#like her tongue was separated from her face but she could sort of eat???

[weekdaygladers]

also i had the craziest nightmare last night so i’m kinda avoiding having to go to bed since i’ve been having flashbacks of it all day

[wxxpingangxls]

Girl Next Door

+synopsis; a new, single and smoking hot neighbour moves in next door and you offer to babysit his son while he’s busy at work…money isn’t the only payment

+content/warnings; black reader but no explicit description, typical suburban wives, reader and nanami are around the same age (early 30s), both single parents, reader has a daughter, set in the early 2000s, messy sex, desperate!nanami (he hasn't had good pussy in a while :((((( ), sloppy pussy eating, fingering, squirting

+pairings; black!milf fem!reader x dilf!nanami

The moving van obstructed the view of the new home owners moving in a few houses down from your home. The sounds of young children giggling and conspiring among themselves resounded around the neighbourhood as you and the other wives gossiped about the new neighbour.

“So, what did you say after she commented on the dress you wore?” one of the woman asked you as you peered up from your pink mug. “Ugh don’t even get me started on her. She took one look at me and assumed I was stone cold broke! Can you imagine that?” you exclaimed, raising both hands up in disbelief.

“Oh my God! Major hunk alert!” you snapped your head towards the direction in which of the girls were pointing at. The moving van had moved and in your line of vision was a tall man in a blue shirt and suspenders. His blonde hair was smartly slicked back and his designer watch blinged in the daylight.

“Woah…” you gasped, your mouth wide open and salivating. You could see his pecs and arms bulging through the material. "I think it's only fair that we give our new neighbour a warm welcome..." you smile, whilst reaching towards the basket of freshly home-baked sweet treats and pastries.

You swore you only came over to offer to take his son to the park to accompany your daughter while he unpacked at his new home. Yet here you were, on the cleared out dining table, while the children lay asleep in one of the separate rooms. Your halter neck dress was bunched up around your waist and your pink Dior strappy heeled sandals were long disguarded somewhere around the home. Your hot cunt was leaking as you silently waited for him to get back to work. Your hands were back in his hair, griping tightly as his tongue flicked up and down your heated cunt.

“Mphmmm, just like that Kento…” the moans of his name further egging him on to make you cum again. It’s been way too long since you come to an orgasm this good. With the divorce proceedings finally settled and custody matters dealt with, you haven’t had time to do anything. It also didn’t help that you couldn’t find a baby sitter to take care of your baby girl whilst working.

But having this mouth watering, leg opening hunk of a man between your legs, all your problems seemed minor and oh so trivial. His mouth suckling on your small bud, making your legs bounce up in ecstasy. Kento groaned as he shook his head side to side, smearing your filthy secretions all over his face and your thighs. You whined out loud, sensitivity and overstimulation getting to you, while this man just enamoured himself in your sweet filth. Hunger and carnal desire is all that fuelled him on.

Kento’s calloused hands gripped onto your thighs, his biceps flexing every time he put extra weight on your legs to stop you from shaking. Your back arched as he slowly slipped a finger into the slick hole. “Oh, fuck, s’good…” his finger left your pulsing cunt as he started rubbing your clit side to side.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you pretty girl,” his voice resounded around your mushy mind. You nodded, too far gone to acknowledge what exactly he was saying. “Come on, give it to me baby,” he whined out loud, bucking his hips into the air for some sort of relief. Drool seeped as your cunt squeezed around nothing, his three fingers rubbing hard against your soft clit.

His lips found his way to your thighs, sucking marks onto them as your breathing hitched.

“Have you squirted before?” he asks stopping momentarily, whilst sitting up to make eye contact with you. “What?” you reply completely drained from his teasing.

“Come here,” his large hands wrap themselves around your thigh and brings closer to himself to distract you from the fact that he was sliding two fingers into your cunt.

Your walls immediately tighten as his fingers curl up, finding your gooey spot. “Oh! Good…S’good!”

“I need for you to relax for me sweetheart, okay?” he looked down at your bubbling eyes as you nodded feverishly. “There’s a good girl,”

His large free hand runs down to your stomach as the other fingers roll themselves further into your cunt. Your moans further increase in pitch. His hand finally places itself on your lower stomach before pressing, hard.

Kento watches in amusement as he eyes your face contorting into that of pleasure. “Relax sweets,” he quickly mutters as he notices your feeble attempts to try and squirm away.

“Wait…Wait!”

Your cunt squelches and squeezes around his fingers as you start gushing against his abdomen. “Yeah…just like that!” he whispers softly “There it is…Fuck!”

Your legs are shaking and your eyes tearing up as you try and catch your breath while he helps you ride out your high.

You said your goodbyes and gave your blessing to the new neighbour next door and his small son. Your own child lay peacefully asleep in your arms, her small snores reverberating in your ears. Kento Nanami shut the front door, letting out a deep sigh.

He silently sat and hoped that the girl next door hadn’t seen the huge cum stain in his brand new tailored work trousers. After all, all he did was eat out your sweet cunt. But give it time, soon enough, he’ll come running for more than just the taste of your sweet cunt.

[huboi]

mistletoe

[kaeya, diluc, childe x gn reader]

╰┈➤ includes; various types of kisses, EXTREME fluff, kinda suggestive ig

╰┈➤ this content is rated 16+ for the suggestive content, please refrain from reading if under 16

╰┈➤ merry Christmas/happy holidays everyone! thanks so much for 900+ followers too <3

for kaeya, Christmas is a really special occasion, mainly cause during Christmas diluc is actually nice to him and invites him over to the dawn winery for Christmas dinner

and that hasn’t changed just cause he’s dating you, diluc doesn’t mind inviting you too, as long as you guys don’t act too lovey dovey around him

when at the dawn winery, adelinde cooks so much food, and all of it is the best thing that has ever existed

when you and kaeya were about to leave, the sneaky bastard held up a mistletoe over your heads

he gives you a shit eating smirk before placing his lips over yours, giving you a chaste yet sweet kiss

when you guys separated, you were shocked that he didn’t go all out

“I’m not going all out since diluc’s here, and I can just about wait till we get back home for some more fun~” he cood, lightly tapping you on the butt as you hid your face into his chest so he couldn’t see your flustered expression

safe to say the morning after, you couldn’t walk at all :)

he doesn’t mind Christmas, the only problem is he’s busier than ever since there’s quite a lot of work to do before he spends the holiday with you

he doesn’t like it, but it’s what needs to be done

one day when he came back home and was greeted by your embrace, he looked up since he noticed something green on the entrance of the house, only to roll his eyes in realisation

“did you put that there?” he queried, with a small grin on his face, he was shocked but not surprised since you tend to do this every. single. year, it’s like a tradition of yours at this point

“maybe, who knows? it could’ve been adelinde” you simply shrugged, placing your hands around dilucs neck and lightly swaying

sighing in response, he leant in for the kiss, only to be responded by your lips unexpectedly crashing against his, biting his lip, making him flinch so that you could explore his mouth with your tongue

he let out a muffled groan in response, large calloused hands wrapping around your waist

you jumped up into his embrace, wrapping your legs tightly against his slutty slim waist, diluc helping by holding onto your butt

next morning the bed was ‘surprisingly’ broken, a disappointed adelinde with her arms crossed against her chest, you and diluc covered in scratch and bite marks

if possible, every year he heads back to snezhnaya to visit his family and spend the holidays there

this year he had time off luckily, and so he also brought you

this is the first time you’ve seen his family, yes you’ve heard of them all from ajax, especially of teucer, but you’re still very nervous about meeting them, especially his mother

when you arrived at the door, you were sweating buckets, ajax simply held your gloves hand into his larger hand that was bare since he’s so used to this weather

first thing that happens is teucer screams that you two have to kiss since you’re both standing underneath the mistletoe

ajax obviously acts first, giving you a small kiss on the lips before rushing towards teucer and spinning him around before embracing him into a tight bear hug

yes, he brought so many presents for everyone, he even brought some that are for you (the rest are back in liyue, where you originally reside)

his mother was so nice to you, giving you a nice big hug as soon as she saw you, and calling you beautiful/handsome etc.

she’s surprisingly tall, obviously ginger, and has quite a curvy chubby body, she’s berry huggable and so sweet

despite her adorable appearance, her face seems quite intimidating at first glance, but she’s the sweetest lady you have ever met

you, ajax, and the rest of the family had such fun at the dinner table and playing all sorts of games before you had to go to sleep due to the fact that you were both heading back the day after

content belongs to @huboi on tumblr, DO NOT REPOST ON ANY SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS WHATSOEVER

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Five)

Summary: He couldn’t stop thinking about eating her, of tasting her sweet, soft flesh and hot blood. He wanted to devour her, but not in the way he usually did his meals. He would consume her slowly, sniff and lick every inch of her skin before gently biting down. He’d start with her wrists, feel her pulse point flutter under his tongue before severing the artery so it sprayed her honeyed blood into his mouth. He’d keep her alive for as long as possible, not wanting to be parted from her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to kill her. Maybe he could satisfy himself with just a piece of her, just his pound of flesh… Word Count: 2792 Warnings: still no smut Notes: triple asterisk (***) denotes a POV change as usual, dash asterisk dash (-*-) is a time skip but not a POV change AO3, Masterlist

Ghost and his dove left the cabin the next day, early in the morning. It took some convincing on his part, in the form of pointed groans and growls, to get Lelia to step foot outside. But they were too close to the base she came from, and the cabin had no food left. They had to keep moving, to find somewhere better.

Ghost led her to the stream he’d bathed in yesterday, and they followed it several miles south. Lelia became jumpy the second they left, but when they got to the stream, she paled dramatically and wouldn’t get within three metres of it. He found it odd, but it's not like he could have asked even if he wanted to. She didn’t complain, but he could tell how much she wanted to turn around and go back to the cabin, where there was a relatively warm bed waiting for her. He couldn’t blame her—even with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her ballet flats swapped out for a proper pair of boots they’d found in the closet, she was still shivering from the chilly autumn wind. Winter was just around the corner, and its threatening presence loomed overhead like a knife, in the cloudiness of the skies and the way her breath misted in front of her face with every puff of air.

Eventually, the stream came to an end, and Ghost collected some water in the bucket before they continued. The trees were beginning to thin out, and he hoped that meant they were nearing some sort of town. Anywhere that he could find a little more food for his dove.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The day ended before the woods did, and they were forced to stop when Lelia nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He felt guilty when he noticed just how ragged she looked—all she’d had to eat in the last few days was a can of beans, and she’d been walking nonstop since dawn. It was difficult for him to remember just how fragile humans were, especially when he’d never been a particularly delicate man himself, even when he was alive. But his dove wasn’t a trained, battle hardened operative—she was just a normal young girl, and he needed to treat her as such.

He groaned a quiet apology as he helped her set up a fire, once again handing her the matchbook to light it. She only broke one this time, which was quite the improvement. He added it to the flames as extra tinder.

“Do you sleep?” She asked him as the water boiled. He jerked his head to the left, then the right. “That must be nice. I wish I didn’t have to. Sleeping is more terrifying than being awake, most of the time.”

He’d heard her tossing and turning last night, had smelt her salty tears as she’d whimpered and begged someone named Andrew for mercy. Mercy it had sounded like she’d never gotten. He had wanted to comfort her, but he’d been certain his presence would have just made things worse. So he’d stayed outside her door and done the only thing he could to help her. Stood guard and kept her safe.

He did the same tonight. When the exhaustion finally got the better of her, despite the valiant fight she put up, he watched over her. But this time, when the nightmares came for her, there was no door separating them and hiding the terrified expression on her tear-stained face. So he moved closer, reaching out and clumsily twirling a lock of her hair around his stiff, cold fingers. He couldn’t feel the softness, but he could imagine it. Smooth like silk. Rare and desirable and beautiful, just like her. But with a hidden strength, too.

Soon enough, his dove settled down. He’d have liked to say he had something to do with it, but he knew that was just wishful thinking. Nonetheless, it took him quite a long while to finally let go of her loose, auburn curls and get back to his feet, returning to his self appointed role of her undead protector.

-*-

It took two more days to find a town.

Lelia could barely hold herself upright by the time they did, and Ghost would have offered to carry her—except that his instincts to feed were going haywire, having been denied too long, and every waft of her unique perfume made his mouth water. He’d given up on trying to wipe away his drool. It was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking about eating her, of tasting her sweet, soft flesh and hot blood. He wanted to devour her, but not in the way he usually did his meals. He would consume her slowly, sniff and lick every inch of her skin before gently biting down. He’d start with her wrists, feel her pulse point flutter under his tongue before severing the artery so it sprayed her honeyed blood in his mouth. He’d keep her alive for as long as possible, not wanting to be parted from her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to kill her. Maybe he could satisfy himself with just a piece of her, just his pound of flesh…

With a ferocious growl, Ghost suppressed the rising urge once again. He hurried Lelia into the first house they saw after clearing it, then put her in a room with a lock. He mimed the locking motion, then held out his hand, telling her to stay put. He pointed to himself, and then pointed back towards the front door, and prayed she would understand.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, sounding like she was on the edge of panic, even as she laid down on the bed, unable to stand any longer. “Where are you going? Are you— are you coming back?”

Ghost groaned pitifully, banging on the door. His dove jumped, and he nodded at her questions, but then pointed at the lock again, gesturing her over. Wide-eyed, she dragged herself out of bed, and he took several steps back as she approached. She looked at him in confusion, but he just grabbed the door and slammed it closed between them. He rattled the knob until she got the hint and locked it. This time, the groan he let out was one of approval and relief.

He fled the house and Lelia’s intoxicating scent quickly after that, retreating back into the woods to hunt. He was so hungry, so overwhelmed by the virus’s instincts, that he didn’t think he could stop himself from eating a human if he came across them. He hoped desperately that he didn’t, even though they tasted far better than the animals he usually fed on.

He was drooling at the thought, again. Fresh human… not just the scraps left by other zombies, like Lelia would have been had he not intervened. He imagined finding her torn apart, soft hair matted with blood, big brown eyes full of terror, frail limbs ripped off, empty stomach clawed open. It was horrid. It was what he would do to her if he went this long without feeding again.

He vowed then and there to never, ever let that happen.

***

Lelia startled at the knock on the door, slowly standing up from where she sat on the edge of the bed and crossing over to it.

“Simon?” She asked anxiously. “Is that you?”

A familiar sounding groan answered her, and she almost threw the door open in relief before she thought better of it. What if it was another zombie? She’d be dead, and Simon would come back to find her bloody, lifeless corpse. Possibly walking around. No, better safe than sorry.

“Knock three times, pause, and then knock twice more if it’s you,” she said. A few seconds passed, and then three slow knocks—bangs, really, Simon seemed to have trouble with his fine motor skills and so knocking was beyond him—a pause, and then two more bangs. Lelia waited a few more seconds to make sure nothing else was coming, and then she opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief as Simon’s milky eyes met hers—only to recoil in horror when she saw the fresh, red blood on his gear and around his mouth. There were bits of something Lelia was scared to know the name of stuck in his teeth, and instinctively, she took a step back. Simon did as well, giving her space and ducking his head. He almost looked… hurt? Or maybe ashamed… it was difficult to tell. She wasn't even really sure what the extent of his emotions were—did he feel the same way he could when he was alive? Or was it dulled? He was clearly capable of some feelings, otherwise there would be no reason for him to follow her around, protecting her. She still didn't understand why he did. Her best guess was pity, or maybe loneliness. Whatever it was, it kept her alive, and she was grateful.

“Did you… did you kill something?” She asked after a moment, swallowing nervously. Simon didn’t move or make a sound for a long moment, before he jerked his head up and down in a nod. His broken, bloody jaw quivered, teeth clacking against one another. Drool leaked out of his mouth, and Lelia had to fight the urge to wipe it away. It always seemed to bother Simon when he drooled, and once again, she wondered at his capacity to feel things like embarrassment or self-disgust. But she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the question she desperately didn't want to ask but knew she had to. “Was it— human?”

Simon quickly shook his head, so quick the string of bloody drool flew off his face and landed on her jacket. Simon froze, and any doubt she had that he felt things as deeply as a human did disappeared at the utterly mortified sound he let out. It was between a groan and a gurgle, and he automatically reached for her as if to wipe it off, before realizing his gloves were covered in blood, too. His hands hovered over her chest as she blinked at the new stain on her shirt, too shocked to say anything. Just as she came to her senses and was about to assure Simon that it was alright—it was gross, yes, but so was her period, and that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle—he turned around with surprising agility for someone whose muscles were in a permanent state of rigor mortis, and fled down the stairs.

***

He’d spit on her.

He’d showed up at her door looking like a murder scene, and then he’d spit on her like the snarling, rabid animal that he was.

He had never been so horrified in his undead life. He couldn't remember if that was the case for his actual life, but he’d bet on it if Johnny were here.

“Was pretty funny, mate, ye got tae admit.”

Ghost growled at the very Scottish sounding voice in his head. Whoever this Johnny was, he was a right arse.

He went straight into the downstairs toilet, turning on the tap. No water came out, as expected. He'd still had to try.

He turned to the towels instead. They were dusty and motheaten, but that didn't bother him. He wiped his face off as best he could, and then his gear and his gloves, pulling them off and stuffing them into one of his many pockets. The end result was… not great. The blood of the deer he'd killed and eaten had already started to dry, adding another stain to his gear and leaving a rusty brown hue to his colorless skin. He tried to pick tufts of flesh and fur from in between his teeth with his blunt, blackened nails, but he somehow only made things look worse. 

“Simon?”

The sound of his dove’s soft, concerned voice floated down the hallway, and Ghost panicked, slamming the door of the toilet shut so hard it rattled on its hinges. He heard Lelia’s heartbeat jump and her footsteps pause, before starting again in his direction.

“Simon?” She repeated, knocking softly on the door. He turned away from his ghastly reflection in the dirty mirror, paralyzed. He was acting ridiculous. He was a big, strong, undead soldier. He shouldn’t be terrified of a little dove like her. And yet he was. He was so bloody afraid that she’d tell him to leave, that she couldn't stand to be near him anymore. That he’d have to go back to protecting her from the shadows, an unwanted stray dog just following her around, desperate for any scrap of affection she would show him, but denied at every turn. It sounded miserable. It was miserable, but he would do it, to keep her safe. “Simon, will you come out, please?”

Unable to deny her, Ghost slowly opened the door. She stood on the other side with a worried expression, but all he could see was the drying string of crimson saliva on her smart pink jacket. He looked away, feeling ill.

“Are you alright?”

The soft, gentle question was entirely unexpected, but it shouldn't have been. Of course his dove would worry about the rabid, blood-covered zombie that just spit on her. She was an angel. It was why he had to keep her safe, keep her alive. The world needed people like her, now more than ever.

Ghost jerked his head up and down in a nod after a moment of hesitation, and then patted his chest, right over the spot where he’d spit on hers. He let out a quiet groan of apology, unable to meet her pretty brown eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lelia said, giving him a small smile. “This outfit was ruined far before that… besides, it’s not very practical for the apocalypse. My hus— I wanted to keep myself pretty. Clinging to a bit of the old world, I suppose. But I’m not on the base anymore. And trekking through the woods for days on end in a skirt is not easy.”

Ghost noticed the slip. It had sounded like she’d been about to say husband before she’d cut herself off. His eyes flickered to her left hand, but no ring sat upon her finger. Had he misheard? And why did the idea of her being married bother him so much?

You know why.

He ignored the thought, focusing back on her words. He grunted in agreement, and made a mental note to look for some clothes that would fit her—ones that would help keep her warm in the coming months. She was far too thin—she would need multiple layers if he was going to keep her from dying of exposure in the dead of winter.

An awkward silence fell between them, and Ghost could tell his dove wanted to ask him a question. He waited her out, and just as he knew she would, she broke first.

“So you—you went out to eat?” She asked, then winced. “I mean— earlier, when you were— were acting all… frustrated. You were… hungry?”

Ghost swallowed reflexively, tasting deer meat in the back of his throat. Slowly, he nodded, trying subtly to hold his jaw in place. Lelia looked nervous again, but also determined.

“How hungry?”

Ghost looked away, ashamed. He didn’t want to think about the overwhelming desire he’d had to sink his teeth into her supple flesh, or the vivid, blood-soaked images his virus-laden mind had conjured of him doing so.

Lelia sucked in a small, sharp breath, and her voice shook slightly when she spoke again—but there was bravery in it, too. A certainty. Like she’d made up her mind and couldn’t be swayed.

“We’ll just have to make sure you stay well fed, then,” she stated simply. “Then you won’t be tempted to snack on me… right?”

Ghost didn’t know how to explain that he was always tempted to snack on her, that her scent was the most delicious thing he’d ever smelled, that he wanted to see if her blood would warm him from the inside like a good whiskey. He didn’t know how to say that despite that, he would never harm a hair on her head, not for as long as he lived. Unlived. Bloody semantics.

So instead, he just grunted in agreement. He would always be tempted, but so long as he remained satiated, he would be able to keep his instincts in check. That was what she really wanted to know.

“Good,” she replied, sounding relieved. She offered him another smile, smaller than he would’ve liked but still just as sweet. “But you’re not the only one that’s hungry. Do you think there’s any food hidden in the cabinets?”

[disappointmentofthefam]

Love? Love. (part 2)

Andy Barber x Reader

warnings-age gap,slow burn,smut

i hope yall enjoy this, i wrote it from the pit of despair.

p.s.- i promise you dom daddy andy is cumming soon ;)

..................................................................................................................

The night following the fateful events of Andy sweating like a damn teenager after meeting y/n had resulted in restless sleep sprinkled with incessant thoughts of her. Did she have a boyfriend? hmm that would be bad But the thought of her being available is somehow worse damn it Andrew! You are not a silly little boy anymore, you are a grown ass man and you can talk to a girl without giggling and kicking your feet in the air! As the morning rolled in, it seemed like Andy's prayers were answered as a smiling Y/n was once again at his doorstep. she looked different in the morning, somehow more majestic.Still in her sleep shorts and her hair in a messy bun. lips looked plumper somehow, hints of slumber still in her eyes. "Good morning Andy", she grumbles. " Good morning, angel," Andy tries to test the waters, "missed me so soon?" fuck! I sound like a creep! maybe I should jus- His thoughts are interrupted with a soft giggle, "Yes, Mr. Barber, you couldn't possibly fathom how hard it was for me to spend all that time away from you", she rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. there's some truth to it, she couldn't exactly shrug of the feeling of….. um…. Andy from her heart and her mind and especially her pussy. the low vibrato of his voice was enough to cause her to flood with heat and arousal, "yes Andy! right there", His tongue lapping at my cilt I bet he's a fucking munch when it comes to eating out I bet he's a biter I bet he'd slap my face with it I bet he was one for holding me down and pounding me into the mattress I bet he'd cum in m- GIRL- IT'S 9 IN THE MORNING

She does that thing again, where she tries to divert her eyes from the man in front of her, "um, I think the mailman might have accidentally delivered our stuff to you." The sudden shyness in her demeanor doesn't go unnoticed by Andy's watchful eyes. "I just had Jacob bring in the mail, why don't you come in and make yourself comfortable while you sort through the stuff?", he ushers her inside. Jacob's eyes light up as he sees her, "Y/n! I was just thinking about you! my chemistry grades are sooooo tanked and i need your help", he looks at Andy, "Dad, would it be alright if y/n tutored me?" "Sure, Jake, I mean if she finds time in her schedule", they look at y/n for an answer. " Sure thing, I'm free by 6 p.m. on weekdays after classes, I think I could fit you in around…seven?" "Done", Jacob smiles at her as he grabs his school bag and slings it over his shoulder, " I'll see you tomorrow then? at seven?". "Yeah, at seven". " Bye dad, love you." "Love you too." With that Andy and Y/n fall into a comfortable silence as she sorts through the mail and separates the ones meant for her house. "Can i ask you something?" Andy breaks the silence. "You just did", y/n smirks at him. " Okay, smartass," Andy can't help but smile at her 12-year-old-boy-esquè-humor. "Can i ask you two things then, " Andy leans forward from opposite to her on the dining table, enjoying the back and forth between them. "Go ahead, jeez it's like a question paper come to life",y/n bites her lower lip in anticipation. Andy tries a more casual, less creepy approach, "How do you find the time to tutor after coming home from college? I mean you wouldn't have time for other things like for example, uhh a boyfriend." Y/n's cheeks turn red and she again diverts her attention from Andy, "I don't have one, Mr. Barber"

The admission makes Andy's stomach flutter with a sense of relief and something else…..a wave of pure and primal desire. She looks up at Andy with a flustered smile and lustful, hooded eyes, looking like the perfect mix of a nymph and a virgin, "is that what you wanted to know Andy? because let me tell you, you weren't being very subtle." she teases. "What if I did, sweets? What if I wanted to know if there was a limpy ,lacking frat boy who was doing nothing but disappointing you every time he touched you?" Andy's eyes go darker, the blue ring of his eyes being engulfed by his blown out pupils. "Well then Mr. Barber, let me tell you that i don't have any frat boys disappointing me at night," she leans in closer, so much that Andy can feel her warm breath on his lips, "what are you gonna do about it?" Almost.

This six letter word was the bane of Andy Barber's existence. She was so close, I could smell the faint smell of vanilla on her skin. She was so close, I could see the tiny freckles by her nose. She was so close, so, so close. Our lips almost touched Almost. Suddenly, the door opens and then shuts close and the sounds of progressing footsteps breaks them apart. "Hey, I just forgot my phone here." Jacob doesn't question the awkwardness in the room as he grabs his phone and leaves once again. In a frenzy, Y/n collects her mail and leaves for the door too, "I'm sorry if I overstepped Andy, I swear it won't happen again." Her voice small and choked, but I fucking hope it does happen again and again and again and again Amused by her nervousness, Andy tries to speak, but before he can get her attention, she has already left. Well she'd be here again at seven tomorrow, right?

[juicyflawless25]

Tell Me How It's Looking, Babe (Nsfw)

Larissa Weems x Reader

Word Count; 5,559

Warnings; explicit sexual content (includes a shapeshifted appendage)

Notes; I feel like this fic is a hot mess, but I wanted to share it with you all anyway. Loosely inspired by the song Partition by Beyonce. Somehow my brain took me off in a weird direction. Also, for the purpose of this fic, it is implied that both Larissa and reader are shapeshifters. I felt it was time for Larissa to be on the receiving end of things. Cross posted on a03, link in the title.

It was a rare occasion that would arise when Larissa and yourself were able to get out and enjoy yourselves away from Nevermore. Most of the time it was you grading homework, putting lesson plans together, and helping Larissa with whatever she needed. As for the principal, she worked into the wee morning hours and crawled into bed just before the sun came up. There was always something for her to do. Meetings, event plans, student situations, and emails forever waiting to be read and replied to. The list was neverending. 

That was why when a week-long break presented itself, you took the chance to set up a fancy little to do with your beloved wife. You knew she needed something to get her mind off the Addams family, Wednesday being the biggest culprit of the problems. She had stressed herself into madness over what had been happening and it broke your heart. Instead of letting her wallow in the stress, you were going to be the best wife a woman could be.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get Larissa to agree to go out. You had begged, pleaded, and gotten down on your knees. She had eventually relented, however, because she knew you weren’t going to give up until you got what you wanted. You had squealed and hugged her tight, kissing her all over her face when she had agreed. That alone had brought a smile to her face, the look there telling you she both regretted and was happy she had decided on a yes.

You had given Larissa the instructions of what to wear a week before your engagement. You had told her “Think red carpet. Think catwalk goddess!” Her eyebrows had knitted together at that, wondering where you could be taking her. “It’s a secret!” You had said to her inquiries, winking at her and walking away with a shit-eating grin on your face. 

The week had passed by quickly, due to situations arising at Nevermore. You had made Larissa promise she wouldn’t try to forego your night together, giving her the biggest doe eyes you could muster in retaliation. She could never resist that look, no matter how much she wanted to.

The two of you had gotten dressed in your finest in separate places, having brought up the idea to surprise each other with what you were wearing. You had offered the idea because you had something in mind that you knew Larissa hadn’t been expecting. What you weren’t expecting, however, was the way your wife had decided to doll herself up.

As you stood by the limo you had rented, wanting to give her the treatment of a Queen, your mouth dropped audibly as you watched Larissa gracefully strut down the steps of Nevermore.

“Holy shit.” You breathed, trying to gain some sort of composure before she got closer. 

