Dean brought back three drinks and placed them in the center of the table. You grabbed yours and took some sips. Sam moved, and you could feel the heat from his skin, warming yours.

"Alright, I'm gonna canvas the bartender," Dean said after taking a long drag from his beer. Sam scoffed next to you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Have fun." You said, raising an eyebrow at him and letting a knowing smirk sit on your face, folding your hands on the table. Dean sent you a wink and his most charming smile before making his way over to the bar with a confident strut.

"I'm just gonna-uh," Sam mumbled awkwardly, pointing at Dean's empty seat. You wrinkled your forehead in confusion, tilting your head to the side.

"Oh! Yeah, of course." You said as you realized he was telling you he was moving away from you, there was a small part of you that didn't want him to. He slid across from you and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright, who should we talk to?" He asked, looking around the rustic bar. You looked up at him and let a small smile pull at your lips.

"Uh.." You mumbled as you looked around at the crowd. You spotted a man in a black long sleeve shirt, a vest over his chest. His jeans were worn in, slightly dirty, and torn in places. His hands told you that he worked with them every day of his life. He moved his baseball cap, scratching his brown curls before placing the hat back on his head. "I'm going to talk to him," you said, pointing to the man, "he looks like he goes in the woods." You said, taking more swigs of your drink and looking back at Sam for a moment. He followed your previous gaze and looked at the man you were talking about. He turned around to you and pressed his lips together.

"If you need me, I'll be around." He assured you, eyes connecting with yours.

"I know, Sammy." You said in an even and peaceful tone, your shoulders relaxing. "See you around." You smiled as you stood up and made your way across the bar. You didn't see how Sam's eyes lingered on you for longer than necessary, how his hope drained slightly when you sauntered over to him, eyes wide and lips smiling, how his fists clenched when you grabbed his arm, your head was thrown back in laughter. He couldn't stop looking at you; no matter how hard he tried, his eyes always wandered around to you and your enticing personality. He couldn't pull himself away from the torture of you looking at you with another man.

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

You licked your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. He leaned in a little closer to you; his scent of body odor and beer invaded your nose quickly. You resisted the urge to turn away from him, instead of burying your nose in your drink and taking a large swig. He had told you his name at some point. Jeremy, was it? You didn't know, nor did you care. You just wanted to go back to the hotel and hang with your boys.

"Hey, do you know about any properties in the mountains?" You asked, lowering your head and looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Properties?" He asked, clearly confused and disinterested.

"Yeah, like properties with a lot of land? I could be in the market to move here." You blinked and tried to give him your most seductive smile.

"Oh, well, if it's land you want, there is the old McCall farm. No one has lived up there for a long time, and it has like 150 acres or something. We used to sneak up there when I was in high school, just to drink and party and such. The views from there are absolutely incredible." He said, his elbows coming to rest on the table. You ran your finger along the rim of your glass, collecting the moisture.

"Thank you." You said, sitting up slightly.

"No problem. Maybe I could take you up there to check it out?" He asked you, leaning in even closer and giving you a crooked grin.

"Uh, I don't know. I'm here with some friends." You looked around the bar and found Sam's eyes, sending him your signal by tapping three times on your cheek with your index finger. Within a few seconds, you felt your phone buzz. You acted surprised and pulled it from your pocket, looking at the screen with false confusion on your face.

Sam: Come back here.

"Something wrong?" Jeremy asked you, genuine concern crossed his face and made you actually feel bad for him.

"No, just my friends wanna head home." You said, standing up. "Thanks for the help."

"Ok, well, goodnight." He said with a dorky grin.

"Night." You said before walking back through the bar towards Sam, looking for Dean as you went. A hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you toward them, making you squeak in surprise. You practically fell into Dean's chest, his arm coming around your shoulders. You quickly relaxed into his familiar touch and wrapped your arm around his waist.

"Hey, bud." You said, smiling up at him.

"Hey, kid. You ready to go?" He asked you; his breath smelt like tequila, and he still had some salt around his lips, causing you to giggle. You nodded, unwrapping yourself from his embrace, and made your way over to Sam on the other side of the bar. He was waiting with your jacket in his large hands. He held it up, and you slid your arms in the holes, feeling the immediate warmth against your skin. The three of you made your way back to the motel, and you told the boys about the farm. You all decided to check it out now; make sure that was the place and know how many there were. Sam was once again looking over the map in the passenger seat. His hair was softly blowing from the heat coming out of the vents. You smiled to yourself, looking up at him out of the corner of your eye.

The old farm took you about 40 minutes to get to by the old dirt roads. Dean muttered under his breath the whole time about "mud in the undercarriage" and how baby was a "beautiful creature who didn't deserve this shit." Jeremy was right about the amount of land. The property seemed to stretch on forever. Its rolling hills with untrimmed grass made you feel so small against its massive landscape. You all climbed out of the car and made your way to the house as silently as you could. You peaked through a window, holding your breath not to make any noise, and looked around to see…nothing. No lights were on. No sound could be heard anywhere. There was just nothing. You turned to the boys and shrugged your shoulders. That's when you heard it, the low rumble of a growl. You all turned and spotted the werewolf sprinting full speed at you. His eyes were reflecting with the glow of the moon. He was headed straight for you, not even paying attention to the boys as he charged. You reached into the waistband of your pants and aimed at his heart. The shot was loud in your ears, echoing around your skull. You swallowed and lowered your weapon, the smoke showing against the night sky. He dropped instantly—the silver taking its effect.

"Nice sho-." Dean was cut off by the other werewolf; none of you saw. He sunk his massive claws into Dean's leg. Blood seeped through his torn jeans, and his body crumpled into itself. He groaned and grabbed at his torn flesh. You heard Sam pull in a loud breath before running over to his brother and collecting him into his arms. You aimed your gun again at the other wolf and fired. Missed. He kept running; he was too fast. You realized there was no way you could catch up to him and lowered your gun. You ran over to Dean, placing your arms around him to help Sam lift him into the car. You grabbed a towel out of the back and tied it around his leg, apologizing after he screamed in pain. Sam drove back to the motel. Tires kicked up dirt the entire way. You and Sam brought Dean inside and placed him onto one of the beds. It was bad. His wounds were deep and harsh.

"Hey, Dean, it's ok. We are gonna take care of you." You said to him gently, removing the towel as you spoke. It took an hour and a half. You and Sam were continually switching places, one of you stitching while the other wiped the blood away. Finally, it was done. Dean's eyes were rolling in his head from blood loss and exhaustion by the time you were done. Your fingers ached from holding the needle for so long. Sam's hands were caked in blood. Dean fell back and was almost instantly asleep. You took a breath, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your forearm.

"Thanks for the help, Y/N," Sam said, using a wet rag to clean his hands.

"Of course, we're a team." You stretched out your aching fingers while you grabbed clothes from your bag.

"This means it's up to us now," Sam replied, leaning on the sink counter.

"I know." This thought had crossed your mind too. Dean was in no shape to hunt for a while. You bit your lip and fully turned to face Sam. "We're hiking tomorrow, aren't we?" You asked him.

"Yeah." He sounded exhausted. You could hear the heaviness of his voice.

"Well then, we better get some rest." You said with a nod. You and Sam got cleaned up and laid down for the night. The couch cushions were lumpy and awkward under your body. You tried to roll onto your side, but that only made it slightly better. Dean was already snoring, and you could tell by his breathing that Sam was well on his way. You closed your eyes and pulled a deep breath into your lungs. It wasn't too long before the exhaustion of the day pulled you down into the black as well.

You and Sam finished packing your bags, taking extra clothing, food, water, and a GPS tracker.

"Hey, Y/N, what socks do you have on?" Sam asked you from his bed.

"Just my normal socks." You responded over your shoulder, throwing more things into your backpack.

"No, no, no, it's freezing out there. Here, take my wool socks." He said, turning to you with his hand stretched out. You took the socks and sent a small smile his way. You sat down on the couch and pulled them onto your feet. They were ridiculously large on you, but they were really warm and comfortable. You stuffed your feet back into your boots and grabbed your backpack. You threw the bag over your shoulders. You said bye to Dean. He gave you a small kiss on the cheek and wished you luck. You saw Sam send him a small wave before closing the door completely. You and Sam set forward on your hike up into the mountains. You were about a fourth of the way when you looked up at the sky.

"Hey, Sam! I don't like the looks of those clouds." You called to him, pointing up at the heavy clouds rolling in.

"Huh? Oh, no. I checked the weather report. They were only calling for a ten percent chance of precipitation." He responded with a half-smile before he kept walking. You continued behind him, but apprehension still sank into you.

 ----------------------

It took you five hours to get to the farm, giving yourself breaks for eating and hydrating. Your feet ached in your shoes. Your shoulders were screaming from the weight of the backpack, and your knees felt like they were about to give in at any moment. Your breath was fast in your lungs, hard breaths in and out. Due to your exhaustion, you almost missed the air's change how it grew thick with moisture and smelt of humidity. You glanced up to the sky again, seeing that the grey clouds had taken over the blue. The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees as well, sending a chill through your bones. Wind through the trees blew your hair around you, and a worry made itself known within your gut. Sam seemed to notice the change, as well. His steps became smaller. Eyes turning to the sky. The first flake fell…then it seemed as if they all came at once. The surrounding air was filled with snowflakes that seemed to be coming from every direction. The wind picked up, and you could barely keep your eyes open. It was so loud, howling in your ears and slapping against any exposed skin. The snow was sticking to the ground and fast. Your boots were already covered in white powder, and you knew your jeans wouldn't hold up to the conditions. This was not a pretty snow. The flakes did not cascade on their way down, getting stuck on branches as they fell. It was not a scenic snowfall. This was a full-on blizzard, and you and Sam were trapped right in the middle of it.

"Ten percent, my ass!" You shouted over the screaming wind. Sam turned and gave you a "what do you want me to do about it?" expression.

"We have to find shelter." He said back.

"Shouldn't we head back?" You asked, wrapping your coat around you a little tighter.

"Not in this; looks like we are staying here tonight." Sam pointed to a cabin. It was on the land of the farm, but not quite near the house. It would be perfect for keeping an eye on the place for the werewolf's return. You looked at the cabin, back to him, then back at the house, before looking back at him and shrugging your shoulders.

"Alright." You said with a defeated sigh. You made your way into the cabin, peaking in the windows before using your lock pick to get inside. The first thing you noticed was the silence within the walls. It made your boots sound impossibly loud against the wood floors. You looked around at the bare cabin. Just an old couch sat in the middle of the living room; a bookshelf was against the left wall leading into the kitchen. The cabinets had a few cans still in them, some plates and glasses, but nothing to make a home with.

"How long do you think it's been since people have been here?" Sam asked you while he looked around the cabin too. You swiped at the counter and looked at the considerable amount of dust on your finger.

"I don't know. Months maybe." You took your backpack off and placed it on the floor.

"We should get a fire going," Sam announced, making his way back outside. You decided to stay in and take inventory of what you had. You opened cabinets and doors, finding everything you could. You found blankets and pillows, giving them a smell before placing them on the couch. Next, you looked at each can of food. Most were expired, but you found a few cans that were still good. You shook out the blankets, getting as much dust out as you could. You then found a broom and swept away all the dust and debris in front of the fireplace, making room for the blankets. Sam came back about a half-hour later with wood.

"Find much?" You asked, looking behind him to see if there was any more.

"Most was wet, but I found a pile, and the ones underneath were good." He knelt in front of the fireplace, placing the logs in one at a time. His cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. His hair was sprinkled with snow, and his lips were extra pink against the grey backdrop. You shook your head, not letting yourself go there, and knelt next to him, searching your bag for a lighter. You handed it to him and watched him light the wood on fire. You instantly felt warmer just watching the yellow flames begin to dance. You didn't want to get upset. You didn't want to let your mind wander to the worst of thoughts, but you could feel the "what ifs" creeping in slowly and surely. What if you were stuck here for longer than just tonight. What if you run out of food? How will you shower? Wash your clothes? You looked over at Sam and could tell he was thinking the same things.

"Sam, I'm nervous." You confessed, turning towards him.

"Me too," He didn't lie to you. "but we can do this, I promise. We just have to get through tonight." He took you by the shoulders and forced you to look into his eyes, setting his jaw and nodding once. You found comfort in his assurance. You found peace within his green and gold eyes, nodding to yourself and biting your lip. You and Sam were trapped in a cabin while a blizzard raged overnight. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: @watermelonlipstick​ @melancauliflowers​ @strawqerrybby​ @spnfanficpond​ @calaofnoldor​

[lavendersb]

Our Ultimatum

Chapter 2: Metal

Boba Fett x Fem!reader

Summary: As you settle into your new job at the palace, Boba’s interest in you only grows.

Warnings: Not much this time, Boba’s still flirting 24/7, hella sexual tension, Boba gets a little bit handsy

Also I lied last update, the smut will not be in this chapter, I’ve added a bit more plot.

You were pleasantly surprised how peaceful the palace could be.

When you had arrived you assumed the halls of the palace would be teeming with the same criminals that filled the throne room, but to your surprise it was fairly empty. Perhaps it was because of the area of the palace you worked in, Fennec had promised you work that was out of the way of the action and she really had delivered.

Your current job revolved around inventory. Since the palace had unexpectedly changed hands, Boba and his cohort hadn’t been able to fully document the weapons left by Bib Fortuna and so you found yourself taking records in the armoury most of the time. You started the job unable to tell apart a sporting blaster from a stingbeam, but now three weeks in you could identify even the most exotic weapons with ease.

You rarely saw anyone whilst you worked, with the armoury being off-limits to nearly everyone except yourself and Raab Bynes, who oversaw you whilst you worked. Raab was a hardened figure, at first not keen on talking much, but by now you’re pretty sure he’s warmed to you. He was a much older man, a retired bounty hunter that had worked with Boba Fett many years ago. Apparently the two were still on good terms, as he would frequently go for drinks with his old hunting partner or sit beside his throne on the dais and talk.

You yourself hadn’t spoken to Boba since your dinner a few weeks ago. It’s not that he was ignoring you. If he passed you in the hallway he would always give you a nod in greeting, but when he was always flanked by a team of warriors it seemed imprudent to attempt a conversation with him. On some very scarce occasions he would pass by with his helmet off and tucked under his arm. In these instances he would smile lowly at you, his dark eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite pin.

He was a busy man, and now you were a busy woman too. Your respective roles in the palace kept you far apart, and strangely enough you started to mourn that. Part of you yearned to feel his gentle touch again or hear the way his rough voice sounded when he called you one of his many pet names.

“Bring me that data pad would you” Raab snaps you out of your reverie, he’s digging through a set of large crates and gesturing with one hand for the data pad.

You snatch it up, walking over to hand it to him, shaking all thoughts of Boba from your mind. It was a silly infatuation, one that you needed to quit before it was too late.

“Here,” you hand over the data pad and watch as Raab uses it to scan the contents of the box “what is it?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he says, running a hand over his grey hair “some sort of blaster canon. Not one that I recognise though”

Curious, you lean forward to inspect the canon yourself. It’s nestled in a foam casing with a set of protective gauntlets next to it, a sleek silver cylinder unlike anything that you’ve come across so far. It looks much too sophisticated to be here amongst all the slightly dated weaponry you’ve been working with.

