#still ended up giffing the same shot twice fuck

[666writingcafe]

Feeling a Bit Tense?

A (Mildly NSFW) Text Conversation Between Barbatos and MC

Barbatos: *waving emoji*

MC: *gif of someone waving tiredly*

Barbatos: Rough day?

MC: *gif of someone shrugging*

Barbatos: Do you need or want to talk about it?

MC: Should I?

Barbatos: If it will make you feel better, yes.

MC: *keeps typing and erasing messages*

Barbatos: Does this have anything to do with Solomon? If he's been messing with you, I'll be more than happy to talk to him for you.

MC: No need.

Barbatos: Do you genuinely feel that way, or are you just trying to get me to back off?

MC: Regarding this particular issue, he hasn't done anything wrong.

Barbatos: Okay.

Barbatos: So, what sort of "issue" are you dealing with?

MC: I'm not sure how to put it delicately.

Barbatos: Don't worry about sounding prim and proper. Just tell me what's on your mind.

MC: Here goes nothing...

MC: I'd like to get laid.

Barbatos: I see.

Barbatos: And you're worried about doing it with someone from this timeline, aren't you?

MC: I mean...wouldn't that cause a paradox?

Barbatos: Isn't it a bit late for you to start worrying about paradoxes, considering that three of us know your true identity?

MC: You, Diavolo, and/or Thirteen would have figured it out one way or another. We just figured it would be easier to be open about it with you guys than risk ending up dead or in prison.

Barbatos: Fair point.

Barbatos: Anyway, as long as you don't produce something that's not there in your timeline, you should be good to proceed.

MC: Except I don't trust many people here.

Barbatos: Understandable. I feel the same way.

MC: This is probably a pointless question, but have any advice?

Barbatos: I would say take care of it yourself, but that's not going to help much, is it?

MC: I mean, it's taken the edge off, but nothing I use is going to be quite the same as having another living, breathing person with me.

Barbatos: So you're looking for a physical connection.

MC: Kind of?

Barbatos: My next piece of advice would be to arrange a meeting with an escort, but as you've already stated, you're rather wary of most people here, and personally I don't like dealing with them. They ask for WAY too much when they realize that they're servicing the Young Master, and that doesn't just apply to money.

MC: *whistling crow sticker*

Barbatos: Maybe ask one of the brothers?

MC: *no sticker*

MC: We're not NEARLY that close for me to successfully get away with that.

Barbatos: Is there anyone else who lives here that you had some sort of a relationship with in your timeline?

MC: Yes, but they're out of the question.

Barbatos: Not necessarily.

MC: Trust me.

Barbatos: They're members of royalty, aren't they?

MC: *eyes emoji*

Barbatos: Interesting.

MC: Good or bad?

Barbatos: Not bad. Actually mildly impressed.

MC: Thanks?

Barbatos: So...

MC: *questioning sticker*

Barbatos: If you will allow me to be blunt for a moment, how would you like me to fuck you?

MC: *gif of someone spitting out water*

Barbatos: Simply being practical.

Barbatos: I'm not sending you back to Solomon.

Barbatos: The prince is too busy to help with this, sadly.

Barbatos: And I don't trust any of the other royals to not harm you. I want you to be able to return to your timeline in one piece.

Barbatos: Unless you don't trust me?

MC: It's not that.

Barbatos: Then what is it?

MC: In my timeline, I was your first.

Barbatos: Then that's perfect. We'll still keep that part of it accurate. It'd just happen sooner, which isn't a super big deal.

MC: If I didn't know better, I'd think this was your intention all along.

Barbatos: What, to get in bed with you?

MC: *nodding sticker*

Barbatos: I'd be lying if I told you that hasn't crossed my mind once or twice during your stay here so far.

MC: *gif of someone saying 'i knew it'*

Barbatos: What can I say? Like it or not, I'm a creature of desire.

Barbatos: Also...

Barbatos: Your scent has given you away a couple of times, so I figured that I'd had a fair shot if I ever DID want to indulge.