Larissa’s eyes watched you intently as she descended the stairs, practically gliding down them like she was gingerly placed on a cloud. The way she looked you over, taking in the tight white suit you were wearing, told you that you had made the right choice. You had foregone a white collared shirt underneath the suit jacket, opting to leave your chest only moderately covered by the lapels. You could tell that seemed to be Larissa’s favorite part as her eyes lingered there and her tongue came out to lightly lick at her lips. Her wandering eyes traveled downward, taking in the way your suit pant hugged tightly to your curvacious hips and ass. The heels that you chose to wear with it only made Lairssa’s heartbeat flutter even more. 

As she approached you, your eyes still captivated by her and your mouth still hanging open, Larissa smiled like a tiger stalking its prey. “You look stunning, darling.” She complimented, eyes raking over your body a few times more. 

Your cheeks turned a light shade of pink at her compliment and the way her eyes looked so hungrily at you. “I-I could say the same.” You started, finally taking a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Jesus Christ, Larissa. You have my mouth watering just looking at you.”

It was her turn to blush a deeper shade of pink, ducking her head before looking at you through her eyelashes. “All for you, love.” She said, throwing you a wink that made your knees buckle and your legs weak.

Now up close, you could see the subtle makeup Larissa had applied, taking on a different look than usual. It suited her, the way the softness of it highlighted her features subtly. Her lips were adorned with a nude color, something much more tame than her usual red. Her hair cascaded to the side of her shoulder, curls twisting in perfectness while the rest of it framed the side of her face beautifully. The dress she was wearing? You had never seen her wear something with such a flow, but the way it both hugged her body and wafted around her made you wish you were the fabric.

The soft pink she had chosen for the dress made it look like she was wrapped in beautiful morning sunlight. It brought out the blue in her eyes and the soft roundness of her face. And the length of the dress brought out the statuesque build you knew intimately and adored. She was stunning in all of her glory. So stunning that you could feel the confidence exuding from her. Larissa was perfect, no matter which way you looked at it.

The more you stared at her, the more your mouth became dry. You had a sneaking suspicion that the moisture was moving to a different location on your body. But that would have to wait for a while. There was a reason you were all dressed up, after all. 

Remembering that there was a limo waiting behind you, you moved to stand beside Larissa, placing a hand gently on her lower back. With the other hand, you reached to open the door swiftly for your wife. 

“After you, gorgeous.” You said, making a show of sweeping your arm toward the inside of the vehicle while the other pushed softly on Larissa’s back to guide her.

Without hesitation, the principal moved with grace to place herself inside the limo, scooting over to make room for you as she patted the spot next to her. There was a loving smile on her lips, but something suggestive danced behind her expressive blues. She involuntarily licked at her lips as you climbed in behind her, her eyes roving over your body in the most bawdy of manners.

“Like something you see?” You questioned, putting on an air of confidence that was undermined only minorly by the pink tone of your cheeks. 

With a smirk that could put Aphrodite herself to shame, Larissa gazed straight into your eyes her voice dropped an octave in her answer. “Yes, I do.” Well, there was no mistaking that, was there?

You shivered visibly before closing the limo door behind you. You stared back at Larissa, situating yourself as close to her as possible. The two of you were a hair's breadth away from each other’s faces, legs and hips touching as you felt the electricity spark around you. You were moments away from just kissing the hell out of your wife, but a clear of the throat from the front stopped your movements.

Both yours and Lairssa’s eyes broke away to practically glare at the driver. Were you slightly mad at him for breaking a moment? Yes. You knew it was irrational though. After all, he was only doing his job.

“Are we ready to go, ladies?” He questioned, a small, kind smile on his face.

You had to swallow down all of the erotic emotions you were feeling before answering him. It wasn’t helping that Larissa had placed her hand possessively on your thigh, though the look on her face made it seem like it was casual. You knew better than that. 

“Yes, sir!” You finally responded, perhaps a moment too long for it to be comfortable. 

The driver gave a nod before rolling the partition up, making a breath release from your lungs as he did so. 

You turned your attention back to Larissa, feeling her hot stare on you before you even turned your head. There was so much emotion dancing in her eyes and you could tell all of them were adoringly directed at you. God, the way she looked at you always further melted you into a bigger puddle. The two of you were so connected that all she had to do was give you a look and you knew exactly what she was saying. Right now she was giving you the impression that she wanted to eat you up right then and there. That thought alone had your heart racing.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

You blanked for a moment, your mind still trying to wrap itself around how brilliant and sexy Larissa looked. She waited patiently for you to answer, watching as the wheels turned slowly in your head to catch up. 

“Right! Well!” You started, excitement painting your facial features. “I know how much you love fashion and how deep into it you are. How you keep up with everyone is beyond me!” You cut your rant off immediately, not wanting to go too deep down a rabbit hole. You were explaining, not pondering. “I arranged for us to go watch a fashion show!” A wide grin leaped across your face, sticking there as you waited for your wife’s reaction. 

The most brilliant of smiles lit up the principal’s face, her eyes shining even brighter. You could tell before she even spoke that this was a pleasant surprise. “Y/N! Darling!” She began, hands coming up to cup your cheeks heartily. It seemed she was at a loss of words though as her mouth hung open and she stared at you, hands not moving from your face. 

You smiled as brilliantly back as you could, considering her palms were squeezing your cheeks almost painfully. But you didn’t care! All you cared about was that you had just made your wife a happy, happy woman! 

“Oh my god, no one has ever done this for me before! And it’s been years since I’ve been able to do something like this!” She shook you lightly, blue eyes sparkling with wonder and adoration.

With a chuckle, you placed your hands on her hips and made little circles with your thumb on each side in a soothing manner. “I wanted to do something spectacular for you because you deserve it! You deserve a break and to be given a night of something fabulous!” Your words were slightly mush-mouthed while Larissa’s hands were on your cheeks, but she understood every word.

“You are the best wife a woman could ever ask for!” Larissa exclaimed, bringing her head forward to place her forehead against yours. She rubbed your nose lightly with hers for a moment before she chuckled at the pout on your face. “I know you want a kiss, darling, but I don’t want to ruin my lipstick…yet.” With that, Larissa winked and let go of your face, moving to sit back in the seat.

Her arm looped around yours as she sat a little closer to you, giggling gently at the aroused look on your face. Her wink alone had told you that something quite lovely would be happening later. But only after Larissa made it to the fashion show. 

The pulse between your legs begged for a little something, but you only squeezed your thighs together tightly to hold it back. You weren’t about to ruin anything of your wife’s before she gave you permission to. Besides, the whole reason for this evening was to make it to the location for her to enjoy. What kind of wife would you be if you messed things up before even getting there?

Larissa did notice the way you squeezed your legs together, her heat rising to her chest and making her heartbeat thrum faster. The way you looked tonight made her want to undress you with her eyes and then her hands, savoring every moment of it. Of course, she was quite enjoying how you looked in your dapper lesbian style, clearly trying to show off for her. And she knew it was all for her. Every part of your outfit was something she had discussed with you before when daydreaming about going somewhere fancy. Larissa had explained it all in great detail and she was only slightly shocked to find that you had remembered it all.

You could see the way your wife’s cerulean irises were looking over you and you had to hold back several whimpers when those looks turned smoldering. You even watched as she bit her lip a few times and you wished you could read her mind, just to see what was going on in her head. Of course, you had a feeling it wouldn’t help the ever-growing need for her if you could.

It seemed like hours before you arrived at your location, what with the way the two of you had been holding yourselves back the entire ride there. You could hear babbling outside of the car window as you gazed out to look and see the crowd meandering about, waiting to be chauffeured in. Behind you, Larissa buzzed with excitement. So much so that you could tell she was almost ready to push you out of the way just so she could get out and see everything more clearly.

You let out a small laugh just before the chauffeur opened the door for the both of you, that same gentle smile on her face as he bowed. “Welcome, ladies. I do hope you enjoy the event.” He said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Larissa clapped her hands together behind you and rushed forward past you, all while grabbing your hand and pulling you with her. “Come, darling! There must be lots to see!” The joy she was feeling was positively radiating off of her. That in itself made your heart swell with pride and a big grin stretch your lips.

You followed along with Larissa arm in arm, her holding onto you tightly. At the same time, she walked with her head held high and a sway to her hips that just screamed confidence. As you had wanted to happen, the thoughts of Nevermore and Wednesday were long gone as you made your way into the facility, Larissa teeming with exhilaration. It seemed your planned night was well on its way to being a success. 

A few hours later, the two of you emerged from the fashion show with a giddiness about you. The show had been fascinating to watch, but your eyes had been trained on Larissa most of the time. Fashion was interesting, artistic, wonderful, and quite lovely, but none of it compared to your wife. She was the most beautiful and interesting thing in the room, easily. 

You had nodded along to her comments, chiming in with your own whenever she seemed interested in them. But your highest excitement came from watching her every time a new outfit appeared on the stage, the light dancing in her eyes brighter and brighter with every passing moment. Jesus, you loved this woman with your entire being.

As the two of you rode in the limo back to Nevermore, you continued to listen to Larissa chirp animatedly about the entire show, practically recounting each second of it. You watched her with heart eyes, just smiling at her and loving the way her hands moved so animatedly as she spoke.

After a moment, Larissa slowed her talking down and blushed deeply, realizing she had been talking your ear off incessantly. “I’m so sorry, darling. I can stop.” She murmured, trying to hide her eyes and her blush from you.

“No! No, no!” You nearly shouted, wincing slightly at the sound of your voice. You calmed yourself down and grabbed Larissa’s hands, holding them gently in your own. “Please don’t ever apologize for being so unabashedly you!” You began, one hand coming up to cup her cheek so you could turn her eyes towards you. “I adore the way you talk about the things you love, babe. And I would listen to you forever. I swear!”

When you were sure she wasn’t going to look away from you, your hand on her chin moved to cross an X over your heart to emphasize your promise. You could see little tears starting to form in her eyes, but the smile on her face told you that they were happy tears.

“You’re the most wonderful wife I could have ever asked for.” Larissa whispered, leaning closer to you so she could lean her forehead against yours. It was your turn to blush now.

“I just want to make sure you know you’re loved, Riss.” You started, leaning in for a quick kiss before continuing. “I want you to be confident in the fact that I love every piece of you. And you deserve the world! So I’m trying hard to give as much of it to you as I’m capable of.”

Larissa’s bottom lip wobbled slightly as she listened to your words, love bubbling up in her chest in a heavy wave. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had done to deserve someone like you, but she was determined to make sure that she continued to prove herself worthy of your love. Though she knew if she were to voice these words, you’d tell her that there was no one more deserving than her. You’d had that conversation before.

Unable to help herself, the principal lunged forward to crash your lips together, her hands coming up to grip the lapels of your coat. A soft, surprised squeak escaped your mouth at the action, but you wasted zero time in returning the kiss with full force. 

Larissa pressed her chest against yours, breaths mingling as the kiss turned more heated and teeth clashed. A small moan fell from Larissa’s lips and you swallowed the sound, savoring it and memorizing it. 

When the two of you parted a moment later, you were both taking deep breaths, chests heaving with the exertion of it. Larissa’s gaze on you was all-consuming and the blue of her eyes had almost disappeared because of how blown her pupils were. Suddenly, you could feel the heat from earlier crashing back into your body, making it throb in all the right ways. 

“Do you think the driver can see us?” Larissa whispered seductively, tinged with a slight bit of apprehension. 

Your eyes cut away from your wife to stare at the closed partition, wondering if the other side of that glass was made so the driver couldn’t see a thing of the passengers. The way your body was humming with sexual energy made you want to throw caution to the wind, but you weren’t about to do so if Larissa was uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure.” You responded, hands still gripping Larissa’s waist for dear life. 

There was a long pause from Larissa as you watched her gather her thoughts, hands still tightly holding your lapels as she mulled over the possible consequences. You could see the exact moment she had decided what she wanted because the look in her eyes turned scorching hot and needy. 

“Fuck it.” She cursed before crawling onto your lap, legs placed on either side of yours. Still towering over you, she leaned down to place a row of kisses up your jaw, stopping just before she reached your ear. “I’ve wanted to ravish you all evening, love.” Larissa teased as she pressed herself against you tightly.

Your hands came up to grip her ass, shivering visibly at her words. Larissa moaned at the feeling of you groping her hard, fingers squeezing hard enough to put fingerprints on her skin even through the dress. She ground her hips down on you and a moan echoed around the cabin of the limo.

“All I’ve wanted was to either be the dress or be under the dress.” You confessed, kissing at any part of her skin you could get your lips.

Larissa gave a low chuckle, pressing her chest to your face as her fingers came to scratch at the back of your neck and up towards your hair. She scratched at your scalp and tore a groan from your throat at the action, muffled only because you had pressed your face between her breasts and breathed her scent in.

“Although now I desperately wish this fabric was gone so I could reach more of you…and see you.” You leaned back to look up into her eyes, your hands wandering up her back only to scratch back down with your nails just as she had done with your head. 

“Don’t worry, my love, you’ll be seeing a full view of me when we return home. But for now…” Larissa let the silence linger for a moment before she gave you a filthy smile, eyes matching the tone. “I want you inside of me.”

You moaned loudly at that, wanting nothing more. “Such a dirty girl.” You responded, hands already grabbing at the bottom part of the dress to hike it up Larissa’s long, luxurious legs. Meanwhile, she reached down to unzip your pants, hands reaching in to tug at the appendage you had managed to grow just seconds before. Perks of shapeshifters, you both supposed. 

When her fingers wrapped around the shaft, already greatly straining from arousal, your head fell back at the way her skin felt against it. “Fuck.” You moaned, momentarily forgetting your actions of getting her dress out of the fucking way. 

Larissa rolled her hips, hand moving up and down with the motion, making you see stars behind your eyelids for a moment. You shuddered hard before remembering your task, hands trying not to rip her gorgeous dress in the haste of getting it to move. Your fingers finally found the bottom of the dress and you quickly reached up to attempt to move her panties out of the way. However, you found no fabric to take purchase of and your eyes flew open to look up lustily at your wife.

“I had a sneaking suspicion that forgoing panties would be of utmost importance tonight.” Larissa provided, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth to give the words an even more filthy undertone. 

Unable to help yourself any longer, your fingers swiped through Larissa’s slit, finding that she was just as aroused as you. When you pulled your fingers back, they glistened with her arousal. The cock between your legs throbbed as your mind swirled with need, your heart pounding in your ears as you brought your fingers to your mouth.

Before you could put them in your mouth to taste her, however, Larissa grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to her mouth instead. She looked deep into your eyes as she took your fingers into her mouth, tongue twisting and swirling around the digits as she tasted herself. You watched her as your mouth dropped open, taking in the sight before you.

“Oh, fuck me.” You breathed out, licking at your lips and wishing so badly that her taste was on your tongue. 

Your wife removed your fingers from her mouth with a pop, a sly grin pressing at her lips. “Later, darling. But first, I need this.” She tugged on your shaft as she said the word, letting you know exactly what she wanted.

You were in no way going to argue with her. Instead, you moved to slide your pants down your legs a bit, appendage really standing to attention as the fabric moved out of its way. Larissa removed her hand as you situated yourself, letting you take control of the moment as she watched you with hooded eyes. 

Though you couldn’t see anything due to Larissa’s dress being so long, you could feel the heat emanating from her core. Your hand disappeared under her dress to stroke your cock for a moment, preparing yourself for what was about to transpire. You positioned yourself against her entrance as your other hand moved under the dress as well, your middle finger finding her clit almost instantly. 

As you continued to gently rub circles on Larissa’s clit, moans filling your ears as she tried not to move too much just yet, you gazed up to look into her eyes. “Let me know when you’re ready, baby.” You offered gently, leaning forward just a little to kiss her chest. 

It seemed that Larissa was in no mood to be teased, however, when she took control and shifted her hips downwards to initiate the first bit of penetration. She felt the head of your shaft slip inside of her surprisingly easily, the both of you keening at the sensations it created. For a moment, she halted her movements, wanting to make sure she was ready to take all of you. You gave her all of the time she needed, taking time to appreciate the wetness you could feel enveloping you below. The throb coming from Larissa’s clit against your finger seemed to be in perfect time with your heart, further proving the two of you were entirely in sync. 

You couldn’t contain the erotic noises that fell from your lips as Larissa finally moved to take all of you inside of her, hips slowly swaying back and forth to ease the slight pain that came with it. She had her eyes closed and her head tilted back just a bit, hands placed on your shoulders to steady herself.

“Y-you can move now.” She instructed, letting you know all was well. Larissa could feel your eyes on her, watching with such rapt attention that she felt the heat in her face spread to her ears. “Please, darling.” She begged in a hushed tone.

For a moment, your eyes darted to the partition, having almost forgotten that there was someone else in the vehicle. Your eyes switched back and forth between Larissa and the glass, hoping against all hope that the driver was oblivious to what was going on because there was no stopping now. 

Directing all attention to your wife, sitting so prettily on top of you, you leaned up to kiss under her chin before jutting your hips upward to sheath yourself further inside her warmth. Larissa shuddered and moaned, wrapping her arms all the way around your shoulders, leaning forward to give you the space you needed to fuck her properly. 

You took the initiative and began to slowly fuck your wife, burying your face in her cleavage as the ecstasy took over. The way she felt as she slid up and down on your shaft, further coating you in her arousal and making things even easier for the both of you, had you in a state of nirvana. There was hardly anything better than the way it felt being buried deep inside her like that. Except for her love, of course. That always trumped everything.

The pace was slow at first, not wanting to hurt the woman above you. But Larissa wasn’t having it as she began to meet your hips thrust for thrust. “Harder.” Was her only demand as she began to pick up her own pace, her mouth coming to bite and lick at your neck in hopes of spurring you on. 

Larissa always knew what to do to make you even more ravenous for her, nearly turning you into an animal as she sucked on your pulse point roughly. Your hips moved of their own accord then, fucking yourself deeper and harder into your wife’s needy cunt. 

The sounds filling the vehicle were salacious and nearly pornographic. The two of you had practically forgotten where you were as you continued pleasuring each other, you moaning explicit longing into Larissa’s ear as she moaned into yours. Every time your name came off her tongue, you had to hold yourself from coming undone right then and there. Her voice in the throes of passion was nothing short of glorious, making you feel as if heaven really was a place on Earth. 

Your wife was slamming herself down onto your shapeshifted cock, her entrance so slick with her own arousal that a squelching sound could be heard quite clearly. That only turned you on more, if you were honest.

“You feel so fucking good.” You moaned, fingers weaving their way into Larissa’s hair to pull on it tightly. It was the end of the night, you could mess it up now and there was no stopping you as you dragged her head backward and bit at her neck, leaving bruises and marks behind. You would probably get into trouble for that later, but right now you couldn’t care any less. 

“I’m so close.” Larissa warned, her hips moving quite erratically as an indication. 

“Oh god, I can feel that.” You answered back, her walls tightening around your shaft in a nearly vice grip. The two of you moaned into each other's mouths as you connected for a passionate kiss, tongues exploring and licking at each other needily. 

You broke the kiss for a moment, but only to whisper what you knew Larissa was waiting to hear. “Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you lose yourself on my cock.” You bit her earlobe afterward, getting the highest thrill from the way Larissa sobbed her need. 

Holding onto her tightly, you made sure to pound away at Larissa’s entrance just like she loved, knowing very well that she would be holding on much longer. And you were right because mere seconds later, she tilted her head back as if possessed and let out a long and high-pitched keen that you were certain the driver heard. The lewd noises coming from your wife as she came undone made you lose your own self-control, cumming with her as you buried yourself as deep as possible inside of her. Her walls gripped and sucked at your cock, making sure to leave you breathless and shivering as your body locked up in pleasure. 

All that could be heard for a few moments, as Larissa placed her head against your shoulder, was the sound of heavy breathing coming from the both of you. You were still holding onto her, body lightly convulsing from the white, hot heat that had just spread throughout your limbs. 

Your newly made appendage disappeared a minute later, making Larissa groan from the loss of contact and the feeling of emptiness. She began to place gentle kisses on your neck, really admiring the marks she left behind during your lovemaking. 

You were just about to open your mouth to say something when the partition ever so slightly, just enough for you to hear the driver’s voice. “Pardon, but we’ve arrived back to Nevermore.” He didn’t make direct eye contact and you could faintly see his cheeks were tinged pink. That told you everything you needed to know.

The partition rolled back up and you looked up at Larissa, who had decided to hide her face in your neck. “I can kill him so no one will ever know.” You offered, giving Larissa a bashful smile as a laugh made her body jiggle against yours. 

“I’m tempted to tell you to go through with that.” She replied, wishing momentarily that a hole would swallow her up.

“I’ll pay him well, he won’t say a word.” You rubbed her back to reassure her, kissing wherever you could reach as she still sat atop your lap. “As much as I would love to stay this way, babe, I should probably put my pants back on properly so we can get out of this limo.” 

At your suggestion, Larissa gave a small chuckle and moved away from your lap. You missed her there already. Quickly, you brought your pants back around your waist and fastened the button before the belt. When you were sure you looked a little more presentable, you looked towards Larissa who had shifted herself back into perfection.

“Showoff.” You teased, grinning at her playfully.

“Shut up and let’s get inside.” Larissa retorted, pushing you towards the door. 

With a laugh, you opened it and climbed out, holding it open for Larissa as you gave her a hand to ease herself out of the limo without messing up her dress. A wave of arousal washed through you once more as you looked her over for the millionth time this evening, counting yourself to be the luckiest person alive. 

Larissa could sense the look you were giving her without even looking at your face, but she turned her eyes toward you just to prove herself correct. She shook her head as you closed the door behind them, knowing full well that you weren’t done for the night.

“Perhaps let’s not get caught this time, hmm?” She offered in the most principal tone she could muster. 

You grinned before grabbing her waist and guiding her towards Nevermore’s stairs. “We’ll see.”

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

41 - Past Becomes the Present

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 15.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, discussion of medical distress, references to previous trauma, imagery of blood and gore, breeding kink, smut, mentions of anal

Notes: Reference to a specific book originated event with Ramsay this chapter, so if you catch it, I am sorry in advance. It not don't worry everything is fine, I promise. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

It wasn't so much disappointment, but more an exasperated feeling tiring him out. Hand running down his face, yourself biting down on your tongue to keep whatever it was that wanted to come out dismissively, still inside.

The last thing Jon wanted to do was bring you up to speed on everything immediately, but you dove right into things far to quick for him to catch up and force you to slow down. Getting to what he had uncovered, he struggled with now. Trying to fight between telling you the truth, and wanting you to just listen to him and rest instead. You both knew which one you'd rather have win out.

He had tried imploring you to rest, but by this point there had been little use in trying to dissuade you. You knew what he was planning, you knew he had done it while you were unconscious, but questions kept coming up and through what point you were trying to make separately. “How would he even know he could persuade her to do this in the first place? That feels like a huge risk.”

With what little was in front of you in the first place, Jon silently all but tossed more food on it with a pointed stare before he answered. “She hated my father, and he's betrayed you and my father before. With you and Robb gone, the timing never seemed better.” You had opened your mouth to speak but almost with a sternness did he gesture back to your plate to interrupt first. “Eat.”

He and Ghost both, lately. One wolf starts acting over protective and the other follows suit without failure.

You two were at least grateful that this part of the castle was on the quieter, less busy side then others. Since coming back to this place proper, any of what was used as the Starks normal living quarters seemed to be as minimally populated as Jon could have it, moreso then it used to be.

More a man of privacy then many Starks before him, Jon was. It also meant many weren't there to walk in and disturb when you both used the privacy to sort out the piling array of obstacles coming for you every which way. “Something still doesn't add up. Hating your father doesn't give her something in common with Littlefinger. He didn't hate the Starks anymore then the other people he manipulates.”

Eyes drifting to the side, squinting in thought you came up with the answer far slower then Jon had long since put the dots together. Voice low, and a bit on the air of tense himself. “He didn't need to have it in common, but he used it as a way to manipulate her against us.” Asking what that was, the answer took you back a slight bit. “My Uncle Brandon.”

“What does he-”

It was neither you nor him whose voice spoke out coming from the door frame. Theon walking in with a pointed look in your direction. “You weren't the only one with a secret Stark lover.” Brows narrowing just before your face fell a bit in a realization before shifting all together into a bit more of a grimace. A connection was asked and answered despite how little it sounded appealing. Taking a seat of his own, Theon continued, more towards Jon. “At least you have better taste then your Uncle did. No offence meant.”

Muttering rough and low into the mug up to his lips, “None taken.” The sounds of footsteps came down the hall and one more had intention of joining. Unbeknownst to them, rescuing you for now, from Jon swinging the conversation back to what you knew was on his mind the most in present thought. But this one was a safer bet amongst this company at the least.

Arya practically speaking through her first bites soon as she sat down, “Everything that's going on, and she risks it all for something that happened, what? Thirty years ago? Why not let it go, why risk betraying us over it?”

Raising your eyebrows with a slightly tilt of your head towards her, you spoke it more casually then gave away your thought process behind it. “You hold onto your anger long enough, it needs to eventually go somewhere.”

The younger wolfs face twisting in a similar fashion as the brother next to her, but with more of an open aggravation attached to her spoken words. “The other families haven't held it against us. Why should she get to blame us for something no one else does.” Her eyes an anger without something to latch it onto, Arya had let it fester into something irritated the entire day.

Once more Jon only muttering, barley a noticeable nod towards your once more not eating figure, as he did so. “I won't know until I question her, but it's not that simple. Getting over something you've spent a long time obsessing over.”

One lead to another and once more it felt as if the world was telling you that the coming winter was not the thing to focus on. The rest of the realm begged you to divert your focus to it's constant circle of backstabbing and scheming. It never stopped and it was the least important in what was to come, but it stood in your way. Telling you that you'd be a fool to prioritize winter over this and that.

The South were all were missing the point you and Jon were trying to do, that you were fighting towards the wrong ends. None of this will matter if you let it become the only importance. But it was still in front of you, and you couldn't just ignore it beacuse it should be secondary. Leaning forward, not quite looking at the others but as your arms crossed in front of you on the wooden surface, your mind felt distant.

“So, Roose Bolton betrays Robb, which leads to Barbery Dustin to betray you,” Hand vaguely gesturing in Jons direction, not even noting that you kept yourself out of it all. “If Littlefinger wants the North, he needs to get rid of one or both of us knowing we'd never trust him. And if you're right, if Sansa is with him, she'd be the only way to even get him here possibly unscathed. But still, he can't do anything when he's here. He has no actual ties to her.”

Arya piping up through bites, “What about if he marries her?”

Shaking your head, your face twisted in a doubt that was far too passing for the three of them to follow. And yet it was your next words which made that all the more confusing. “He can't. And even if it were possible, Sansa has nothing to claim.”

Flickering to their gazes now all on you, and matching in a narrow confusion, you hadn't yet realized that there was no reasonable way for any of them to have this knowledge. They all were immensely far from it's occurrence. And if you were to have spent more then a few moments considering it, you would have attempted to approach it with far more tact then none at all. Which was how it slipped out.

“The Faith will never annul a marriage between two highborns both found guilty of regicide. With Sansa on the run first, and now Tyrion? To split them up now would give the people the idea that Sansa had nothing to do with Jofferys murder. And the Faith would never concede to that.” It was only mid chewing did you notice the silence in the seconds that followed as awkward and stiff.

Looking over with a rough swallow, did it occur to you then of their uninformed positions. And that was information delivered in the worst possible manner. Theon looked around as uncharacteristically uncomfortable at the image as you had, but it was the matching wide eyed and entirely taken back expressions matching of Jon and Arya that clued you in. Lips parting just slightly enough as you whispered into the air, almost only to yourself, “Right. You three wouldn't have had any reason to know about that.”

Thankfully, Theon who was far more what you felt gave the same response you had hearing it for the first time. Much easier to divert your attention towards, and both wolves slowly looked from you, to the other and back again. “She married the Imp?”

Nodding, you inhaled with a hesitation in your eyes glazing over before it flashed out of existence in a flicker of flames in wind. Tilting your head slightly, you reached far beyond the realms of this life to gather information once learned both within the ruins of Harrenhal and the grieving halls of Riverrun. Considering, you were long since at war at that point, you were fairly certain the onslaught of horror and painful news hitting one after the other made learning of this with Robb a bit easier to swallow then it was for them now.