“What does the system say?” you ask.

“Well that’s just the problem. It doesn’t say anything” Raab frowns “There’s no information on any weapon like this.”

He puts down the data pad and reaches into the box to inspect the canon closer, rotating it a few times to see the sleek control switches on its body.

“I’m going to speak to Boba about this, see what he wants to do with it. Take a break, I’ll come find you when I’m done.” Raab closes the crate’s lid, taking the data pad in his hand.

“Sure” You say as your colleague gives you a parting pat on the shoulder and disappears between the many stacks of crates.

Now left alone in the armoury, you turn back to the crate. Part of you is tempted to open it up again to see the strange canon again, but you’re far too worried you might get in trouble. Raab seemed cautious of it, and that coming from a man with such an extensive knowledge of weapons made you wary. You chose instead to leave it be and leave the armoury for a change of scenery.

----

Walking through the halls of one of the palace’s secondary towers you gaze out the windows to the Dune Sea, enjoying the warm breeze that brushes your face. You feel as though if you just looked hard enough you’d be able to see your old home of Mos Eisley on the horizon beyond the sand dunes. You’d been back there a few times since moving to the palace, going to some of the shops to spend your new money. Recently you’d been indulgent, buying little silly things you had never had the want nor means for in the past. A few simple pieces of jewellery and a long linen dress were amongst your favourite new purchases, and even though Raab had recently suggested you start saving for a home of your own, you really couldn’t find it in you to care. You were comfortable living in the palace, at least for now.

Growing bored of roaming the quieter halls you decided instead to seek out your new famous pastime. At first you had avoided the throne room like the plague, terrified of the type of people that socialised there. In the last week however, you had found a secluded spot at the back of the room to sit and people watch. You enjoyed being able to overhear the sketchy business deals and bets exchanged between the people that Boba entertained.

Making your way to the throne room, the peaceful hallways grew ever louder and busier. Slipping along the back wall you found the darkened booth at the end of the room. Each booth had a lamp attached to the table, in yours however the lamp was broken allowing you to fade into the darkness and remain undisturbed. As you settled into your seat you turned to survey your surroundings.

Despite being the usual crowd, it seemed slightly quieter. The figures in the room seemed on edge, every so often people would turn and face the empty throne, waiting for the return of its usual inhabitant.

A few members of Boba’s cohort sat were sat at the dais, notably the zabrak from your arrival. He sat on the edge of the platform, a large, curved vibroblade lay on his lap which he polished slowly. You had learnt his name was Yovu, a minor crime lord who had once run a sizeable spice running industry before joining forces with Boba. It wasn’t just you he had a short temper with, it was common occurrence to see the young zabrak threaten the guests of the palace. He was arrogant and rude, everything Boba Fett was not.

As if on cue the crowd on the far side of the room part to allow Boba Fett to pass through. He’s flanked by Fennec and Raab and you assume they’ve just finished talking about the mystery weapon. They seem in good spirits; Boba takes his seat on the throne whilst Fennec produces a bottle of spotchka for herself and Raab. The trio speak quietly amongst themselves for a few minutes, and you sense your break will soon be coming to a close, watching as Raab finishes his drink.

He spots you, pointing you out to Fennec before saying what you assume are his goodbyes. Raab descends the steps of the dais and you raise to meet him, watching him weave through the crowd to meet you.

“What did they say about the blaster canon?” You ask, curious to see if Boba and Fennec knew anything about it.

“Unfortunately not much. Boba wants to see it himself sometime, but it’s not a priority right now,” Raab looks back at the throne “It’s getting late, take the rest of the day off. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

“Thanks” You say. Raab gives you a farewell pat to the shoulder before taking his leave.

Now that you’re standing away from the dark of your booth you’re fully exposed to the eyes of anyone who wants to look at you. Tentatively you risk a glance at Boba. He’s slumped low into the throne and fiddling with the blaster in his hands. He stills when he catches your eye behind the visor, jerking his head back to urge you to come to him and holstering his weapon.

Your heart pounds within your chest at his acknowledgement and you barely think twice about crossing the room to him. So much for controlling that infatuation with him.

You come to stop in front of the dais, but Boba beckons you closer.

“Come up here little one, let us talk like friends” He says and cautiously you obey, raising the skirt of your dress to climb the stone steps and stand before the throne.

You lamely offer Boba’s visor a smile and hope that it disguises the sudden onslaught of nerves affecting you. His gaze is unwavering, and you only break it when Fennec offers you a small glass of spotchka. You accept, happy to have something to do with your fidgety hands.

“This is nice,” Boba says, reaching up and using the back of his forefinger to glide over the fabric of your dress just above your knee “Is it new?”

The action nearly causes your legs to give out under you. His touch is entirely innocent in its intention, moving up and down on your leg only an inch above your knee at most, yet the impact it has on you is devastating.

“Yes, I bought it last week.” You’re surprised you managed to get any words out at all.

“It suits you,” he says, his gruff voice sounding warm and sincere.

You’re about to respond, but the words die in your throat when Boba’s gentle stroking inches higher on your leg. You clear your throat and try to ignore the way his touch makes your thigh tremble. Boba’s attitude doesn’t change, acting as if he’s unaware of how flustered he’s got you. You manage to squeak out a pathetic little thank you.

“You seem to have settled well. Raab Bynes certainly thinks you’re doing well at your job” Boba says.

“Only thanks to him. I barely knew a thing about blasters before coming here, now I feel like I know everything” You manage through a small laugh.

Fennec laughs too and your cheeks burn when you realise she must have noticed Boba’s touch on your thigh, possibly also the way you’re subtly leaning into it. Despite your embarrassment you cant bare to pull yourself away.

“Have you ever shot a blaster before?” She asks.

“A couple of times, but I wasn’t very good at it,” You admit.

Boba hums, stopping his stroking and instead holding the outside of your thigh. His thumb draws little circles on your now hyper-sensitive flesh.

“Fennec could teach you,” Boba suggests.

“Or Boba could. His aim’s been getting worse lately, you could both use the practice” Fennec quips back with a smile.

You laugh quietly with her, stopping when Boba gives your thigh a warning squeeze.

“Would you want that little one?” He asks.

Before you can respond however, Yovu the zabrak interrupts.

“You had better be bringing me good news” He snaps, pointing his long vibroblade at two mercenaries that have approached the dais.

Boba’s other hand takes your hip, guiding you over towards Fennec so he can face the new arrivals. Fennec offers you a small wooden stool beside the throne and you sit, sipping your spotchka and watching the scene play out. Yovu jumps down from his seat on the edge of the raised platform and stalks towards the two men.

“Did you reach Jagba?” the zabrak questions “and what happened to the rest of your team?”

“We arrived at the planet fine sir, but the Kostah brothers turned on us” one of the mercenaries responds.

You feel very lost, much of the palace’s business is still foreign to you but you try to listen anyways.

“So you didn’t negotiate a deal with them” Yovu snarls.

“No, sir.” the mercenary confesses “They claimed to be insulted that you did not send someone of importance to speak with them. They killed most of us, and let us go to send their message”

“I’ll go,” Boba says with resolution “we can’t afford for these negotiations to keep dragging on like this.”

Yovu turns from the mercenaries to face Boba.

“Fett, with all due respect,” He says, in a tone not at all respectful “the Kostah deal was my mission. They’re spice runners too and so I should be the one to go”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter. I don’t want another let down; I’m doing to close this deal myself” Boba snaps. This is the Boba Fett you had heard rumours about. The bounty hunter of legends who ruled his criminal empire with a beskar fist, not the man who called you ‘little one’ and touched you like you were the most delicate thing.

“I’ll need you with me, gather what you need. We leave in the next few days,” Boba states to Fennec. She nods, downing the rest of her drink and stepping away from the throne.

“I’m sorry, meshla. We’ll finish our conversation some other time” Boba says to you, in a tone notably softer than the way he had spoken to everyone else. He rises from the throne and descends from the raised platform.

You supposed you shouldn’t be too upset he was leaving you; you’d barely spoken much before so you could hardly expect him to abandon this apparently important business for some silly conversation. Despite how much you told yourself this, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that his hands weren’t on your flesh anymore.

Rising from the throne he tells the mercenaries to follow him, wanting to further discuss the events of their recent trip. He passes through the crowd of the throne room, all swathes of black fabric and green beskar. You watch Boba pass into a corridor, keeping your vision trained on him until its not physically possible to do so anymore.

Now that Boba has gone you notice that Fennec too has slipped away, leaving you alone on the dais to feel horrifically out of place and still deeply flustered. Your palm rubs up and down the expanse of thigh that Boba had been toying with in a vague attempt at calming the nerves there that still sing for his touch.

“Do you still have a reason to be up there?” Yovu spits lowly at you from his spot before the dais. Trapped in the fiery gaze of the scolded zabrak, your voice fails.

“Well? Do you?”

Sensing that you’ve outstayed your welcome in the spot beside Boba’s throne, you take this as your cue to leave. Standing up, you slink away and retreat to your room, hoping you don’t have to see Yovu again for a long while.

[under-sedationnn]

asra week 2021: celebration

me? writing and posting the day one prompt for asra week on day three? more likely than you think haha work has been keeping me super duper busy, but i really want to be able to participate in something so cool and genuine :) harnessing creativity takes time and effort, but it is so worth and it! i am so so proud of all of the work that has been posted for asra week so far and am honored to be a part of it, even if i am a little late on posts :) hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 1465

@sweetalnazar

"Asra, not to whine or anything, but how much longer until we reach where we're going?"

Chuckling, he turned to me, his face mischievous and bright in the warm sun of the afternoon. He grabbed my hand, and laid a small kiss on my knuckles.

"Not too much longer, Y/n, I promise."

After traveling on foot for hours at this point, my mind reeled with the question: Where is he taking me? He had avoided the question with relative ease all day, only indulging me in the detail that I would love it, and that it would be worth the journey. My calves burned and sweat trickled down my back. I yearned for the cool breeze that set in after sundown; luckily, night was near.

Steeling myself for another taxing hour of aching feet, I suddenly noticed a bright gathering of lights up ahead. Although sunset drowned out the glory of candles and lanterns on the horizon, it was clear that upon nightfall, the place would be alive with heat and fire.

Stopping in my tracks, I asked, "Is this where you're taking me?"

He only smiled, and in our excitement we nearly ran the rest of the way. Arriving, I noticed booths, tents, and a small stage. Foreign spices tickled at my nose and my mouth watered at the thought of what kinds of food I would find here.

Although, there was a presence of something else, as well. Something familiar, ghosting past me. Seeping into my skin, gliding across my arms and legs and filling my clothes with fever and chill and adventure.

Gesturing widely to the array of people and small shops in front of us, Asra said, "Welcome to the Celebration of the Magician."

Understanding, I asked, "So you feel it too? It's magic in the air?"

"Quite literally."

Walking through one of the small aisles, he explained, "We'll run into many drifters here. Many that are not actual magicians, like the fortune tellers in Vesuvia. However," he stopped in front of a sealed tent, smoke drifting slowly out of the cracked seam, "there are some like us."

"There's another magician in there?"

He simply nodded, asking, "Would you like to meet her?"

Nodding vigorously, I took his hand and led us into the large space. Despite the presence of the tent outside, the inside seemed to stretch out into a grand entrance. The walls made out of black fabric, the floor smoothly shifted from patchy grass and sand into ebony marble. Smoke laced the roof of the tent, swirling down to trace our skin.

The smell of ash and tobacco grew stronger as we approached a door at the end of the long, wide hall. Sealed shut, there was no handle. Foreign symbols were etched around the door frame, and I assumed they were protective charms.

"Asra, what are these?" I asked, tracing my fingers over the carved lines.

Leaning closer to the door, he mimicked my actions, “They keep the door sealed to unwanted visitors, non-magicians.”

“Okay, but there’s not even a handle, how do we get in?”

Backing away, he said, “We need to figure out what the symbols say. If I know anything about Aislinn, it’s that she loves riddles.”

Rooting through his satchel, he pulled out a small book of symbols and incantations, searching for matching words or characters that could aid us. As the minutes passed, I began to grow slightly frustrated at the seemingly impossible riddle, though Asra kept a calm demeanor.

Turn around. A voice whispered, the words floating around my head for moments after.

Turn around. It repeated, and this time I obliged.

A mirror had appeared, embellished with fiery jewels set into bright gold. Quite the juxtaposition against the cold and murky decor of the room.

Peering into the reflection, I began to read the symbols along the door. The once foreign words had transformed into a language I could not only understand with ease, but ones that felt completely familiar to me.

Translating, I carefully said, “You may enter when the waves crash and the seas part, when two bodies become one.”

Turning around abruptly, Asra made his way over to the mirror, only noticing its appearance after hearing me speak. “You can read it?”

“Yeah, if you look in the mirror, it shows you what it says, look!” I pointed to all of the words along the doorframe within the reflection, and still found Asra dumbfounded at the symbols across the door.

“Y/n, they just look like backwards symbols to me,” he chuckled, looking proudly at my face. “I suppose your magic has connected to Aislinn’s somehow, she must like you.”

Though feeling proud, I still found myself confused at the riddle that was presented to us.

“That’s great, but that still doesn’t take care of this riddle. You know I have never been very good at them.”

“Which must be why you love visiting the Magician’s realm so much, hm?” he teased, earning a poke in the side from me.

“Ha ha, very funny,” I said, chuckling all the while, “but seriously, what does it mean oh great riddle solver?”

“Well let’s see,” he began, “we know that it’s not literal, so she’s not actually talking about the sea or two bodies of water crashing into each other.”

“Oh,” I said, “I think I understand.”

He gave me a small smirk, leaning closer, “Me too, should we test the theory?”

Giving him a small nod, he pulled me close and placed a small kiss on my lips. Though not lasting long, after we pulled away, the feeling of his lips on mine lingered. His eyes shined and a blush faded across the bridge of his nose. I remembered then how much I care about him, and everything he has done to help me.

As I dared to pull him in again, the door swung open with a small creek, and we were pulled in with an imaginary force. Colors swirled around us until everything faded to a muggy hue of red and black and gold.

I found myself sitting on a plush couch, next to Asra, while surrounded by other magicians. Some were sitting in the same area as we were, sipping on drinks and telling each others’ fortune, while others danced slowly and sultry. Their bodies moved in synced rhythm to low drums, cellos, violas. The smoke was thick within this room as well, and it had a dreamlike quality to it.

Looking at Asra, I felt relaxed, at ease, and as though I could take a long nap. He obviously felt similarly, the same sleepy expression playing across his face, as well.

“I thought you two would never make it.” I deep, slow voice drawled, “Honestly, Asra, you’ve lost your touch.”

Moving my gaze upwards, I found a tall and aged woman towering over us. Although she showed her age, her aura was timeless and she seemed to radiate youth, passion, and a sense of risk. A large, black panther roamed aimlessly around the room, eventually finding a seat at her feet.

“It’s nice to see you again, Aislinn,” standing, he took one of her ringed hands and placed a small kiss on the back of it, “you look fantastic.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself, young magician.”

Turning to meet my eyes, she gestured for me to stand. I stood to meet her gaze, and found myself having to look up at her statuesque figure.

“And this one, where did you find them?” She ran her nails along my jaw, seemingly scrutinizing the intricacies of my face.