MC: *blushing emoji*

Barbatos: We'll talk more when you return to the castle.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch

[moki-dokie]

reasons i will never forgive the showrunners if they don't at least acknowledge jjpope by the end of s3

featuring: ✨✨✨queerbaiting✨✨✨

wearing each other's clothes:

jj taking every opportunity ever to touch pope (god there are SO many more examples too):

jj getting sexual with, to, or about pope and ONLY pope, ever:

INTRICATE RITUALS:

(with coincidentally well timed lyrics right as it cuts to this scene sorry not sorry editing choices like that are done for a reason)

jj very often gazing at his lips instead of his eyes while talking to him:

(seconds before going in for the kiss)

jj constantly putting himself between pope and danger or being protective of him:

KISSING:

INTIMATE NECK KISSING IN A HOT TUB FOR WHICH THERE IS NO HETEROSEXUAL REASON FOR????:

I RAN OUT OF ROOM FOR IMAGES BUT LETS NOT FORGET ALSO

how jj has quite a few pet names for pope but no one else, how pope and jj are almost always paired off together, how jj has explicitly said 'i love you' to pope TWICE, how jj calms pope down when he starts spiraling, how jj and pope have more physical contact and affection than the two romantic leads, how jj is supposed to be a manho from how he's introduced and yet the opening shot is the one and only time we've seen him with someone in a romantic or sexual manner. how about the multiple accounts of people sharing gifs of them to people who have never seen the show with 0 context provided and damn near every time the consensus is 'they are not straight/they are hitting on each other'. I've covered most of this before. the list goes on.

we could even get into film editing choices from the perspective of my bestie who has a degree in that very field and how SO many of their scenes are shot, lit, scored, and all around edited with romantic intent,.

but then wait, there's more! how about how multiple members of the cast (including rudy!!) have stated they support the ship and think it's cute? or how multiple netflix socials heavily suggested jjpope was going to be canon? how so many of the key jjpope moments were improv that could have been cut and redone (like the fucking hot tub scene) if they didn't want it going in a possible homo direction??? or how jjpope was the first major ship to come out of obx BECAUSE of such heavy handed subtext?? and then the showrunners have the audacity to pivot to jiara at the last second because of a handful of fucking rabid stans that harassed the cast so severely it drove most of them off of socials??? with the paper thin excuse of 'oh we never expected that lets explore it'???????????

and whats the definition of queerbaiting again? "Queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ+ representation. The purpose is to attract ("bait") a LGBTQ+ or straight ally audience with the suggestion or possibility of relationships or characters that appeal to them."

right.

i still have a sliver of hope that their 'exploration' of jiara is just like, 2 episodes of them giving it a shot and realizing they actually suck together. i still have hope they aren't gonna do us so blatantly dirty and might give us something even if it's just crumbs. most of the cast are loud and proud queer allies, the showrunners have so far been pretty fucking cool and extremely supportive of the queer community, even refusing to film in north Carolina because of transphobic bathroom laws. it would feel especially dirty if they really did bait us because of that. but man. MANNN. it just ain't looking good. i'd hate to give up on the show. i love it and love the actors even more but if they do it, i might just have to.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 22 - bleeding through the bandages

Warnings: swearing, canonical violence

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Coulson have a debrief, Maria expresses her true feelings about Natasha. Oh, and violence.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

“Fucking shitheads,” Maria growls, watching them circle.

The five person team is easily broken; two split left, two right and one leads down the middle.

She takes the one in the middle, rolling under her truck, and shooting his leg. He drops and she puts a bullet in his head.

“One,” she whispers.

Two sets of two.

She takes the gun off the corpse, recognizing him as Barnaby, and resists the urge to kick him.

Sliding under the car, she moves to the right, and climbs into the bed of her truck.

Peeking over the side, she shoots twice.

The first one hits, the second goes wider.

Both shots alert the remaining three to her position and she ducks as wild bullets fly over her head and hit the car.

Maria rolls out, crouching low and listening to the sound of boots on the ground.

She hears them before she sees them.

They shoot and miss as she runs at the team of two.

She knees one in the chest, knocking the wind from him. Unsheathing her knife and throwing it, she hits the second in the leg.

“Fuck,” she swears.

He punches up as she punches down. Maria then elbows him in the head, pushing it against the concrete.

She traps his gun between their bodies and straddles him like a lover, smacks him with the butt of his own gun, and then dismounts.