Calm and collected however, you thought to yourself as you looked to Theon, simply answer as the events occurred. Not the why. “Tywin Lannister had pushed my fathers forces out of Kings Landing, meaning he had a lot more reach as proper Hand of the King by then. So he started working to find ways to gain and upper hand against Robb, since he had spent the past three years losing horrendously.”

One way to put it. Another was Robb had taken control of every battle he fought and scared the great Tywin Lannister into hiding. Only willing to come out to drive back your fathers army in a last moment rescue effort. The Lannisters fell apart after his death, and thus you suspected Cersei had not anywhere near the same drive as her own father to go after Jon the way Tywin failed against Robb.

But you pressed on, voice only so on the edge of a grating tone that Jon alone could pick it up. “Joffery took Margaery Tyrell as a bride when they aided Tywins forces. The easy version I'm sure the Lannisters would rather have spread is that they simply wanted to secure the North.”

Theon was the only one to speak. Jon and Arya both, felt like they were listening to a made up story which they only caught half way through. As close as Arya was to the war for so long, she knew next to nothing about its happenings and Jon was so far from the Seven Kingdoms by then, he was beyond the Wall when there were still free folk there to lie to.

Perhaps though, it also was the fact that as close as you and Theon were to the Starks, there was the disconnect that you two were not bound to the family by your own blood. In the back of your mind, were you to hear a similar story of Shireen being married off to what you would consider the enemy, you likely would be as silent and taken back as they were.

Theon learning forward, matching the crossed placement of your arms to his looking towards you with a gaze further in wonder. “Hypothetically speaking, let's say Sansa was found innocent, her marriage to the imp annulled. Why would they need to get rid of you two first if Littlefinger thinks he can control the North through Sansa?”

Your eyes found grey ones, a knowing in one way and a struggle in acceptance of the other. Jon never wanted to seem as if he was taking anything from his siblings, and the way that woman had spoken of him as if it was an irrefutable fact. Soft and something distant in your gaze flickered away from him with a pain not his fault, but existed in your tone all the same. “We only found out about Sansa right before we left for the Twins. We received a raven with the news, and by that night all of the Northern Lords had all heard and signed in agreement to Robbs will. Which included his line of succession.”

No one was devoid of the fact that you were speaking around it, but no one tried to fill in such gaps anyways. Which was all you could appreciate as each word was very noticeably chosen with care as you said them. “Sansa marrying Tyrion was why Robb declared an heir in the first place. We knew it meant Tywin was planning something. We didn't know what he had planned, but if he was preparing for a North without Robb then we needed to as well. And the first thing he did was disinherit Sansa from any claim to the North. By marriage she's a Lannister, and any children they'd have would be Lannisters and Robb refused to give them any way to take the North. Even if she came home right now, free as a bird, she still wouldn't have a single claim to any rule. Robb made sure that was clear.”

What the others reactions were, you didn't find it in you to look. It didn't feel good saying, especially so far from that night. None of it was in malice, and as soon as Robb put it forth you both understood the weight of such a choice. But to repeat it here, so far from that without any of the way Robb could spin anything in such a manner? Out of your mouth it only sounded distant and cold.

It was incredibly hard to determine what was behind the strained roughness in Jons voice, and you had yet to find it in you to look at either Stark. Yourself slipping easily into the mask of panic at seeing a disappointment looking towards you, or worse. “And now that Arya's back?”

Were you looking, you would've seen the way her head whipped over to Jon with as close to a glare as she had ever directed his way. Her own voice raising in an instant to an offended yell of protest, “I never said I wanted to-”

Jon only replying back just as held back as you were feeling for any number of reasons. “It's not about want, Arya. You're a Stark-”

Only shouting back with something even angrier then before, “So are you,”

Cutting both of them off, you only somewhat looked in their direction but found not their faces yet, not the bravery of whatever expression they held even as your voice overpowered them. “It doesn't matter. You being here, if Sansa came back, if Bran came through the gates right now, it doesn't matter. If Robb had an heir of his own, the North is Jons until they would've come of age. Without one, as long as Jon and whatever bloodline runs through him is alive, the North is his.” Jons eyes flashed over with something that no one caught as he looked tensely towards you, still avoiding his gaze for not at all the same reasons he wanted to find yours. “He's the rightful King in the North and Robb wouldn't budge on anything less then that.”

Arya was quiet as was everyone else, waiting for either wolf to make the first move to break the heavy silence and all words left your willingness to do so for their sake. This all would have sounded so much less stern coming from Robb when he explained it then. Everything just sounded as callous and unfeeling coming from you as it did your father.

Too formal, too matter of fact. Made even worse speaking as such in front of a family as close as the Starks, and siblings as bonded as Jon and Arya. It made you feel as if you were putting words in Robbs mouth to drive a wedge between them, when it was the truth you spoke. Only the truth was warm and soothing when Robb said it.

Perhaps if you were more of a coward and less stubborn, you'd have fled from the remainder of what this conversation became. Instead, it was your words and so you had to defend them. The High lords would confirm the truth of facts, but only you could defend Robbs emotions and thoughts over the matter.

If he wanted you to do a good job as such, Robb chose a terrible Queen to carry his memory with warmth.

The low bass of his voice rippled through the air and deep into your veins, having waited until it was only you two left until Jons warmth came up close next to you. “You want to tell me what's going on up here before I have to guess?” His hand gently reaching up to run through loose strands of your hair closest to him.

In a way you think you surprised him, the way which you so easily looked over with a softness that hadn't been there since earlier that day. Nails tapping mindlessly beneath on the table, no more then a gentle murmur was how loud you managed to get. “It's strange, looking back on those final days. It feels like it was so long ago I'm thinking back to a version of myself that doesn't even exist anymore.”

His hand still running through the strands, moving piece by piece more back over your shoulder or tucking strays behind your ear as he somehow was as patient as ever. “You aren't that same girl.” Narrowing your eyes, you looked up at him. Nothing in accusation or malice, just an almost too innocent look towards him in question. Jon moved his hand, now firmly running along the bulk of your hair behind your head. “We can't go back to who we were, and we can't change where we are now. No matter what happens, we stay together. All of us. Whether that includes Sansa one day or not.”

Eyes slipping closed as you exhaled, you would've moved your head away if his touch didn't feel so soothing. “The last time I even saw her, she was still just a girl. Naive and daydreaming..I don't think I want to imagine what kind of person Cersei or Littlefinger could've turned her into..”

Quiet sat between you both, Jon never let go of his touch against your hair as he smoothed along it, but it matched the weight in his voice that held not the same defeat. Leaning a bit more, imploring you to meet his brighter eyes. “We can't change that. You and I have been here long enough that she must know it's safe to come home by now. But that's where she is, and she still didn't come home, or even try to reach out to any of us..we can't force her to come back and be part of this.”

Jaw clenched, you couldn't stop hearing the way Stoneheart acted as if Jon sitting here as King was some great offence. As if he didn't try harder to be the person he was more then anyone left in these kingdoms. Scouring his own grey eyes, you sighed lightly before letting them fall to nothing on him in particular.

“You know not a single person out there would choose anyone else to rule them, right?” Brows narrowing a bit hoping to get an easy answer, but Jons silence was as unsure as you felt in your own mind personally. Sighing out, a hand of your own reached up finally, running over the facial hair at his jaw. The scratching coarseness raw against your palm even as one thumb reached up to trace what you could reach of his cheek. “They didn't choose you to be a King, they chose you to be their King They'll follow you no matter what, no matter who tries coming back here claiming for themselves. Half of those men denied pledging to my father even though they were trapped under the Boltons control. Robb was gone, I'm not even a Northerner, they could have said no. If they wanted anyone else to rule them, they wouldn't have wanted you in the first place.”

He was almost close enough his natural warmth took away any remaining chill in the night air, no matter the howling wind floating about outside the stone walls. “When I said no to being Lord of Winterfell, part of me didn't think I deserved it. That whoever was still out there should have it more then me, it was their birthright not mine. But now I'm more then that and not beacuse some Southern King said so.” Gently back and forth your thumb traced, almost letting the rest of your fingertips slide down to trace what you could of his neck too. “I don't want any of them to think I'm trying to take it away from them, but there's more to this now. They don't understand whats coming for us, what's at stake. If Arya or Sansa took over from me tomorrow, none of the free folk would listen to them, they'd still ally with me.”

“That's beacuse you know what it takes. If you're right, if he wants Sansa to be part of this, she isn't a leader, a ruler. Not even close to the way you are.” You were quiet for a moment before letting your face fall a slight bit. “I didn't realize before that none of you would've known about her marrying Tyrion Lannister. Would have perhaps been a little less mindless about it had I remembered.”

Jons face almost fell to something amusingly baffled, twisting as his head jolted back a bit. “I don't know if I can't picture that or I don't want to.” Nodding with him, he sighed out, glancing between you and nothing a few times before choosing a side of him internally.

Rather then another word getting out, Jon gently pulled you to him from his grip at the back of your head. Lips gently capturing yours, while his other hand draped along the side of your neck and collarbone. The hand along his jaw slinking behind his neck to better steady yourself leaning up to his kiss.

Always the one to gently guide you, you merely were to follow along as he deepened it before having the proper sense to just pull back. Slowly as each of your remaining breathe was stolen by him, did his hand drift down you side. Tracing along your waist before settling at your hip, curling as if to pull you to him, but without the commitment. Only pulling back enough each word brushed his lips still against yours. “Selyse told me what happened.”

Sighing, Jon didn't let you go, but allowed your head to drop slightly in his touch. His own moving to press his forehead against yours, the hand at your hair drifting to your cheek once more. Not altering where you were looking, just cupping your cheek as he kept you close. Barley a whisper leaving you, “I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me just this time. When I know what's really happening, I promise I'll tell you.”

“Next time you don't feel alright, you need to tell me. You scared me a lot today.”

You'd apologize if you thought he at all would accept such an thing. Instead, you let the quiet sit between you both until you nodded your head. Leaning up a bit more, stealing one more chaste kiss from his lips before you muttered, “This may happen more often.” You could feel his brows furrowing as you elaborated. “Lord Howland's son has this ability, and he said these sorts of dreams and visions can take a toll of ones health.” His grip on your cheek grew a little tighter as you felt his muscles tense so close to you. Your own scratching along the back of his neck almost in a soothing manner matching your voice. “Which means if I don't learn how to control this, it might get worse sooner.”

Jaw clenched, he almost indiscernibley shook his head no before tilting your head down again to press a kiss to your forehead. Whispering against you, “I want you by my side more for the next while.” Asking why, he tilted your head back up to meet his eyes. Bright and shining finally passed the sorrow of the days toll. “You really haven't figured it out yet?”

An amused grin fell over your lips as you pulled back from him slightly, “What's that supposed to imply, Snow?” Only a tilt of his head in lieu of a shrug was your response. A tender smile as bright as the grey lovingly in your eyes as well did you shake your head. Leaning back to his lips yourself muttering, “Unbelievable, you Starks are.”

More then once Sam had to draw Jons attention back, as if the man was tied between focused and utterly distracted. His eyes kept drawing themselves to the partially open door, looking out to where he could see you and Gilly, a book in front of her and so Little Sam had found himself asking to be held by you. Pacing a little around the table back and forth, guiding Gilly through what you were introducing as increasingly more complicated books to test her.

Still early enough in the morning, Little Sam had been dozing in and out, and currently was leaned right into your front with eyes barley open as you focused on both parties. Not once did you turn as distracted and catch anything close to where Jon was, but more then once he had to peel his eyes from you back to the matter at hand.

If he were to accurately go over the numbers in his head, it had only been around a fortnight and Jon had only known for half of that time. You wouldn't have a clue, but it was making him feel even more obsessive. Seeing you collapse the other day only made that feeling stronger, as if his heart begun to race now if you were out of his sight for too long.

Tearing them back, Jons hands perched on the table as the lot of them found themselves debating what it could mean. Tormund had confirmed that Mance had indeed been searching for the Horn of Winter and as they now stood looking at what seemed like it, the question of what to do with it plagued them.

Jons voice was a low rasp, a bit on the edge of agitated as he considered too what you had seen. “My Uncle might have given his life to hide this, I'm not letting him die in vein by burning it now.” That was the suggestion both Ser Davos and Lord Howland gave, but it didn't add up. “It's been hiding in my families crypt for thousands of years, if the best option was to destroy it why wouldn't they have done it already?”

Sam had most of the level head these days, almost every night he and Jon went over what he had learned and attempted to put it all together into something which made sense. Some of it did, some of it seemed as if any answer brought into the existence of too many new questions they didn't know as it was.

Tormund was the only other one here who truly understood what they were up against, a curious look as Ser Davos mentioned that he thought the red woman had it. Jon shook his head, but without much thought passed what he said, “I told her it was said to bring down the wall, and she burned it.”

A glance between them passed with the same idea in their minds, neither of them believed it then and certainly not now. Tormund rumbling out in a bemused tone, “Well she burned a horn, just not the right one. Mance had us digging for it, until one day he leaves and only when he comes back did he say he had found it, whether I believed him or not.” Jon's head dropped, that too late was beacuse his Uncle Benjen had arrived that night of the feast, and took it. As soon as he left Jon from their conversation in the cold, he likely went straight to the crypts before Mance could get it.

He could somewhat hear Theon asking, “What did he want with it in the first place?”

“He wanted the crows to think he had it, so he could blow the damn Wall down to their knees. Thought if no one's ever seen it, no one would know the difference. Then this one showed up.” Gesturing across the table to Jon. His own brows narrowing in question what that even meant, knowing at that point Tormund could read his expressions well as anyone. “Knew right away you didn't believe it was the real thing, means if you went back to the crows you'd call him on the lie if he tried using it to threaten his way through.”

Lord Howland asking why Mance would think Jon would go back and tell the Nights Watch but still let him travel with them. Jon had to think of the actual answer, don't think about any of the rest, he told himself. His time with the free folk was more complicated then her alone, but it felt as if everytime his memory was dragged back to those years it was all he could think and see.

Inhaling deeply, Jon stood straighter as his arms crossed over his front. “Ned Starks son is a bad enemy to have walk into your camp, but a good ally if you can convert him.” Trying to keep an even tone, as much as any of these men knew, none really understood. None of them could imagine why Jon struggled to look back to any of it.

Ser Davos, thankfully, interjected the spiral forming in Jons mind. “Not a smart gambler, he was. I don't think I've known any man to look at the Starks and think they'd turn their backs on their own.”

Jon and Theon shared only a single glance, but said nothing of it. It was the past now.

Whatever conversation brewed around him, Jon still found himself trapped in those days. The free folk had all talked endlessly and so much of it seemed as if they were only stories with no true understanding of any importance they may hold. Or what they meant. As if it wasn't until Hardhome did many understand what was at stake in truth.

When it slipped out, Jon knew he almost had to back up and reconsider what he even meant. “I don't think it brings the Wall down.” Glancing up to Sam, elaborating, “If the Wall was built with some kind of magic to protect it, why then make something that can tear it down? Why make it so easy?”

Something akin to realization passed over Sams eyes, looking to Tormund. “When they say it can bring down the Wall, does it say exactly that? Wherever it's written?”

A chuckle passing over the taller man, and an amusement in his eyes growing. “It's written nowhere, boy. Just stories we'd tell each other when there's nothing better to do.”

His own eyes squinting in a hint of thought, Jon caught onto the thought passing through Sam. The later man asking almost to himself, “Meaning it's possible it does something else entirely. After all, if it's that dangerous why hide it under Winterfell where there's this many innocent people?”

Flickering to the door and back again, trying to contain that feeling trying to rise back up, Jon almost shook the thoughts from his head. “If my Uncle didn't want anyone to find it, he wouldn't have buried it where he did.”

Your eyes drifted more then once to where they were all discussing things. Bright sun reflecting off the snow shined in the window as you paced slightly, peeling your gaze back to the now slumbering one fully resting against your front. Gilly breaking the quiet, “Do you want me to take him?”

Glancing with a raised brow, she specified because he was asleep. A soft smile fell over you however, looking down at him before returning to her. Pacing a bit closer. “I've helped raise a number of little ones over the years, but Sam here might be the most well behaved of them all so far.” Moving ever so carefully, you slunk into the seat adjacent to her. “As long as he's not crying, I can handle him, I assure you.”

Looking between the book in front of her, and you, there was a hesitation on Gilly's mind. Luckily for you, she was good at speaking in the quiet now. “How old were you? When you learned how to read?”

Inhaling as you leaned back a slight more comfortably, only did the vaguest of stretches in your mind reach that far off. “Around three I imagine it was. As soon as I was old enough to hold a quill, my father would have me spend the morning with our Maester reading the letters, and then in the afternoon he'd take me and have me write out everything I had learned before.”

Eyes a bit wider, you almost were envious of Gilly's mannerisms. How she still found intrigue in the world that came to her with such an ease. You weren't sure you had ever been like that. “And that's normal for you? South of the wall, to learn so early?”

Almost going to shrug a shoulder before the weight by it reminded you to stay put. “Maybe not that early for most, but learning young for highborns is normal. Most people though, plenty will go their entire lives without ever being able to read a single letter. They live in villages where all but none know how, so who would be there to teach them?” It was easy sometimes to forget that most of the world did not have the kind of privilege of learning. It came so naturally around the noble women and high Lords you grew up around.

Arms now perched along the top of the page, she narrowed her eyes with a flashing of not quite envy or even sorrow, but an accepted defeat. “I think my father knew how to read, but he never really told us beacuse he didn't want us learning and reading anything that the Nights Watch would come by with. I didn't used to know why, but maybe if we knew how to read he'd think we didn't need to rely on him.”

Glancing down slightly to Little Sam still fast asleep with a strain in tone, as you tried not to clear your throat, “Keep your lessons up, and you'll have more going for you then over half the people in Westeros. A woman who knows how to read is a dangerous thing.”

The smile on her almost bashful, it was so easy to see why she and Sam fit with one another. Both had a spirit about them that wasn't yet broken by the world. Despite everything giving them reasons too. She shrugged her own shoulders, looking back to the page. “Sam will be three next year, do you think I'll know enough I can start teaching him that early?”

The boy in question shifting slightly again, your hand moving along with him to gently lean his head more into the space between your shoulder and neck and running comfortingly down his back. “If we keep up at this rate, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to start trying. When you're more ready for it, I can have you start writing as well. You need to know the letters before you can write them, but they go hand in hand once you are used to both.”

Fluttering back and forth between focuses, you had Gilly read out the entire passage in her head before turning to you without looking and summarizing exactly what it is it said. The past few days especially she had gotten very good at it. Something you always recalled your father telling you, that you needed to be able to do more then read the words on a page. That if you could read them but not understand them, you're no smarter then the average fool.

“You know, you used to be good at hiding what you were feeling.” Face twisting in a confusion, Jon turned half way from where he stood near the door to look at the approaching Sam. Nodding to just out the partially open space, the clearest eyeline from where Jons stood ended right where you were sitting. “I thought you didn't want children.”

The willpower it took for Jon to remain impassive despite the way his heart threw itself about in his chest, was almost impressive. Looking at him with barley a change in expression but a bit more of a sternness, Jon turned to look right back. Voice quiet as to not distract or catch your attention. “I didn't want any child I had to be a bastard. I never said I didn't want them ever.”

The tone attached to Sams voice got on Jons nerves and both men were entirely aware Sam was doing it on purpose. Just to garner that agitation. “Alright, so you want children. You're a married man now, and you're King in the North. What's stopping you?”

“Nothing.”

His answer was quick enough that it had Jon glance only partially to the side as if to try and gauge if Sam had noticed, but not committing to truly finding out. Arms crossed as he shifted to lean against the book case behind him a little less obviously staring at you. Whatever was on Sams expression Jon didn't want to see it. “Does she know you want that?”

Jaw clenching, his head dropped a bit as the rest of his face twisted too into something a bit more siding of pain, and his voice strained the same. “It's not that simple for her. Her child was murdered while he was still growing inside her. It doesn't matter what I want, only that she's ready for it when the time comes.” Everyday he saw the scar across you, and he knew you still tried to look at it as little as possible.

No offence meant, and only Sam could say it so casually as well. “If I were her, I'd get pregnant just to get you to stop watching me like that.” Brows narrowed as Jon in mostly a jest, glared at him but Sam had nothing but more of it at the ready. “Oh, you're going to tell me you aren't obsessing over the idea of getting her pregnant? It's only a coincidence you've barley been able to focus today beacuse you're twenty feet away from her walking around caring for Little Sam like that?”

Sam's name coming out in warning and the glare only increased. But no lines were crossed that were anything but blatantly true. “I can do more then one thing at once.”

Comfortable silence passing only with the muffled sounds of the outside peaking through when Sam spoke up once again. “Last time I saw you, we all still thought she was dead. Then I come back, and you're already married to her. I can't even imagine what it must have been like, seeing her again after all that time. It makes sense to at least think about it.”

But something was deepening in Jons eyes, the grey tinting darker and darker as it twisted around his heart like an addiction. That part of Jon wished he had kept you with him that night in Castle Black, away from the rest of them, away from anything to remind you of what nightmare you escaped. And unable to stop the fantasy in his mind, of keeping you on his cock without stop. Of not returning to the living world until he filled you with life of his own.

Jon aggravatingly thinking that if he had, you'd be about ready to give birth by now. His hands clenched tight as his arms stayed crossed over his chest. Not the time, nor the place to think about this. He didn't have you alone, he wouldn't for hours. He couldn't think about what you'd look like at every stage being with his child. Something he once thought he'd never get a chance with you.

Whatever playing along the woman once did, was all but gone.

Nothing but a bitter spite was left, and a glint in her eye that never quite got over itself. Something in her which if smiled, felt as if it were creeping and meaningfully distrustful. In truth it was easy to see the affiliation between her and the Boltons.

A similar coldness in her eyes that stayed quiet and collected in an unbecoming manner. If this was once a pleasant woman, she had been long gone. All that was left was someone who had been brought into the room as she moved that as a snake. Slinking about without effort but lacking the grace to give her presence. Being brought in, she stayed quiet as if to play games of who goes first, but she was going up against an opponent who refused to see fit for playing along.

“How long have you been spying for Lord Baelish?”

Barbery Dustin was not well suited for captivity, and yet as she glared with a spite in her eyes towards Jon, she did not attempt in anyway to make this easy on herself. Her voice cold and even less held back of a resentment then before. “You mean to tell me you have put everything else together but the when?” It wasn't really a question, only a demeaning accusation of character she knew nothing about.

Stayed quiet by the back wall of the room, Theon trained behind where she was sat and two guards on either side of him, all eyes were on her. But it was the unblinking complicated stare of Jon which set off the most nerves. Any chance she had looking to you was met with the same degree of stoic unchanging firmness.

Voice low but with a confidence that wasn't anywhere near her arrogance, Jon barley moved an inch as he looked at her. “This won't go any better if you avoid answering my questions. You and I both know you're guilty, but I'm giving you the chance to tell the truth on your own.” She didn't look away not speak, and neither did Jon for the seconds to follow.

Instead of any irritation, as if expecting just this, Jon moved on. “Every raven you've sent and received from the Vale as long as you have been here has a written copy in Maester Wolkan's study. I know you've been in contact with him. A man who had already betrayed my father, your Liege Lord.”

A twist of her face made her look that much more unpleasant, swift to drop her tone to a judgment that came out with a ill tempered ease. “You think it is wise to blindly trust what it is he claims? A fools choice. If I were Queen, the first thing I would do, would be to kill all those grey rats.”

Raise of your eyebrow as you looked to her, an interesting mistrust. Grudges of houses were one, but it was not common Maesters in the general sense were the untrustworthy party. But you kept quiet, Jon wanted you there but this was his questioning. His prisoner. Jon however continued to frustrate her, not paying any mind to her attitude nor unnecessary insults. “I trust in people who have shown loyalty and respect. Maester Wolkan isn't here to lie or trick me. He's here, beacuse I trust him, and I trust the ravens scrolls he's shown me are true.”

Quiet followed just as it had when he gave her the same chances in front of far more of their own people. Now though, the quiet was inexcusable. Jon's voice cutting through like a blade in the tense air between them. “Was it always your intention to betray my family? Or did you take the first opportunity that presented itself after your King was already dead?”

Both Jon, and yourself knew her eyes flickered up to you but nothing was stated about it as such. Jon would get to that. One thing at a time. Peeling her eyes back, sharp and on their own edge did she speak out in just the same shortness. “If you wish to know whether or not there was a time you could have kept my loyalty, I am afraid you are far too many decades late. Your father saw to that.”

Your eyes narrowed as did the racing of blood in your veins, and if you felt that defence coming rushing to the forefront it was tenfold in Jon. But he was better at composing himself them most, hardly a twist in his expression and tint darker falling over his eyes, were you not one keen on what meant what on Jons face only the rougher deepness of his tone could give away that anger. “My father didn't drag your husband and great Uncle to war by force. They went of their own free will.”

Anger in her grew just as held back. “And yet he came back when they did not.” Jon once more specifying that wasn't his fathers fault, but they both stared at one another until she found the wrong string to pull at. Or in her mind, the right one. “He came back, Howland Reed came back, but what did I receive? Willam's stallion, not his body, just his horse. He had room to bring home a corpse and some whore's baby but not a man who died for him.”

You could see in an instant how tense Jons shoulders became even from here. Muscles no doubt screaming as was the noise in his head and before he had the chance to let it get to him, you broke for his sake, giving a chance for him to breath in quiet. If such a comment would be a sore spot once, it was something else entirely now. Louder then either of them had been and with a sharpness giving no room for interjection. “Tell me, Lady Barbery. Would your former lover take so kindly to you speaking about his family in such a way?”

Oh the way her eyes snapped up to yours, as if she was caught red handed. Her lie was not convincing in the slightest. “William was not relative to the Starks-”

Jon didn't move, and you would speak until your eyes could flicker down and see him on the side of calmer. “I believe I said lover, not husband. The man you felt cheated out of having beacuse he was promised to a woman who wasn't you. I ask again, do you think the way you want to remember Brandon Stark is to call the sister he died trying to save, nothing more than a corpse? Or to have sided with the man who murdered his nephew? Were I to take you down to the crypts this moment, could you truly say you would be able to even look at the statue of where he is buried with pride?”

You gave away even less to the woman then Jon had. Once more, it seemed few outside of the circle you already were close with, had no patience for such an unfeeling demeanour. Her glare far more furious then before. “Roose was following orders-”

Rough and once more full of a heavy weight did Jon force her eyes back to him. “Robb was his King. And he didn't murder him for anything but power and money. But the thing is, I can't see Tywin Lannister reaching out to him so directly. That's a risk going right to him about committing treason.” Leaning forward, it seemed as if his confidence dwindled her own the more he spoke. “If I go looking, will I find a trail of ravens from Kings Landing, to the Vale, to Barrowton and finally reaching all the way to Harrenhal? I'm willing to bet I would. Beacuse I think, Petyr Baelish played you right into his hands to give Roose Bolton an offer.”

That time she looked away. Nowhere to go or distract herself with. Just the quiet as if forcing her to reflect on where she was, what she needed to say or not say. How far was she willing to fight this when there were no more secrets of it? That time you spoke, but softer. “You approached Roose Bolton about betraying Robb Stark, and then in turn when he needed to smuggle me into the North undetected, you helped him to do so. He was married to your sister, you were fond of his firstborn son, it's understandable you wouldn't want to turn him away.”

Not being able to see the narrowing in his eyes slightly, you missed how Jon seemed taken back by the sympathy, even moreso as you continued. “So you convince Lord Roger to side with the Boltons, but you and I both know Ramsay, my lady. He murdered your nephew, and then he murdered your only real ally in the North.”

Tilting her head suspicious to the side, she asked in a whisper nearly, “How did you know about Domeric?”

Your eyes found Theon in silence and unease. If there was anything Ramsay did more of then torment, it was talk endlessly. Putting it all together now, it was no wonder Roose having a son with Walda was a threat. He likely poisoned Roose's first trueborn son in the first place. No wonder he was so violent about getting you back, Ramsay had always sought more power and positions then he ever deserved. Long before Robb Stark's widow was there to be forced to birth a Bolton heir.

“Lady Barbery,” Jon catching her focus once more. “Whatever the grudge you held against my father, you still were once someone my Uncle Brandon cared about. It's for his sake I'm giving you a chance to be honest with me. Tell me what you know. All of it.”

She was quiet, eyes looking through him at you before focusing once more. Sitting straight as she could, face impassive and cold as ever. “I will share what it is I know, but only if they leave.”