“They found me, Aislinn, and I am lucky for it.”

“Well they’re just beautiful aren’t they, and so very powerful.”

She smiled at me, and placed kisses across my cheeks. Stepping back, she spoke to the both of us.

“Please do enjoy yourselves, and don’t be strangers.”

Gliding away, her familiar followed after her, vanishing into the misty crowd ahead.

“Would you like to dance?” Asra asked, bringing my attention back to him.

Blushing, I answered, “With you, always.”

Walking over toward the other dancers, he found my hips and brought them to his own. Wrapping my hands around his neck, he buried his face into my shoulder and began to sway. A slow pace, soft, with small kisses along my shoulder blades and neck. Our hips moved into synchronicity, and mouths followed the beat of the drums, and rhythm of the strings, the heat of the room.

The Celebration of the Magician was meant to represent the honoring of magic itself, as well as all of the people who harness its powers. However, in this moment, Asra and I celebrated one another, the power we possessed, as well as what we meant to each other.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Waffle Lot of Trouble (baon)

Summary: Edge has learned many things since he began his relationship with Stretch, gone to a variety of places, done so many things. Surely he can endure this travesty. Surely he can survive...the Waffle House.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

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“Explain to me why we are doing this?”

Edge followed Stretch through the door beneath the glowing sign and the reluctant drag of his boots did not stop his husband’s determined march.

“three reasons,” Stretch said. He did not loosen his hold on Edge’s hand, as if suspicious he might flee if given a chance and Edge couldn’t say he was wrong. “one, because i’m craving horrible unhealthy eats and your cooking, while delicious, doesn’t qualify. two, you’ve never been to a waffle house and it is an experience that everyone should enjoy—”

“Endure.”

“—enjoy,” Stretch insisted stubbornly. “which brings us to the third and most important reason. you love me.”

“I do,” Edge sighed. This wouldn’t be the first occasion that his adoration would take him to strange and sometimes fascinating places for unique meals. They used to do it quite often while they were still dating and Stretch was doing his weekly restaurant reviews for his twitter. Somehow the banquet had dwindled off as he slowly ran out of places in Ebott to review. It was a shame, really, and perhaps he should speak to Stretch about starting up again. There was no reason they couldn’t travel a bit further out of the city so long as proper security measures were taken. It would be enjoyable to find another small hole-in-the-wall or old family business eager to share their signature meal.

From the looks of this place, the food would be better left unsigned.

The booths looked as if they’d been torn straight from an old sitcom, padded red vinyl with the occasional patch attempting, and occasionally failing, to hold the stuffing in. It was a match to the stools lining the long counter, separated by little islands of napkins, condiments, and straws nestled together. The overhead lights were glaringly intense with one in the corner flickering with seizure inducing intensity and in the other corner was a jukebox to complete the scene in searing neon.

If horribly unhealthy food was what Stretch was craving, then he’d found its haven.

“c’mon,” Stretch tugged at his hand to pull him along and Edge’s dragging stride had nothing to do with the cane he was leaning on. His husband led the way to one of the booths, still chattering, “i used to come here all the time before we got together. sometimes when i couldn’t sleep, i’d sneak out and take the late bus out and sit here for half the night, taking up space.”

There were so many horrible things wrong with that statement that Edge couldn’t pick one to start with; the very idea of Stretch alone on the bus after midnight, or him here and equally alone, hanging out with the sort of Human patrons who were eager for cheap, greasy food in the wee hours, or the last indignity, that he’d hidden his excursions from his brother. Anything could have happened and the fact that it didn’t only barely kept Edge’s mouth shut.

Then his teeth ground together for another reason as they halted in front of one of the booths.

The table was the sort of sticky usually reserved for movie theater floors and while Edge tolerated it beneath his shoes, having it beneath his elbows, or worse, beneath Stretch’s bare hands, was entirely unacceptable.

Before he could give voice to one of his many protests, Stretch was already rummaging through his bag, this one with the chemical formula for caffeine boldly on the side. "don't worry, babe, got you covered."

He pulled out a package of disinfecting wipes and busied himself cleaning not only the tabletop, but also the plastic bench seats and even the salt and pepper shakers. Everything on the table got a thorough wipe down and as soon as the seat dried, Edge grudgingly sat. Much as he was relieved that Stretch came prepared, the fact that he knew to be prepared did not instill much faith.

He tried very hard not to think about the state of the kitchen.

Edge picked up one of the freshly wiped down menus to frown at. “You still haven’t explained to me why we needed to come at 3am. We could have come at noon for the lunch special.”

“nah, that’s for soccer moms and octogenarians,” Stretch scoffed. “you come at 3am ‘cause that's when you go to a waffle house, babe! it's a liminal space, a place of transition, where you cross over from one space to the next and—"

“If I’d known we’d be traveling so much I would have worn better shoes.”

“always got jokes, babe,” Stretch snickered. He lowered his voice, leaning in. “but seriously, look around.”

Edge was well familiar with the subtleties involved in a careful awareness of one’s surroundings. Without lifting his head, he looked around the diner. There were only four other customers, all of them with plates already in front of them. One a group of college-age Humans who might have been fashionably dressed up for the club a few hours earlier but now their makeup was running from sweat, their hair fallen and straggly, and simply by looking at them, he had a fair assessment of their current smell. The other person, who looked as if they might have been in prison as recently as last night, was forcefully shoveling what might have been hash browns into his mouth. It was difficult to tell; whatever it was had enough ketchup poured on top to give even Sans a pause and a moment to reconsider. He could very well have been eating shredded napkins beneath that thick layer of red.

None of the Humans paid him and Stretch any mind, so Edge silently wished the man good fortune on his recent parole and returned to looking at the menu while touching it as little as possible.

The door that presumable led to the kitchen swung abruptly open and a harried waitress came through it, coffeepot in hand. She didn’t so much as give them a second glance, only thunked down a pair of heavy white coffee mugs and poured them full to the brim.

“Be back to take your order in a minute,” she said distractedly.

“take your time.” Stretch was already tearing open sugar packets to add to his cup. He took a sip, grimaced, and added several more.

Edge reached for his own cup, already braced for whatever burnt dregs ended up as the primary flavor, when the ancient jukebox suddenly came to life, blaring out a jaunty 50’s style tune about raisins in toast. Edge jerked, cursing softly as he spilled hot coffee over his hand. He hastily stripped off his glove and turned to glare at the jukebox…except there was no one by it. No one else was even looking at the blasted thing.

A light touch on his hand sent him jerking back the other way, to find Stretch holding out a fresh pair of gloves for him with one hand as he continued to peruse the menu with the other.

“Thank you,” Edge sighed out. He dried his stinging hand with a napkin before sliding on the gloves.

"no prob. that happens sometimes," Stretch said absently. "the old waitress here swore the jukebox was haunted. whatcha getting?"

The sudden u-turn from the supernatural to the mundane was nearly enough to add to his whiplash. Edge picked up the menu again with his fingertips, still trying to touch it as little as possible. He doubted if Stretch’s supply of gloves was endless. "If I had blood and flesh, a tetanus shot. Since that isn't an option, I'll settle for the ubiquitous waffles.”

Not that he had any intention of eating anything. He only hoped that pushing it around his plate and perhaps mashing pieces with his fork would suffice. He added a silent prayer that he might be able resist the urge to slap Stretch’s plate away like a poisoned entrée before he carried his husband back out to the safety of their car. It would be a enduring struggle, he was certain.

Sudden shouts rose and Edge jerked again, turning to see that a set of the college-ish humans were engaged in a combination of shrieking and hairpulling, while their companions shouted at them, in encouragement or deterrence, it was difficult to tell.

As quick as it began, it ended, and they all returned to the table, eating their fries and cheese sticks while one held a napkin to their bleeding nose and the other, a glass of ice water against her swelling eye.

“Stretch—” Edge began, low. The best waffles in the world weren’t worth putting his husband anywhere near this sort of danger and certainly not the greasy globs of fried dough that were on offer here.

“hmm?” He turned back to see his husband hadn’t even seemed to notice the brief outbreak of brawling three booths away. Stretch only flipped the menu over and frowned, “dunno, maybe i’ll get the hash brown bowl this time, what do you th—"

He broke off at the sound of shouting from the kitchen, the entire restaurant turning to watch a burly man in an apron storm out, the waitress at his heels. Whatever his complaint, it was difficult to parse around the vigorous swearing, words that might even manage to bring a hint of a blush to his brother’s face.

Might.

What couldn’t be mistaken was his last shout, two clear, concise words. “I quit!”

The gathered assembly watched as the man ripped off his apron and tossed it on the counter, stalking out the front doors and out of their lives.

A long moment of silence, then Stretch grumbled out, “aw, man, not again. why do they always quit in the middle of the night, this is the third time!”

The waitress only stood there, a helpless expression on her weary face. She turned to them, “Sorry, guys, the next cook isn’t in until six.”

“nah, it’s cool,” Stretch sighed and started to get to his feet. “we’ll have to try again another time, babe.”

The waitress began gathering their unused silverware and Edge could hear her miserable sniffle as he followed Stretch towards the door. She was very young, and as terrible as Edge was at guessing Human ages, he suspected if she’d been a Monster, she would have been barely out of stripes. “Don’t suppose either of you cook?”

Edge paused.

In front of him, Stretch also stopped when he realized Edge was no longer following him, the reluctant leash of his hand becoming a stubborn brake. “what are you…” His expression changed, his sockets narrowing. “babe. no.”

Edge said nothing, only looked back at Stretch and watched his growing outrage, “no! you wouldn’t let me work at the haunted house that time! that guy would’ve paid us at the end of the night, we could’ve been their best workers! bet you could’ve gotten a ton of macho men to wet their pants without breaking a sweat!”

“She needs help,” Edge said, quietly. He did not bring up the ending debacle of their haunted house trip that landed them in the parking lot after an unintentional shortcut, a prudent choice when persuading Stretch.

Stretch faltered, looking around him at the waitress. Who was near tears, fruitlessly trying to call someone on her cell phone who wasn’t picking up. He blew out a sharp breath, rolling his pale eye lights, but his faint smile was unmistakable.

“always got to be the hero, don’t you,” Stretch sighed. He jerked a thumb back into the diner. “go ahead, superman, have at it.”

Edge nodded and turned back, walking over to the young waitress determinedly. “Excuse me, miss.”

It was only five o’clock in the morning when the other cook arrived, still bleary-eyed and his hair sticking up in the back. He didn’t ask about the newly shiny cleanliness of the grill, nor the fryers. And the counters. The floor. Even the mysterious dark smudge that forever haunted the smoke hood was gone, but he had no questions. He merely grunted a greeting and took possession of the equally shiny spatula, already reaching for the eggs that were sizzling on the griddle.

Edge removed his spotless apron and hung it on the peg by the door. He gave the kitchen a last satisfied look, then went out the door.

Out in the dining area in a corner booth, his husband was curled up, asleep. His skull sagged back against the worn vinyl padding, his mouth open, and a faint snore escaping on each exhale. An oversized leather jacket was spread over him that was not Edge’s and certainly wasn’t his own, Edge reached for it with a frown, lifting it off him in a jangle of chains and zippers.

“I’ll take that off ya hands.” He turned to see last night’s possible parolee holding out a hand. Wordlessly, Edge handed over the jacket and the Man shrugged into it. “He was shiverin’, didn’t want to bother ya while you was giving Anna a hand. So I kept an eye on ‘im.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him softly. The man gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“Nah, thank you for helpin’ her out,” the man said gruffly, “She’s a good kid, couldn’t afford to the lose the paycheck for the night.”

“Ready to go, daddy?” They turned as the Anna in question, the waitress, came out of the kitchen, coat in hand. Another waitress was already speaking to the other early morning customers, coffee in hand and waffles on order.

“Ready when you are, kid.” The man turned and shuffled to the door, but Anna paused by Edge.

“Thank you,” she said. Tears were brimming in her eyes, unshed. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told her, honestly. A few hours of cooking and deep cleaning was soothing to him in its own way, body and soul, and while his leg was beginning to complain, the rest of him felt nothing but deep, almost luxurious peace.

She gave him a happy smile and went after her father.

Edge watched her go, then turned back to Stretch, who was already stirring without the protection of the jacket. “hummzat?” he mumbled out, and when Edge reached out to gently cup his cheekbone in one hand, he learned with drowsy contentment into the touch.

“We can go home now,” Edge told him softly. He did not expect that sleepy look to turn to one of dismay, his sockets going wide.

“but we didn’t get any waffles!” Stretch said, with deep layers of disappointment. It was true; he’d fallen asleep before Edge even figured out the industrial waffle iron.

Edge only shook his head and took a seat on the other side of the booth, “All right then, waffles it is. You were right, you know.”

“hm?” Stretch yawned, “’bout what?”

“I did cross over from one space to the next,” Edge said, solemnly. He kept his expression as straight as a ruler, concealing even the hint of a smile. “A transition, if you will, into a liminal space—”

“i didn’t mean from the dining room to the kitchen,” Stretch grumbled. But he reached out to give Edge’s hand a brief squeeze, his thumb brushing over the ring on his third finger.

“Nevertheless,” Edge picked up a menu, though by now he knew it by heart. “Now. What are you having?”

-finis-

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part One

A/N: You guys, you have no idea how nervous I am to share this story. (My palms are sweating as I type this. You didn’t need to know that but hey, now you do.) Anyway, I have a lot of thoughts about Space Dad and his little green son and so here we are. Please feel free to weigh in with thoughts or questions, and if you would like to be added to the tags, let me know! I hope you enjoy this story, so far it is really fun- albeit scary- for me to write.  

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: What has the Mand’alor been up to since saying goodbye to the kid? And what is he planning to do next? 

Word Count: 4k

Warning: violence

Trask. 

The landing had gone much more smoothly than the last time he’d visited the estuary moon, the ship’s gear easily touching down on one of the stilted platforms instead of plunging into the brackish water beneath it. His new ship, the Promise, though purchased second hand, was in much better shape than the Razor Crest had been when he’d made the manual splashdown. It was faster and more recently modified, all systems intact and the entire ship meticulously serviced by Peli’s droids not two weeks ago. The Promise was a superior ship in every measurable way. But it wasn’t home yet, not the same way that the Razor Crest was. He had to stop himself from glancing back over his right shoulder as he finished flipping switches to shut down the engines. It wouldn’t be home until that seat was occupied again, and there was no telling when that might be.  

He closed his eyes, feeling a sudden tug in the center of his chest. Don’t. The Mandalorian shook thoughts of large round eyes and a small, three-fingered hand from his mind, forcing himself to focus on his current mission. The engines whirred to a stop as he stood, exiting the cockpit without dropping his eyes to the vacant chair. With the press of a button the door slid shut behind him, and he headed down the steel ladder into the gunship’s main hull. 

The sound of his bootsoles making contact with the metallic floor of the modified single-pilot Auzituck echoed through the cavernous space. Passing the door that led to his bunk, he pressed another button before entering a series of coded digits into a keypad. The wall panel next to his rarely used sleeping quarters opened to reveal a weapons locker, the contents of which were still severely lacking. He’d done what he could to replenish his stock of blasters and rifles, but his current collection was nothing compared to the armory he lost when the Razor Crest was destroyed. It won’t matter for this one. He reached in, grabbing a small blaster and the beskar spear he’d left Calodan with, choosing to forgo adding any grenades or extra ammunition to his bandolier. 