“Three,” she counts.

The next shot whizzes past her head, hot and searing.

She runs.

Shooting behind her, she wants to go back for her knife, but survival tells her to go and she bolts further into the car park.

Maria reaches for her phone, calling Coulson as she runs.

“Maria?!”

He sounds out of breath, as he answers on the second ring.

“Maria! I can’t talk, meet me at safehouse six. If Clint calls, tell him the same!”

She hears the phone drop, and the sounds of dogs barking.

She drops her phone too.

The bicycle left untethered seems the easiest escape and she hopes whoever it belongs to doesn’t need it.

She grabs it and rides, feeling the urgency of the chase and the men at her heels, knowing they’d take her out if the opportunity arose.

She has a choice, take them out or escape; the former feels more dangerous but the satisfaction in doing so, alluring. The latter is safer but she knows they’d still be after her.

She rolls her eyes at herself.

“Fuck,” she swears again under her breath.

“Two to go.”

They’re easily spotted as she stops and scans the back of the parking lot. The sounds of gunfire had made people scatter and their uniforms made them stand out.

She checks her bullets.

Four.

She feels her limbs begin to grow heavy, the initial adrenaline fading. She’s running out of time.

One has her knife.

She hides behind the cars, if she can get around behind them, they’d be easy targets.

Quietly, she drops the bike and confidently begins to move from car to car, keeping out of sight as they sweep the parking lot in search of her.

Finally, they split when they reach the end of the row.

She takes the one that’s limping. Her knife must have embedded deep.

The first shot hits him in the chest, the second misses, but the third finishes him. She retrieves her knife, and feels irate, recognising Seif.

“Fucker,” she doesn’t restrain herself and kicks his dead body.

“One.”

It’s not even a challenge. With one bullet, she approaches him from behind and shoots him in the head.

Satisfied, she takes his gun, holsters her own, and runs back to the bike The sounds of police sirens and emergency services are closing in.

The whole ambush only lasted only minutes, though to Maria it felt hours.

Safehouse six, she thinks, the code is not hard; six blocks from Shield, floor six, apartment 36.

The adrenaline fades further and she feels the stickiness of blood on her neck.

She hopes it’s not hers.

.

Coulson finds the first aide kit under the sink in the bathroom.

He pulls out the gauze and a bandage and puts it to the side. Washing hands, he watches the pinkish-red blood run down the sink. His knuckles split and the knife wound that runs along his left hand doesn’t seem too deep.

He decides against stitching it and instead places small butterfly bandages on either side and then wraps his hand with practiced ease.

Clenching his fist, he lets it go and feels that he did a good enough job.

His shirt is beyond repair.

The closet holds sets of clothing, different sizes and for different occasions.

He opts for another shirt, but rolls the sleeve over his bandaged arm.

He checks his own burner phone, hoping to hear from someone.

No Clint, no Maria or Fury.

He knew it would be dangerous, but he may have underestimated how much cornered dogs fought.

He hopes that Thompson is imprisoned for life for all he’s done, locked up and the key thrown away.

.

Coulson doesn’t have to wait long.

Maria knocks, three sharp raps on the door.

He opens to find her holding a hoodie against her head, soaked with what he thinks is her blood.

“Shit,” he comments, his usual stoic face shocked.

“Got them,” she grins.

He ushers her in and directs her to the bathroom.

Pulling it away, blood leaks from the side of her head, the graze of a bullet wound obvious.

“It needs stitches,” he tells her, “maybe glue.”

He probes it and she hits his hand away.

“Just glue it,” she hisses.

“You have to wash it,” he argues, “you might want to shave it first.”

Maria rolls her eyes annoyed.

“Fine.”

She opts to wash it, Coulson watching her, sitting on the toilet.

“Clint?”

He shakes his head.

“Fury?”

He shrugs.

“I guess we wait?”

Coulson nods.

The water runs red with her blood. He offers her scissors and a straight razor. She takes them, annoyance on her face.

The blood slows as she works her way around the graze, looking at herself in the mirror like she’s putting on makeup.

She sighs.

“That’ll have to do.”

Coulson gently glues the cut, ignoring her wince.

“What’s next?” she asks, admiring his work, and turning her attention back to him.