Only from what you could see did Jon give a single nod, and you looked up to beckon Theon over without further question. “Come on, give them the room.” Her eyes met yours only for a few final moments, in a way maybe you could've felt pity, but you knew Jon struggled to grace her with that as well.

She had one more thing to say though, calling out to you with something unreadable in her eyes. “Tell me, your grace, do you miss them? Those hounds of Ramsays? You were awfully fond of them.”

You said not a single word before you left.

It had felt like years ago again, thinking herself back to the day Barbrey Dustin walked the hall of her Keep towards the main gates. She was to expect two arrivals, but this first was far before the second would ever arrive. Receiving word from her brother in law, he and the remainder of their bannermen would be making their return home but would take more time then expected.

As she stepped out into the brisk air as men yelled to open the gates, a group of horses rode in with the sigil she had long grown accustomed to within her life. Men she knew, many she did not care to learn the names of, and yet her eyes looked to one thing then the other. Dragging along a cage now covered up from any sight, she knew something not of the plan had occurred, and she did not greatly appreciate surprises at that point.

But her eyes, dark and stern as if a smile had not graced her face in decades withheld whatever existed of ire of the sight. She was large, but Barbrey knew she would be. Young, but she did not care of what age men took for wives when not her business. What she cared about, was that this new wife was in her home at all. But she would play nice.

Allowing them to approach her, neither her nor he bothered with formalities. She and Roose Bolton went far back enough that this Walda was likely still a babe then. “My lord.”

Curt as always, and he returned in his normal flat nature. Turning to the girl, “Walda, this is Barbrey Dustin. An old friend.” Thinking to herself, so he was keeping it simple in front of her. Good she thought, let her be ignorant.

The girl gave a naive hello, as with only a nod in return Barbrey turned to the servants waiting behind her. “Tend to the horses. Assure they are fed, watered and rubbed down. And show Lady Walda to one of our guest chambers.” One of the maids passing her by, guiding her into the Keep, Barbrey did not presume that time to hide the snide manner in which her eyes narrowed. Following the girls path until she was no longer in sight. Flickering them to then the cage and back she stepped forward as her tone lowered. “I presume that is the issue you wished to speak with me about?”

Only a nod, he kept it as even as she did. “Our situation has changed.”

Settled a bit more, walking into her study Barbrey dismissed the servants already inside. Closing the door leaving mostly firelight to illuminate her preferably hidden away room. She had known Roose enough to not even bother with a drink other then water, he was insistent about his lack of consuming anything of an alcoholic nature.

It had been one of the first things Barbrey's sister Bethany had shared about her new husband many years ago. Her husband's strange tendencies, but her sister never seemed to be deterred by it so Barbrey took up the same mantle. Placing it in front of him as she faced his sitting position, she was in little mood for whatever this was.

“I do not appreciate being blind sighted that you wish to use my city as your personal smuggling route.” He begun with an insistence that was not the case, but Barbrey raised an eyebrow. “No? So you are not hiding what you have dragged into my home, other then your young wife.”

Hardly twitching at all, “I wouldn't have expected you to care about such differences in age.”

“Perhaps Roose you could place yourself in my position. I inform you I will be coming into your home uninvited, needing something discreetly handled, after being gifted a brand new title with the lands I killed a King and a Queen for, and offer you nothing but inconveniences when I arrive.” The stare went on for some time, both well knowing she would not fold before any else.

Raising his head a slight bit he elaborated. “I need something smuggled with me to the Dreadfort. Something that cannot be taken on any main paths or go through anywhere near a populated area.” Asking what this item would be, she did not expect the answer. “The Queen.”

Barbrey narrowed her eyes as her tone shifted to something akin to a lecture. “You brought a rotting corpse into my home-”

“She's alive.”

Nothing but wind was heard from the outside walls. That was not the arrangement, she did not pass on such information with such risk for him to fumble arguably one of the most important aspects. Were she a woman to fly off the handle, she'd have dove right into a lecture to him for his irresponsibility. Killing Robb Stark was one thing, but the entire purpose of killing the Queen in the North first, was because she was carrying his child, his heir. “I don't believe keeping her alive and with a son in her womb was part of the instructions given to you.”

He only kept his calm towards her held back ire. “I did kill her.”

Once more her irritation flared up. Taking a step closer as if speaking to a child looking down at him. “If she is alive, then you did a poor job of killing her, didn't you?”

But what he said was odd. “I did kill her, Barbrey.” Taking pause she tilted her head in confusion. Roose stood up slowly explaining his position. “I stabbed her in the stomach, three times. Tore her womb open significantly enough that she bled to death within a minute. No pulse, no heartbeat, no life in her eyes, not even anything in the way of blood left when I was finished with her.” Still Barbrey did not move. “She was as dead as the King, and yet when I returned to the hall some time later, she was alive. Unconscious, but alive, and she has been ever since.”

Something unnerved sat within her chest. Such a feat was impossible. “I presume Tywin Lannister has not heard this story.” Ensuring only he, the small garrison of men with him and now her knew about it.

“I need to get her into the Dreadfort unseen, unknown, before the North has a chance to hear she's alive. Before the Starks hear shes alive.” As she told him sternly that the Stark men were all dead, Roose rose only an eyebrow before passing her by.

Moving further into her study, she turned to follow with shortness on her tone. “Theon Greyjoy killed the two Stark boys, there is no one left to support her-”

He had not turned to face her, but was looking at whatever bit of information kept out on her desk he felt entitled to glance at. “Robb Stark has a bastard brother at Castle Black. From what I have gathered he and the girl were extremely close. If she is the only survivor of the night which killed the rest of the family-”

It came out suddenly but with an anger she knew he did not understand. “A massacre you mean to call it.” Roose looked at her with a curiosity at her change in tone, and she stepped further into his proximity to now prominently speak down to him. “You did not loose men that night, Roose. I did. My men. Do not speak of it as if the Starks were the only casualty. You lose no men while I lose many, and then you drag the Queen into my home telling me I need to help smuggle her into the Dreadfort? For what purpose?”

The problem was he was right, and it frustrated her to no end over it. Roose knew she despised that bastard of his, he himself never denied her suspicions that that Ramsay Snow had killed Domeric, her own nephew. Roose and Bethany's own son, but he kept the vile thing around and was parading him around the North now as if he was always meant to stand in Domerics shoes.

But he could not be ensured Walda would deliver him a son, and even if she did, the boy would not be of suitable marrying age to tie him to you for far too long to wait. He had the Queen in the North alive, secretly in his grasp and he intended not to waste such an opportunity. But he could not smuggle her there alone, which was why he was here. Why Barbrey was expected to put up with his new wife which was not her sister, and eat what precious food from her own harvest she had.

She had to be sure though. The dead of night the two made their path to where the cage was being kept as both dismissed Locke watching guard over her. Low words spoken between as to not carry in the night wind. “If the Lannisters are not considering the bastard as dangerous, why should we? If he is at Castle Black, what is he to do with the knowledge his sister in law is alive?”

Roose picked at a sore spot on purpose. “How many Starks do you know Barbrey, that take threats to those in their family lightly?” Her glare spoke many volumes, they both knew that was uncalled for but he said it anyways and she would remember it.

The coverings were lifted, and the sight was something she had never seen. Barbrey almost did not recognize her as a person. Utterly soaked in blood she could not even tell what colour her gown was meant to resemble in the first place. Lifting enough to show the wounds now littering her womb her eyes went wide as the rest of her frowned at the brutality. Not a man to spare a single mercy she knew Roose was, but it did give credence to his words.

No. Bastard or not, none of Stark blood would take kindly to this kind of sight being carved into a person they cared about. But feeling the pulse now existing as well as the faint sight of breathing moving up and down in her chest, Barbrey knew that this was indeed a secret needed to be kept tightly bound.

Perhaps it was why as she agreed to help smuggle the Queen in the North across to the Dreadfort, did she also withhold the information that she was still in contact with the man who brought her into such plans in the first place. Or that she would withhold this information from Lord Petyr Baelish in return.

Staring at the sight of the living, blood soaked body of their Queen, Barbrey had felt a strange feeling that the future was not anywhere near as promised to be fruitful as the men in her lives full of deception wished it was going to be.

And sitting across from that same bastard, now King in the North with you alive and married at his own side, she perhaps begun to finally feel the resentment for Roose Bolton. She should have turned him away the moment he dared ride into her home with a young wife at his side that was not Bethany.

But now the Boltons were dead and Barbrey was not. Perhaps she thought as she sat across from Jon Snow, that honesty this time, might be the only way to ensure he would not sentence her to a fate which would have her finally join all the dead which came before.

“You think she'll tell him the truth?”

Inhaling deeply you forced yourself to remain calm, not to let the scorching horror seep too deeply and from the way Theon walked just as tense you both were one in the same. “She has no allies left, and by now word likely has already reached Barrowton. The only family she has is in Lord Willam's brother, and he's been nothing but loyal to Jon since the fight against Ramsay. But everyone else here knows what she's done now. She has nowhere else to hide.”

Glancing at the other, once more you could read how easily you were each walking around the actual subject as he asked with a rough clearing of this throat. “She's still an ally of Littlefinger.”

But you shook your head, stern voice with no room for doubt. “Littlefinger doesn't have allies. Only friends he fakes until they are no longer of use. And with the North knowing what she's done, Barbery Dustin is an inconvenience to him.”

These very halls were almost the problem, it was ones you and Theon both had spent so many years in but also the ones faking themselves as home in horror. If you truly thought on it, most places you had called home were always filled with it, with pain and trauma.

It was inescapable your whole life.

The warmth around was the only solace you found for quite a while as you were there. Just enough steaming water that you could handle it, and quiet around to soothe the grating beat in your head that persisted. Somewhere in the back of your mind you noticed the sound but nothing really came to you until the warmth in the water was almost overtaken by above.

A large figure learning down from behind where you sat in the water as a hand slunk around your front, palm resting along your collarbones to pull you back better. Your own head tilting back somewhat as the feeling of Jons lips finding the top of your head came to you, his curls brushing down along your skin as his other hand tilted you by your jaw somewhat to him.

Your hand reached back with a sigh leaving you, running through the strands as you could, eyes slipping closed at how even in muffled mumbles, Jons voice still found a way to entrance you. “Is it too much to ask, I come here at the end of the day and find you like this more often?”

Trying to turn to see him a bit better, but not quite being able to move beyond his hold. Soft your tone came out as if not to disturb the quiet peace between you both with a hum. “Not quite sure, sacrificing the peace and quiet for your company? A hard decision, your grace.”

Putting gold on it, you'd be willing to bet Jon playfully rolled his eyes as he leaned his head better to find your neck, pressing his lips there with only a feather lightness. Breath warm as he mumbled into you, “What if I made it a command?”

A breathy laugh left you on a whim, pulling a far more comforting sounding chuckle as from Jon as he sung it right back. Your tone that time only genuine in an affectionate want, “I don't prefer the water as scolding hot as you do, so I'd suggest joining sooner rather then later before it's cold by your standards.”

Another laugh into you followed by a much longer left kiss to your neck, your eyes slipped shut with almost a sigh as soon as Jon pulled away. Heart longing in your chest to plunge out and reach back for him as you felt him stand.

It almost was intimidating, having nothing to see. Only the sounds of clothes being pulled off, and your nerves festering about as you waited for Jon to do or say anything. Once he may have gently prompted you to move up for him, but by now, Jon had little care for waiting. Climbing in right behind you, Jon grasped at your hips under the hot water and lifted you somewhat up and back into his chest.

Only sitting you back down at his front before one of those hands slipped along the skin. Fingertips tracing along your stomach until laying flat and soothing on your scar. Pulling back for you to rest your head back by his shoulder, as the other hand of his rose up. Resting ever so carefully at the base of your neck only enough to prompt your head to tilt so he could better keep his dark eyes on you.

Your eyes closing as he leaned down to your space, nudging your nose with his before cupping your jaw to keep you there long enough. But only with a tease, a kiss so barley there you may have otherwise imagined it had he not spoken, hot breathe flashing along your skin to follow. “Are you sure you're alright?”

Exhaling deeply, you kept your eyes closed. Unwilling to look at what you knew on him was far too much worry bright in his eyes. For a while he didn't move even as you shifted to face forward once more, just kept you at bay against him in the water before you found a softer voice. “I know you don't like these visions, but you cannot pretend they don't exist. I'm having more of them and more then once it's like we've been in the others dreams when they happen.”

Hands rising up from the water, you slowly moved one along his arm by your neck, before he moved, grasping your hand best he could from that angle. The other resting just along his wrist, should you press your thumb down you'd feel his pulse, every so slightly faster anytime he had you like this. Rasping in your ear, an insecurity hinting in what he said. “We had them before, but it was easier when I thought it was only me. Then I saw you that day, knew you were looking right at me and I know what you thought you saw.”

Not quite relaxing was the word, but certainly using him more for any support you needed to keep as upright as he wanted. “I knew you had every right to move on, we didn't even know if we'd ever see each other again. But, seeing it firsthand was..I only ever had dreams before. That was the first time I saw anything awake like that..so I knew I couldn't pretend it wasn't real.”

He sighed deeply, moving his head down to find your neck almost as if hiding there. Muscles behind you against your back tensed, as did the hand holding yours. Only slightly did you move your head, back a nudge against him almost the way Ghost would do so in his own managing of comfort. The hand on your scar almost tightened enough it didn't pass your notice before he roughly hissed out, “When I came back to Castle Black and Sam told me about you and Robb, I was so mad. At the Lannisters, the Boltons, the Freys, all of them. But I was also so mad you saw that, saw her. I thought you died thinking I didn't love you anymore.”

Lie, a small voice whispered inside you. Lie and comfort him, but would he want that? Would Jon believe you if you did? “I did.” If he could have hidden himself in your neck more, Jon would've managed it. Your grip on his own hand tightened, and hardly a sound would be heard if not mere feet way from you both. “I hated that I would think about you when Ramsay would...” Your eyes slipping shut as your lungs tightened enough it strangled the waters behind your eyes. “I'd think of anything we did all those years ago, and I'd hate it beacuse I knew you had forgotten about me. I didn't even know if you still cared.”

Brows furrowing, Jon raised his head to look at you, a rough drop in his throat as he couldn't decide on feeling angry and offended or horrified at the thought. “I never wanted you to see her. I never wanted you to see any of it. I didn't go to the Wall thinking I'd get over you one day.” If he'd ease up on how tight his arms held you, a temptation swam through your veins asking you to turn around to see him properly. But Jon was stronger and more stubborn then that. “None of the things you've seen, dreams, visions whatever they are, they've never done anything but hurt you. They're still hurting you, only now I have to watch.”

Your whisper was faint against the temperamental way Jon was holding himself back. “And it isn't going to stop.” He was quiet, heavy breaths dancing along your skin at your neck. “They're getting stronger for a reason, Jon. I can't ignore them, I won't.”

“Why?”

Rasping harsh against you, you felt his urge to raise his voice against not wanting you to think he wanted to shout at you. Your hand moving enough in his, to run your thumb just along the back of his hand, a soothing back and forth that didn't help. “I came back for you. Whatever brought me back, did so, for you. To bring you back, fight beside you, and now whatever this is, is happening to me so that I can help you.”

You heard him quite muffled, and too indistinguishable to sense the feeling behind. “I don't care-”

Somehow, your gentle tones were louder then his muffles. “Thoros has the power he does, beacuse he's meant to use it to help Lord Beric. That's his purpose. And I won't ignore that mine is you.” He repeated himself, albeit a bit louder but you fought against the tense hold around your frame. “How much death we're surrounded by, and the only two people who have ever brought someone back to life, are in the same place as the only people who've ever been the ones to come back. But I can't just whisper words and bring the dead back, instead I have whatever this is and if-”

Grip around you tight, Jon pulled from his hold as the edge against your ear raised with his anger, and cracking with something painful unable to hide behind it. “I don't care about any of that.” Jaw clenched as his words hissed in your ear as if offended by every word you had just spoken. “Winter is coming and it isn't going to stop for us to figure out whose special and why. I didn't come back for any fate, I came back beacuse you brought me back. And I don't care about wasting my time figuring out what that means to anyone else. I'm fighting to protect my people, and my family where I couldn't before. Don't ask me to put you at risk just so I can figure out how to stop all of this a little bit faster.”

“Jon-”

Interrupting you, his tone dropped from a yell down to a rasp as his head rested against the side of yours. “You don't matter to me because you could be useful. You matter beacuse I love you, I always have been in love with you, and now that you're my wife you want to sit here and justify to yourself why I do.” Stripping you down to your bare frame, even moreso then the physical one sitting before him, your blood slowed down until it came to a dramatic stop. As did your lungs, no air leaving your slightly parted lips as his grip around you tightened once again. “You're right, I can't stop these visions from happening to you, but don't ask me to help make them worse.”

Pushing up enough, you slightly turned your head to see the curls by your side vision as your breathless ask sounded almost meek in comparison to him. “I'm sorry.” Sighing deeply, Jon almost read your own mind, moving his hands to your hips, prompting you to turn to face him.

Settling you gently in his lap, while one hand cupped your cheek as he sat up to better reach your perched height. His eyes far softer then the grating scold just given to you, bright and wide and so easy to read you could melt. “You were a Queen longer then I've been a King. You've proven yourself enough, let me catch up at least.” A hint of a smile twitched in your lips, but Jon caught every single moment of it. A brighter shine in his own as a gentle smile did fall over his own. “How about, you tell me when you see something, and we handle it then, but not before. I'm protective about you enough.”

Your hands draped along his shoulders, one dancing your fingertips up to scratch gently along the facial hair covering his jaw. Inhaling deeply, you held back the very worry you knew he could sense. Nodding your head, you leaned a bit closer to his warmth. Jon letting the hand on your cheek slink to keep you stable pressed against the top of your spine. “I think the word protective might be underselling yourself a little.”

Expression on him changing none, the same brightness as he used the leverage of his hold to pull you closer. “Choose any other word, but they're all the same thing to me. Winter is getting closer then everyone thinks, and I'm not about to start easing up on how much I want to keep you safe when it gets here.”

Heart was too light, as if it was ready to rise from your chest and fling itself into his possession. Leaving a trail of only need and a lightheadedness in it's wake. “If this is you being obsessed, I can't imagine how you could possibly get any worse.”

A handsome smirk fell over his face, eyes narrowing playfully as he toyed with the hair loose down your back. “Not much of an imagination, you have.” A small laugh left you, telling him that was a given and it only brought out even more of what you adored across him. Such a bright and easy laugh that you would do anything to see and hear the rest of your life.

Slinking to rake through your hair with more of a hold, Jon pulled you down the remaining distance as he leaned up to brush gently against your lips with his. Words coming out as a husk, with his dark eyes almost hooded as he looked to them, down further and back. “Just wait until the day I get to bring you out to our people, and tell them you're the mother of my child. You won't be able to leave my sight then.”

His eyes growing greedier, he no doubt caught the flush travelling up from between your legs, along your chest and spreading across your face as your nails dug into his shoulders more. Something inside your head almost begging you to submit as if it was all you were good for, but you resisted.

He liked when you were patient.

Though, it was unmistakable that he could drift his gaze down and see your bare chest for him heaving just a little more as your breathing grew faster. Only a whisper against what was a beaming shine of confidence in his touch, words and gaze. “Whatever you want.”

Roughly, Jon forced your lips to meet in the middle. Wrapping an arm around your back to pull your lower half in the water firmly against his hips, but keeping your lips right against his at no mercy but what he chose or did not chose to give you. Rough and deep in an instant, Jon just barley felt you pressing against his cock before he bit at your bottom lip.

Hand twisting your hair to serve at his call, Jon ran his tongue along yours and tasted inside of your mouth with a growl forming in his chest. Pulling you down into his kiss as much as he could, the whimper leaving you as already you felt that breathlessness dizzying, which made his cock throb. Hard as he could be and yet if something could make him even harder, it was such an innocent sound contrasted to how he touched you.

Hands tangling in his curls, his own drifted from around your back to forcing your hips up against his with a hand spread roughly across what he could reach of your ass. Fingertips digging into the plush skin, and another whimper much needier this time was gifted into his kiss, forcing another growl in his own chest.

It hadn't been brought up since, but you knew too well Jon was tied between two things. Wanting to sink deep inside your cunt like the wolf he was, and turning you around then and there and reliving how cruel it felt to pound into your ass so roughly. One was an addicted, obsessive instinct that was driven by something far more feral, while the other was something much more perverse and debauched that before him, was something you never would have even considered wanting.

He started so gentle too, but by the end he was so lost in the feeling, so far gone that unlike the Jon you knew, he had all but shoved you onto your hands and knees. Desperately needing the leverage from such a hold to pound his cock inside your ass so roughly that it brought tears, and yet your moans of confusing pleasure to mix with his grunts. Something about how much he let loose that night, something inside of you almost craved it again.

You wanted to be good for Jon, but you also wanted him to use you for what you knew, was a multitude of dark and utterly dishonourable ways he desired to fuck you. Wrapping your arms more around his shoulders and back, Jon grasped your waist to keep your bare breasts pressed against his torso, still not a hint of leaving your lips alone to gasp for air.

Finally as he tore from your lips, swollen and shining both of yours did he press your hips into him even more as he moved to your neck. Biting and licking and sucking a bruise into the now bite dented skin, you knew if he were more selfish he'd have pulled you down onto his cock already. But perhaps, it was for the best.

Considering that the next loud sound to emerge in the room was not from either of you. It was a knock to his chamber door. Pausing, Jon grasped your waist as he pulled back somewhat. Grey eyes almost black as he looked up at you, the innocent, overwhelmed need in your own eyes just made his cock throb between you again.

Then the next knock welcomed itself, along with the guards voice calling out. “Samwell Tarly to speak with you, your grace.”

The grip on you Jon had tightened to the same degree his jaw clenched it was almost funny. Muttering in a low hiss as his eyes peeled from your eyes, down your frame, soaked from the water and perfect for him, “I'm going to kill him.”

If that wasn't enough, the ease in which you let out a high pitched giggle once more, made his cock scream so much more to ravage you. His eyes forced themselves closed likely you knew to calm down his racing heart, a few deep breaths leaving him as well. Your hands gently ran down his curls to tame the more obvious mess you had started to put it in before he collected himself enough.

Surging up, Jon moved you with him, yanking you up and out of the water. Your hands braced against his shoulders to steady yourself as he muttered for you to wait. The cold air chilling against your bare skin enough to shiver by the time Jon returned. Having yanked on pants only enough to cover himself modestly, Jon wrapped something around you. Short and a dark silk like fabric to cover you too just enough.

Many men would have taken it with intimidation. The aggressive and short tempered manner in which Jon yanked the door open enough only he could be seen. “What?”

Sam's head jolted back just a bit. Many emotions scattered across his face as he took in the subsequent scattered scars of fatal nature littered about Jons torso. From an unsettled devastation at what he had never known took place before, to a slow realization of just why Jon had opened his door in such a state of undress when it was entirely unlike him.

“Oh...Oh.” From a short knowing sound, Sam devolved it quickly to that of an exaggerated mocking of pride for what he interrupted. Adding insult to injury, the same mocking as he asked “Bad time?”

It truly was a testament of how close the two men were, the degree to which Jon aggressively wanted to slam the door in his face and Sam taking full advantage of how he knew he wouldn't. “What is it, Sam?”

Waggling his eyebrow a bit, “I don't mean to interrupt, I just thought there was something you should know..but if you're busy..”

A heavy exhale left Jon as he closed his eyes. Words clear, and loud and short he was as controlled as he could be, considered how close he had gotten with you. “It can't wait until tomorrow?”

It was an amusing stand off. Jon, who was too honourable to actually force Sam to go away, and Sam, who was too much like a brother to Jon to give up taking advantage of that for his amusement. “I mean, it isn't life or death at this very moment, but it is important. Though, I suppose you were deep in something rather important as well.”

You had to turn away, covering your mouth to keep the laugh so desperately wanting to slip out from making it all the worse for Jon as it was. “Sam-”

“No, I understand. You're busy. I'll be where I always am if you find the time, if not I can always come back bright and early first thing.” You'd feel bad for how little Jon couldn't catch a break, if it weren't also terribly funny. Judging by the look you shared with Sam as you, once much more modestly dressed, followed Jon out, you both found a new shared activity. Having the innate ability to annoy Jon, with the advantage that he won't lash out for it.

The hand pressed at the small of your back the entire time however, spoke not of affection, but in how much Jon was going to tear everything off of you the second he closed his chambers door once more. A hint of just how roughly he was going to take you for enjoying his suffering, over and over until it was you the one begging for mercy.

Knowing Jon well enough, when his cock was deep inside of you, he had no mercy.

“I was thinking about what you said, about the horn being left for a reason.” Animated in his findings, there were many pages of what he had been transcribing laying about as well, moreso then you had seen that morning. “But I started wondering, what if only certain people can use it. If it's that dangerous then you're right, leaving it in Winterfell seems risky, but what if your ancestors kept it here, because they're the only ones who could use it?”

Brows narrowing, you stood next to Jon, looking over the work scattered about trying to see at the same time anything which way stand out. Jon asking, “Why would they make it so only House Stark can use it?”

“Well, you don't think it takes the Wall down the way everyone says. Maybe it's not for that though, if it took down the Wall it means your ancestors made something that destroys any defences they built themselves. That didn't make sense, so I started to wonder what else it would be used for. But what if it's similar to the way we use the horn at the Wall? What if somehow they used it to communicate something?” Your eyes flickered up, question on both your lips as he elaborated once more. “Think about it, we used a horn to communicate at the Wall, and everything you described makes it sound like they're not unlike us. They have people, ranks, they communicate but we can't with them..what if you're ancestors found a way through whatever this does?”

Nodding a bit, his eyes squinted as he grabbed it from where Sam stood opposite of him. Turning it slightly as you leaned more to his side to look it over. You asking quietly, “How would that end up turning to a story where it destroys the Wall?”

Jon had a quick answer to that. “Same reasons why we know next to nothing about the Long Night. No one's ever translated the runes of the First Men to our written language. So the story gets passed down until there's nothing left to learn from.” Putting it down gently, Jon affirmed they needed to figure out exactly how it works and quickly.

You were quiet, eyes trained on the horn with little more then a mutter. “How can we be sure it's even possible? Doesn't seem like they've tried peaceful negotiation before.” Gently you felt a slightly movement of his hand on your lower back, more of a massaging pressure at the wavering uncertainty in you.

Jons voice more gentle with you on an instant then with Sam, much to the later ones enjoyment. “They understand each other. They talk, even if we can't understand them. Means, they know language the way we do. Even if all they want is to kill us all, I want to know why. I want to know what we're dying to defend against.”

Words fluttered around you, but your eyes were trained on the horn. The bronze around each end with runes carved, you couldn't help but look between four of them. All desperate which did not stand out yet you kept looking at them. The way they were carved almost looked like something you'd seen before even though you couldn't place it.

Eyes drifting up to the papers about his desk, the images passed in your mind. Once only in dreams thought to mean nothing, next in a sight before your eyes not belonging to you but you knew them all the same. Cold and ice and crackling you couldn't stop seeing it and hearing it gathering around you as it went dark until your eyes had opened belonging to you once more.

You had seen it before. Moving quick, you paced around to a better angle of Sams desk as you grabbed paper and ink. The horn and transcribing both, you pulled them to you as Jon called your name in question. Shaking your head to let you think, both watched you looked between all three, penning something into the paper of an image.

“They attacked your brothers at the Fist of the First Men, and when you came across it Jon, you said the horses were scattered around in a symbol?” Asking in quick tones without yet looking up.

Coming around, an arm somewhat across your back as it to keep you between him and the desk as you leaned over it, Jon subsequently leaned over your shoulder. “Mance said that they had left symbols like that before. When they attacked people, some of the bodies get left behind on purpose.” Catching Sam up to speed on what it was he saw that day, leaving out the overwhelming fact that it was in fact that day, that Jon hadn't known if anyone he cared about there survived.

And the fear he felt having to pretend he didn't care in front of them.

You kept drawing, “Another attack on a small group of your rangers, they found a group of free folk they were tracking and found them the same way but in a different form. Like this.” Finally standing up proper, you looked to Jon with wide eyes. “The one you saw did it look anything like either of these?”

Leaning back down, Jon narrowed his eyes before motioning to one of them. “There. The spirals, that's how the horses were mutilated.” Looking to the other before finding your eyes, both of you with something unsure in them that did not hide. “That's what you saw?” You nodded, and Jon tilted his head a bit, hand coming back more along your waist to your back once more as you inhaled deeply.