Dropping his chin, he let his eyes fall to the silver, cylindrical hilt of the Darksaber where it hung on its pegs. He hadn’t wielded it since he’d won it from Moff Gideon. He reached tentatively for it, but paused just before his fingers closed around the grip. Frowning behind the visor of his helmet, he pulled his hand away, leaving the sword where it was. The weapon- and more so what it symbolized- still made him uncomfortable. Mand’alor. He knew that the right to rule was meant to be an honor, a privilege and a duty that many Mandalorians would take up gladly. But all he saw when he looked at it was the disappointed defeat in Bo-Katan’s eyes when he returned with Gideon in binders and the Darksaber in his hand. He saw that defeat turn sour as she turned down his offer of the blade to her. When he looked at the weapon that he was meant to rule Mandalore with, he only felt unease and unbalance. He tore his eyes from it before he could think about the glowing obsidian blade and how it looked extended menacingly over Grogu’s head. I don’t need it for this. Shutting the weapons locker, he entered the same code that he used to open it, the lock engaging with a loud click. And it’s safer here. 

Armed with likely more than he’d need for the mission he was currently on, he turned for the door and lowered the ramp to disembark. He’d been traveling through the Outer Rim Territories, following a trail of beskar through the black market. His last stop on Mon Cala had garnered him several heavy ingots of the dark metal, as well as some stolen pieces of Mandalorian forged armor that a Quarren called Barlag was trying to move for absurd prices. And he would have gotten them, too. The Mandalorian knew that those who could afford it wouldn’t blink before forking over any number of credits to have their hands on the most indestructible, rare and valuable material in the galaxy. But it wasn’t a commodity, and it didn’t belong in the hands of back alley criminals or imperial holdouts. It belongs with me. With my people. It filled him with a quiet rage that helped to fill the hole that the empty seat in the cockpit left, helped to make him forget about the questions he had surrounding the Darksaber and his title as Mand’alor. 

Tossing a satchel of Calamari Flan to the waiting dockhand to cover the cost of refueling his ship, he strapped the spear to his back and made his way through the port. The streets were full of merchants and traders. Some were legitimate purveyors and transporters of goods, though most operated illegally, at least in part. Trask’s location, far from the Core Worlds, and its relatively small population, meant that it flew so far under the New Republic’s radar that the black market trade was able to flourish almost completely uninhibited. Typically, though, any riff raff rounded up on Trask was collected by bounty hunters hired to track down thieves and debtors, not by the New Republic’s marshals. The Guild often sent its newer, less experienced members on jobs that would bring them there, as the targets were usually low risk. They were considered easy money, though not enough to peak the interest of the higher ranked hunters, so it had been almost a decade since the Mandalorian had been to Trask on Guild business. Keeping his eyes forward, he passed the inn where he’d gotten the information that had led him to Bo-Katan and the others, turning down a narrow alley. He found the entrance to the bar just where Barlag, after some light convincing, had told him it would be. 

The first half of the information on the stolen beskar proving true, he walked through the tattered green curtain that covered the doorway to see about the second half. According to his source, a smuggling ring led by a Quarren named Tirzeg was set to transport a large quantity of beskar shortly after nightfall, and word was that he was using the bar’s basement storage room to hold his contraband until it was time to meet up with his transport team. 

Barlag, who had given up a small stash of beskar ingots and three vambraces in varying states of disrepair after one of his cronies had fallen to the Mandalorian and two others had run off, had been all too willing to cooperate once he felt the spear’s sharp tip against his throat. So willing, in fact, that he’d even given up the location of the much larger smuggling ring on Trask. The Mandalorian knew that that bonus was likely two sided and that the second he released him Barlag was likely to report back to Tirzeg, warning him of what was coming his way. As long as I get there before he takes off. He was more than confident that he’d have no trouble securing the beskar, and when he touched down on Trask with several hours to spare before nightfall he knew that it would only come down to one thing: Would Tirzeg be as cooperative as Barlag had been and give up the beskar, or would it need to be taken from him? 

A cursory scan of the dimly lit room was all it took for him to mark his target. Almost all of the square wooden tables and circular booths were full, but hunting and tracking were second nature to him whether he had a fob or not. All of his years with the Guild had taught him  what cues and tells to look for. He could identify smugglers in his sleep. Back left table.Sidestepping around a man locked in drunken conversation with two Mon Calamari dockhands, he matched Barlag’s description with the tall yellow-beige skinned Quarren positioned with his back to the wall and the two largest of his crew on either side of him like bodyguards. There were six total, by his count, nothing he couldn’t handle. Engaging the thermal scanner on his helmet’s visor, he followed a set of footsteps from the booth that led to a door tucked in the corner of the room. That must be where they’re keeping it. Each table that he passed grew quiet, the patrons looking up at him timidly, hoping it wasn’t them that he had come for. He was sure that at least three of them had bounties out on their heads. But there was only one that he was interested in. 

“Tirzeg,” he called the name when he was a few steps away, drawing the eyes of the rest of the table’s occupants, the short one at the end of the booth closest to where the Mandalorian stood getting to his feet with a snarl. Ignoring the display of aggression, he didn’t break his stride and continued over to the booth. 

“So.” The Quarren didn’t stand as he spoke, simply glanced up over the top of the cards in his hand as the Mandalorian came to a stop in front of his booth. “You must be the Mando that Barlag warned me about.” That’s right. One long facial tentacle rose upwards to pluck a card from the fan of them that he held in front of his face, reshuffling it and gesturing casually with his free hand. The short, snarling goon sat back down and Tirzeg thought about his play for a few more seconds before laying a pair of cards boasting matching red symbols on top of the pile. That done, he finally deemed the conversation at hand worthy of setting his remaining cards face down beside the large stack of coins, folding his arms over the top of his cache.  

“If you heard I was coming,” he tilted his head, arms still hanging loosely at his sides. “Then you know why I’m here.” He spoke in an even, non-threatening tone despite the way that Tirzeg’s crew were clutching the grips and hilts of their weapons. Let them try it.

The Quarren just grinned, the two tentacles closest to his lips curling inwards. “I’ll take a guess. You’re here for the beskar.” He laughed then, the sound more of a gutteral choking sound than anything denoting actual joy, the rest of his men joining in.

“I am,” the Mandalorian answered. And I’m going to be leaving with it.

“And I suppose you think I should just, what?” Tirzeg leaned over his arms, the squid-like appendages of his chin knocking over a small stack of Imperial Credit coins and sending them sliding towards the cards in the middle of the table. “Give it to you? Out of the kindness of my heart?” 

Another round of raucous laughter rose from the table, but the Mandalorian remained calm, giving a shrug as Tirzeg took a long swig from his drink. “The beskar belongs with the Mandalorians, it is my right to reclaim it. Your kindness has nothing to do with it.” 

Tirzeg stood abruptly, hands flat on the table. “Is that so?” It is. His eyes narrowed causing the wrinkled bags beneath them to gather. “And I suppose you also think that it’s going to be as easy to shake me down as it was with Barlag.” He leaned closer, the rest of the oafish brutes that were seated in his booth starting to get to their feet too. “That right, Mando?” 

“I was hoping that you would have more sense than your friend.” He could feel the floorboards shift beneath his boots as two more of Tirzeg’s goons stepped up behind him. The rest of the bar had fallen silent, the patrons quickly picking up on the tension brewing between the Mandalorian and the Quarren and either heading for the exits or else watching closely and cautiously. 

“Friend,” Tirzeg spat the word, several of his men scowling as he did. “That coward is no friend of mine.” The others all grunted in agreement, one banging the long handle of his spear into the floor for emphasis. Tirzeg sat down then, reclining into the backrest and crossing his arms over his chest. “But you know what is mine?” His eyes widened, that greedy grin pulling at his mouth again. “All that shiny beskar.” 

Behind the visor that hid his face the Mandalorian’s brown eyes flashed. Enough. “You can either give it to me, or I will take it from you.” Now it was a threat, one he fully intended to carry out, but he had still not reached for his own weapon.   

“Oh, I’m not gonna give it to you. I’m gonna sell it to a smith. And it’s gonna make me a shiny fortune.” 

He sighed. “Wrong choice.” 

Before any of Tirzeg’s men could strike, the Mandalorian reached for the blaster at his belt, the dusty overhead light reflecting off of his armor in a blinding flash. The zap of the shot was enough encouragement for the rest of the patrons of the bar to scramble over one another for the exits, emptying the room as the being he shot dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. 

“Stop him!” Tirzeg howled, slamming the table and sending cards, coins and glassware flying. Two more of his accomplices launched themselves into the fray. 

The Mandalorian ducked the wild swing of the Quraren in front of him, the blow landing on the jaw of the attacker behind him. Grabbing and pulling at the striker’s ankle, he stood to upend the attacker dropping him hard onto his head. Two down. Blaster still in hand from the first shot, he spun to take out the Quarren who had caught the punch meant for him. But he was blocked, his enemy reaching with one hand to push his blaster out of range, the other jabbing a short spear in his direction. 

Dodging it with ease, the Mandalorian pulled the spear off of his own back to counter the attack in a clanging clash of steel. Re-holstering his blaster once his adversary had released it, he gripped the beskar spear with both hands and drove the Quarren back into the wall, pressing the staff to the being’s throat. Without looking away from his current opponent, he brought one knee up and drove it back behind himself to plant the sole of his boot squarely in the chest of the fourth attacker, driving him through a neighboring table in a splintering crash of wood and limbs.. 

Tirzeg continued howling for his crew to fight back, but by the time the Mandalorian had let go of the goon he had pinned against the bricks, there was just one Quarren left standing next to the lead smuggler. Eyes wide and hands and tentacles quivering nervously, he swallowed and blinked at Tirzeg as the Mandalorian wheeled on the last two still on their feet. “Get him!” Tirzag spat at his last hold out, gesturing wildly as his tentacles splayed out in anger. 

The Mandalorian took another step, spear still extended, but just as he went to lunge the last of Tirzeg’s goon’s thought better of the situation, dropping his weapon and taking off for the exit. “No! Come back here! Come-” 

But despite Tirzeg’s calls, he was left alone, the sharp edge of the spear looming ever closer to his throat as the Mandalorian’s free hand closed around the Quarren’s bicep to keep him from slinking away. Just like Barlag. “The beskar,” the modulator in his helmet did little to cover the small growl in his voice. “Hand it over.” 

Suddenly far less sure of himself and infinitely less brave, Tirzeg sputtered, shrinking away from the blade. “A-alright, I… you…” He pointed one shaking hand at the door that the Mandalorian had correctly guessed was the entrance to the basement storage room. “You can take it just...just let me-” 

Not waiting for the end of the plea, he dropped Tirzeg roughly back into the booth and stepped over the legs of one of the fallen smugglers. “Should have done things my way, would have been-.”  

“Fool.” The overconfident tone crept back into the Quarren’s voice and the Mandalorian froze as Tirzeg grabbed a discarded blaster from the heap of his men and pointed it straight at his back. “All you did was bolster my share of the profit.” He scoffed, surveying the injured and otherwise incapacitated remnants of his crew. “So, I guess, in a way, I should be thanking you, Mand-” 

With a sigh, he simultaneously spun and drew his blaster, pulling the trigger to drop Tirzeg before he could finish his sentence. Whipping the pistol back into place on his belt and stowing the spear on his back once more, he turned his head so that his chin was parallel to his shoulder. “Should have done things my way. Would have been faster.” The energetic hum of the blaster’s single shot dissipated into the silent, dusty air of the vacant room as he descended the basement stairs. 

It had been a good haul, no matter how thinking about it in that manner made him feel. Securing roughly three times the amount of pure beskar that he’d earned for the bounty on Grogu, he tried only to think of how greatly it would benefit his people. This is the Way. He tried not to think about the origin of that metal, and how it had been stripped from it’s former wearer’s bodies. Carrying three full camtonos of heavy Mandalorian steel through the crowded streets of Trask’s darkened port, he reminded himself of his mission. 

The Armorer, along with a small handful of others and the Tribe’s few foundlings had survived what happened on Nevarro, and had reformed the Covert on Tatooine. Though he had yet to personally deliver the besker that he tracked down and reclaimed to The Armorer since he’d removed his helmet, instead passing it off to another Mandalorian, he was dedicated to getting it back into the hands of his people. He was dedicated to protecting them, defending and preserving their way of life, his way of life, and that meant getting them what they needed to keep themselves safe. The men and women who gave their lives so that he could escape with Grogu- a foundling in his and therefore their protection- did so for a reason. And even if he’d broken one of the most integral rules of the Creed, he would never turn his back on those that refused to turn theirs on him. Even if what he’d done meant- 

Dar’manda. 

The word entered his mind and stopped him in his tracks. No. Taking a breath, he kept walking, pushing the desolate, dishonorable connotations that came with that word and its actions from his thoughts. Even if that’s… it’s not what I… He had no way to know what the others thought of him, or if they even knew that he had shown his face not once but twice in the presence of another living creature. All he knew was that while he harbored no regrets over anything  that he’d done for Grogu, and despite how much time had passed, he still wasn’t sure what to do with his beliefs. What was he now? Still one of the Tribe? Or- 

Mand’alor.

There was that word again. The one that carried responsibilities and expectations that he didn’t even know existed let alone that he wanted hefted on his shoulders. I can’t be both. Leader? Unifier? How could he be those things for his people if he didn’t even know if he had a place within their ranks anymore? 

He tightened his grip on the two handles of the camtonos he carried, the third one strapped to his back, and forced himself to focus only on putting one foot in front of the other. He listened only to the sound of his footsteps making contact with the wet ground, concentrated on the physical weight of the beskar in his possession and not on the things he didn’t know how to control. Deliver it to Tatooine, put it in the right hands. Regroup, regather supplies, and look for his next lead. It wasn’t much, and it did little to help him answer the questions he was wrestling with, but it did buy him time away.

While time was in no short supply, seeming to fly by in large chunks some days, he knew one thing that was running thin; Bo-Katan’s patience. The Darksaber beyond her grasp, the only goal she was focused on now was retaking Mandalore by any means necessary. But taking back thier planet would mean he would need to step fully into his role as the leader of the Mandalorian people. How can I lead them if I don’t even know where I stand? 

He sighed as his ship came into view in the port, realizing that he’d have to find a way to answer himself sooner rather than later. Tirzeg’s ring on Trask had been his last real lead on stolen beskar, so he knew that when he arrived back in Tatooine, it would be only a day or two before Bo-Katan and Koska returned from their mission as well, wanting to speak with him. Their task had been traveling the galaxy in search of other Mandalorians, hoping to rally them to fight for their rightful home and spreading the word that they were no longer lost or forgotten- that they had a Manda’lor to follow and a duty to fight. They’d made contact with  two small coverts within the mid rim, as well with a few lone wanderers, but  just like his leads on beskar, their information on where to find more of their kind was drying up quickly. He knew that soon he’d have no choice but to start planning the reclamation of Mandalore. 

Reaching the Promise, he left his thoughts on land. He had paid for a full night at the dock, but as soon as he crossed the threshold he knew he wouldn’t be staying. I need to keep moving. I should… I should get back. Setting one of the heavy cases down, he pressed the button to raise the door behind him. The yellow glow from the lamps in the port reflected off of the murky water to shine into the dark hull, and he watched the sliver of light shrink into nothing as the door sealed shut and he picked the container back up. 