“Your arm is bleeding you know?”

Coulson looks down, finding his bandage tinged with red.

He sighs.

“Do you think Clint and Natasha are okay?”

Maria nods.

“As long as she doesn’t turn on him, they’ll be fine.”

The words come out flippantly. She meant it like a joke, but it’s evident by Coulson’s frown that he doesn’t take it that way.

Maria feels mean.

After all Natasha has been through, she feels sorry for her; feels like maybe in another life they might have been friends. But still, there has to be caution. She loves Clint like a brother, but doesn’t really know how to keep him safe since Natasha’s arrival.

“You still don’t trust her?”

Maria doesn’t answer straight away. She does trust Natasha, in a way, but to admit that would be something else.

Trusting a Russian? Her military father would roll in his grave.

“Do you think this is her fault?”

She asks the question that she can’t help thinking.

Natasha came and SHIELD changed. She had warned Clint.

In those first couple of weeks, she told him after the attack in the kitchens, that the others were scared of ‘different’. That people are scared of anything threatening.

She didn’t want to be like that, but after the attack she’d just endured, she wondered… would things have fallen apart if Natasha hadn’t come? Or had she just exposed what would have happened eventually?

It’s hard to admit the cracks and fissures in SHIELD were already there, and Natasha had just made it break.

Coulson sits on the closest chair and motions for her to do the same.

“I don’t,” he answers, “but tell me why you do.”

“She came and it changed. She unveiled traitors and now they’re after us, everything is different…” Maria knows it’s unfair, even as she says it.

“And you're scared?”

She shakes her head.

“No.”

But even as she denies it, she knows it’s true.

“Everything’s changing.”

Coulson looks at her.

“Maria, it’s the nature of life and the world we live in that things change. We need change to make a difference. We can’t let Hydra or the KGB or Russia operate beneath us. If we did, what would we stand for? Natasha may have pushed it forward, but it’s not a bad thing. Her being here, she’s made a difference.”

Maria looks at her feet.

She knows he’s right.

It just feels so uncomfortable.

“It’ll be okay,” he smiles, half hugging her.

“Give her a chance. Clint hasn’t done a bad thing. And I think you know it.”

Maria sighs heavily, a grumble on her lips.

.

[karahalloway]

Me, when I saw this was up:

ok, then *cracks knuckles*

That gif will forever be one of my faves that you've found 🤣🤣🤣 Cracks me up every time!

So the entire opening sequence leading up to this was just.....

Aww thanks! 🤗 I rewrote it like 6 times 🤣🤣🤣 But this has been a nice thing about this series actually - Drake and Chris actually behaving like friends (rather than wolves trying to tear each others' throats out over Harper 😅)

I love that Drake is offering to help him ditch out on the ball, if only temporarily. Really showcases the bond between them..

Yes! And I finally had a chance to show this! Bc in UA, it is only referenced in conversations that Harper has with Drake and Chris, and it's not quite the same hearing it second hand as reading/experiencing it first hand.

Aw, you would know, Walker.

Gonna be honest. At this point I thought the other girl was going to show up for Chris and Harper was with her for morale support. I just know she's got to show up somehow...

Hahaha that would've been premature 😆

Called it!

Hahaha! If anyone was going to, it was definitely going to be you!

I love how dumbfounded he is

I mean... it's literally the last thing he was expecting, so some surprise (or a lot lol) is probably justified 😆

Oh, no. Stop being a jackass dude

His brain's a bit fried... He'll reboot in a sec 😅

She flew across an ocean for him! But how did she find him? Was it Max?

Not really lol But I wanted to do something different 😇

Ya think? Way to completely crush her.

But at least he apologises 😇

Yes, you fucking moron hahaha

Yes! Now go fix it!

oh hell. I mean on one hand, YES, FINALLY but on the other hand I feel like there will be consequences....

I know a bunch of things are alluded to and not resolved, but I had to end it there, otherwise it was going to balloon into a 10,000 word monster AND launch a sequel (might still end up doing a sequel, even though I didn't want to and wasn't in the plan, and I don't have time, because as I was writing this epilogue, I got so many ideas and now they won't leave me alone 🫣)

I KNEW that was going to be her he ran into! Also, love the "I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you" vibe of that answer

The Last Avatar gif 🤣🤣🤣 But it's one thing I love about writing Drake - he knows all the secret tunnel ways around the palace, which makes for some great action-y sequences

YES! YES YES YES YES!!!!