Nerves coming through you. Looking to Sam, “Do you think you can find out what these symbols put together mean?” But instead of a curiosity, Sam had the same expression.

Only, for a different reason. “I could..but..I've seen those too.” Jons head snapped up to Sam in question, “It wasn't like that, not on any dead bodies..but I've seen those symbols before. In fact I've only ever seen them somewhere very specific.”

As Jon asked where, the answer was very clearly not at all what he was expecting.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER SEVEN

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentions of underage sex work

Words in this chapter: 3,100

Author’s notes: Allegedly, the Dean v. Dean scene from “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” was supposed to be John v. Dean but JDM couldn’t make the schedule work. That got me thinking about how else I could use that pivotal scene in this AU. You’ll see that scene sort of sprinkled throughout this chapter.

Thanks for your patience as I adjust to my new work schedule. I have the next two chapters as well — they just need some marinating and beta-ing.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I do hope he makes it.” Rowena waves as she, Gabe, Dean, and Meg watch Crowley make his way to the exit.

Crowley turns before walking out the door, tossing Rowena a nod before flipping two backward Peace signs to either side of her, effectively telling Dean, Gabe, and Meg to fuck themselves.

“Rude,” Meg murmurs into her coffee as Gabe wraps an arm around Rowena’s slight shoulders.

“Ya know, Ro, statistically, only three-tenths of us make it,” Gabe says. “So it’s better for us if he doesn’t.” 

Meg does a spit take of coffee while Dean barely keeps his own in his mouth to swallow. “Fuckin’ savage, Gabe,” Dean chuckles, slapping Meg on the back. “Breathe through it, sweetheart.”

“That smarmy dick — affectionate,” Gabe pretends to assure Rowena that the insult is meant with the best of intentions, “deserves the very best.” 

Rowena turns and sniffles into Gabe’s embrace.

There’s a lot of affection within their small group. Dean’s stopped questioning the fraternizing rule, though, because Meg does wonders for the tension in his neck and shoulders with her tiny little hands.

“I’m gonna hit the gym. Anybody wanna join? Dean-o?” Meg tosses her empty cup in the garbage before arching and stretching to make her spine pop and crack.

Part of his recovery from addiction and his injuries is structured and supervised exercises. It’s done nothing for his persistent hard-on, but it helps with boredom, anger, and the satisfaction of succeeding at something, even if it’s not much.

Dean turns his back on Gabe and Rowena’s canoodling. “Sounds good. What time?”

“Ten?” Meg claps her hands together enthusiastically. 

“Yep,” Dean answers, dumping his cup into the trash before they go their separate ways — Meg to the women’s sleeping quarters and Dean to the men’s.

It’s been 10 days since the fire. It feels like weeks to Dean. He read once that it takes 21 days to create a habit and 90 to make it stick. He always thought that seemed arbitrary, but he’s starting to believe it because his day-to-day here is quickly becoming routine.  

When he gets to his room, he finds Jack in bed with Red Hood Arsenal Vol. 1, covered in candy wrappers.

Dean arches a brow as he yanks his drawer open. “You ever get outta bed this mornin’?”

“Not really feeling social today,” Jack murmurs, gnawing on a piece of chocolate and nougat. 

Dean digs around for a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt for the gym. “Well, ya should eat somethin’ real before they close the kitchen.”

He shoves the drawer closed before turning to face his roommate.

Jack keeps his eyes on his comic as he replies. “You’ve only been wearing that sign for a day. Have you already forgotten my eating habits are none of your business?”

Dean drops his eyes to the sign around his neck as he tongues the back of his teeth before roughly grinding them.

“Nope. Haven’t forgotten.” His stomach tightens and flips, and his face starts to heat. “Ya know... I just-”

“Still none of your business.”

Jack’s tone, assertive nature, and blunt words make Dean tense. He wants to yell. Yelling relieves tension for him. Punching things also relieves tension, so Dean decides to keep his mouth shut and get dressed to work out, even if he can only punch with one fist right now.

He passes Billie’s office on his way to the gym. Her door’s open, so he pokes his head inside. “Hey.”

She silently and expectantly looks up from her desk, pen frozen in her hand.

“Just...” Dean juts a thumb over his shoulder as he steps fully into the doorway. “Headed to the gym. Thought I’d say hi.”

Billie raises her eyebrows and chin before nodding. “Well, hi.”

Her less-than-enthused response further agitates him. “Man, I’m just pissin’ everybody off today,” he mutters.

“You’re not pissing me off.” Billie carefully sets her pen aside before pushing her chair away from her desk. “Come in, Dean.”

Dean walks inside, feeling rejected. It’s uncomplicated when he thinks about the reality of the last 15 minutes. These people are practically strangers, Jack’s a 17-year-old kid, and Billie’s a fucking shrink so he shouldn’t give a shit what they think. Yet these perceived slights would’ve sent him straight to a bottle of pills or whiskey and searching for pussy outside these walls.

“Your door was open. I just thought I’d say hi instead of just walkin’ by like you don’t exist.” He walks over to her designated visiting area and takes a seat.

“And that’s very kind of you.” Billie settles in one of her chairs across from him.

“So then why’re you just like ‘hi???’ like I’m annoying you,” he asks.

He fully realizes that he sounds like he’s trying to start a fight, but he does nothing to dial it back.

“You’re not annoying me. I wanted to be sure you didn’t need something first.” She pauses. “Did something happen with Jack or Meg?”

Dean shrugs. “Jack acted like I tried to set his stuffed dragon on fire when I reminded him the kitchen was about to close.”

She isn’t making notes right now, which relieves Dean. “Can you expand on that?” 

“Well, he brought up my stupid-ass sign.” He flicks the sign making it flop against his chest ineffectually.

Billie nods, appearing to also curb a smile of amusement, which lightens his shit mood for some reason. “That’s what the sign’s for, Dean.”

He scoffs. “To repeatedly remind me that I’m a pain in the ass?”

Billie narrows her eyes and sighs. “No. The signs serve many purposes, none of which are to remind you that you’re a pain in the ass. They help maintain boundaries and remind everyone to focus on themselves and their own recovery.”

Dean chews the inside of his cheek. “So, if the 17-year-old kid I’m rooming with starves to death, I’m just supposed to keep my eyes on my own prize.”

He’s being dramatic. He knows he’s being dramatic. It’s a great outlet, though, with the absence of his other sorely missed vices.

“First of all,” Billie begins to count her retorts on her fingers, “Jack isn’t going to starve to death-”

“I’ve never seen him eat anything but candy!” Dean cuts her off with exasperation.

“Dean.” Billie drops her hands in her lap.

“Sorry.”

Expressing his frustrations and regrets isn’t something he’s comfortable doing because he never learned to do it any other way than physically fighting, fucking, or getting wasted. That’s not BIllie’s fault; it’s just facts.

Billie calmly begins again. “He will not starve. Nor will he learn to feed and care for himself adequately if we don’t let him figure that out on his own.”

Dean sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Can’t save everybody,” he mutters.

“Correct,” Billie answers. “What else?”

“I need to focus on my own recovery.”

“Yes.”

He brings his gaze back to hers. “Sorry for...” He waves his hand in the air as an explanation. “Barging in, whining...”

“No apologies necessary. You aren’t whining, you have questions. Bucking the system demonstrates healthy curiosity.” Billie peers at him above the tent of her fingers. “You know, some might assume, as a Marine Corps veteran raised by a Marine Corps veteran that you’d follow orders without a second thought. But you don’t.” 

Dean stares back quietly. He and Billie have made progress. He trusts her to do what she says she’s there to do. The problem right now is she’s probing a scab he isn’t willing to expose.

“Well, I got people who look to me for answers — my team, my kid.”

Billie nods. “Yes. And you’ve amassed a group of people here who also see you as a leader, and as a natural leader, it’s important to be mindful of your intentions and of the impression you leave on others.”

“When you say it like that, I feel like a fuckin’ asshole.”

Billie shakes her head. “You’re not an asshole. Go to the gym.” She motions to his outfit as she stands. “During our scheduled session this afternoon, we can talk more about that.”

As he gets up and walks to the door, Dean’s chest feels heavy even as his heart spits and sputters.

The gym doesn’t help clear his mind or calm his anxiety. He’s stuck in the spiral of memories from his last argument with John. 

“I’ve been back for five days, Dad, can I just get my bearings before you start-”

“Your brother is leaving, and you won’t lift a finger to stop it. All you’ve done is whine about how you’re gonna miss him when he leaves!”

“He got a full ride.”

“And you’re gonna what, help him pack?! Came back from that war as mindless and obedient as an attack dog — good soldier and nothin’ else.”

That’s fucking rich, coming from John, who only ever treated Dean like a soldier. Dean learned so much more about life and relationships over there than John ever taught him.

“That’s not true.”

“No? What else ya got, then, kid? Your car? That’s mine. Your favorite leather jacket? Mine. Your music? Mine.”

John’s ever-panning searchlight of fury has all but lost Sam and is fully focused on Dean. While Dean doesn’t love being under his dad’s scrutiny, he hopes that his presence buys Sam a few more minutes to get his shit together and get out.

“Your entire fuckin’ personality is me and that kid brother of yours.”

Dean’s slumped against the living room wall with his dad looming over him, red-faced, sweating, and spitting rage.

“You’re fuckin’ obsessed with keeping us here. Sam was built for somethin’ better-”

“I’m obsessed?” John rapidly blinks, clutching his left arm. “How the fuck did you handle not havin’ little Sammy on your heels in Afghanistan? You got nothin’ outside of this family, and you know it.”

“You’re fuckin’ drunk and high.” Dean shakes his head and pushes away from the wall. “You need to sit down.”

“Listen here, you ungrateful little shit-”

“Yell all you want, I’m still leaving!” Sam strides into the living room, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

Dean takes a step forward, and John takes a step back.

“All that shit you dumped on me about protecting Sam? That was your shit.” He pokes a finger into John’s chest. “You’re the one who couldn’t protect your family, and now that we’re adults with our own fucking lives, you can’t handle it.”

“Keep talkin’, asshole.” John is panting heavily, and his face is turning darker red. “You think you know what it’s like to raise a kid-”

“Yeah! I do!” Dean walks John right back to the couch where John drops to sit. “You were never fucking here for Sam, I always was. All you ever did was train me, boss me around — Daddy’s blunt little instrument — I was never your kid.” 

“Oh, please...” John groans, his words slurring as he squeezes his arm harder and he drops his chin to his chest.

“But Sam... Sam you doted on. And now he’s leaving. Talk about what’re you gonna do now, huh? What’re you gonna do, John?”

“Dean...” Sam’s voice is hollow.

“Geez, what happened to you between finally gettin’ rid of that cranky old queen and now?” Meg asks.

Dean breathes and grits his teeth as he mentally counts his wall push-ups. “It’s a whole thing.”

He doesn’t want to get into John with Meg. Not right now. The thought of getting into his history with his dad at all makes him feel like jumping out the window.

Meg furrows her brow and nods. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Dean shoots her a look, thinking she’s teasing him. What he finds when he really takes her in, though, is so raw and delicate that he can barely stand to look at her. 

“Yeah, I’m my own worst nightmare.” He completes his wall exercises and eases to the floor for the rest.

“Don’t do that,” Meg says. She stands over him with her hands on her hips.

Dean tosses his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m kidding. OK?” He starts his hip stretches and the pain carries a signal of satisfaction and success to his brain.

“No, you aren’t.”

Dean groans at the stretch. “What’s with you? This is our thing. The self-deprecation thing.”

Meg sighs and drops to the floor beside him to do some of her own exercises. “Dean, you’re one of our 2.1.”

Dean shakes his head. “What?”

“I did the math; three-tenths of seven is 2.1.”

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes so hard they take his whole body with them. “Are we including Crowley in that seven?” He goes back to carefully lifting and stretching his hips.

“Yeah... better odds for the rest of us that way.” Meg twists her spine so she’s facing Dean with her knees pointing in the opposite direction.

Dean snorts, and Meg chuckles as they watch each other try to get better.

Then her face softens as well as her voice. “You’re gonna make it, Dean. Because you’re a fuckin’ badass.” 

Dean swallows back a lump from trying to form in his throat. 

“You’re here because of a blip.” She rolls her watery eyes. “You are better than this. You’ll come out on the other side stronger because you’re already so strong.”

Dean draws a shallow, shaking breath. “And what about you?” He’s almost afraid to ask, but she doesn’t disappoint.

Meg smirks. “I figured out one thing about this world — just one.” She twists back to lie flat on her back, looking up at the ceiling as she pulls each knee into her chest. “You find a cause, and you serve it. Give yourself over, and it orders your life.”

Dean nods, rolling to his side. “Sex work and heroin didn’t give you the kinda order you wanted?”

Meg chuckles and switches knees. “At one time, my pimp’s mission was it for me. But things change, right? We learn, we grow... Now?” She turns her head to look at him again. “My cause is getting sober.”

Dean purses his lips. “So you and I’re the lucky two?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He wishes her insistence that he’s so strong made him feel that way. Instead, he feels like there’s a light shining on his weaknesses. If there was a way for him to be all the good things people claim to know about him and nothing else, maybe he could finally stop hearing his dead dad’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him that he’s worthless. 

“We’ve been here for over an hour.” Meg sighs then rolls away from him, to her side, and up onto her hands and knees. “Let’s go eat and chain-smoke before group.”

She hops to her feet before reaching out a hand to help Dean up. He smiles softly before accepting her offer.

“Do you feel akin to Jack?” Billie asks.

It’s their scheduled session in the afternoon. Dean is exhausted. There’s so much talking and listening and correcting — yourself and others.

“I’m old enough to be the kid’s dad, so I guess? Things’re different than they used to be.” Dean shrugs.

“For who?”

Dean drops his head to the back of the chair and sighs. 

“You’ve had a long day, I know,” Billie says, and Dean rolls his head to the side and peeks at her with one eye. 

“Therapy and recovery aren’t quick and easy.” Billie shakes her head. “If they were, everybody’d do it. Right?”

Dean snorts. “I guess.” He sighs again, this time much less dramatically, then sits up straight in his chair. He clears his throat before moving forward with what he knows he has to talk about.

“Sometimes… we didn’t have what we needed— Sam and I— because Dad was... whatever and wherever, and I did things. For people.”

Billie nods.

Dean is surprised to find her unsurprised by his confession. He thought his juvenile records would be sealed no matter what. Maybe she just knows because she’s a brain doctor.

“I wasn’t a hooker.” 

“OK.”

“I just did what I had to do.”

“I understand.”

“Like the time I stole bread and peanut butter from the 7-Eleven and got thrown into a boys’ home.”

Billie nods.

“And the time I let the PTA president suck my dick for dinner five nights a week for Sam and me.”

Billie narrows her eyes slightly, still listening, still not taking notes.

“Or an extra hundred in cash for clothes for the kid who grew outta mine the second he turned 16 just to let the guy on the corner watch me eat out his wife.”

Dean wipes at his nose and then looks out Billie’s windows. 

“Thank you for telling me, Dean.”

Dean nods and swings his gaze back to Billie. “It’s just... Meg says I’m this badass, gonna pass outta here with flying colors, and Jack... thinks I’m a nag.”

Billie bobs and shakes her head. “No one’s just one thing.”

“Are we having the ‘not everyone is thinking about you all the time’ conversation?”

Billie smiles. “While you were your little brother’s hero, you were someone else’s prey.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, and he looks out the windows again. 

“While your daughter sat broken-hearted on one side of town, you single-handedly carried Cyrus Styne to safety.”

Dean closes his eyes and lets a tear roll down his cheek. “So what’s in between?”

“It’s not about other people’s perceptions.”

Before looking back at her, Dean drags his hand over his face. “Then what’s it about?”

“You had to eat and care for your brother, right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“What about Emma?”

Dean flicks his gaze up to Billie’s. 

“Do you see a likeness between Emma and the teenage boy you saved from her high school?”

Dean smirks. “Besides the fact that was her high school?”

Billie smiles and nods. “Besides that.”

“You think I’m avoiding her.”

Billie tilts her head. “Are you?”

“Dean. Hi. How are you?”

“Hey, Lydia. I’m... OK. Is Em around? She blocked me on her phone. I really need to talk to her.”

Lydia is quiet on the other end of the line for a beat. “Just a minute, OK?”

Dean watches the clock on the wall above the phone tick by almost a full 60 seconds before Lydia’s phone is unmuted. There’s a bit of muffled shuffling at first, then...

“Hi, Daddy.”

Chapter 8 

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

"Happy Birthday to you, doll!"

A very lovely, lovely birthday to my dear friend @itsmalachitenow, featuring her two favorite batman rogues Scarecrow and Mad Hatter! She's one of my favorite people in the world, so please join me in wishing her a wonderful day. As a note this is very personalized with her self insert Lyric Adagio.

TW: NSFW 🔞, dollplay, oral, penetration, hypnosis, plot with porn, x self insert

That morning when Lyric Adagio woke up, she noticed the large bed she shared with her two lovers was empty. Did they both get up without her? A pleasant smile played on her face. They probably wanted to let her sleep, given today was her special day. Despite what anyone else might think, her boys did treat her so well. 

In the other room she could hear the whistle of the Mad Hatter's teapot and smell pumpkin pancakes on the stove. Oh, they were definitely setting up for her birthday. Jonathan Crane, also known as the Scarecrow, made the best pancakes. Perfectly fluffy and the pumpkin was deeply comforting. She stretched out her arms and yawned. 

The cold of the hardwood floor under her feet gave her just enough jolt to look around. Next to the bed was a pill organizer and a bottle of water, which she quickly used to wash down medication for the morning. 

Their home… an eclectic and almost haphazard mix of three different aesthetics. Alice in Wonderland motifs galore, along with video game and movie merchandise and somehow the occasional glimpses of the Southern Gothic. It worked for them. It made her smile every morning, a constant reminder of their presence even when they had to be apart. 

Not today, however. This whole weekend was going to be all about her. A planned dinner out with her loved ones and friends and the rest of the time? Private time to two of the most infamous of the Rogues Gallery, all to herself. 

As she entered the kitchen and dining area, she could see Jon finishing off pancakes in a pile and a thing of bacon about to be put on. Jervis was pouring tea in three separate cups at the table, a grin on his face as he spotted her. 

The moment the kettle was set down, he was running to her and twirling her around. His voice rang out sing-song, "Aaaaaa very happy birthday to you!"

"To me?" Lyric giggled.

"To you!" He stopped just short so she could get her breath, "Oh Alice, I'm so pleased we get to celebrate yet another year of you… existing!"

"Hm?" Jon called out in monotone, yet a smile played on his face, "Is today some sort of special day?"

"Pooh-pooh, Marchie!" Jervis blew out his cheeks in protest, "You know perfect-ly well! None of us are exempt from the time spell."

"And now you're rhyming." He flips the last pancake onto the side plate. 

Lyric was practically jumping on her toes, "Aw, but Jon, my heart is in a swell! You know that's his cutest tell. He can't be the Mad Hatter and rest just on his laurels!" 

Jervis couldn't help the giggle that came from his throat, clapping his hands in delight, "Very good, Alice!"

Jon quickly turned, spatula in hand, "Don't you encourage him! …happy birthday, my dear." The mock frustration on his face quickly melted away to a warm smile. He held his arms out to her as she approached. 

"Did you take your morning medication?" Jon asks as she leans in for a kiss on his cheek. 

She grins, "Yeah, Doc, I did." There's an amused chuckle in response. The first time she had gotten discombobulated from forgetting night or morning medication, Jon took it upon himself to ask when he was home. It was one of several subtle ways he told her how much he loved her. 

Another was the way he would make her plate to always include a tad extra food, even if she wasn't going to eat it. He knew what it was like to have food scarce or kept away from you. It was a feeling he'd never wish on someone else. And so, his loved ones would always have more than enough. 

Jervis sat in the seat across the table from her, chin in his hands and his tongue sticking out just a tad, "There's already milk on the table. I know what you like!" And she'll watch as he puts far too much sugar and cream into his. Though… hers isn't much better. 

"The reservations are clear for tomorrow night, by the way." Jon called above the sizzle of bacon, "And everyone cleared their schedules." It made him happy to say it. Just for you, dear. They all want to be with you on your day. 

"Even-"

"Even the Cheshire Cat, yes!" Jervis interrupts.

Lyric mixes her tea and comments, "Oh man, I thought Edward was going to be out of town?" 

"He was until he heard he got his dates mixed up. You know how that man is with dates." Jon rolls his eyes and jokes, "The illustrious Riddler- the genius Riddler- amazing at everything he touches but can't be bothered to keep track of the days when he hyper focuses on his work." The only time that man ever paid attention was when he was forced to- like in Arkham. 

Lyric smiles. He canceled plans? The others really do all like her. She tries not to cry into her cup of tea. It took a minute for the rest of them to warm up, but… old friends and new friends and her parents. All together. 

"I'm so happy." She sighed, "The only thing is that's gonna be so many spoons."

"Which is why today is about relaxing, pet!" Jervis cooed, "No flare-ups on our watch!" 

Lyric felt her shoulders relax as Jon put a plate of food in front of her. He sat down between them, briefly bowed his head and then started to eat. She wondered briefly if this meant they weren't going to do anything today. Which was fine, she understood why, but… she was rather hoping they were going to do something, even if it was small. 

Jon, as if sensing this, had a sly smile on his face, "I think we should open presents after."

"Presents?" Jervis and Lyric both chattered. 

"Wait, why are you excited?" Lyric asked. 

"Because, dear Alice…" Jervis grinned, "I know what your present is." The look on his face sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. 

A nervous laugh, "I am excited but also afraid!" 

"All I could ever hope for, dearest." Jon flirts.  

Certainly, it gave her reason to finish up breakfast, tea, and then brush her teeth. Get situated on the couch in their modest living room to wait for her presents. Midnight, the taxidermied crow, watched with glass eyes from a nearby bookshelf. There was that sparkle in her eyes that attracted them both at the various times they first met. That wonder she met the world with. 

Jervis stood there with a larger set of boxes in his arms, meticulously wrapped with hand-tied bows. Meanwhile Crane dug into a nearby cabinet, moving various things out of his way to pull out a bundle- book shaped and wrapped in newspaper and twine. Jervis made a movement with his hand for Jonathan to go first. 

“Age before beauty.” Jervis jokes. 

Jon sniped, “Where in the world did you even hear that? One of your reality shows?”

“I do not WATCH-” If Jervis hadn’t been holding things, his hands would have gone to his hips. 

Satisfied with the reaction he managed to get, Jon handed the bundle to Lyric, “You said how much you like hand-made gifts. Both of us decided to partly do that this year.” 

Trying to stifle a laugh at their banter, Lyric took the present in her hands, delicately pulling away the twine in her lap. As the newspaper fell away, she could see a leather bound book, the binder sewn by hand. The binding was thick and sturdy, obviously recycled. As she flipped through, she realized these pages were of perfect quality for sketching. 

Her eyes were wide, “You made me a new sketchbook?!” She was quick to get up and wrap her arms over Jon, the book tight in her hands. 

“It was a new venture, certainly,” He kissed the top of her head, “I managed to purchase some inks as well that I think you’ll have fun experimenting with. Either for writing or sketching.” Out of her line of sight, he gave a thumbs up to Jervis, who began lining up his presents along the living room table. He grabbed up the newspaper to toss to the floor for now. 

As Lyric turned back around, she looked over the boxes with curiosity, “Is this where I should be scared?”

“Positively frightened.” Jon learned to whisper in her ear, hand on her shoulder. The tickle of air on her ear made her shiver. 

Biting her lip, Lyric sat down in front of them, and Jervis plopped down on the couch next to her. Jon managed to slink his way behind them, with his lanky arms draped over the back. She went to the smaller boxes first- ribbons for her hair, stockings, some very comfortable but still sensual lingerie… And a pair of women’s oxford shoes. Lace up, black and white with a small chunky heel. 

She knows what’s in the largest box. 

Jervis is positively brimming with anticipation next to her, “You’re going to relax today- We had just the thing! Doll you up… and put you on a string.” There’s a dark tone to his voice, not playful like he normally would be. It’s sultry, inviting. She can feel him edging closer to her. 

The box opens and her hands immediately go to the soft fabric of a blue-green dress. She’s careful not to grab at it in a way that’ll wrinkle it. Jervis wordlessly assists to stand and take it out to show her. 

“Jervis… It’s beautiful.” She sighs, smiling at all the details. There’s cotton lace patterns along the bottom and accent edges, poofy skirts and frilly long sleeves. When he turns it around, she sees the faux ties in the back hiding a zipper to ease her way into wearing it. A lovely combination of her tastes and sensible fashion for her body. For a moment her eyes close as she pictures herself wearing it. She can feel Jonathan weaving his fingers lightly through the hanging strands of her hair. 

His voice is lower, more graveled, “Shall we begin treatment?” She recognizes it. It’s the voice he wears when he dons the Scarecrow mask. Unfortunately for her, it’s also a weakness in which he’s keenly aware of. 

“How do you want to do this, dear?” Jervis licks his lips as he asks, “With assistance?”

Lyric thought about it for a brief moment. She knows why he’s asking. Whenever he used any of his skills and devices of the mind, he always managed to whisper in her ear that her muscles felt light, like air. It allowed movement and positioning that normally would leave her aching afterwards. Yet he would never just assume she wanted to be put even slightly under without asking first. It showed how their relationship had developed over time the longer they’d been together. 

She nodded, “Just a little.” One of her eyes winked and she made a motion with her fingers indicating a small amount. Jon’s hands went flat over her shoulder in reassurance. 

Jervis, even in his casual wear, kept a pocket watch on him at all times. Just in case. Gold, with an engraving of the white rabbit from the original book illustrations of Alice in Wonderland on the back. This particular watch was an anniversary gift from her. The moment it was opened and she saw the black and white of numbers, and could hear the ticking of the second hand- her mind already began to relax. 

“Oh, Alice, dear Alice…” Jervis cooed, “We’re sure to find something to fit your palate. Relax and we’ll tell those muscles to mollify- Any pain you feel we will therefore nullify.” Immediately Lyric feels any tenseness in her muscles wash away like water on the beach. 

The smile on her face was soft and happy, “That feels nice, thank you.” It was through dedicated practice that it was effective this quickly. At this point she practically hopped and skipped over extra steps with grace. 

“What a pretty little doll we’ve found.” Jon’s voice has gotten close to her ear, helping tilt her chin with his hand. 

Jervis compliments, “Yes… But we simply must dress her in something more fitting, don’t you agree? This simply won’t do!” 

Lyric could feel the flush go to her cheeks and ears as they spoke. Trying to “behave” and not break the character. The Mad Hatter stood in front of her, holding out his hands for her to grasp so she could be pulled to her feet. Her feet were slightly shaky from being too relaxed, something Jon helped to manage by swiftly moving from behind the couch to her side. 

“Thank you.” She said, getting her balance, “It’s… been so long since someone has found me-” 

Jonathan smooths a palm over her cheek and laid a soft kiss on her lips, “Shhh… You’re alright now, dear. Nothing can hurt you now that you’re ours.” 

“Yours?” Lyric asked. 

“Oh, yes!” Jervis added, “Completely ours in every way! Let’s start with this shirt-” Giggling with excitement, Jervis moves to pull the young woman's shirt up over her head while Jonathan holds her by the waist. Her nipples perk with the cold air, which he moves to fix with his hands massaging over her breasts. His mouth opens to kiss her on the mouth, his tongue moving to taste her. 

“Patience.” Scarecrow reminds them both, “We’ve barely just begun.” 

The other man is clearing his throat, “Y-yes, quite!” 

The trio of them grinning and smiling, they guide Lyric to the bedroom, laying her softly on the bed. Jonathan unceremoniously pulls off her pajama bottoms and presses himself between her knees. Staring down at her. Observing her reactions. He thinks how beautiful she is with her hair splayed around her head. The warmth in her eyes. Softly he grasps her hands to help her sit up as Jervis brings in the stack of present boxes for them to go through. She can’t help but lean in closer to a clothed Scarecrow for warmth. His arms wrap around her back and shoulders as their partner sets up the “game.” 

“Hmmm you’re so cute like this.” Jonathan whispers, “So difficult to wrap our doll up when we could have you just… like this...” 