The visor of his helmet automatically adjusted to the low light, and he crossed the space with three echoing steps. Next to the weapons locker was another small storage compartment that he opened, stowing the beskar inside. Disarming himself next, he hung the spear and blaster back in their places, closing the locker without even glancing at the Darksaber’s hilt. But even without paying it any extra attention, thoughts of the sword's crackling black blade crept in, and he wondered if it would ever feel right in his grip. No other weapon had ever given him such pause, and yet it was the one he was supposed to forge a fractured kingdom with. But how?  

As soon as he asked the question he chased it away. Not tonight. With a small shake of his head, he closed the locker and left the dim hull. Climbing into the cockpit, he kept his eyes straight ahead so that they wouldn’t fall to the empty seat behind him, and began punching in the coordinates for Tatooine. Lights blinked on all around him as the engines began to whir and hum, and he cleared the Promise for takeoff, leaving Trask and heading for the stars and the solace that they provided him. 

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tags: @something-tofightfor​ @alraedesigns​ @pheedraws​ @valkblue​ @malionnes​ @gollyderek​

[dean-winchesters-gardian-angel]

Halloween Special

Pairing: Dean x Reader 

Summary: It’s hard to believe the man you love can love you back when he has an abundance of options. Trust getting trapped in a maze together to make you confess.

Word count: 7143

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mutual pinning, slow burn?

A/N:  Have an excellent Halloween and stay safe out there. I now have a masterlist so be sure to check it out. As always read it, enjoy it and I’ll see you on the other side! Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N had been with the Winchesters long enough to know the rules around holidays. Dean more than welcomed the yearly events and would always find ways to mention them and celebrate them in any manner possible. Sam on the other hand, though admittedly happy to see his brother in such an upbeat mood, hated holidays. Whether they be Christmas or Halloween, New Year, or Easter, Sam was last to participate in the celebration. His reason being he didn’t want to look forwards to something that may not happen, an event that is to be celebrated with friends and family while their friends and family had all passed away. A reasonable excuse though not enough for Dean to give him a break.

All the while, Y/N would get lost in Dean's energetic holiday personality, enjoying the time of year herself as much as possible. In the end, what would occur more often than not on holidays was a drink at a bar decorated appropriately for the time of year. This year was no different as of yet. The closer Halloween came to be, the more excited Dean had become and the more closed off and short-tempered — at least around the subject — Sam had gotten.

The trio had finished off a hunt, a day before Halloween, and made their way to a bar to top off the night. The drive was only five or six minutes, highway ad signs blemishing the view of the otherwise empty countryside, a gentle golden light feathering through the seemingly glowing grass as the sun made its way to wake people up on the other side of the planet. Dean watches her in the rear-view mirror. Y/N admires her surrounding for the back of Baby, only breaking eye contact with the word when she felt the car sway to the right as Dean pulled over into a parking lot. The three of them made their way inside, Sam on his phone looking into the local news, Dean gleaming at the sight of decorations, nudging Y/N to look at things he’d spotted.

Waitresses dressed in skimpy costumes, fake cobwebs on the walls and ceiling littered with plastic spiders and leaves, the specials for the week were found on the chalkboard at the entrance and again behind the bar, drawings of skeleton hands pointing to individual drinks. The bar was as crowded as to be expected considering it was a Friday night and only a day away from Halloween. Groups of girls in their sexy nurse and sexy pirate costumes huddled together eyeing the brothers, whispering and giggling. Sam ignored his surroundings making his way to the bar and ordering a beer while Dean wore a grin as he looked around at the people and decorations. Y/N stood next to him, hands in her jacket pockets, taking in the atmosphere for herself, appreciating the light mood that came with good company. Dean lifted his arm, draping it over her shoulder and pulling her against his side. The girls that had been attentively watching the eldest Winchester rolled their eyes and turned back toward the entrance in hopes of spotting the next charming guest the bar would welcome that night. Y/N looked up to the ridiculous grin the hunter wore as he took in his surroundings, shaking her head with a light chuckle.

“You’re such a goon. Come on.” She moved one hand from her jacket pockets to his back giving him a gentle pat before leading him to the bar. Dean was in no way going to let his brother's bad mood dampen his own, instead, trying to cheer him up. They sat on the tall stool, beers in hand as Dean nodded to Sam with his drink then back towards the girls who had reverted their gaze back towards the Winchesters.

“Sam, look up from your phone man, look at all these hot chicks trying to get your attention. You should go talk to ‘em. They’ve had their eyes on you since you walked in here and you can’t even make eye contact. Shameful.” He teased as he sipped his beer.

“If they’re so hot then why don’t you go talk to them.” Sam's voice was monotone his eyes focus on the glowing device in his hand.

“Nah, see I’m already in a good mood. I got everything I need, my beer, a hunt gone well, and my very favourite girl by my side the day before Halloween.” He slid his arm over Y/Ns shoulders again shaking her a little, reinforcing his words. “See you, my Sammy, have that phone. Come on man it’s not even Halloween yet and you’re already bumming me out. I mean look at Y/N! You’re killing the vibe dude.”

“Whatever Dean. If you want to party it up for Halloween be my guest, doesn’t mean I have to join in. I’m comfortable living vicariously.” With a huff, Dean caved not wanting to waste his night on someone else’s bad mood.

“Whatever dude.” Dean swallowed the rest of his beer, quickly ordering a new one before turning to Y/N.

“You like Halloween, right?”

“Well, I like the candy involved that's for sure. Yeah, I like Halloween, the haunted houses, costumes, trying to scare your friends. Oh, and also the candy involved.” Earning a chucked from both the brothers.

“Look I don’t wanna, you know, kill the vibe, so why don’t you guys just do your thing and I’ll see if I can find us a new case okay?”

“Okay but Sammy,” Dean looked his brother in the eyes with a serious look on his face pointing his beer at him. “Don’t leave those girls hanging.”

“Yeah. Right.” Sam huffed out a chuckle before moving to an undisturbed booth leaving Y/N and Dean at the bar as the two of them leaned back against it in on their seats.

“What about you? You gonna leave those girls hanging?”

“They were eyeing Sammy, not me.”

“Pretty sure they were interested in both of you ‘till you went and put your arm on my shoulder.” She sipped at her beer watching the crowd.

“Yeah well, I guess I ruined my shot then didn’t I.” He smiled over to her, head tilted, and eyes brows raised.

“Unless you didn’t.” She nodded towards the angel walking over to them, a white mini skirt and white top showing unnecessary cleavage with wings and a halo. Her make-up was over the top as were her six-inch white heals and equally white salon nails. She stood in front of Dean closer then welcomed and introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Candy.” Dean smirked shaking her hand.

“Hi there, I’m Dean, this is Y/N.” Candy looked over to her with the fakest of smiles on her face as Y/N did her very best to restrain from laughing. Candy stood there doing her utmost hardest to flirt with Dean who was giving her nothing to go on, finding every possible way to mention Y/N in the conversation. Soon enough Candy left her number with Dean and walked away.

“Dude you suck! What was that! You know better than to mention your girlfriend when trying to get laid. You know what I mean, a friend who’s a girl, not the point! You’re Dean Winchester! And that,” She gestured at him “sucked.” She sipped her drink.

“I already told you Y/N, I got everything I need. Right here.” He held up his beer and nudged into her. “Plus, you’re the one who likes candy.”

Before long the triad had made their way back to the motel room. Entering the room Dean booked it to the bathroom calling dibs on the first shower. Sam dramatically threw his hands in the air sighing. Y/N, however, had plans that required Dean out of the room.

“Hey, Sammy.” She whispered keeping an eye on the bathroom door, waiting for the shower to start.

“Yeah what’s up.”

“You wanna know what Halloween is all about?”

“What are you gonna do?” He had an inquisitive look in his eye and a cheeky smirk on his lips. Y/N opened her backpack to show Sam the content.

“I got it at that corner store a coupla days ago… I was thinking his bed. It looks real huh?”

“That— that is awesome. That is gonna scare the shit outta him!”

Dean exited the shower tying his towel around his waist and rubbing away the fog that interfered with his view. He watched his reflection thinking over his plan in his head. Dean was in love with his best friend though she didn’t know and had been planning on telling her for weeks. He’d been dropping hint, flirting with her, touching her arm or hand and she seemed to be oblivious.

“Have I been too subtle? Dude, you really do suck. This shouldn’t be this hard, hell it shouldn’t be hard at all. It’s Y/N! All you have to do is say hey by the way I’m in love with you and I’d really like to be with you are you interested? Shit! That was lame. Come on Dean, come on! Tell her, just tell her man. Shit! Why couldn’t I be into a desperate chic who read into everything.” He ran his hand through his hair and down his face. “’ Cause then she wouldn’t be Y/N. Man up man. You can do this.” He pointed at himself in the mirror. He threw on his black t-shirt and a pair of boxers walking out of the bathroom to see Y/N and Sam sitting next to each other on her bed. The smirk on Y/N's face made him feel uneasy. Sam got up and walked over to the couch to rummage around in his bag in search of his own PJs.

“You guy keeping secrets?” Dean joked as he moved over to his bed. Placing his phone on the nightstand he turned on the lamp and looked up to the two he had addressed.

“So many secrets Dean.” Y/N smiled at him. “I’m kidding, we were just talking about Halloween and what it was about.” She got up from her bed and grabbed her bag, going to work on finding her PJs.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that.” The jealousy that had been ignited when he saw the two sitting together hadn’t yet been put out though he was trying his hardest. There was no competition in his mind, his brother was taller, more fit, healthier eating habits, smarter, and had better control of his temper. If there was even the possibility that Y/N liked Sam, he didn’t stand a chance. Had it been a one-night stand Dean could have charmed his way into bed with any women before his brother had a shot at saying hello, but with Y/N he wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. She deserved better than that anyway and even if he wasn’t in love with her, he wouldn’t have tried anything simply out of respect for her.

She turned around looking Dean in the eyes as he reached for his blankets. Her smile grew as the blankets were pulled back and he got in. A look of confusion began to form as Dean reached his hand down along his leg finally touching the smooth, dry pole-like figure next to him. He lifted the blanket spotting what he had been touching and flung the blankets back as he pushed off the bed landing on the ground and scurrying away all the while screaming as though he had yellow fever.

“Well, it’s about fear of course.” Y/N laughed.

“That better not be real.” Dean took a minute to catch his breath looking at Sam.

“Hey, don’t blame me, this was all Y/N.” Dean then looked to Y/N who was bent over laughing.

“It’s good, right? Looks real too! You should have seen yourself; you actually fell off the bed! That was better than I had hoped for.”

“Ha ha, you better watched your back Y/N.”

“You? Scare me? You can try.” Y/N strutted her way over to the bathroom, towel flung over her shoulder as she smirked cockily over. Dean turned to his brother once more.

“Sam, can you move the snake?”

Locking the door Y/N began to strip of her clothes turning on the water, allowing it to gain temperature.

The room smelled of Dean. Y/N inhaled deeply without thinking, taking in the smell, allowing it to lull her into a comfortable calmness, her eyes fluttering shut, her eyelashes teasing and tickling at the soft skin of her cheeks. It was an instinctual thing she would do when around the smell. She would try to absorb it, though before long she would snap out of the smell induced trance and revert back to what she was doing. Right now, however, there was no one to judge her, and she took a moment longer.

Once fully undressed, Y/N stepped under the shower head permitting the water to run across her shoulders and down her spine. Tilting her head back she let the heat of the water rush through her hair adding weight to it. Her eyes were closed, beads of water collecting on her eyelashes, her lips, her nose, as she dragged her hands along her silky hair ringing it out causing a heavy sound as the water crashed onto the floor of the tub. Y/N open her eyes meeting Dean's ocean green ones as he stood in front of her. Equally naked, he stepped forward bringing his hand up to gracefully brush at her cheek. Y/Ns eyes flutter shut once more as she imagined the way Dean hands would feel on her body, moving her own along the curves of her being as she soaped up, the suds allowing for a smooth gliding motion. His or rather her hands gently trailed her skin leaving her flinching as they tickled her sides. They grew closer to their destination, the thought of Dean encouraging her.

“Hey, are you about done in there?!”

She was going to kill Sam.

“Just about!” She yelled back, rinsing away the soap. Turning off the water, she stepped out of the tub moving to the mirror before brushing her teeth.

“Don’t even think about it.” She told herself in the mirror — for the hundredth time.

She got dressed and opened the door.

“All yours” Nodding to Sam who got up from the end of the bed, towel, and PJs in hand.

“About time, what were you doing in there? Fantasizing?”

“Yeah, totally and the kicker is you don’t get to know the juicy details.” Regardless of the factualness of her statement, it was underlined with a sarcastic tone. Sam scoffed and moved to the bathroom locking the door behind him, leaving herself and Dean alone.

Y/N had always been good at hiding her crushes ever since she was a kid. She would pretend to be annoyed with things they did or simply be neutral around them. With Dean, it had always been harder, with the fact that she spent so much time around him and would sometimes lose herself in his vicinity it had proven to be difficult. So, she had begun pushing him in the opposite directing. Because of their lifestyle, there was never a girlfriend to make him off-limits or a boyfriend to distract her. In fact, their lifestyle supported even a 'friends with benefits' arrangement between the two of them. Y/N had quickly rejected that idea knowing full well that she would fall for him given that opportunity. And so, as a way to avoid any suggested feelings she made him look the other way. Like tonight at the bar with Candy. Y/N wanted Dean to be into Candy so that she wouldn’t be into him. She did her best not to like him or find his smile charming or his smell intoxicating or his laugh all-consuming but alas. She was dealing.

Y/N moved to her bed throwing the sheets back and climbing in right after removing the fake spiders underneath.

“Really Dean? That was a poor excuse for an attempt. I don’t scare that easy.” “Well, why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what you are afraid of? What's your biggest fear Y/N?”

“Actually… I don’t know. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Both sat in their respective bed leaning against the headboards.

“No, I guess not. But it’d be more fun that way.”

“Well you’re shit out luck ‘cause I don’t even know what my biggest fear is to being with.” She shrugged, as she lied through her teeth. Hunkering down in her blankets she reached over and turned out the light, leaving Dean's lamp as the only source of light. The door to the bathroom swung open as Sam emerged with his soggy hair.

“You guys ready for bed?”

“We were just waiting for you, Sammy.” His brother responded as he reached overturning out his own lamp.

The room was dark suddenly, save for the alarm clock glaring red between Y/N and Dean's respective beds. Y/N lay on her back watching the shadows on the ceiling as cars passed by outside, her mind wandering for miles.

Y/N looks to the clock and smiles after noticing the hour. She got up and moves to Dean's bed crawling on the sheets and sitting with her legs crossed, resting a hand on his shoulder as he lay on his stomach.

“Dean… are you awake?”

“I am now…” He said groggily without opening his eyes, doing his best to cling to what sleep was left.

“Happy Halloween.” He could hear the smile on her face, fell the heat of her hand still resting on his shoulder. And though he was put off by the toy snake in his bed and what he saw when he exited the shower earlier that night the jealousy had been eased away.

“What?” He opened his eyes now seeing the smile she held. She was pointing at the clock that read 12:01.

“You woke me up for that?” He said closing his eyes once more as he flipped onto his back taking Y/Ns hand in his without thinking.

“Of course, I did” He sighed and smiled, relieving Y/N of the regret she was feeling for waking him. There was a pause while Dean took in the situation giggling to himself slightly as Y/N watched him, resisting the urge to touch him, his hand in her practically cheering her on to do so.

“Promise me you’ll do that every holiday from now on.” He chuckled; his voice groggy as he squeezed her hand.

“Promise. Sorry for waking you by the way. You can go back to sleep now.” She began moving off the bed, but Dean didn’t release her hand. She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, drawing his attention back to contact he had initiated. Dean brought her hand up to his lips leaving a chaste kiss before letting go.

“Good night Dean.”

“Night sweetheart.”

~~~

The next morning Y/N found herself watching the fields pass her by once again as she sat, half asleep, in the back seat of the impala, while Dean passed her a coffee from the gas station they had just left. She sat up cupping the coffee in both hands before chugging half of its content, quickly suffering the consequences as she panted like a dog in hope of reliving the burning on her tongue and though it did the trick in waking her up, it wasn’t as pleasant as one may have hoped. The bunker was a good 7 more hours away at the rate they were going which is why they had slept in the motel before heading home. In each town they drove though, Halloween decorations cover houses from head to toe, kids dressed in movie characters and monsters, signs prompted readers to embark on a haunted house experience and hay bale mazes. The last one caught Y/Ns attention.

“Guys! Hay bale maze 3 miles!”

“No.”

“Sam that's not fair! We’ve been cooped up in this car for hours. Plus, hay bale is hardly a Halloween thing it’s just an autumn thing.” She gave Sam a look that said, ‘prove me wrong’. He sighed and looked at his brother who was now wearing a smirk, looking forward.

“Guys… Come on. Come on!”

“Okay, okay gosh Dean you heard the woman, hay bale maze.”

“Awesome.”

“Just drop me off a motel first. You guys can go be children while I sleep.”

“Sammy!”

“Nuh-uh.” As per Sam's request, he was dropped off at a motel three miles later. Dean pulled into a lot where cars were scattered around, families and couples huddled together taking pictures with the carved pumpkin and fall decorations. Y/N and Dean stumbled out, stretching their limbs high and wide as they turned towards the maze.

“A beer says you’ll get lost.”

“Well if I get lost, then it’s 'cause you’re lost. I ain’t leaving your side sweetheart.”

“Yeah, that is until you find some fine-looking group of girls to cling onto. You know, be their knight in shining armour and all. Help them get out of the scary maze.”

“And leave you all alone to fend for yourself? Never. I gotta protect my girl! Not gonna let a group of sillies distract me... I’ll take that bet though.”

They made their way towards the maze entrance stopping to read the rule sign that outlined the following: maze hours from 9 am to 9 pm, no running, no smoking, no food or drinks, and no tipping over the hay bales.

“That last one's for you Dean. They musta known you were coming.”

“I would never!”

On the left of the entrance stood a box that read ‘maze fees by donation. All proceeds go to the local animal shelter. Thank you and enjoy!’ Dean pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slid it in the slot without a second thought looking over to Y/N whose eyebrows were raised in shock.

“What?”

“Twenty whole dollars really? You realize it’s by donation you could have gotten away with a buck or two, right?”

“It’s for a good cause.” He shrugged.

“You don’t even like animals.”

“Well maybe not... but you do and that right there is enough reason for me. Can we go now and quit worrying about how much I put in the damn box.” Dean raised his hand, palm to the ground offering it to Y/N which she reluctantly took. She didn’t expect Dean to keep hold of it as they walked through the winding golden walls and not only did, he not let go; he slowly threaded his fingers in hers almost as though he were afraid that if he went to fast, she would drop his hand and head for the hills, which, to be completely honest, she had considered. As much as she wanted to relish in the heat radiating off his arm against hers or the pressure between her fingers, she couldn’t stop the thought rushing through her head telling her to let go. That the longer she held onto him the more painful it would be when he inevitably let go, realizes her feeling for him, and pushing her away. And so, she did. Pulling her hand back she tucked it safely away in her pocket out of reach. Dean put his hand in his jean pocket glancing over at Y/N with a hesitant smile. They walked in silence, only the sound of grass rustling under their shoes and children’s voices as they laughed and screamed with joy filling the void. Y/N didn’t know what to say and so she didn’t say anything. Meanwhile, Dean's mind was spinning with things to say but couldn’t. The silence was broken when they came to a dead end.

“Guess you owe me that beer.”

“Y/N listen— “ He faced her stepping closer as he reached for her hand from her pockets. Y/N blinked in confusion as her hand where pulled from the heat-laced pockets they had once sought shelter in.

“Dean, stop. Don’t do this, you know you’ll regret it.”

“But I need to tell you this. Please.”

“Unless you about to tell me we’re seriously lost, don’t say anything.”

“Y/N—“

“Dean, stop!” She yanked her hand back along with a step backward. “What you’re about to say— you don’t mean it. So please just... don’t.”

She walked away from the dead end. Dean stood still for a minute trying to wrap his head around her words.

“‘Don’t mean it’?” He whispers to himself.

“You coming?”

“Yeah.” He crocked walking over to her without making eye contact, his hand I’m his jean pockets. He looked beat, worn, tired, and heartbroken.

“You okay?” She asked, a stupid question really considering her previous words.

“I’m fine.” And so, the silence resumed, though this time it was Y/Ns mind spinning with unspoken thought and Deans that was solely focused on one.

The sun had begun setting long ago as they kept up their pace in the labyrinth. Y/N looked at her phone, the screen illuminating her face as she read the time; 8:37.

“We should find the way-out Dean; they close the maze at 9. We have twenty minutes.”

“Yeah.” He walked past her. They weren’t able to find the exit, ignoring the call over the intercom for stragglers. Both refused to call out expecting the other to do so. Little did they know the exit wasn’t just blocked off by a gate they could hop, rather replace with hay bales creating a seemingly solid wall. They wouldn’t find the exit till the morning.

“I’m taking a break.” Y/N sat down on the ground leaning gently against the yellow straw bricks. Dean stood and waited, looking at his boots.

“Dean—“

“What. You gonna ask if I’m okay! I’m fine. Just don’t bother.”

“I didn’t mean to — I don’t know — hurt your feelings? In fact, that’s the last thing I wanted.”

“Well good ‘cause you didn’t. It’s not like I have feelings, anyway right. I mean that’s what you were implying when you said I didn’t mean it.” Dean was calm with his argument, never looking away from his boots.

“Of course, that’s not what I meant Dean. I know you have feelings. Can we just forget about it? Dean just sit, take a break.” He sat next to her leaving inches between them. Regardless of what she had been saying to him he still craved her proximity. He couldn’t help but sit close to her even after being hurt. Despite the fact that she had been the one to hurt him she was still the only one who could make him feel better, and that made it hurt all the more. They sat in their familiar silence for a dozen minutes before Y/N suggested they play a game to pass the time, giving up completely on finding the exit.

“You wanna play a game?” Dean simply looked at her not saying a word, a blank expression on his face.

“Or not— we don’t have to.”

“Truth or dare.” Y/N looked at him surprised to see him involving himself in the conversation.

“Truth.”

“What’s your favourite memory?”

“That’s an odd question, but I’ll answer nevertheless... you remember that time we ended up in a gravel pit, after our first hunt together? Werewolf. Pack of three. There was no one around. No city lights. I had never seen the sky that sparkled. And then you told me to cover my eyes. When I opened them, the stars were even brighter than before, and there were so many. I can still see them when I close my eyes now. All those little holes in our sky. Do you remember that night Dean?”

Of course, he remembered that night. Their first hunt. He had fallen for her quickly after watching her take on two of the werewolves herself while he was tied to a chair.

“Yeah. I remember... as a matter of fact I think that’d be mine too.” There lay an essence of a smile on his face as Dean reminisced.

“My turn then. Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” Y/N didn’t have to think about her question for she had wondered it for the longest time.

“Who, and be honest here because this is important, is your favourite Scooby doo character?” As Y/N had hoped and planned, Dean burst out laughing a full belly laugh. His head tilted back resting again the wall of hay while his hand made its way to his stomach. His eyes squinted shut showing laughter lines and his chest rumbled while his shoulder bounced which every laugh. Dean lifted his hand to rub at his eyes that had begun tearing up from laughter.

“Well,” he leaned in and with a hushed voice as though divulging a secret, told her. “Since you asked for the honest truth, I’ll tell you. See I would have said Daph for all the reasons you’d suspect, all the obvious reasons. But in reality, it’s Shaggy.” He’d stopped whispering but kept a good mood. “I mean— he’s got to eat all he wants he’s got a best friend though it is a dog but I mean Scoobs can talk! How cool is that? Plus, even though he doesn’t really get much of the credit, he’s kind of the hero. Without him and Scoobs, they would never get the bad guy. Granted they catch them almost by accident but still.” She had managed to lighten the mood thankfully as they continued with their little game. Both avoided any classic truth or dare questions for obvious reasons.

“Okay, my turn.” Dean's question was one had already asked however he didn’t believe her answer. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Good. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Dean I already told you I don’t know.” Dean turned to her watching as she looked at the straw she’s been fiddling with.

“The truth, Y/N.”

“Dare.”

“No way! Too late you gotta!”

“Dean...”

“Oh, come on. I won’t even laugh, I promise, even if it’s something like butterflies.” She looked at him, eyebrows arched. “Wait is it butterflies?”

“No! Who’s afraid of butterflies?”

“I don’t know I just figured; you know since you’re so opposed to telling me it must be something silly like that.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then tell me. I won’t judge, in fact, I’ll trade you for mine.” There was a very long pause as Y/n looked in Dean's stunningly green eyes. She could see the honesty that lay beneath but could also spot the hurt from earlier and it killed her.

“My—“ she choked on her words and sniffled as she cleared her throat looking away from him. Her voice was shaky as she continued. “My biggest fear, Dean, is losing you.” It was Dean's turn to sit in contemplation. He watched her as she breathed shallow breaths. Lifting her head and closing her eyes she broke the silence.

“My turn then, truth or da—“

“No, no wait— I don’t get you. You act like you tolerate me, always pushing me away and then you tell me that your biggest fear is losing me. That doesn’t make any sense Y/N!”

“That’s ironic coming from you. Dean, when people get close to you, lock them out. Why would I do that? Why get close, it’s counterproductive. Either I push and keep you close or get close and get punched away. That’s how it is with you. Are you telling me that if I didn’t push you away, we would — what be the best of friend joint at the hip having sleepover parties and telling each other our celebrity crushes? I don’t think so. If I tried to get close, I would lose you and as previously mentioned that’s the last thing I want.”

“We would be more than best friends.”

“No, we wouldn’t Dean.”

“Why’s that. ‘Cause I ‘don’t mean it’, or ‘cause you don’t feel that way ‘cause I’m finally starting to get that.” Dean was on his feet a few steps away. Y/N still sat on the ground, a defeated look on her face.

“Of course, I feel that way Dean, of course, I do—“

“Then why set me up with ‘Candy’ or make sure I notice all the girls at the bar who were checking me out or suggest that I go find some chicks here huh, you’re always giving me other options, now that is counterproductive.”

“Because as I’ve said before Dean, I’d lose you. You don’t feel the same so you would push me away.”

“Who the hell said I don’t feel that way?”

“No one had to say it, Dean. I already know.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I thought I made it pretty obvious what with not being interested in the girls you point me towards, the hand holding, I’ve flirted with you.”

“Dean, you’re a notorious flirt how was I to know you’re being serious all those times?” Y/N stood up finding her footing a couple of strides in front of Dean.

“Well I wasn’t flirting with anyone now else, was I?”

“You’ve got a point there... that’s not the point. Dean, I’m not the kinda girl people date, I’m independent, solitary, don’t you think we're just really good friends and you don’t actually like me in that way we just spend a lot of time together, we get along, we’re friends.” Dean shook his head looking as though he were holding back tears.

“There is no way that the way I feel isn’t love Y/N. It’s not even that I like you. I’m in love with you and I can’t change that. And no, it’s not just that we get along, the way I feel, Y/N, is more than friendship, and trust me I know the difference. Why is it so hard for you to believe?” While there were psychological reasons for Y/N not to believe Dean's confession she didn’t have an answer. She shrugged instead, an apologetic smile on her face. Y/N sat back in her spot tugging her jacket around her body as a shiver ran through her being.

“You gonna let me give you my jacket?”

“No.” She looked up at him with a smirk acknowledging her stubbornness. Dean scoffed as he sat next to her once more this time leaving no room between them. He could feel her shaking gently next to him.

“Y/N please just take the jacket I’ve got like three other layers. I’m not cold in the slightest.”

“You’ll need it later. We’re just sitting you’ll get cold.”

“Son of a—.” He muttered as he leaned forward stripping off his jacket and putting in her lap.

“If you don’t want to put it on don’t put it on but I’m not wearing it. I’m too warm.” He looked at her cocking his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes and slapped the jacket dramatically as she pulled it off her lap and around her shoulders. Dean did his best to hide his victorious smile as he settled back, crossing his arms over his chest. The jacket was already warm, the heat seeping in past her own layers and onto her skin, sinking into her muscles. The familiar and comforting smell of Dean wafted off the coat and enveloped her senses taking her back to her fantasies, a comfortable place, a happy place. She let herself relish in her imagination. The thought of Dean wanting her the same way she wanted him, loving her the same she loved him. Her eyes shot open remembering Dean's words. It was only moments ago he said he loves her. She hated herself for not being able to believe him.

“Dean I— Can I ask you why?”

“I honestly can’t answer that. I don’t know why I just know that I do. It wasn’t a development that happened over time. Well I mean I’m sure there were things you’d do that would spark that feeling in my chest but — It — It didn’t take time for me to fall in love with you. I just looked at you one day and thought ‘Hey, there you are, God, I’ve missed you.’’ And I’ve been longing for you for so long, always too afraid to make a move. Guess my fears were right hey.” He chuckled humourlessly. Y/N leaned into him resting her head on his shoulder in hopes of comforting him without thinking about what her actions might do. Dean could damn near hear his heart shatter as he swallowed the lump in his throat. She soon realized her mistake and sat up with wide eyes and nervous breathing.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She could hear the melancholy in his voice making her regret her actions. “You realize we’re probably the only two people who would admit to liking each other and do nothing about it. Hell, I admitted to loving you.”

“Dean— I’ve never been loved like that. People have hurt me time and time again and I just no longer believe in love. Let me rephrase that because I do believe in love, I’ve loved, I love you, I just don’t believe that people can love me. It’s hypocritical of me I know but that’s just how it is.”

“You love me too?” Y/N chuckled slightly pulling the jacket closer to herself, not in search of warmth, but rather in an effort to be closer to Dean.

“Yeah. I love you.” The smile rested as she heard Dean's breathing change from slow to excited.

“Best friend to best friend?” Y/N nodded curiously to be let in on the onsite Dean would promptly share. “You’re being ridiculous. Y/N just give me a chance. Please. Let me prove to you that I love you. Let me show you that you can be loved, hell that you are loved! Let me give you everything I have to offer and more Y/N and in return all I want is you. Please.” He looked at her with pleading eyes.