Now it’s Jervis tutting them, “Patience! Here, love.” His movements are slow as he slips white lacy underwear up her legs. Lyric pulls herself up on his shoulders so they can be pulled up over her hips. The light brushing of Jervis’s thumb and she realizes the underwear has no crotch, thin straps on either side of her pussy leaving her showing. She whimpers but tries to keep still as they pull over a matching sheer bralette on her top. Jonathan went to tweak her nipples as he felt the fabric. 

“This one is perfect.” He says to Jervis, “She looks like an angel.” 

Jervis sighs dreamily, “Isn’t she, though?” 

At that she couldn’t help but give a nervous laugh and look down at the bed. It wasn’t new things they were saying, but… every time they did, she felt so special. Jonathan grasped her chin in his fingers to look at him and to kiss him, Jervis kneeling onto the ground with stockings. Lyric couldn’t help but gasp at Jonathan's mouth as their third began laying kisses over her thighs, her knees, her calf- Soft cotton easing its way up one leg and then the other. When she could look down, she saw a looping blue ribbon accenting the top of them, just underneath the frills. 

Jonathan helped to straighten the fabric over her thigh and ghosted his face along her jawline, “Pretty as a pinup.” His statement was followed by a dry laugh. There’s definitely a box somewhere with scintillating photos of her that he snuck in during stays at Arkham. He helped her lean on him to get to her feet, both men staring her over. 

Jervis takes the opportunity to grasp her in his arms and kiss her rapidly over her neck and shoulders to the point of having her laugh. His fingers crept down just above her pussy, teasing but not quite touching her clit. Her soft moans echoed in the room as Jonathan unzipped the dress and loosened the ties so she could step in. Jervis almost pouted, no longer having the easy access as he had to back away. The colorful fabric skirt slipped over her waist, poofing out over her hips. As the sleeves fit over her arms, the look was almost complete- She looked like a fairy tale princess. One of the harder parts of this sort of play besides the sexual tension was they always made her wait to see the whole thing until it was done. 

“My lady,” Jervis held her shoes in front of her as Jonathan finished tying the dress in the back. He couldn’t help but kiss her leg again as she stepped in and he tied the laces. 

Jonathan kisses the side of her neck, pulling her hair away, “Dolls are to be cherished and loved, isn’t that what you said Jervis?” 

A soft giggle as he stands, patting his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve said that many times! I’ve always wanted one to pamper… We’re almost done dressing up.” He motions with his hand towards the mirrored vanity in the room. It was antique, something the boys found for this exact sort of scenario. 

It was here they sat her down on the small bench in front of it, facing away from the mirror, hands pulling her hair away from her face. Soft brushes that felt like silk glided over her cheeks to apply blush. Jonathan's wiry fingers dabbed on lipstick slowly to match the curve of her mouth. He moved behind her to tenderly brush her hair as Jervis applied a dab of nude eyeshadow to the corners of her eyes. She was getting the full treatment today and she knew it was their way of truly making the day all about her. A ribbon weaved through her hair behind her ears and was tied in a bow atop her head, completing the look. 

As her eyes glimmered, Lyric was slightly turned around on the bench until she was looking directly in the mirror and able to see herself clearly. She could hardly contain her excitement at the view in front of her. With a slight wobble, she managed to stand up on her own two feet to see the entirety of what they had done. Her hands went to the skirts and swayed them back and forth. 

“I think she likes it.” Jonathan said, his finger crooking into one of the ribbons in the back of the dress. 

Jervis went to tilt her head up, “I think so too! But now what shall we do? We’ve brought our doll home… we’ve dressed her up-” 

“I was thinking something of a reward. For us.” The Scarecrow began to circle her, “And surely we can pamper her in other ways.” 

Lyric’s knees pressed together where they couldn’t see. Something about it- the way they talked about her like she wasn’t in the room, listening to everything. She knew what came next. Her body practically leaned into Jervis as his hand went to the small of her back and his lips found its spot in the crook of her neck. 

“Well doll?” Jonathan’s brow queried, “Why don’t you show us how else we could pamper you?”

The young woman’s hands shook as she grasped the fabric of the skirts in her hands, trying to remain cool and collected even as Jervis dragged his tongue along her skin. With a shaking breath, she lifted the dress in its front just high enough to see her wet pussy on display. Just as she could see Jonathan lick his lips in a crass gesture at her, she suddenly felt Jervis move one of his hands to paw at her between her legs. Not quite pressing in, his thumb moving gingerly over her clit as his fingers explored between her slit. She grasped onto his arm for anchor as she moaned. The skirts fell over to hide his hand, but he continued. 

Jonathan clicked his tongue, “I was still looking at that, doll. Don’t you want to please me as well? Or is your brain too clouded with pleasure to think of much else?”

Before she could answer, Jervis plied a finger inside of her and his teeth grazed into her shoulder. Her voice came out choking, “Yes- I- I-” Her hips moved in time with Jervis’s ministrations, the anticipation bringing her ever higher. The scarecrow assisted by first yanking the skirt up to put in her hand- Then he took her lips to his to overwhelm her. Every moan and whimper she gave him just made him harder through his pants. 

As his body brushed against hers, she could feel it against her bare skin. For a moment she wondered how this was going to go before Jonathan suddenly backed off. 

“I think Jervis should have you first.” There was a smile on his face she didn’t quite trust. 

Yet, Jervis, panting hard against her skin, agreed, “Yes, yes, don’t you fret, you’ll have your turn soon enough yet. I want to taste our pet.” And with that he and Lyric went to the bed, him remaining clothed as he pushed her to fall on her back on the plush comforter. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyric could see Jonathan setting himself to sit one leg over his other crossed on the vanity bench. Staring. A closed mouth smile betraying how much he was getting off on this. The Mad Hatter was quick to push Lyric’s skirts back up and press her legs apart with his hands. With a moan, he went to kiss her thighs before moving to her pussy and diving right in with tongue. She couldn’t help but weave her hands and fingers into his hair as he tasted her right to the core. 

It didn’t last long as his face peeked up over the fabric of her clothes, “Oh Alice, you taste delightful- I just know you’re going to feel even better…” She could hear him unzipping his pants and a groan of relief at what she assumed was him taking out his cock. 

He managed to wiggle himself above her, kissing her on the lips, “See how good you taste? So delectable-” His cock lined up and pressed inside her aching cunt. He was average at most in length, but there was a thickness to him that always stretched her out just a little at first. 

Not to mention the fervor in which he’d thrust up into her hips, always making sure they meet at the hilt no matter how he rushes. Like she’s the only person he could ever want. His hand pressed down over hers, holding them above her head by the wrist as his other balanced his weight. 

“You feel so good, Alice- so… Just like I always-” All the foreplay leading up to now had him plenty wound up. 

She managed to twist her hips up to meet him so he’d go deeper. A shiver went up her back, and she whimpered, “Please don’t stop, Jervis- Don’t let go.” 

Seeing the sweetness of her face as she begged almost made him cum then and there. Yet Jervis knew he had to rein himself in, thrusting just a little slower to make himself last longer. As Lyric looks over to Jonathan, she can see he’s no longer sitting on the bench. Likely somewhere else in the room, watching. Normally, Jervis would be the volunteer to be a creepy voyeur for his enjoyment. Feeling his eyes on her was enough, Lyric could feel herself building to that first orgasm. 

“I’m almost- Jervis!” She moaned as Jervis kissed her again, moving faster to stimulate her with his cock. With a grunt, he came, pressing in deep for just a moment before he kept going- Panting and practically unable to speak as he went. She could feel that warmth of his cum inside of her slipping out. 

“Mine, mine, mine-” He murmured, “You’re all mine-” Almost like a prayer on his lips to keep him going despite his own overstimulation. 

With an arch in her back, Lyric came over his cock, her wrists pressing hard against his hand. Thankfully, he was just that little bit stronger, a wide grin on his face as he watched her face contort in ecstasy. Then he lifted himself off of her with a kiss to the cheek. He was going to clean up while Jonathan had his fun. Just before Lyric could wonder where he was, a fully nude Crane was pulling her up into his lap. She was so malleable like this- something he took advantage of as he positioned her over his cock. 

His voice was rich as he growled, “And now you’re all mine. Just what am I to do with such a pretty little thing?” Before she could answer, he began to press her hips and pussy down over him- thankfully only half way at first. He was thinner, but longer. Just enough that pressing her all the way down in the initial stroke would be cruel. 

He lifted her, despite her agonized moans, “T-too much- S… Sensitive-” Yet he continued, knowing she was fully aware of their safeword or colors if it all got to be too much. 

“I think you should be able to take both your masters' cocks in one sitting-” Jonathan chastised, “Perhaps next time we’ll even do both. This body is ours. You belong to us, beautiful doll.” 

He’d been stroking himself off in the dark as he’d watched, pre-cum already lining his shaft. Mixing with Lyrics slick and Jervis’s cum inside of her. There could be something witty to be said about it, if he wasn’t so focused on trying to hit all of her sweet spots. Slow, methodical and agonizing was the way to drag out her pleasure like this. That with some choice verbiage and the tender way he held her midsection as he thrust all the way into her, was nearing her at another edge. 

Jervis sat in front of her on the bed, head in hands as he stared at her lovingly. Helping pull the dress out of the way as her face flushed and she seemed to lose any possibility of praise or banter. Just crying out as Jonathan played with her clit with each even stroke. 

“Our perfect doll…” Jervis cooed, petting her cheek. 

All of it was too much- Lyrics second and final orgasm hit her like a large wave in the ocean, trickling out to smaller waves as she panted out her release. Jonathan held her there for a moment before lifting her off and handing her to Jervis to cuddle into as she came down. Grabbing a nearby tissue from a box, he jerked himself off to completion, hand on her arm to keep his mind on track. He could have kept going inside of her, but he figured she had been pressed far enough for one session. 

He put his cock away after some quick cleaning and settled in behind her on the bed, his arms going across her waist. Kissing the back of her shoulder. 

“Was that good?” Jervis asked, “A pleasant present for our dearest? You are now… fully awake, my control is no longer a suppressant.” He gave a small clap for good measure, pulling out the watch for her to hear the ticking. 

With the weight back in her body, Lyric painted, “So good. Better than good. That was… That was fucking amazing.” She was almost breathless but laughing all the same. The smile on her face made Jervis feel so warm. 

Jonathan’s voice was quiet in comparison, “Happy Birthday, darling. Do you want to clean up or sit here for a minute?” They would have to apply some aftercare, but it could wait for her to process. 

“I’m tired…” She said before moving her leg and wincing, “Actually, clean up. Is that okay?”

“More than okay!” Jervis sat up, “We’ll get you all cleaned up! And this dress will have to be cleaned too.” There was a knowing smile on his face as he said it. 

The aftercare was a calming haze of motions from helping her undress and getting her in a bath to her having fresh water and pain medication on hand after (just in case). Her fuzziest and most comfortable pajamas ready for her to put on. A small collection of Vincent Price horror movies for them to watch as she sat in a blanket huddling between them. Soft reminders that they love her and care about her and consistently asking if she needs anything else. 

“Don’t hesitate to ask.” Jon says as he kisses her softly on her head. 

At first she takes out her new sketchbook and makes doodles of the two men next to her. Yet Jonathan could see the two of them with droopy eyes in weariness. They both end up convincing him to move to the middle and then napping on him in the middle of “Theater of Blood.” A soft sigh and smile. He wouldn’t have it any other way. His hands on both of them to keep them closer. 

[itisaterriblelove]

I STARED AT MY PHONE like I could force the text message on the screen to change. Jemma must have noticed because she shoved her plate of chocolate chip cookies under my nose with a bright smile. And if Jemma had noticed the look on my face then it must have been totally obvious. Because Jemma Moss, while one of the kindest people I had ever known in my life, wasn’t exactly big on picking up on emotional cues. 

“You look hungry,” she announced, voice overly bright. I absolutely wasn’t hungry; actually, I’d just completely lost my appetite, so I shook my head in denial. “Eat one,” she persisted anyway, nodding her head encouragingly. “The secret is I make them with peanut butter instead of batter, so they’re delicious, I promise!”

I’d been telling her for a year now that she really needed to open up a bakery. I had every confidence that they were fantastic. I also suspected they would taste like ash to me right now. I sighed.

“No thanks, Jemma,” I shook my head at her and motioned to my phone. “I have dinner with my family in a bit. Gavin just canceled.” I would have asked Jemma if she wanted to come along—actually it was on the tip of my tongue to do just that—but she was kind of weird about family engagements. Any time I’d ever asked her before she refused and then started talking about ducks.

Ducks were her go-to topic whenever she was uncomfortable. I’d learned that in the last few months, since we’d become friends.

Jemma Moss was the only person I’d ever met who appreciated waffles and whipped cream as much as I did. And besides that, she hung out with DK Stewart a lot, who happened to be Gavin’s best friend. Well, Gavin’s second best friend, obviously, because I was Gavin’s best best friend. And we all knew it.

There was also the little suspicion I had that Jemma was as in love with DK as I was with Gavin, which put us in similar emotional turmoil. And it was nice to have company in my misery. Even company that talked about how cute ducks were when they waddled whenever I mentioned anything about unrequited love. Jemma didn’t do conversations about love.

Which was why I only said, “Gavin’s been canceling on me a lot lately.”

Jemma nodded because she already knew this. “He must be spending a lot of time with Tyler.” I knew she didn’t say it to be cruel, that it was just kind of how Jemma was, but I still felt a little tinge of annoyance at her because of it. I picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.

She was right, it was delicious. It practically melted in my mouth.

Jemma grinned at me and walked around the breakfast bar to open up her fridge. She pulled out a carton of milk and poured me a glass.

“What I need,” I told her, inspiration suddenly striking me as I picked up the glass and took a sip. “Is a boyfriend.” My heart skipped a beat at the thought. All this time, I had kept thinking that if I waited for Gavin long enough he would finally realize what was right in front of him and come around. But maybe I’d just been fooling myself. 

Maybe he would never see me like I wanted him to; maybe we were better off as friends.

I’d thrown so many hints his way and all he’d done was go from girl to girl, ignoring me at every turn. And now he was even putting his girlfriend before me, which had never happened before. I didn’t like it.

Jemma crinkled her nose, leaning her elbows against the counter separating us. “But what about Gavin?”

I stared at her. “He’s with Tyler…” I sort of loved the way Jemma always pretended that Gavin and Tyler were no big deal. But right now it just wasn’t helpful.

Jemma shrugged. “Won’t he be mad if you get a boyfriend?” 

“No, Jemma,” I sighed. “That’s the problem.” The look she shot me seemed to say she didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Did Jemma know something that I didn’t know? I waited for her to elaborate, but she just picked up one of the cookies and started eating it.

She chewed in silence for way too long before—finally!—adding, “He was mad at me that time I gave you a friendship bracelet.” She licked her lips and poured herself a glass of milk too, before putting the carton away. “Seems to me a boyfriend is way worse.”

“He was jealous because I was spending so much time with you,” I said it slowly, like maybe that would help her get it. To really see how friendships and relationships were not the same thing. But even as I heard the words coming out of my mouth, Jemma’s point really sank home.

If he was jealous of my friends, wouldn’t it make sense for Gavin to be apoplectic about a boyfriend?

I hadn’t had one in so many years, because all I ever thought about was him. And most guys were not cool with the way that Gavin and I hung out. Most girls weren’t, either, to be honest. But Gavin always seemed to manage to find the ones that were.

“You know what, Jem?” I beamed at her. “I think we should go out tonight.” 

She wrinkled her forehead, finishing off her cookie with a confused look. “I thought you had dinner with your family?” 

I waved that away. “I’m not feeling that tonight. Tonight I’m feeling Blacklight and colorful margaritas!” Blacklight was the only bar in town, and I was finally old enough to use my real ID there. It was about time I utilized that.

I was tired of thinking about Gavin, or other guys, or any other drama. I just wanted to go out and have a good time. And if I happened to meet someone who wasn’t Gavin, who gave me the same goosebumps, then thank the Lord for miracles.

“What do you say? You want to be my partner in crime tonight?” 

If there was one thing I knew, it was that I could definitely have a good time with Jemma Moss.

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[vileintcnt]

kittywriites​:

Moving back home after the divorce had made a lot of sense — he’d only moved in the first place because Maggie had wanted to be closer to her family while most of his had remained here, their sons had both taken off to separate sides of the country, among countless other reasons — but now that he was here? Richard suddenly wished he’d moved to the other side of the planet, where nobody found the story of his divorce and return the most interesting thing that had ever happened to them. He’d had half a mind to not even come to this damn party, but he could hear Tom’s voice in his head ( “what are you gonna do, dad, become a hermit?” ) so here he was: hiding by the hors d’oeuvres and pretending he couldn’t feel every single pair of eyes on him at one point or another. At the very least, the food was good. Damn good. Richard didn’t even look up as someone caught him in the act of helping himself to another serving. “You kidding me? I’ve been living off take-out and TV dinners for two months, these are — “ But when he looked up to lock eyes with the prettiest blues he’d ever seen, Richard felt the compliment die on his tongue. “Wow.” he blurted in clear surprise, eyes flickering over the pretty young thing before he seemed to catch himself. He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from her with a clear of his throat as he reached for a napkin. “I mean – sorry.” he chuckled, wiping any potential crumbs out of his beard. “Yeah, they’re delicious.” he nodded sincerely as he met her gaze again. Although with her standing here, he hardly wanted to talk about the food. “I’m so sorry, gorgeous, but I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure — in fact, I know we haven’t — I’m Richard.” he said with a charmed little smile, warm gaze locked on hers he offered his hand. 

Oh my God, he had said wow. He had complimented her cooking and then said wow. Monica felt like she was going to pass out, excitement bubbling through her as she clasped her hands together behind her back to keep from grabbing him by the collar right there and then. Grin spreading onto her lips, the brunette shook her head with an amused little lilt of laughter. “N-No, I…I get it sometimes you eat food and you just have to…’Wow’…” Shy smile fluttered onto her face as she tucked some hair behind her ear sheepishly, doing her best to sort of null the effect his ‘wow’ had had on her by displacing it to her hors d’œuvres instead. It was the only way she could avoid having some kind of sexually fuelled asthma attack. Of course, his ‘gorgeous’ hadn’t helped her case, unable to do anything really but stare at him like she was some kind of freak. Only catching herself with a laugh and a gaze dipping to the floor as she realised that he didn’t recognise her. Though, how would he? She had barely recognised HIM and he couldn’t have changed as much as she had. She was going to correct him, when her fathers voice rang through the living room. “Oh Mon-Mon, I see you’ve caught up with Richard!” His hands clasped her shoulders, causing her to shoot a ‘oops’ face to Richard as she realised the jig was up before she could even politely inform him herself. “Our little chef did this whole spread you know, she’s come a long, long way since peeing in your pool as a tyke, huh?” He pinched the brunettes cheek. “Listen Monica, I’m just going to go find your mother okay, if you see her tell her I’m looking. It’s great seeing you again Richard, really is.” And her dad was already off, leaving in its wake a mortified Monica, who was hoping the laminate beneath her would open up and suck her inside. “Heh…That’s me, Mon-Mon…” A sigh, complete with a soft, embarrassed laugh as the brunette lifted her arms in a ‘here i am’ gesture, jazz hands and all.

[3mmafr0st]

Sharing The Throne; Part 2

Boba Fett x Reader

Prev. part 

Word Count: ~1.3k Warnings: Arranged marriage au so everything that comes with that, Boba himself should be a warning, canon typical violence and smut in the future

Bang Bang!

I jumped at the sound, startled by such a loud noise so early in the morning. My dress was still halfway down my body, and I quickly pulled up the sleeves as my bare feet carried me to the doorway, covering myself so I was presentable to whoever was outside my door. I fumbled with the keypad on my side of the door before finally figuring out how it worked, opening that side of the door. Fennec was gruff, but not entirely cold as I had initially expected. I couldn't read her eyes, probably a skill she had learned from years of bounty hunting. 

"Boba wants to see you, you ready?" She says almost without emotion.

"Um, just let me fix my hair, it'll only take a moment." I beckoned her in, wanting to make sure she felt comfortable as she waited. The brush ran through my hair as fast as I could get it to, I hated to make them wait.

"Keeping your hair up is smarter. Less sand to have to deal with later." Her voice startled me at first, but the advice was extremely welcome. It was a bit of an olive branch, I thought, a way of reaching out maybe? I smiled and thanked her, before quickly braiding my hair. Slipping on a pair of boots, I let Fennec lead the way as the two us made our way out of my room into the maze of sandstone that was the palace. 

"Is there anything that I should know before I see him?" I asked her. As much as I thought that I could trust Boba, if last night's kindness was any indication, there was still that seed of doubt in my mind. I had no idea why he would want to see me, whether I had done something wrong already. Maybe he was upset with me after my impulsive actions last night. 

"Nothing in particular, just breakfast is all." She said it so casually, and yet the idea had me stopping in my tracks. " What is it, something wrong?" 

"Sorry, just, not used to that I guess." I snapped myself out of the confusion and continued down the hallway. Willing my face to stay stoic, my brain twisted around the foreign concept, to dine with a man. It was a rare occasion for us to eat with our father or brothers when we were young, simply something that was not done. Every day, we were to be separate, eat separately, play separately, learn separately. Never was I allowed to speak with men without an extremely good reason. We were told it was unladylike and frankly disgusting.

As the two of us began to enter what I would assume would be the dining room, I couldn't help but make myself smaller, shrinking in the feeling of being somewhere that I had been told for so long was completely inappropriate. 

I had expected a meal much more extravagant, as is custom, but at this point, I was beginning to see that everything in this palace was the opposite of what I had come to know as normal.

There were three plates that sat at the end of the table, Boba sitting at the head, with a plate on either side. His eyes snapped up to mine, and gave me a soft smile, as Fennec led me to the table, taking a seat on Boba's right. I took the seat on the other side. Fennec began to eat almost immediately, a shock to be sure. I waited for Boba to take his first bite before I allowed myself to continue. As the food hit my tongue, I let the flavors wash over me. I tried to suppress the small noise I began to make as I let myself enjoy the food. It was like nothing I has ever eaten before. It was flavorful, with spice not too overpowering, and a distinct, almost earthy flavor. I looked down at what looked like eggs and some sort of meat. Excitedly, I cut off a piece of the meat, before placing it into my mouth. It was unexpected, an almost sweet taste to it, combined with the salt and spice that it had been seasoned with. 

"I hope the food is to your liking, I know it is probably a lot less than what you're used to." I wanted to scream, I wanted to jump up and down and dance around the room. To be honest, I'd never had anything like it before, and it was incredible. I tried to come up with some sort of response that was in any way appropriate, trying to calm my brain and come up with something.

"It is delicious Boba, thank you." Smiling at him, I spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb his meal. 

"I've never been one to overindulge, most of the time in my experience, simple tends to be better." 

"After this, I'd be inclined to agree with you."  Fennec had a sly smile on her face. I hadn't noticed it until now, when I had looked over to her. I couldn't help but wonder what in the world is going on in her head. What was she thinking? 

Fennec was the first of us to finish our meals, leaning back in her chair slightly  in contentment. Boba looked over to her, thinking for a moment, before opening his mouth to speak. 

"I need you to head to the throne room, make sure everything is prepared for later." His voice had that tone that made you want to listen to him, or maybe that was just me. Fennec nodded to him, and the two shared a look that I couldn't quite read, before she got up and left the room, leaving the two of us alone, yet again. 

The silence was less than comfortable, with the two of us eating in silence, with something sitting in between us that I couldn't quite read. It took a while, but Boba finally spoke up, cutting the silence.

"I thought that it would be smart for the two of us to talk, to be able to put everything out in the open." His eyes met mine, and I couldn't help but swallow in fear.

"I think that is wise as well." I broke eye contact, staring at my plate. I felt small all of a sudden, so nervous for what he was about to ask of me.

"I understand that you had no say in this marriage, am I correct?"

"You would be correct." I answered simply, trying to make sure that I did not sound rude or ungrateful.

"As I suspected. I am sorry that you were forced into this situation, and I understand any malice or dislike towards me. All I ask of you is to keep up appearances for the public and important matters. Other than that, how much time we interact and how we do so is entirely up to you." I was taken aback by this. It was such a candid expression, without mincing words, simply putting everything out there. As I looked him in the eyes once again, I could see the care and respect that he held in them. I knew that he meant everything he said, every single word.

"Boba, I hope you believe me when I say that my hatred is in no way targeted towards you. You have been nothing but kind to me in the short time that I have known you. Although it may take some time, I have an open mind and an open heart if you feel the same." A smile began to cross his face, and I smiled back at him. If he was going to tell the truth, then so was I. I wanted to show him the same respect that he showed me. 

"If you are comfortable, I would like for you to join me this morning. We are getting information about the city and what is going on, and I hope that I can involve you in the responsibilities and goings on of this palace." It was a shock to me to say the least. 

"I would like that a lot, thank you."

As the two of us finished our meals, he stood up in his chair, offering me his hand like he did the other night, and I took it, much more sure of myself than I had been before. I knew I was safe with Boba, and in time, maybe we could even become something more than what was set forth for us.

Taglist: @ladylucifer333 @kasianthus​ @kimlaloca​

[myckicade]

Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

*

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

*

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

*

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

*

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

*

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

*

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

Masterlist | Request | Tag List

[babyboibucky]

Should’ve Known Better

Pairing: EB!Frank x Reader

Summary: You should have known better than to sleep with a friend.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, FWB set-up, a little bit of toxic shit, angst

A/N: Frank got the most votes when I asked which other Seb character I should write for, so here it is! This is very personal to me lmfao it’s somewhat based on my own experience that really fucked me up a couple of years ago aksncajscna no but for real, stay away from the friends with benefits kind of relationship if you can’t keep shit purely sexual lmao also some guys are just fucking assholes even if they’re your friend lol

ALSO, I tagged those who are in my Everything Bucky Tag List. I’m not sure if I’ll write more Frank in the future too so I won’t be creating a separate tag list for him yet.

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Do you love me?"

It was a simple question that was supposed to make you think. Given your experiences and your personality in general, you were supposed to cringe and ignore it. Maybe even make a joke out of it, especially that it was Frank who was asking you this question.

He wasn't supposed to ask it too. He wasn't one to ask such thing, not especially with the relationship that the both of you have. It was clear from the get go that this was nothing serious.

So why was he asking it now?

And why did you respond to it right away, as if you knew your answer even before he asked?

-

"Come on, it'll be fun."

You should've said no. You should have known better.

"I'll make you feel good, you won't regret this."

It did feel good, you were going to give Frank that. Possibly the best, even. But the latter part? You weren't so sure. Were you regretting it? Honestly, no.

Maybe not yet.

You'd rather not think about it for now.

"What's there to lose? We know each other too much to develop feelings anyway, you said so yourself."

Oh there's plenty to lose. Maybe a decade's worth of platonic (was it really platonic from the beginning though?) friendship. Your self-esteem was on the line too, but you didn't know it yet. You'll get there though, whether you like it or not.

"I'm free next Friday, come over. Spend the night with me. What do you say?"

You should've said no. You should have known better.

"Next Friday. I'll see you, okay?"

You should've said no. You should have known better.

"Ugh, fine."

But you said yes because you didn't know any better.

-

That first night with Frank was something else. It was fun and he kept his promise to make you feel good. So, so good. You never thought that sex could be that fucking good. At least, not with your previous partners. Not that you had many in the first place.

But god, Frank knew what he was doing and he loved doing things to you. He loved the entire process of knowing your body, what you liked and what you loved. How you liked to be kissed and touched and fucked.

He studied your body like his fucking life depended on it and you let him. You let him own your body because you needed someone to. You needed to feel something, wanted to have a purpose even for just a short while, even if it meant being someone's fuck buddy.

You felt lost for the longest time, but as you laid on Frank's bed with his tongue lapping up your cunt, you actually felt like you belonged somewhere.

-

You weren't a booty call, definitely not. And when things escalated between the both of you, Frank was already single and had broken off with his recent girlfriend, Daphne. You weren't a doormat nor a side chick. Frank had been your friend for the longest time, one of your closest actually. He knew you the best and not just physically. Frank knew the darkest parts of you the same way you knew him like the back of your hand. He was the most open to you, he said so himself.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." he told you one time.

Frank wasn't afraid to show you his true colors; how he wasn't the kind to settle for one or how he would often end up with someone immature or toxic. He himself was toxic and for the most part, you tolerated him.

That was the mistake on your part.