“Dean I— I don’t even know how.”

“It’s easy. You can start by letting me hold your hand, and give you my jacket, and not trying to set me up with other chicks.” He suddenly had hope, as misguided as it could have been. They held each other’s gaze while Dean tried his best to decipher what she was thinking if she’d give him the one and only chance he needed. Without a word Y/N looked away leaning back against the wall causing Dean's heart to seize in his chest but was soon put at ease when Y/Ns hand found his. He groaned a sigh of relief, squeezing her hand as tightly as he could without hurting her.

The sun had risen hours ago as the two of them sat in their spot. A young boy and girl turned the corner and found them on the ground, stopping in their tracks. The kids slowly backed away as Y/N and Dean noticed them.

“Guess it’s past 9. We can go find that exit now.” Dean looked to Y/N, who had over time leaned harder against him, and she nodded in agreement. Both stood up, stiff from the cool night air and lack of movement and stretched.  Dean took Y/Ns hand in his and could feel the resistance from her though it didn’t last long as she tightened her hold. Turning the corner, they spotted the exit. Both laughed at the close proximity to where they spent the night. They walked out of the maze and towards Baby, sliding into their respective seats. Y/N, out of habit stayed to her side, leaning against the door as Dean started the engine. Dean did his best not to read into her actions, understanding that she would take time to allow herself to act as though she were indeed in a relationship. Relationship. Dean suddenly felt unsure of the situation. Could he call himself her boyfriend? Did she want to be with him? Were they in a relationship or was she testing the waters before jumping in?

He focused on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel. Y/N soon realized as she looked out the window that she was once again fantasizing about the man that sat next to her, only this time she didn’t have to imagine sliding over and resting her head on his shoulder as he drove, she could do it in reality. Y/N looked over to the driver with a smile, admiring the two-day-old scruff on his face, the freckles standing out against the rest of his skin. From the angle, she was at the light seemed to feed right through his iris making them crystal clear in the most magnificent shade of green as his eyelashes would momentarily grace his cheek when he blinked. Without warning, Y/N slid across the bench seat next to her hunter and just as she’s done thousands of times in her head, rested it on his shoulder. She felt him move under her as he pulled his arm and placed it around her pulling her as close as possible. Arriving at the motel they had once dropped off the younger Winchester, Y/N looked up at Dean as he spoke.

“I— I have a question.” She nodded but didn’t say a thing. “Are— I mean is— son of a bitch, are we together? Is this a— a thing or— or—“ His stuttering was cut short with Y/Ns answer, her lips pressed softly on his. Dean's eyes shut slowly tugging her in as he deepened the kiss. Pulling away Y/N looked him in the eyes.

“Whatever you want to call this, Dean is up to you, but I’m yours.” He smiled and nodded, pleased with her answer. Y/N knew Dean, she trusted him, and she wanted to give this a try. She knew that if it was going to work that she was going to trust him, and with great effort though little convincing, she did.

“And I’m yours.”

“That was quite the Halloween special.”

“That it was. The specialist of Halloweens.”  

“You know we never did get to scare Sam.”

“Clowns?”

“Clowns.”

She pecked him once more for the road and made their way inside with their arms wrapped around one another as they planned the scare.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list:

@just-someone-difficult @mila-dans @akshi8278

Let me know if you’d like to be included on my tag list!

[bgyulix]

— just another edgy teen rom com

-> pairing: min yoongi x reader

-> genre: bad boy!au, high school!au, slightly inspired by the end of the f***ing world

-> tags/warnings: domestic abuse, child abuse, underage drinking, implications of drug use, also they smoke some weed but only a little, smut in future chapters, suicidal thoughts, despite all these its rather soft and yoongi is whipped

-> word count: 2,896

-> summary: min yoongi is typically someone you’d avoid, and definitely not someone you’d want to run away from home with. OR: having an existential crisis together on a bus stop bench in the middle of the night was not exactly the meet-cute you’d always dreamed of.

-> a/n: here it is!! i hope you guys like it, and if you want to be on the tag list just ask! im thinking there’ll be three parts, but there might end up being four, we’ll see lmao

-> chapter: 1 | 2 | 3

You’d been hit one too many times that night. It was inevitable that it would happen eventually; that a perfectly angled slap or shove against the wall would knock something loose, and you’d end up lying on a bus stop bench like a homeless person letting your wounds fester in traffic fumes.

The cold metal of the dirty bench bit into your thighs and the part of your shoulders where your jacket had ridden down. It registered somewhere in the back of your mind that you could just adjust your jacket and maybe shimmy your shorts down a bit, but you ignored it. You were perfectly happy lying here freezing to death.

Somebody had stuck some gum in the corner of the roof. Maybe you should take it and chew it and get a disease or something. That might be interesting.

Two buses came and went. The night grew longer, and colder. Less and less cars went past. Your shitty little neighbourhood had never been the busiest, and eventually the streets fell quiet and empty, with only the sounds of traffic in the distance and a moth buzzing around a streetlight to keep you company.

The pain of the cut on your lip and your black eye dulled down to a steady throb. It almost felt separate from you, the part of you that cared and the part of you that didn’t two different people arguing with each other while you listened in.

You heard footsteps, trudging up the street through sludgy puddles. They reached the bus stop and hesitated, like everybody else had when they saw your depressed beat up ass suntanning in the dinky fluorescent light. The part of you that didn’t care won out yet again and you didn’t even bother to look up.

They came and sat at the other end of the bench, by your head. You could see a tuft of shaggy bleach blonde hair in your peripheral vision. They shifted and grunted, their voice surprisingly deep. A sigh, and then they simply sat next to you in silence, and you absently wondered if they were waiting for a bus, or if they were going to mug you, or if they were having as bad of a day as you were.

“Rough night?”

You finally managed to move, arching your neck and looking at them upside down. It was a guy, maybe your age, with a nasty scrape on his cheekbone, in a camo jacket smirking around a split lip. He looked vaguely familiar, like you’d seen him around before.

Stranger danger! the little voice in your head that was still sane yelled at you. You ignored it.

“Yep,” you said.

“Yeah,” the guy muttered, “me too.”

He thumbed at his lip. It was bleeding a little.

“What happened to your face?” he asked.

“I got punched, I guess. What happened to yours?”

He snorted. “I got punched, I guess.”

“Welcome to the club, then.”

You settled back down, staring at the roof again. Your butt hurt.

“So, what brings you to my bus stop?” he said, his voice smug. You prickled at his tone.

“Your bus stop? This is my bus stop.”

“Nope, sorry. Definitely mine.”

“I was here first!”

“I’ve been having mental breakdowns here long before you have, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, sitting up to glare at him, your cold, tired bones groaning in protest. You noticed now the bruises on his knuckles, and the dirt stains - or what you hoped were dirt stains - on his shirt. His eyes were dark and catlike, watching you intently with something like amusement.

“I am not…” you grumbled, feeling suddenly pinned down by his gaze, “I am not having a mental breakdown.”

He quirked a brow.

“You’re lying in a bus stop in the middle of the night.”

“And you’re sitting in a bus stop in the middle of the night. You can’t talk.”

He chuckled, pointing at you. “Touché.”

A car went past. You sat side by side, hyper aware of his presence and the way his choppy blond bangs fell across his face and the way he was twisting the ring on his finger in his lap.

“You come here often then?” you said, casually.

“Occasionally,” he replied, casually. Just like you were talking about the weather. “Yourself?”

“Nah. I was just walking past, thought I might go somewhere.”

“But… you didn’t?”

“Don’t have the guts, I guess.”

“I get it,” he rasped, nodding sagely, “I always come here thinking I’ll get on the bus, and then I don’t.”

He pursed his lips, looking away from your face and to the road, glistening with dew and oil slick and hazy streetlights.

“Where would you go?” you murmured.

He shrugged.

“Haven’t really thought about it. Just…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the street. “Away.”

Away. The dream of away was a fantasy, had always been a fantasy. One you consistently came back to after every fight, every hit, every curse. You rub at your eye, wincing when it stung. You wonder who hit him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Away.”

He sniffed, scratched his nose. Suddenly he shifted, straightening his back and his shoulders and puffing out his chest a little, any hint of vulnerability gone and replaced with smug cockiness.

“So you gonna tell me your name?” he smirked. You rolled your eyes at his obvious display.

“___,” you told him.

“Yoongi.”

Your eyes widened. So that’s how you recognised him. “Like Min Yoongi? The drug dealer?”

He scoffed. “I am not a drug dealer.”

You raised your brow the same way he had at you.

“I am not a drug dealer… during school hours,” he clarified. You snorted.

“Anyway, how would you know unless you’ve bought off me, huh?”

“We go to the same school. You’re a consistent source of locker room gossip. Everyone's scared of you.”

Min Yoongi rode a motorcycle and smoked under the bleachers and once told a teacher to fuck off. Min Yoongi could set you up with anything if you were willing to pay. Min Yoongi ran with gangs. Min Yoongi had fucked his way through practically the entire school. You either hated him, wanted him, or were scared of him. The rumours and chatter surrounding him was endless, and he did nothing to discourage it, getting into fights and into detention, showing up to every house party with arms full of weed and leaving one too many hickies on a girl’s neck.

And here he was in front of you, staring at his boots and shaking his head almost bashfully, you dare say.

“You don’t look so scared,” he huffed. You shrugged.

“I’m having a bad day.”

“Yeah, no shit. You look terrible.”

“Hey!” you cried indignantly, “speak for yourself, asshole!”

He laughed then, a deep, carefree rumble from deep in his chest. Your lips rose on their own accord, and you had to fight to keep the smile down.

He didn’t seem so scary. Apart from the blood, of course.

“You wanna get a milkshake?” he asked abruptly.

“A milkshake?”

“Yeah. I know a place that stays open late, not far from here.”

“Oh. Uh… yeah, okay. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

The place he led you to was a small, rundown building next to a service station, trash littering the footpath out in front, with a guy leaning against the wall puking on his shoes.

JO’S DINER, screamed the flickering neon sign. OPEN LATE!

You screwed up your nose and hesitated, eyeing the guy warily.

“That’s just Heegun,” Yoongi said, nudging you, “‘sup, Heegun!”

Heegun raised a hand, before he doubled over and continued to hack his guts up.

Yoongi barrelled through the door, gesturing for you to follow. You hurried in after him, giving Heegun a wide berth.

The inside of the diner was vintage 50’s style, with a checkered floor and red vinyl chairs, and records and pictures of old cars hanging on the walls. It smelt of motor oil and fries, and scratchy music was playing through the speakers. One of the lightbulbs above the counter was out, leaving a weird dark spot, and there was a puddle of… something collecting in a spot where the floor dipped. The waitress at the counter was chewing gum and scrolling through her phone, her classic white apron covered in grease stains.

“Jisoo,” Yoongi drawled, sidling up to the counter. Jisoo, an older woman with extremely thin, overdrawn eyebrows, sighed heavily.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. She had lipstick on her teeth.

“It’s me! How’s it going?”

Jisoo raised one of her fake eyebrows, very, very slowly.

“You two look like shit.”

“Yes, we know. Thank you. Could we get two milkshakes, if you please? ___, what flavour you want?”

You started. “Oh, uh, just chocolate.”

“Two chocolate milkshakes. And a large curly fries, I’m fucking hungry.”

Jisoo marked it down on a little notepad, and somehow even made that sarcastic.

“Sir, yes sir,” she grumbled, and pulled out her gum and stuck it behind her ear, “take a seat.”

Yoongi sat you down in a little booth by the window and slid in opposite you. The table was covered in crumbs and the vinyl stuck to your bare legs.

“You‘re a regular?” you asked.

“Well, they know me by name,” Yoongi replied. He leant back and rested his arm up on the top of his seat, a dark blot against the garishly bright diner, somehow more intimidating in decent lighting than he had been in the dark. It finally hit you; you were in a shitty restaurant with Min Yoongi. You were having milkshakes and curly fries with Min Yoongi.

Why not, you supposed, it’s not like your life wasn’t already a disaster. You put your elbows on the table, the crumbs digging into your skin. You didn’t have the energy to be disgusted.

“So…” you began, and then came up blank.

“So…?” Yoongi urged.

“Uh… how much were the milkshakes? Because I have like…” you fished around in your pocket, “two dollars. And five cents.”

He chuckled again, rich and gruff, and you swear you felt it in your bones.

“Relax, it’s on me. Like you said, you’re having a bad day.”

“And you’re not?”

He shrugged. “Eh. I’m used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He smirked.

“That’s life, doll.”

Life, indeed.

“So…” you said again.

“So…?” Yoongi urged, again.

“Is this what you do for fun? Come to…” you lowered your voice, just so Jisoo wouldn’t hear, “come to shitty diners in the middle of the night?”

He seemed amused, his smirk growing a little wider and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah. This is all I do. Just this, nothing else,” he teased.

“Well, what do you do then? Other than this. And drugs.”

He leaned forwards conspiratorially and cupped his hand around his mouth, like he was about to deliver a secret, and you found yourself leaning into him.

He opened his mouth and whispered, “sell drugs.”

You scoffed and sat back, brushing the crumbs off your elbow.

“Right, of course. Typical.”

Jisoo appeared, a cigarette hanging from her lips, balancing a tray with two milkshakes and a basket of curly fries on her hip. She brought it down on the table hard enough to make both milkshakes spill over the sides of the glass.

“There, you little shits,” she grated, her voice like sandpaper.

“Thanks, Jisoo,” said Yoongi, going straight for the fries. “Heegun’s throwing up out the front again, by the way.”

“WHAT?” Jisoo roared. You flinched. She stormed across the diner, her thunderous footsteps making the table rattle, and swung the door open with so much force it was a miracle it didn’t come flying off its hinges. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, HEEGUN, YOU DICK, THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!”

Yoongi chuckled at your shell shocked expression. “She’s a real piece of work, huh?”

You nodded mutely, and hid the way your hands shook by grasping your milkshake and bringing the straw to your lips. It was pretty good, all things considered.

The second the food hit your stomach, it rumbled audibly, and your head went light and frantic. You reached for the curly fries and shovelled the greasy things into your mouth like a starved man.

“When was the last time you ate?” Yoongi asked, eyeing you cautiously. You shrugged, which was a lie. You knew exactly when the last time you ate was; last night at 10:24 pm, sitting across from your father, listening to him rant about how much he hated his job. People yelling at mealtimes seemed to be a trend.

You both ate in silence for a moment, the sounds of Jisoo shooing Heegun away and an overhyped pop song in the background.

“We go to the same school, then?” Yoongi said, with a mouthful of food. You wrinkled your nose at him.

“We do. Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross.”

He snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

You elected to ignore him. “We have literature together.”

“Literature, huh? I’ve never noticed you before.”

“I try not to be noticed.”

“You some kind of social recluse or something?” said Yoongi, raising a brow.

“No, I just don’t like making a scene, unlike some people,” you told him. “Beside, I sit up the back, and Mr. Ahn makes you sit up the front, so.”

“Huh,” he hummed, tapping his ring against his glass. Jisoo came back inside muttering under her breath, huffing cigarette smoke everywhere. “It seems like you know plenty about me, but I know nothing about you.”

“Not much to know. I’m not nearly as interesting as you.”

“Oh, you think I’m interesting?” he drawled, smirking.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re always up to something.”