You let him be himself, that's why you held a special place in his heart. Not even his past girlfriends could get rid of you. You were untouchable.

"Are you sure she's fine with us going out?" you asked Frank one time, as the both of you headed to the movies.

He scoffed, "Yeah, don't worry. I already told her you're my best friend. You're off limits." he chuckled as he placed his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside the cinema.

"You're fine." he reassured again, this time wrapping his arm around your shoulder and then cradling your head playfully.

-

Looking back, you sometimes ponder whether the friendship was really platonic. You were sure of it when the both of you first became friends; he was a couple of years older than you. You sort of looked up to him like an older brother for the first few years of your relationship. And he was very caring too, always looking out for you.

Your other friends were the first one to notice the closeness. They often told you that Frank seemed to have a thing for you. You brushed it off though, saying that it was impossible.

His girlfriend then was an acquaintance of yours. She was nice and wasn't bothered by how Frank was affectionate towards you.

Indeed, you were untouchable. You were the best friend after all.

-

"We fought again."

You rolled your eyes at Frank as he sat across from you at a local coffee shop near your place. It was your birthday and as always, you spent the most part of it with Frank.

It was like a tradition already, to celebrate your birthday with Frank first before you went out with your friends. Or even family. It was that kind of friendship.

"I'm sorry but who are we talking about again?" you joked.

Frank made a face, "Daphne." he responded. "I just told you about her like, two days ago."

You snickered, "I was kidding. But honestly though, you have to stop flirting with other girls. It's been really difficult for me to keep track of your record, Frank. And are you and Daphne even official?" you asked, taking a sip from your cold brew.

He rubbed his chin and shrugged, "Sorta. Well, we were official two weeks ago. Now though, I'm not so sure. Here's the thing, Daphne can be really..." he said, trying to search for the right words.

You hummed and shook your head, "Immature?" you said and mindlessly scrolled through your phone.

"You should really stop dating girls who are immature, Frank. I swear to god, this is like...I don't know, the fifth time you dated someone like her? Why don't you settle for someone who actually acts her age?" you blurted out.

Frank groaned and transferred to the seat next to you, his body facing yours and his hand landing on your thigh. You didn't mind, didn't think it was too touchy or intimate for someone who was in a relationship. It was pretty common for Frank to be this touchy with you anyway, you never paid much attention to it nor given it any malice.

"We fought because of you actually." Frank admitted with an apologetic smile.

Your head snapped towards him, a scowl etched on your face. "What did I do?!" you asked in defense.

"It was my fault. Daph saw your photo inside my wallet." he said.

"You should really throw away that photo. Jesus, why do you still have it anyway?" you complained.

Frank scoffed, "That's my favorite photo of you. I don't wanna get rid of it."

That was the last day that you considered your friendship with Frank platonic.

-

Come over

I miss u xoxo

Miss eating u out

Miss ur moans, wanna hear them again

You groaned at the continuous notifications that flooded your phone. While you were at work. After that first night with Frank, he had gotten extra clingy. No lies though, it felt nice to be wanted like this.

im free nxt Sat

Yay

Cant wait to see u, missed u a lot

dude, we were at the mall together just last wk

U really dont get attached do u?

Frowning at Frank's reply, you honestly didn't understand what he was implying.

what u mean?

Nothing

Work kept you busy for the entire week, with Frank bombarding you with sweet texts. You've avoided being sweet with him, it felt wrong. You weren't an affectionate person but Frank was, it was sort of one-sided. It wasn't a big deal anyway.

No one from the rest of your friends knew what had become of your friendship with Frank. You just thought it wasn't something that should be revealed. It was like your and Frank's little secret. You had to admit, the thrill only made the sex better.

Whenever the both of you went out with other people, the tension was there and it was fun. It was fun trying to brush off the way Frank's hand would steal touches from your waist, or how he'd subtly squeeze your thigh. The looks you exchanged from across the room; how Frank's "fuck me" eyes were meant for you and only you.

Things like that made you feel a certain type of way. But you never dwelled on it, or at least, you thought you didn't.

-

"Yeah, fuck...just like that, baby."

Frank's fingers dug deeply into the skin of your ass as he guided your hips. You gripped onto the back of the couch as you bounced on his cock, head thrown back from pleasure as Frank suckled one of your nipples. You could feel each of his fingers pressing down against your skin, it's probably going to leave bruises again.

"Frank, shit. I'm close." you panted against the skin of his neck, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close.

Frank grunted and took your face in between his palms, forcing you to look at him as he began to thrust his hips upwards, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from you.

"Wanted to see you like this ever since." he breathed out, pressing his lips against your open mouth.

"Wanted you since we met, d'you know that?" he asked, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back so he could nibble on your throat.

You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, nails scratching at his skin as you continued to ride his cock, "God, Frank...so close." you moaned.

You felt Frank's lips curl into a smirk against your neck, his fingers gripping your hair to keep you in place as his other hand slipped in between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it to help you reach your climax.

Every single time he touched you, you felt like your entire body was on fire. You felt the most alive, the most free whenever Frank fucked you. Maybe because he was truly gifted in bed or maybe he just knew your body and how to make it sing.

Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at you whenever you fall apart for him. Like he only had eyes for you, like it was only you that he could see.

Sweaty bodies and hoarse voices, the smell of smoke and sex lingering in the air. It was such a familiar ambiance by now. You liked how the aftermath of fucking Frank was never awkward, if any, it was a comfortable experience with the both of you just talking casually about how each other's day went.

"So I'm talking to this girl..." Frank said, turning you around so he could spoon you. Oh, the irony of the intimacy and conversation.

"Where'd you meet this girl?" you asked.

"Tinder." Frank snorted before pressing a kiss on your nape. "No, but she's different. I don't know, there's something about her."

You merely hummed in response.

"Think I might ask her out."

The first sting. The first realization. The first denial.

You should've said no. You should've known better.

-

The art exhibit wasn't a flop, but you wouldn't call it a success either. When you got a call from the organizer asking whether they can include your paintings in the exhibit, you said yes instantly. What can you say? You were a struggling artist who was seeking validation.

But now that you stood in front of your works with barely ten people attending the one-day exhibit, you thought that this wasn't a validation. It felt like a wake up call that maybe, art wasn't your calling and that you should probably give up on your dream.

"These are amazing."

You were on the verge of breaking down when you heard his voice. Turning around, you were surprised to see Frank. He was nodding his head as he approached you, his eyes scanning each of your painting.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had work." you asked.

Frank gave you a face, "Did you really think I'd miss out on your first exhibit?" he said and pulled you into a warm embrace.

"I'm proud of you." he whispered before kissing the crown of your head.

One validation from Frank was all it took for the walls to crumble down. He was the one who had been there for you all along and that was why you completely trusted him.

Frank will never hurt you, he'll never bring you down.

Or so you thought.

-

"Do you love me?"

It was a question that was supposed to make you think. But you didn't, because even before Frank decided to ask you that, you already had your answer.

You knew your answer for the longest time now, but decided to lock it into a box that you kept in the deepest part of your heart. It remained there unbothered and almost forgotten, up until this point.

That's why it was so easy for you to respond to it without even batting an eye.

"Yes."

It was too late when you realized that you had just admitted that you were in love with Frank. But you felt like it was the right time for you to bring out the key to that box, open it and just set your truth free.

They said that the truth will set you free, but why does it feel like it only imprisoned you?

"Shit, I was kidding." Frank said, his face panicked and body stiff from your unexpected admission.

Before you could even say something, Frank let out a nervous laugh as he ran his hand through his locks. "Wow, I didn't...are you serious?" he asked again.

It took you everything to brush off the pain, "Yeah, but it's no big deal. Come on." you shook your head and forced out a breathy chuckle.

Frank heaved out a deep sigh, "Fuck, I was messing with you. Are you sure it's fine? I mean, would this change anything?" he asked.

You deadpanned, "No, Frank. It wouldn't change anything. Like I said, get over it. It's not like I'm in love with you. I just love you...if that makes sense? You're my friend." you explained, more like lied.

"Look, it's not like I'm unattracted to you. I like you, I like spending time with you. It's just that I sort of don't see myself committing to you."

It didn't sink in to you immediately, Frank's statement. You didn't pay it any mind because again, you knew Frank. He wasn't one to commit so that was fine, you understand where he was coming from. It's not like you were going to force yourself on him too. But then you accidentally glanced at his phone and saw the messages he'd been exchanging with a certain someone.

When r u coming home?

In a little while, Daph

That night, Frank's statement hit you like a ton of bricks but again, you chose to deny what you actually felt. It's fine.

You're fine.

-

You should've said no. You should've known better.

Those words rang in your ears on the day that you found out. Your body turned cold, your vision blurred and your head spun. You'd never experienced hurt and anger like this, the kind that consumed you.

The kind that made you realized and admit that fuck, you'd truly fallen for Frank only for him to break your heart.

It didn't help that you were having such a terrible day at work. And Frank was so sweet to ask you whether you wanted to meet up with him. Not for sex, but to talk. The sex came rarely recently and was replaced with wholesome trips to the grocery, shit like that.

You knew there was something special going on. Even after he told you that he didn't see himself being with you, there was something.

Apparently, that something was just an assumption. Because when you asked Frank to meet you up that night, he said he couldn't and needed to be somewhere. That he'd meet with you the next day instead, a promise.

But then you saw him post a photo of him and Daphne. And it made your blood boil.

u back together?

No. Not really, been trying to fix it but u know how it is.

if ur trying to fix it with her then im out, frank

Wait what? Hey, are u mad?

r u fucking serious? u knew i love u and u come here parading ur ex, what the fuck is that all abt?

Shit, hey. Look, let's talk later, okay? Im out, will txt u when Im free.

Frank didn't text you back for the rest of the day.

-

You should've said no. You should've known better. But you said yes because you didn't know any better.

Were you regretting it? Yes. Sometimes.

You didn't know which hurt the most, the fact that Frank kept you in the dark while he was trying to patch things up with his ex, or that he considered you his best friend and still chose to break your heart.

He knew you the best, your relationship and trust issues and out of all the people, he really had to be the one to fuck you up the most. You trusted him so much, trusted him not to hurt you. Hell, if he doesn't want to commit then that's fine. But for him to treat you like a second option? Fuck that.

For him to confuse you with his actions, the intimacy...were all of those even real? All the times he came to your support when you had no one, when he was there for you on days you felt alone. What were those? He made you feel so fucking special, like it was possible to actually turn the friendship into something more than just fucking.

All this time you thought it was one-sided because you never actually showed Frank how much you meant to him the same way he did to you. Turned out that it was one-sided, but only because you were the only one who fell.

The following day, you received a voicemail from Frank. You pondered whether you were ready to listen to it but at the same time, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was pretty stupid, he fucked you up and there was no excuse for that. But the friendship you had with him had a strong hold on you.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. That was my mistake." he started off. "I thought that this was really just sex and having fun, but I want you to know that I like you. I really do, you're special to me. Please give me a chance to make things right. Daph and I...I want to end things with her. Please stay, I don't know what I'd do without you."

“I just didn’t expect that you’d end up falling for me, I mean shit. You know the real me, how fucked up I am when it comes to relationships. Just please...please stay?”

Did you stay? Sort of. But you kept your distance, didn't meet up with Frank after that and only responded to his texts occasionally. Did he end things with Daph?

He didn't.

He said he would but instead, they got back together.

It was fucking selfish of Frank to ask for you to stay only for him to get back together with his ex. It'd be better for him to just slap you in the face then.

Being told that he couldn't see himself committing to you but then going back with his ex was the cherry on top. God, if that didn't mess up with your self-worth.

You totally stopped talking to Frank, ignored his texts and calls. You stayed away from him, tried to get over him and eventually, you did. But you'd be lying if you said that he never left an effect on you. Because he did, Frank did a number on you and it would take you a long fucking time to completely recover from the damage he inflicted on you.

You should've said no. You should've known better. But you said yes because you didn't know any better.

And that's okay, because there's nothing wrong with taking risks and ending up in heartbreak.

You live, you love and you learn.

-

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[talesofstyles]

Reconcile

happy christmas eve, you lot! i’ve got a little present for you. enjoy this 10,5k of nearly divorced harry trying to win his wife and bitter nine year old daughter back. oh and i threw in a little baby goat in the mix too since it’s set in the peak district and i just couldn’t resist 🥳

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He turned to look at her, who was giggling as she leaned closer to him. She was most definitely not a giggler sober, but he found out that a copious amount of alcohol could turn her into one. He felt slightly guilty knowing that she was going to be hungover as hell in the morning, but she was having a great time.

And so was he.

“I was just thinking about how great you are, how lucky I am to be sitting next to you right now and that you need to drink more water because otherwise, you’d be miserable tomorrow,” he says with a smile as he twisted the cap and handed her the bottle of water.

That goofy smile of hers turned into a gooey smile of affection. “That’s so sweet,” she murmured, taking a gulp of water and handed the bottle back to him so he could take some too. She then tilted her head, giving him a doe-eyed look and asked, “what else do you like about me?”

“Let’s see,” he put a finger to his chin and tapped. “Well, I love how kind and inclusive you are, how you always care about people and that you always see the good in everyone.” 

Her smile grew sappier.

“Oh,” he gave her a sly grin. “I also love that thing you do with your tongue on the underside of my cock.”

She burst out laughing. But then she leaned even closer to him and whispered huskily in his ear, “I’ll do that very thing when we get back to the hotel.”

His eyes widened and he wanted nothing more than just to drag her back to their hotel suite and take up on her offer. But he’d promised her that he’d show her around Vegas since she’d never been before, and he wanted to keep that promise.

“Wanna know what I like about you?” She turned to him, still with a gooey smile on her face.

“Do I ever,” he smirked.

“I like that you’re hands down the kindest human I’ve ever met,” she began. “You’re genuine, and grounded. Funny too. I truly hit the jackpot with you. I’m the luckiest girl on earth.”

“Oh,” she added as an afterthought. “And you’re really good with your tongue.”

He wanted to laugh, because she always made him laugh. But he was still stuck on the fact that she thought she was lucky to be with him. He felt exactly the same way about her, like this was always meant to be. 

“I wasn’t looking for this,” he admitted honestly. “I know it’s only been six weeks, but I really can’t imagine never having met you.”

“Me too,” her eyes were bright, shining with excitement. “It’s weird, right? Because I swear I’ve never felt such a deep connection with someone this quick.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He murmured. “That there’s a perfect person for everyone out there?”

She tilted her head. “Do you think that’s us?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “I do think that might be us.”

“I think so too,” she said with a tender smile.

This was real.

He was overwhelmed with the understanding that she was his, and he never wanted to let her go. 

So he suggested what any sane, semi-drunk man would at that moment. “We’re in Vegas. We should get married.”

***

Harry

Pulling into the drive of what used to be our holiday cottage, but is now where my wife and children live full-time without me, feels strange to me. There’s that moment of what feels like a homecoming—that sense of belonging somewhere where I feel safe, and I know my happiness is inside.

But now, for the first time in ten years, there’s a sense of detachment that I know I’ve got to put in place. It is why I need to take a moment or two in the car before I walk inside to sort myself out and put on a shield. A shield which lets me walk inside, and be okay with the fact that I don’t live there anymore even just for the holidays. 

This charming little cottage, which can’t exactly be called little since it is quite spacious and has three bedrooms, has always been more of a second home rather than a holiday home for us. We used to come here often, sometimes even only for the weekends. I’ve always loved this place. Now, looking back, I realised that many of the happiest times during our marriage were spent in this home. 

It was where we spent the first few weeks soaking in newlywed bliss after that whirlwind of a trip to Las Vegas when we decided out of nowhere to tie the knot. Then there were the sleepless nights with a wailing newborn, because even though both of our babies were born in London, we always whisked them off here to Bakewell shortly after so we were close enough that both sets of their grandparents could dote on them during the first few weeks of their lives.

After I exit the car, I walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell. I don’t feel comfortable walking in as I respect that this is YN’s sanctuary now. The wait isn’t long, because in just a few seconds, the door is opened and there’s my wife, looking like a breath of fresh air.

It had been eight long months since the last time I saw her. Last time was the night when she asked me to leave our marital home, and I fled to LA first thing the next morning. I talked daily with the kids on the phone, but I didn’t really recall ever getting the chance to talk to her aside from the quick polite greetings before she handed her phone to the kids.

“Hey,” she says, her expression a bit guarded. I’ve missed her so much that it takes everything in me to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and kiss the fuck out of her. “Come in.”

“You alright?” I ask her as I follow her into the house. This may sound like I’m just making a small talk, but I’m not. I’m genuinely curious and I want to know how she’s doing. 

But she doesn’t even respond to my question. All I get is a head-tilt motioning towards the kitchen. “They’re in the kitchen.”

My gaze immediately lands on the accent table that holds a lot of photos and a key bowl. I silently let out a sigh of relief seeing YN hasn’t removed all of the family photos with me in it. It’s a good sign, but I don’t have much hope behind that. Maybe that’s just her trying to keep everything as normal as possible at home for the kids. 

My wife and I never had a big fight when we separated. It had been somewhat rational, but still emotional, discussion. She wasn’t angry, she was just done. And I didn’t fight for her. Instead, yours truly here walked away the next morning and didn’t look back.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life. But nothing ever compares to that. That was pretty fucking stupid on my part, and I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I’ve accepted that maybe this is my punishment for being a shit husband to a wonderful woman who doesn’t deserve to be treated like a second best. She did the right thing by kicking me to the curb, and I’d never resent her for it. If I could turn back time and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. I’d try harder to be a better husband, a better father, put my family first. But I can’t. Now all I can do is just try not to be a dickhead and make things harder for her than it already is. It’s too late for me to try to be a better husband, but it isn’t for me to try to be the best father that my children deserve. 

I follow my wife through the living room and into the kitchen, and I’d be dead not to check out her arse in those leggings. It’s something I quickly avert my eyes from, though, as I realise both of my children are sitting at the kitchen island, eating scones with their tea. 

George, my six-year-old, is the first to turn his head and hop off from the island stool to jump into my arms. “Daddeeeeee!”

“My Booger Butt,” I greet my little lad with a smile as I squat down to be on his level before scooping him up into my arms. Booger Butt is one of the countless nicknames I have for him, and one that never fails to make him double over in laughter whenever he hears it. He’s also Mr Tadpole Climbing a Beanpole sometimes, and he used to be Sir Screams-a-Lot when he was a baby. He thinks they’re hilarious, and he’d always respond by calling me Baddy Daddy. 

“I‘ve missed you so much, Baddy Daddy,” he says sweetly as he nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck and I swear if I don’t pull myself together right this second, I’m going to cry. 

“I’ve missed you more, mate,” I say as I ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek. “I love you.” 

My daughter doesn’t seem fazed by the father and son reunion behind her and continues munching on her scone without even giving me a glance. With my left arm full of my son, I walk up to her and ruffle her hair just like I did with her little brother. “Hey Silly Putty Pudding Pie,” I greet her with one of her nicknames, hoping to get her to laugh. But she ignores me, taking a sip of her brew instead. 

I don’t want to give up, so I lean to the side and bend to put my face close to hers. I try again, “hello to you too, poppet.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles around a mouthful of scone. 

“Minnie,” YN growls, her tone filled with warning.

This is why I respect YN so much. I hurt her badly, broke her heart, and it would’ve been so easy for her to use Minnie as a pawn and turn my child against me. But every time, even on the phone, whenever she is present, she never let Minnie be disrespectful to me in any way.

My gaze moves to my wife—yes I’m still going to refer to her as my wife since she still is, albeit only on paper—and she gives me an apologetic look. I give a slight shake of my head, telling her silently to let it go. 

She takes the last bite of her scone and puts the dish in the sink, before walking to the staircase without giving me a second glance. I can see YN trying to hold her tongue from further rebuking our daughter, and I give her a small smile, my silent way of telling her ‘it’s okay.’

“Sorry about that,” she mutters, referring to Minnie’s attitude. She grabs a mug from the cupboard, then holds it up in silent invitation. I nod, and she turns to the pot. “I can’t keep up with her mood shifts anymore.”

“It’s alright,” I tell her, willing to take my share of the blame. “I’m sure the shift has everything to do with me.”

“Not true,” she replies as she pours the coffee into our mugs, adding a splash of milk to hers but keeping mine just like that because she knows I take my coffee black. “She’s been like that with me as well and I’m not sure why. She’s only nine but she acts as if she’s thirteen already.”

I can’t help but laugh and turn to my little lad. “Can you be six forever?”

“No,” he says immediately without even taking a second to think.

“Just no?”

“No,” he gives me a toothy grin. “I want a lego city set but mummy said it’s for eight-year-olds. So I cannot wait to be eight.”

I set him on the counter and give him a conspiratorial smirk before I whisper to him. It’s a little too loud to be considered a whisper, but I want my wife to hear it. “Tell you what, we’ll get one of those sets tomorrow on our day out.”

His eyes light up instantly and my wife rolls her eyes jokingly, “I hear that.” Jokingly, because I know for sure she doesn’t mind me spoiling our children. She does it too. 

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?”

“To your mum’s pudding shop for breakfast, then probably fishing, and the toys shop now apparently,” I tell her our itinerary. I have the kids for the whole day tomorrow since it’s Saturday. It’s bittersweet because I’ve missed my children and I can’t wait to spend time with them, but I’m also sad because what I wouldn’t give to turn tomorrow into a family day out instead. I know she would most likely decline, but I can’t help offer her, “would you like to come with us?”

She gives me a subtle shake of her head. “No thanks. Enjoy it, it’s your time with them.”

***

I’m renting a room above The Old Nags Head during my stay here. I plan to stay for a week before I have to go back to London, and even though the thought of having to leave my children again is killing me, I’m trying to cheer myself up by reminding myself that it’ll be Christmas soon enough and I’ll get to visit again.

But then I’ll have to leave again. 

And visit again, but knowing in just a week or two, I would have to say goodbye to them again.

Fuck, this is killing me. I’m a family man through and through, and not being with them physically hurts. I shouldn’t be in this room sulking alone. I should be there in that home with my wife and children, probably helping Minnie and George with their homework or making dinner for all of us.

I was prepared to sulk some more, but then I heard a knock on the door. I was not expecting company so I’ve got no idea who it is, and I’m quite surprised when I see Jamie, YN’s brother as I open the door. 

We were quite close, but now that I broke his little sister’s heart, I can’t tell if this is a pleasant visit or if he’s just here to knock me square on my arse. 

“Got time for tea downstairs?” He asks

Honestly, I haven’t got any appetite. But I could use a few pints so I nod and lock the door behind me, following him downstairs to the pub. 

The Old Nags Head is the oldest and most famous pub in Bakewell. The pub itself is a former smithy dating back to the 16th century, and certainly looks the part; thick stone walls, low ceilings, welcoming log fires and dark timber beams. The pub remains at the centre of the community, as it has been for hundreds of years. It offers the best classic pub grubs, and even has its own ale called the Nags 1577. 

It’s the perfect place to drown my sorrows. 

Except, the current owner of that very pub happens to be none other than my wife’s granddad whom everyone here calls Pop. Out of all members of her family, she is the closest to Pop, so I know for sure that I’m the last person he wants to see. 

We sit at the bar table facing the window, which is good because Pop is behind the main bar, and this way I don’t have to actually talk to him. 

“Ya want owt?” Jamie asks as he does a quick perusal of the menu. I’m not even sure why he bothers, because even I know what he’s going to order. It’s Pop’s signature steak and ale pie. Ten years of being his brother in law, not once I ever saw him order something else. 

“Just a pint,” I tell him. 

It doesn’t take long after Jamie orders his food and our drinks before two pints are placed before us, and we each take a savouring sip.

And then Jamie point-blank asks me, “so what did you do?”

I really can’t tell anything from his expression, because he keeps his face blank. But I give him a bark of mirthless laughter. “It’s what I didn’t do, mate. She didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word,” he shakes his head, “what didn’t you do?”

“I stopped paying attention to my wife. Got caught up in my career. The travelling for tours she understood, but it was when I was home and hanging out more with my bandmates than with my family that she couldn’t forgive. And what little time I had left, I gave to Minnie and George. I think I just stupidly assumed she would always be there for me, no matter what.”

“Was there any infidelity?” He asks.

“God, no,” I shake my head hard. “You know I’d never do that to your sister. I love her, and she’s more than enough for me.”

Obviously, I’m not going to tell him this, but ironically, our sex life didn’t diminish. We were combustible in bed, and my mistake was in thinking that was enough for her. 

I look at the pudding shop right across the street as I take another sip, and I nearly choke on my beer when I see a familiar face walking out of the shop. 

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I growl. 

That’s my wife, walking out of her mum’s pudding shop. She is not alone. There’s a guy with his hand pressed to her lower back while her head is tipped back, laughing at something he’s saying. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach when the bastard’s palm drops from my wife’s back to take her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiles, all doe-eyed, as they walk to God knows where. 

“What?” Jamie looks at me confused for a second, but then he follows my gaze and he finally sees what’s causing me distress. “Oh, that.”

“You knew about that?”

He nods. “She’s been seeing him for about three weeks now.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“She didn’t tell you?” Jamie asks and I shake my head. 

“Three weeks you said?”

Jamie nods again. “He makes her happy.”

“I’m her husband,” I can’t help but say bitterly. “I should be the one making her happy.”

“Look, I’m sorry mate,” he offers, I know he’s trying his best to keep his tone neutral. “Maybe you need to get back in the dating game too. It’ll distract you.”

“I don’t want to fucking date anyone else,” I growl.

“I know it’s hard to get back in the saddle,” he adds sympathetically.

“I don’t want to get out of my current saddle,” I grumble. “I want to keep my current saddle with my wife in it.”

Jamie blinks in surprise, hell I’m even surprised at what I’ve just said out loud because I’ve never admitted this since we split. When YN asked me to leave, I assumed right away that my marriage was over. I didn’t want it to, but I thought there was nothing I could do. 

But now, seeing her laughing at another man’s joke and his hand holding hers, I just know that I can’t let her go without a fight. 

“Have you told her this?” He asks curiously.

I shake my head again. “We haven’t got the chance to have a civil conversation these days.”

“Then I suggest you stop being such a bloody whinge bucket and have a civil conversation with your wife.”

My shoulders immediately sag in defeat. “I know. I need to sit down with her and tell her how I feel.”

“Which is?” He presses.

“That I want her back,” I mutter.

“You’ve got to have a better plan than that,” he points out. “I mean… I’m not a marriage therapist, but I’m pretty sure that you’ve got to be prepared to fix the shit first.”

I can’t help but tilt my head towards the pudding shop where my wife had just walked out the door. “She’s moved on. You said it yourself that he makes her happy. Tell me how to compete with that.”

“Make her happier,” he says simply. I can only let out a heavy sigh, but I know that's solid advice. “Listen, if you really want to save your marriage, you need to make it work. Romance her again. Lots of flowers, nice romantic dinners out. Compliments, chocolates. All that sort of thing.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “But I do know that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do anything about it.”

***

My emotions are a mixed bag this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to spend the whole day with my kids, but the fact that I have just learnt last night that my wife is currently seeing another man doesn’t sit right with me.

I know Jamie was right. If I want to save my marriage, I need to get my head out of my arse and do something to win my wife back. Sure, I don’t even know where to start since she doesn’t give me the time of day. But I do know that starting today, I’m a man on a mission. It’s Operation Conquer YN: day 1. 

It’s currently 8:40am, which means I’m twenty minutes early. I hope the kids won’t be ready yet, so I’ll get a chance to talk for a little bit to my wife.

When I ring the doorbell, I can hear George pounding down the stairs, yelling, “I got it!”

The door flies open and he jumps into my arms right away. My little lad truly misses me, and it really does warm my heart. Now, I love my children equally, but before I got here yesterday, I thought Minnie would be the one to jump all over me since she’s a daddy’s girl through and through, while George has always been a mummy’s boy since the day he was born. 

But again, I should’ve known. Since YN and I split, Minnie sort of puts herself in her mum’s corner. Every time I actually got the chance to talk to her on the phone when I was still in LA, it was always extremely short before she quickly handed her mum’s phone to her little brother. I try not to take her behaviour to heart, because I guess it’s what nine-year-olds do when they don’t quite understand why their parents aren’t together. They just need someone to blame, and my daughter is way more mature than her age. She’s bloody smart too, which she definitely takes after her mum, and I know that she knows it’s my fault that her mum and I separated.