“What are you up to?” he asked, jabbing a finger at you.

“Me? Not much.”

“Aw, c’mon. You got no friends, no hobbies? Nothing?”

He was watching you in that peculiar way again, like you’d just said something funny but he couldn’t quite understand the joke. He looked… interested.

“Why do you care?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

Yoongi put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Pardon me if I wanna know a bit more about the random chic I found at my bus stop,” he exclaimed indignantly, gazing dangerously at you from under his bangs. You faltered and your cheeks heated, and he gave an amused little huff.

“Um… well…” you stammered, and sipped your milkshake to compose yourself. “I, uh… I like music.”

“Music, huh? What kind?”

“Uh… any kind, if it’s good.”

“You’re really not giving me much to work with here.”

“I’m… I’m in a choir?” you offered.

“Oh, you’re a choir girl,” Yoongi said, “that’s cute.”

You scoffed. “Cute? Excuse me, that shit is hard. Do you know how to tone deaf 70-year-old people are? Extremely. Painfully. And they pinch your cheeks after they subject you to their dying cat noises! Choir takes a lot of effort, thank you!”

Yoongi laughed and grinned, so boyishly that for a moment he almost looked like a different person.

“I’m more into rap myself.”

“You rap?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you any good?”

“Well, that’s - that depends.”

You snorted.

“Huh. I didn’t know you rapped,” you said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Yoongi told you, and wiggled his eyebrows at you. You choked on a fry with laughter.

“Ooh, mysterious. Let me guess, let me guess - you’re addicted to anime. No, no! You cry at cat videos.”

“I do not,” Yoongi grumbled, “I have not once - not once - cried at a cat video.”

“Bullshit, you have too. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jisoo, from her place back at the counter, coughed loudly and pointedly in your direction, and you realised you’d been raising your voice. You lowered yourself back into your seat sheepishly.

Yoongi was still smiling, shaking his head in amusement. He was handsome, you thought. You’d never quite understood why girls threw themselves at him despite knowing the extent of his shady business practices, but you understood now; his mouth was soft and his jaw was sharp and his aura, while commandeering and a little intimidating, was relaxed and calm and familiar. You were having the strangest urge to reach over the table and brush his hair from his face, or maybe tap his nose.

He was… oh, he was cute.

He was smirking at you again. You were staring. Fuck. You looked down at your milkshake.

“You’re cute,” he said, and the milkshake went down the wrong way.

“What?” you spluttered uselessly.

“You’re cute. I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”

“Well…” you began, pausing to collect yourself, “...we have now.”

He grinned. You grinned back.

Yoongi walked you back to the bus stop, and when he asked you if you wanted him to walk you home, too, you refused.

“You homeless?”

“Just for tonight.”

He didn’t push.

When the sun rose, and you finally slunk back home like a dog with its tail between its legs, your father rushed forwards and drew you into his arms and cried apologies into your shoulder, like he always did.

I’m so sorry, ___. I didn’t mean it. It’ll never happen again, I promise.

He even bought you pizza for dinner - but then he got drunk, and then he did it again. Like he always did.

[thestayway90]

Unexpected Attachment: Chapter 1 - Stray Kids Imagine

Author: thestayway90

WC: 2385

Warnings: None

Characters: Stray Kids OT8, OFC/Reader, OFC/Reader’s Older Brother

Summary: Setting up the story, introducing the characters. OFC/Reader meets some of the Kids... if you can get through this chapter it’ll be a lot more exciting in the next one I promise!!!

Author’s Note: Hello all! This is my first attempt at a Stray Kids Fic so I hope you all enjoy...

Not 100% sure where this is going (I have a plan but we’ll see) but it will eventually be a OFC/Reader x Felix Relationship (coz I am whipped for that boy).

I would love any and all feedback including criticisms and ways you think I can improve!!!

Enjoy lovelies <3

You certainly didn’t expect to wake up with an iguana staring you in the face. But after two months of living with your brother, it really shouldn’t be a surprise you anymore.

You glared at the unfamiliar creature digging in its tiny nails but its only response was to blink lazily back at you, unfazed by your thunderous expression.

“Joshua!” you yelled, startling Tink from underneath the bed, the white ferret streaking for freedom as Josh appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, whoops, sorry,” Josh said as he quickly plucked the green reptile off of the bedspread. “I was wondering where Dewey had got too.” He smiled widely, stroking the placid Iguana on the head.

You sighed and sat up, stretching slightly, questioning, “Dewey? Another rescue?”

Josh glanced up guiltily. “You should have seen how they were keeping him?” He replied, placing the reptile on the floor where the green creature started making his slow way down the hallway, Tink following it curiously. “Made me pay them an arm and a leg, though.” Josh commented ruefully as you hopped out of bed.

“Well luckily you just got promoted then. More money to rescue all the poor neglected animals of Seoul,” you told him cheerfully, patting his cheek as you walked past on your way to the bathroom.

You immediately cursed, tripping over an orange streak that suddenly darted towards your legs, swiping at your ankles before disappearing in a blur of motion. “Toast!” you hollered, hopping on one leg, rubbing the injured ankle. “I’m going to cook you in the fryer, cat!” you threatened the empty air, stomping towards your original destination.

“180 degrees for 20 minutes should do it,” you muttered under my breath, closing the bathroom door behind you. “Just enough for nice crispy Toast.”

It wasn’t until you had already sat down on the toilet that the feeling of being watched prickled the back of your neck. You looked up and in the gloom between the top of the medicine cabinet and the ceiling were two glowing eyes.

You gave a small shriek of surprise and then giggled at your stupidity. “Hey Meatball,” you said, as the large fluff ball ignored your greeting, curling up and turning his back to you until he was barely visible.

Shaking your head and muttering about pedantic animals, you made your way down to the kitchen.

“Honestly Josh,” you said as you plopped down on one of the stools, grabbing the cup of coffee he offered gratefully. “We should start selling tickets. Come and see the miraculous menagerie squished into a tiny apartment in the middle of downtown Seoul.”

Josh raised his eyebrows at your tone and then smiled wickedly. “Toast get you again?”

“Seriously that cat is the devil itself,” you moaned, reaching down to rub your poorly abused ankle.

Josh burst out laughing, no sympathy in your feud with the tiny orange tabby. “Whats that 3 to 1? You need to work on your ninja skills.”

“Talking of ninja skills, don’t you have to go?” you pointed to the time displayed on the microwave clock, making Josh swear and quickly grab his jacket, a piece of toast still hanging halfway out of his mouth.

“Can you put Dewey in the tank for me,” Josh shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed his bag and raced out the front door.

“Yep. Have a good day at work,” you yelled after him and received a muffled, ‘Love You’, as the door shut behind him.

It took you fifteen minutes to find the elusive reptile, leaving only five minutes for you to quickly throw on some clothes and get half way presentable before your online class.

An hour later you leant back in your chair, rubbing your temples, glad that there wasn’t another class until later in the afternoon.

You were just contemplating whether to start on one of your many assignments or not when a familiar ring echoed through the kitchen. You searched confused until you located Josh’s phone that had somehow got wedged underneath a bag of cat food.

The number flashing on the screen was labeled ‘Work’ and guessing who it was you picked up, bringing the device up to your ear.

“Why, hello!” you answered, smiling as a familiar voice echoed through the speaker.

“I forgot my phone...” Josh’s wail made your smile widen.

“Uh huh, I noticed,” you responded unhelpfully, digging Tink out from a cupboard he’d worked his way into.

“Can you bring it to me, please please pretty please!” Josh begged. “I can’t leave right now and I really need it!”

You made him suffer just a little, staying silent while placing Tink in his escape-proof enclosure.

Finally you agreed, “Of course. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thank you, thank you Nugget,” Josh sighed in relief, using your childhood nickname in his gratitude.

“Okay, see you soon.” You hung up and grabbed your shoes and keys, making sure all the gremlins were safely locked away, before exiting the apartment.

You walked the ten minutes to Josh’s work, enjoying the blue skies and stunning weather while strolling briskly.

You arrived at your destination and tilted your neck backwards to read the large JYP displayed prominently on the side of the towering skyscraper that Josh worked in.

You entered through the lobby, approaching the receptionist while Security Guards eyed you with mistrust, alert for any suspicious behaviour.

Luckily you recognised the receptionist from the few times you had accompanied Josh to work, flashing her a wide smile as you came to a stop in front of her.

“Hello again, love,” she greeted you in heavily accented English. “Are you here to see Joshua?”

You held up your brothers phone with a rueful smile. “He forgot this and asked if I could bring it to him.”

“He’s probably only the fifth floor,” she said helpfully, signalling to Security to let you through.

“Thank you,” you told her gratefully, walking through the security turnstile that the Guard pushed open.

You crossed to the elevator and pressed the button, happy when one opened immediately. Once inside, you pushed the button for the fifth floor, watching the numbers tick over until the doors chimed loudly.

Stepping out into the hallway, you stood awkwardly for a few minutes, trying to decide where to look first.

A door opened to your right, raucous noise echoing into the corridor as a guy backed into the hallway, talking loudly and making faces at those still inside.

He turned and jumped when he saw you standing behind him, clearly startled, hands flying up under his chin, arms hugging close to his body as his eyes went impossibly round.

“Ah, hi... sorry,” you said apologetically, feeling the need to explain your presence. “I’m looking for Josh, Joshua. Do you know where he is by any chance?” You asked hopefully.

The guy immediately relaxed and smiled widely, cheeks dimpling adorably. “You must be his sister!” He exclaimed happily in a slight American accent, beckoning you towards him. “He’s in here actually.” He turned back to the room he had exited, holding the door open for you to pass by.

You slipped through the doorway and was greeted by three pairs of eyes, startled by an intruder into their space.

Josh’s expression quickly turned from surprise to glee as he jumped from his seat to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug. You held his phone out towards him, staring around at the room surrounding you.

It was a music studio, electrical equipment made up of a complicated mess of knobs, dials and switches covering a huge desk to one side under a window looking into a recording booth. The walls were clad in some type of soundproofing material and there was a large comfy looking couch accompanied by two office chairs.

“You’re a life saver,” Josh said gratefully, pocketing the precious device, as you switched your attention to the other occupants of the room. Noticing your gaze Josh quickly gave out introductions.

“This is Han.” He pointed to the kind boy who had shown you where to go.

“Chan.” The boy with the shock of red hair smiled lopsidedly and nodded his head amicably your way.

“And Changbin.” The last boy looked serious until he gave a very wide smile, lighting up his entire face, making you unconsciously smile in return.

“Guys, this is my sister.” Josh finished, his tone brimming with pride, as he squeezed your arm lightly.

“Nice to meet you,” Chan said his familiar Aussie accent immediately putting you at ease. “We’ve heard a lot about you from Josh.”

A blush immediately started staining your cheeks, wondering exactly how much your brother had told them in the short weeks he had been working with the k-pop boy group.

“I was just about to get some coffees. Do you want one?” Han was still hovering in the doorway, with an expectant expression.

You immediately started shaking your head. “You guys look busy. I should get going!” You took one step towards the door before Han blocked you, hands waving in the air.

“We’re not busy. We’re actually taking a break. Do you like milk? Sugar?”

You smiled ruefully at the persistent man. “I’ll take it black with two sugars please.”

His face lit up with genuine joy and he ducked out the door, humming as he went.

You turned back to the remaining occupants of the room. Chan patted the empty seat beside him, presumably Hans one he had abandoned in search of caffeine.

You sat, twisting side to side in the spinning office chair, as Josh took his place on the couch on the opposite side to Changbin.

“So....” Chan drew out the syllable, his intense eyes focused on you. “We heard you’re studying to become a Social Worker? How is that going?”

“Uh, not too bad. It’s all online which is good coz I don’t have to get out of my pyjamas most days but it’s also terrible coz I have no self-motivation or control so usually end up scrambling to finish my assignments thirty minutes before it’s due!” All three boys laughed and you smiled at the welcome sound.

“Is the course through a Korean University?” Changbin questioned curiously, his English thickly accented.

You shook my head. “No, it’s through a Uni back home in Australia, thank goodness.”

All three boys eyebrows raised at the last sentiment, questioning your relief.

You quickly held up your hands, trying to wave off the misunderstanding. “No, I don’t mean that a Korean course wouldn’t be just as good or better, just that my Korean is so terrible that I would struggle even more than I am now!” You tried to explain emphatically.

Understanding dawned on their expressions and Changbin gave a small chuckle.

“You’re Korean’s that bad huh?”

You grimaced and then said, “Eotteohge saeng-gaghaseyo?”

Chan and Josh both burst out laughing, and Changbin tried to hide a smirk but failed miserably.

“It’s not the worst I’ve ever heard,” the kind rapper commented, trying to save your feelings.

“She’s been working hard on it,” Josh felt the need to interject. “She’s only been learning for two months since she came to live with me.”

The two k-pop idols turned their gaze towards you, expressions now impressed.

“Very good,” Chan complimented encouragingly.

The door opened and Han struggled through, balancing two cup holders full of cups.

Josh immediately jumped up and grabbed one off of him, the younger guy smiling at him gratefully. “Thank you, Maenijeo.”

“I’m still not used to that,” Josh admitted, as Han quickly distributed the coffees to their rightful owners.

“You deserve it,” Chan told him, as Josh and Han sat back down on the couch, squishing together a little next to Changbin. “We were over the moon when they told us you’d be our new Manager. I was just glad for the extra help with producing.”

Josh blushed a little at the praise from the Leader, twisting his fingers round the cup in his hand. You beamed with pride at him, knowing how hard he had worked to get where he was.

Aware that Josh was probably getting a little uncomfortable being the centre of attention you turned to Chan, asking, “What are you working on?” And then belatedly realising, “Although you probably can’t tell me, I guess.”

“Actually Josh was just telling us about some ideas he has for our new music.” Chan nodded his head towards your brother, making him blush even further, undermining your attempt to change the subject.

The boys started chatting about music, most of the technical stuff going over your head, but you enjoyed watching the four boys talk so animatedly about something they were clearly all passionate about.

Eventually you sighed, checking your watch and groaning as you noticed the time.

“I have to go,” you told the others regretfully. “I have an assignment to start before my next class.”

The three boys protested but Josh pointed out that they too had work that needed to be done.

You said your goodbyes, promising to return and visit the three boys you’d somehow become friends with.

Josh gave you a tight hug and offered to walk you out but you immediately declined, knowing how busy he and the boys were.

You gave them one last wave and then let the door shut behind you, crossing over to the elevator and pressing the button, waiting patiently for it to arrive.

Once inside you pulled out your phone, double checking the time for the next class, balancing your still warm coffee in your other hand.

Noticing a message regarding one of your upcoming assignments, you were too engrossed in the device in your hand to look up when the doors pinged open.

You automatically started walking but somehow managed to catch your foot on the metal grating on the floor, pitching forwards with no free hands to stop yourself

Luckily, or unluckily depending on your point of view, your fall was stopped by a solid form, as strong arms caught at your waist to stop your hectic descent.

Unfortunately for the owner of the hands, although they managed to stop your fall they didn’t manage to stop your coffee’s, the caffeinated beverage covering you both in lukewarm liquid.