Now that I think of it, it’s not just my wife that I desperately need to win back. But also my daughter.

“Daddy!” George chirps. He’s got a milk moustache and the sight never fails to get me to chuckle. “You’re early.”

“I know,” I reply with a tender smile. “I just can’t wait to spend the day with you lot.” 

“I’m going to get ready!” He announces excitedly as he squirms in my arms wanting to be put down, and he runs up the stairs before I can even reply.

I look around, and my gaze lands on the sofa, a hazel leather sofa that YN picked out. It’s so comfy and I could nap there forever.

Then there’s the coffee table, where YN, Minnie, George and I sat around and played board games. Catan is our family’s favourite, followed closely by Monopoly. 

The corner where we always put the Christmas tree, right next to the fireplace. And every year it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I could never get the bloody thing to stay straight. 

I miss this little cottage. Sure, the house in South Kensington is our marital house, but this cosy little cottage in the middle of nowhere feels more like home to me. And now I truly get why YN was so adamant to move here permanently after we separated, didn't matter how hard I tried to persuade her to stay in London.

“You’re early,” my wife blinks in surprise, but quickly masks it. “Minnie darling, go and get ready.”

“Do I really have to go?” My nine-year-old whines and I feel a pang. She really doesn’t want to spend time with me.

“Minnie, that’s not nice,” YN reprimands her before I can stop her.

“I’ve missed you, poppet,” I say, wanting to look at her in the eyes but she refuses to meet my gaze. Which hurts, but it’s fine. I know it’ll take some time for her to warm up to me. “I want to spend the day with you and your brother. I promise I’ll try to make it fun for you both.”

“Fine,” she replies, before marching up the stairs to her room. There’s still a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but at least I didn’t get a heavy sigh. I know it’s a small win but honestly, it’s better than none.

“Coffee’s in the pot,” she tells me politely from where she’s sitting at the island. She has her laptop open before her, and I can see her writing an email. I bet she’s working today, even if it’s Saturday, because my wife is such a hard-worker. She works remotely for a consulting firm and I’m beyond proud of her.

I nod and pour the coffee, and I let the silence carry on for a bit before saying, “saw you getting cosy with your new boyfriend last night.”

She instantly looks up from her laptop, giving me a death glare. Her tone is defensive when she says, “that’s none of your business.”

“You could’ve at least told me that you were seeing someone,” I tell her, making elaborate gestures with my coffee mug.

“Why would I do that?” She retorts defensively. “Last time I checked, you didn’t give a shit about me when we were married. Why on earth would I assume you do now?”

Hearing that, it feels like Chuck Norris himself just kicked me in the nuts. I can only mutter, “we’re still married.”

“Not for long,” she replies faintly.

“Don’t say that,” I say, my breath a little jagged. “We can still fix this, darling. I know we can.”

“Are you mad?” She snaps, but then she takes a deep breath, and her tone is a lot calmer when she adds, “Harry, it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. It’s never too late to get our marriage back on track,” I plead desperately. “Would you at least give me a shot?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns. 

“You can continue to see Mr Wife-stealer-”

“He’s not a wife-stealer,” she snaps, cutting me off. “He’s got a name.”

“Well, he’s stealing my wife,” I grumble like a stroppy child.

“You’re being such a child,” she retorts. “His name is Luke, he’s a decent guy, and he makes me happy.”

“I’m not afraid to go head to head with him,” I say defiantly. 

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, we’re not on a bloody Love Island,” she says in exasperation. “Two children are involved here, this isn’t a game.”

“I know it isn’t,” I reply with a sigh. “Just please give me another shot, darling. Let me remind you how great we were together.”

“You mean the sex?” She demands, one side of her upper lip curls in a sneer.  

I bend my head and murmur, “we were dynamite in the sack, weren’t we?”

I see the flash in her eyes as she remembers, and it makes me want to beat my chest in victory. But the euphoric feeling is short-lived when she says, “a relationship is so much more than just sex. If you don’t understand it then-”

“I do, fuck, I do know that,” I cut her off in a strangled, desperate voice. “At least let me try, darling. Fuck if I’m letting you go without a fight.”

We lapse into silence as she gives me a sceptical look, and I know in this moment that my biggest challenge is to regain her trust, as well as accepting the fact that she has someone else fighting for her attention. 

I know this will be tough, because I let her down over and over again. And worse, I let my children down too, because I was never quite able to make my family my highest priority. It was all my fault, I knew it then, still do now. That’s why when she asked me to leave, I couldn’t even argue. I was a shit husband and father, and I deserved that.

Trying to win Minnie is probably going to be the easiest because beneath this ‘tweenage’ attitude going on, I know she is a sweet girl who loves her daddy. I need to devote more attention to her, maybe take her on some daddy-daughter dates. I know it’ll work because I’ve never given her enough on a consistent basis. 

YN is going to be the most difficult, because I really broke her heart. I’ve been married to her for ten years, so I can say with confidence that I know for sure she would never fall for things like flowers or gifts. I have to show her that I genuinely want to fix our marriage, and that my interest in her is real. It’ll be like starting all over again. 

And on top of that, she’s seeing someone else and she said it herself that he does make her happy. I know she’s not lying about it, as Jamie also told me the same thing last night and I saw with my own eyes how she laughed with him last night. Seeing that killed me, because I don’t have the ability to make her laugh like that anymore, but I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that was happy for her.

She may have sneered when I insinuated I’d be glad to remind her of the good times, but I saw it in her eyes. There was still a slight burn, and that might just have to be my angle. 

But then I remember our last time together. It was only two days before she asked me to leave and I remember coming home mid-morning after a meeting with my manager and publicist to find her lying in our bed, clad in sexy lingerie. I had my mouth on every inch of her, a good deal of time between her legs, and after she reciprocated by taking me into her mouth.

The kids were in school, and apparently, she took a sick day because I had told her the night before that I only had one meeting in the morning that day. After, she cuddled in close, and we talked for a while. She seemed happy, but then there was a hint of hesitation in her voice when she suggested, “fancy just spending all day in bed until school pick-ups?”

I mean, what man in his right mind would say no to that? The kids were gone for at least another five hours, I had a gorgeous wife naked and wanting more of what we just did… 

Yet, I’d said no. “Sorry, doll. I’m meeting the lads at the studio in about an hour.”

I didn’t see it then, but I do now and it’s clear as day. The look on her face had been blank, and there wasn’t even disappointment like she would usually show me. She hadn’t tried to get me to change my mind. There hadn’t been a guilt-laden frown to give me pause.

I realise now what it was.

It was the moment my wife finally gave up on me.

My chest constricts as it finally dawns on me the pain she must have been feeling. I’m not just talking about that day. That had been our life for several years.

No wonder she asked me to leave.

No wonder she’s moving on with Mr Wife-stealer.

No wonder that, at this moment, I realise I’ve got tons of work to do because sex isn’t going to be the answer in winning my wife back.

***

“Will the baby just eat when you give it the bottle?” Minnie asks her uncle Jamie as the four of us gaze at the baby goat in front of us. For the first time since yesterday, I actually see the slight curve up of lips that form a fond smile. Seeing that smile on my daughter’s face, I’m glad we didn’t go fishing and end up going to the barn instead. We were actually already on our way, but Jamie texted me that the mother goat had given birth this morning, and he wanted me to tell Minnie and George. The goats are a new addition to the farm, so they have been so excited to see baby goats. I knew from the look in their eyes that they would have a much better time seeing baby goats rather than fishing. 

It turns out that there’s only one baby goat, because the other one sadly didn’t make it. And the dam isn’t producing milk, so the kid needs to be bottle-fed until the mother is producing again. I can’t help but smile fondly at the baby goat too because it’s adorable. It’s a soft little white goat with a pink nose and ears. The dam is a Pygmy but since it has blue eyes, Jamie thinks she must have Nigerian Dwarf genes somewhere in her.

“It’s a female… a doeling,” Jamie tells her. “And she will if she’s hungry. You want to try to feed her? Look, she’s hungry again.”

We watch for a moment as the baby goat walks on wobbly legs, bleating in hunger. Jamie mixes the powdered formula and makes a bottle for her, then he hands the bottle to Minnie.

But Minnie shakes her head. “Maybe next time. I want to see you do it first.”

“Alright then,” Jamie nods, then turns towards my little lad. “How about you, mate? Wanna feed her?”

“No thank you,” says George as he shakes his head, and then he giggles, “she smells funny.”

“Can I do it?” I ask and Jamie nods as he hands me the bottle. 

I sit down against the wall with my children sitting on either side of me. And as if the goat can sense that I hold the key to filling her empty belly, the doeling starts to prance in excitement and falls over a few times due to what I assume is clumsiness. I love that she can walk normally but still choose chaos—honestly, she could’ve been my third child. There’s no stopping the surge of fondness that swells within me as I watch her little antics. 

“Come here little crumpet,” I coo at the goat.

The little goat scrambles right onto my lap, bleating hungrily. I wrap my arm around her and tip the bottle. She latches on instantly, and Minnie and George are aww-ing and ooh-ing over the way the baby goat’s little tail swishes back and forth so fast in ecstatic happiness as she drinks her milk. 

“You’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you?” Minnie murmurs and the little tail swishes faster as she pushes at the bottle to suck the milk down faster. “What’s her name, uncle Jamie?”

“I haven’t named her yet,” Jamie says. “What do you lot think we should call her?”

“Blue,” George suggests instantly, without looking away from the baby goat on my lap. 

“Ooh, I like it,” Minnie adds. “Like her eyes.”

“Blue it is, then,” Jamie grins. “Now, even though the dam is still not producing milk, we still need to train her to at least try to nurse, so she’ll do it right away when the dam is finally producing milk. Let’s see if we can get her to try to eat from the dam.”

He plucks the baby from my arms, and a series of yearning bleats come from the kid as he carries her to her mother. He places her near the dam’s udders and gives the baby a gentle push.

Much to our surprise, Blue spins away from Jamie and her mother and runs back to me. Although in all fairness, I am holding the bottle she was just drinking from. Jamie attempts three more times to get the baby to try to nurse from her mother, but she’s having none of it. 

Finally, he takes the bottle from me and walks across to the opposite wall. He sits down, holds the bottle out, and calls to the doeling. “Come here, baby. Come eat.”

Blue’s tail gives a few nervous twitches, but she doesn’t move towards Jamie. In fact, she takes a few hesitant steps backwards until she bumps into my legs. I’m amazed as I watch her stare hungrily at the bottle, bleating hungrily, but refusing to go to Jamie.

“Daddy, she thinks you’re her mummy,” says George and both my children burst in laughter.

“What?” I say in astonishment.

“I don’t think that doeling is going to feed from anyone but you,” Jamie adds with a chuckle as he stands up. He walks over and hands me the bottle. Blue jumps directly into my lap.

On autopilot, I offer the goat the nipple but look up to Jamie in panic. “What should we do?”

“Dunno, I’ll just try and do it when she’s hungry again in a few hours,” he shrugs. “But if she still doesn’t wanna eat, I’ll bring her to you.”

Any last vestiges of humour, happiness and downright giddiness over the cuteness of a baby goat fades as I realise I might or might not have just added another task to my list. Heavens help me.

***

“Let’s have a daddy and daughter date tomorrow.”

It’s a solid suggestion, and I really hope she’d say yes. Her little brother has his classmate’s birthday party to go to, so I know it’d be perfect for a little one-on-one time. 

We’re on our way back home after spending a whole day together. It was great, and even though I didn’t have happy-go-lucky Minnie, George had a great time, and it was enough for me. And at least she didn’t ask to go home early, so I’d call that a win.

“No, thanks,” she replies. There’s still not a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but it doesn’t sound technically warm either. 

I glance over through the rear-view mirror as she stares out the window with her arms folded. Her brother is sleeping next to her, and I figured this might be a good time to talk since she’s trapped in the car with me.

Everyone always says that Minnie is a mini-me, while George is a carbon-copy of his mum. Minnie has my nose, eyebrows, chin, even my smile; which is slightly lopsided and has a dimple on one side. I know I’m biased, but she truly is the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.

Where Minnie shines, though, is her personality, which is a combination of her mum and me. She has her mum’s sunny disposition—aside from the days where she’s got a bag on—and always sees the good in everyone. She’s our little ray of sunshine, tender and caring and always trying to make others feel good.

From me, she gets her stubbornness, which even though I know is a good trait to have when she’s older, it made things so much harder when she was a toddler. She also has my terrible sense of humour, but the thing I’m most proud of is her work ethic. I can’t take full credit for that though, because her mother is a hard worker as well.

Ever since she started distancing herself from me, I know which subjects are safe, and which are not. School always falls in the safe category, because she enjoys it and excels. So I figure now that’s where I should start. “How’s school going?”

“Alright,” she replies, still looking out the window. 

Now, this really doesn’t sound at all like my daughter.

“Come on, Min,” I say desperately. “Tell daddy what’s been eating you. I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says absently.

“Do you want to go and get some ice cream with me tomorrow?” That was our thing at least once every two weeks and she loved it.

“No, thank you.”

“Ice skating?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh I know,” I say excitedly. “I’ve got a show in London in a couple of weeks, Jingle Ball. Do you want to come with me?”

Minnie has always been my biggest fan, clapping the hardest and yelling the loudest for her daddy. So it really takes me by surprise when she mutters, “shows, shows, shows… that’s all you care about, dad.”

I twist to peer out my window so she doesn’t see the wince that comes unbidden to my face if she looks through the mirror. That was a direct slam against me. 

That really does hurt, and I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone.

“That’s not true,” I reply faintly. 

“Did you care about my last ballet recital?”

Early this year, Minnie had a ballet recital. She was so excited about it because I had just finished my tour in December last year, and I’d already told my management that I would like a couple of months off. There was no reason for me not to attend, so I promised her I’d be there.

Except at the last moment, I realised I had forgot to switch an important meeting I had with the team from the new Manchester Arena. Since I invested in it, we had a meeting every few months because I said right from the beginning that I would take more than just a capital interest. I wanted to be involved in the development, because that was a huge project and I was really proud of it. 

YN was in charge of our schedule and when she reminded me about the recital, which conflicted directly with my meeting, we ended up getting in the worst row we’ve ever had throughout our marriage.

“You’re going to let our daughter down in a way she won’t forgive,” she stated.

I refused to believe that, brushing off her comment with “I’ll take her out for something special later.” But my wife turned and stalked away from me. 

That day, the meeting went great and the construction was almost done a few weeks earlier than intended, so there was an option if we wanted to open sooner. YN sent me a text with a video of Minnie’s performance, and it was beautiful. I was such a proud dad that I showed the video to everyone in that room. 

When I got home, my wife and children cuddled on the sofa, watching a film. George was snoozing with his head on his mum’s lap on the far end, so I plopped myself down beside Minnie. I tugged on her hair playfully, and asked if she wanted to go out to a special daddy-daughter dinner to celebrate her recital.

“No, thank you,” she replied quietly, not taking her eyes off the telly. 

“Come on, poppet,” I coaxed, trying to tickle her in the ribs a little. She only squirmed closer to her mum, not laughing from the tickle but grimacing like she didn’t want to be touched.

YN stared over Minnie with sorrow in her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head, but I wasn’t ready to give up. 

“The Ivy?” I tried to tempt her because my kid loves chips, and she’s obsessed with their truffle and parmesan chips.

“No, thank you,” she muttered again, her head resting on her mum’s shoulder and her arm crossed over her middle. YN cuddled her with an arm around her shoulder. It had been clear that they were a unit, and I hadn’t been included.

“Minnie decided she wants to stop ballet lessons, so that was her last recital.”

“Oh,” I’d replied dumbly.

I couldn’t think of another damn thing to say because to do so would be disingenuous. There’s no doubt I killed my daughter’s potential love of ballet by not coming to her recital. I knew that because of YN’s expression of disappointment and Minnie’s dull dismissal. 

Later that night, I walked by Minnie’s room and glanced in as the door was slightly open. I had bought her a bouquet of flowers that I gave her before I left for my meeting, and I saw that they’d been stuffed into the bin beside her desk.

I blink out of that memory, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. “Of course I did, my love. If I knew-”

“But not enough to come,” she replies dully. “And what about my debate competition? George’s piano recital? You showed up to none of them.”

I sigh heavily. “Minnie, a lot of parents have demanding jobs where they’re required to work or travel more than others. Sometimes A&E doctors have to work on Christmas and cannot see their children open the presents. Sometimes, a firefighter has to leave their house at night and can’t tuck their kids in bed.”

“I understand that,” she whirls and looks at me through the rear-view mirror. “Except you’re not saving lives or fighting fires, are you? You just get up on a stage and sing.”

“I’m a terrible dad, aren’t I?” I concede. “I know I’ve done things wrong in the past, but I’m trying to make it up to you, poppet. But I can’t do it if you won’t let me.”

She doesn’t say anything and it’s killing me. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” she rushes to assure me and I feel a little lighter. My daughter may act like a tween and have some bitter feelings towards me, but she loves me. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I continue. “Tell me how to make it up to you and I’ll do it. I want things to be good between us again.”

Her eyes flare with shock, and then they dart away as if she’s considering something. I wait expectantly. Maybe she’s going to finally open up and pour out her feelings for me. I’m ready for it.

I’m ready to listen, and validate, and reassure her that she, along with her mum and brother, are the loves of my life. 

Her gaze comes back to me, her expression serious, and I brace.

“Can we get a puppy?”

What? 

There’s no stopping the unlocking of my jaw and the dropping of my mouth because this was the last thing I expected her to say. 

I’m so caught off guard that I can’t even think to immediately tell her ‘no’, which gives her time to launch into all the reasons why we should have a dog.

“Minnie, puppies are a lot of work. You’ve got to potty train them, teach them manners, and they get up for hours at night.” 

“I promise I’ll do all that,” she exclaims.

“Like how you were supposed to take care of Fishy?” I can’t help but remind her. Fishy was her goldfish that we had to throw a funeral for a few years ago because she forgot to feed him. That poor sod died of hunger.

Minnie rolls her eyes. “I was six.”

She’s got a point.

Still, it’s obvious part of her request is manipulation because she threw it at me when I opened myself up to vulnerability. She knows I’m trying, and she’s throwing me a clear bone.

Get her a puppy, and all will be forgiven.

“Tell you what,” I look over my shoulder after I parked the car since we’ve reached home. “I promise to think about it, and I’ll talk to mummy.” 

“Really?” She bounces in her seat in excitement.

“We’ll talk about it,” I reiterate in a calm, even voice. But there’s no stopping her excitement. The fact that I’m willing to consider is a huge victory for her because she knows that when I make my mind up about something, I never change it. 

I open the door for her, and she is quick to unbuckle herself and throws herself at me. 

I’m so surprised at the spontaneous act of affection that I almost don’t hug her back. It’s been so long since she’s shown this to me, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

I squeeze her tight, and I can only hope that my darling girl will always love her daddy the way she does right now. 

George doesn’t even stir as I pick him up, and I tuck him in his bed straight away since I don’t want to wake him up. He must be tired, and good thing I’ve fed them both dinner.

Minnie even gives me another hug before she gets ready for bed, and that results in me having a permanent smile on my face even as I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to see my wife. 

“She’s chirpy,” YN comments when she sees me walking into the kitchen. “What did you do?”

“Got her to talk to me,” I smirk. 

She looks surprised, and well, I can’t blame her. “Did she?”

“She did,” I nod. “Pointed out all my flaws, and when I asked her how I could make it up to her, she asked for a puppy.”

“What?”

“Exactly my reaction,” I chuckle. 

“Boy, if she’s this good at emotional blackmailing at nine, we’d probably be in deep shit in a couple of years,” she jokes and I can’t help but laugh. 

I’ve missed this.

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. 

“I can’t.”

“What? Got a hot date already?” I ask teasingly, but her silence tells me what I don’t want to know. “Oh, you’re going out with him.”

“Mr Wife- I mean Luke asked me out first and I already said yes.”

I shouldn’t be laughing because the fact that my wife going on a date with another man is not funny at all, but it’s hard to hide my smirk when she almost calls him by the nickname I’ve given him, Mr Wife-stealer. 

“Well, fair enough. He asked you first,” I say nonchalantly. “What does he do?”

“He’s an A&E doctor at the Northern General,” she says, her tone lightens a little.

“Smart then isn’t he,” I mutter. 

“Yes. He’s smart, attentive, caring and generous with his time.” 

I keep my expression and tone bland, but she landed a direct blow there and it fucking hurts. “All the things I’m not,” I state, voicing the conclusion she was aiming at.

“Well,” she drawls with a tiny bit of sympathy. “I do think you’re smart.”

I give her a side eye-roll before I decide to be downright nosy and ask, “you can’t have been on many dates then?”

“True,” she chirps, a gleam in her eye as she sticks the knife in. “He is busy and his schedules are unpredictable. But when he’s gone, he makes sure I know I’m always on his mind. He sends me flowers for absolutely no reason other than because he wants to, calls me every day and we text all the time.”

Well, sodding fucking bollocking shit wank. I didn’t think YN would fall for that crap. And I realise… I never thought to do that stuff for her. I was the self-absorbed type of person who figured that my wife knew I thought about her all the time when I was away. I mean we were married, so I just assumed she knew.

I’m a shit head. 

“What else does he do for you?” I ask and she blinks in surprise.

“Why?” She asks suspiciously.

“I told you I want our marriage to work.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read my tone and see whether I’m being genuine or it’s just bollocks. Finally, she replies primly, “I’m not giving away his secrets.”

What the fuck does that mean? Have they shagged? I would bet a million pounds they had not though, because I know YN and she wouldn’t enter into that deep of a relationship lightly.

Without even thinking twice, I make a sudden step into her. My arm goes around her waist and I pull her body into me. Not a single inch of space between us. Her mouth opens in a gasp of surprise, and I use the opportunity to kiss her.

I kiss the fuck out of my wife.

Her hands slap against my upper arms, and her fingers dig into my sleeves. Even as she’s pushing me away, her mouth opens, and her tongue touches mine briefly. 

When I pull back, I ask, “did he kiss you like this?”

She shakes her head, breathlessly admitting, “we haven’t-”

My jaw drops. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not,” she murmurs.

“How long exactly have you been seeing him?” 

“About four weeks.”

“Honey, he’s rooting for the other team,” I tell her and she slaps my arm. 

“Sod off, he’s not,” she counters.

“Four weeks with the hottest, most gorgeous, shaggable woman and he hasn’t tried to kiss you? I mean not that I’m not grateful because, fuck, I am. But wow.”

“Of course he did try,” she rolls her eyes. “But I’m not ready for that, and he’s okay with us taking it slow.” 

For a second I don’t say anything in response. Instead, I loosen my hold, bringing my hand to her lower back, and cupping her intimately from behind. Moaning, she leans into me. “I’m guessing he hasn’t touched you like this then.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lets her eyelids flutter closed as her teeth bite into her lower lip.

Fuck. I could drag her to the floor right now, and we could go at it.

But then she comes to her senses, blinking rapidly, and I release her immediately when she gives me a tiny shove backwards. 

“You’re not playing fair,” she accuses. 

Damn right I’m not. I grab her upper arms, pull her back into me for one last kiss before I let her go just as quickly. “I’m playing to win.”

She takes a step back, brushes a wisp of hair from her temple, and puts on a cool expression. “That’s not going to make me take you back.”

I smirk.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re great with your hands and your mouth, but a lot of men know how to please a woman.”

She’s got a bonus point for trying to make me jealous, but I’m not falling for it. Instead, I give her a devilish smile and dip my head towards her. 

“That’s true, but no one will ever please you the way I can.”

I’m enjoying our banter, and I expect her to come up with a snappy retort that might make me kiss her again.

Instead, her expression is sad when she says, “I wish I could be happy with that.”

My heart squeezes, and I lift a hand to palm the side of her neck. I wait until she meets my gaze. “We’re more than just sex, darling. I know you need and deserve more. I’m ready to prove that to you.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to her forehead. 

She doesn’t respond as I pivot and head through the living room, letting myself out the door. 

All in all, I think that went very well.

***

I’m back at my wife’s cottage, waiting for my kids as they get ready upstairs. Minnie has finally agreed to go on a daddy-daughter date and George is going to an overnight sleepover birthday party, and I’ll drop him off at his classmate’s house before I take his sister out to dinner. I’ll make sure to make it up to him by taking him on a special one on one date too next week. 

There’s a light rap on the door, and my head swings that way. I have no doubt that it’s Mr Wife-stealer who’s going to take my wife out on a date.

I glance towards the master suite, but the door is closed. YN is probably putting on the finishing touches of her makeup. And the kids are still upstairs.

Nothing left to do but let him in.

Forcing a smile, I open the front door. He blinks in surprise to see me standing there, and I know I’ve got two options here; I could either easily dispel the awkwardness by being cool, welcoming and explaining our schedules happened to overlap.

Or… I could use whatever amount of alone time I have with him to instill some doubt inside his head.

That would be a dirty play, but as I have told my wife, I play to win.

Broadening my smile, I stick my hand out. “You must be Luke. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Harry.”

He seems momentarily frozen, but then basic manners take over. When he shakes my hand, it’s a bit limp, perhaps denoting a lack of confidence. After I release him, I bid him entrance with a sweep of my hand. “YN is in the bedroom. She’s still getting ready.”

Luke frowns over the fact that I know YN is in the bedroom. Probably over me even being here to talk to him. But I don’t dispel any innuendo he might glean from that.

I loop an arm around his shoulders, clamp down, and start guiding him to the kitchen. “Come on in and sit for a bit while she’s finishing up. Want a beer?”

Luke moves to one of the island stools, looking completely frazzled. “Uh… no, thank you.”

I shrug, moving to the fridge and opening it. Grabbing a bottle, I say with a sly grin as I close it. “So glad YN still stocks my favourite beer.”

I am so going to hell.

But that’s the truth. It’s my wife’s favourite beer, too, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I let the implication that I come over and have beers often. Luke’s frown deepens.

“YN tells me you work at the Northern General?” I take a sip of my beer, then lean my forearms on the island directly across from him so we’re eye level.

“Yeah… uh, that’s right.” Poor Luke. He seems incapable of carrying on a polite conversation with the husband of the woman he’s dating. 

But I’m going to give him a pass. Setting my beer down, I straighten. “Let me go tell YN you’re here.”

“Um… you don’t have-” he starts to say, but I move past him without a backward glance. Through the living room, down the small hall, and a hard left takes me to the master suite. The door’s closed. I don’t bother knocking because I know YN is dressed.

I find her in the ensuite, her makeup drawer open and she’s huddled over it, touching something inside. 

“Your date’s here,” I announce.

She lets out a yip of fright, shoving whatever it was in her hand to the back and slamming the drawer closed. 

“Damn it, Harry,” she snaps, her palm pressed against her heart. “You scared the hell out of me. And what are you doing in my room?”

“Just running an errand for you. Wanted to let you know your date is here,” I say casually and I give her a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I welcomed him in, offered him a drink, and made small talk.”

She rolls her eyes, rising from her vanity chair and moves past me without another word. I start to follow, but then I hesitate and turn back to the drawer of her vanity. Quietly, I pull it open as far as it will go, spotting a picture of YN and me stuffed in the back.

I recognise it. It’s from a trip we took to Anguilla a few years back, just the two of us, and fuck if we didn’t look happy and deeply in love.

Was that what she was looking at when I walked in?

That could be good or bad, but either way, no way to know the answer. I shut the drawer, then catch up to her as she’s moving through the living room. Luke sees her, sliding off the stool. When she holds out her hands, he takes them and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

Lame.

I sit on the armrest of the sofa, watching. Luke glances over YN’s shoulder at me as he pulls back, smiling victoriously. 

I just smirk back. Because he’d probably lose it if he knew the type of kiss I gave my wife just last night. But I’ll keep that information to myself, though.

YN grabs her handbag off the accent table near the staircase before addressing me. “Make sure Minnie locks up when you leave, and remind George I’ll pick him up at ten tomorrow morning.” 

I give her a jaunty salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

In return, I get another eye roll. 

Luke puts his hand on my wife’s back, shooting me a look that says, ‘she’s mine tonight’, and I want to punch his teeth down the back of his throat. I just smile blandly, because, in just a few minutes of talking to him and watching how they interact, I can tell he’s getting nothing more than a friendly kiss when he brings her home.

YN might want to keep pushing at that relationship, but I am willing to bet that it’s not going to go anywhere. I know this, because I’m sure that my wife is still in love with me. 

-

Read part II here!