You have no idea how satisfying this was! 😆

HA! Did not see that coming!

Gotta keep peeps on their toes! 🙃 That said, it was kind of (very subtly) foreshadowed in the previous chapter during the convo that Leo and Drake have before Leo leaves the breakfast dive-bar place. I am hoping to provide more context in the bonus chapter that I am planning to write (which will be from Harper's POV).

I mean....it kind of was an amazing thing to do though (also explains her getting through security) Go Leo! I think it's amazing, but Drake is still like.....

That gif 🤣🤣🤣 But yes - Drake has all sorts of mixed feelings about this Bc we can't let things be simple, can we?

YES!! I'm so happy they are getting their happily ever after!

Same! That was always the plan - was not sure how things were going to work out until I finished the last New York chapter, but it is great to get this done!

Great job on your "one-shot" (it's never a one shot!)

🤣 But yes - this ended up being twice as long as planned (my original thought was max. 6 chapters lol)

Thanks so much for reading, liking, reblogging and generally sharing your thoughts and reactions throughout this fic! 🥰 It really means a lot and I really am grateful for the time you set aside for this!

Sleepless in New York: Epilogue - Into The Night

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: On the long-dreaded night of the Masquerade Ball, Drake has a revelation...

Word Count: 4,600

Rating/Warnings: M (angst, way too many f-bombs, drinking, references to drug-use, fluffy fluff fluff)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: This is my slightly belated submission for @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event I got this out as fast as I could! The prompt that this fits is '31 - You don’t know me and I promise I’m not a creepy stalker but...' and possibly this one:

A/N2: I have no clue how many people actually listen to the chapter theme songs for these fics, but if you have time, I highly encourage you to listen to this one! I dredged it from the depths of my Middle School memories because I realised that it was perfect for this chapter (in my head, if Sleepless were a movie/TV show, this is the song that would play as the end credits song).

Epilogue - Into The Night

"You okay?"

I shoot a scoff across the room. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"You could," Chris concedes, meeting my eye through the full-length mirror as he adjusts a cuff. "But I am not the one who has been staring into that whiskey glass for the past ten minutes."

"Speak for yourself," I reply, quickly draining what's left of my drink. "You've been eyeing up your reflection for the past fifteen."

"I just want to make a good first impression, is all..." he admits while obsessing over the gold aiguillette draped across his jacket.

"Isn't that what the job of the so-called ladies?" I ask dryly, dropping the now empty glass back onto the bar cart.

"I am certain they will be pulling out all the stops," he sighs, smoothing his already immaculate hair down. "But, given the occasion, it is only fair that I reciprocate."

"Well, short of emergency Botox, I think you've more than crossed that T."

Chris snaps his head around in bewilderment. "Pardon me?"

I shrug apathetically. "You're fast approaching thirty, buddy. And those crow's feet aren't doing you any favours."

He quirks a brow at me. "I think you'll find that they are laugh lines..."

"Now you're just splitting grey hairs, old man..."

Chris bursts out laughing. "Speak for yourself, Drake! You were born three months before me!"

"True," I concede. "But unlike you, I ain't got no wrinkles."

His mouth pulls into a knowing smirk. "Only because you hide them under all that unkept facial hair!"

"You should try it sometime," I riposte, running my hand suggestively over the bristles on my jaw.

Chris shakes his head with a wry grin. "I must've done something very wrong at some point for you to be my best friend..."

I spread my arms. "Hey. I'm just here to keep you humble."

Chris scoffs. "Yes. By reminding me that I'm fast approaching middle age..."

"It took your mind off the Ball, didn't it?"

"Yes," he concedes after a pause. "I suppose it did."

"Not just a hat rack, my friend," I grin with a tap on my temple. "But seriously. You look great. Warts and all."

A wan smile ghosts his lips. "Thanks, mate. You don't look too shabby yourself."

I glance down at the black tux that I'm wearing. "Yeah. Well... Given the occasion, I figured I should make some kind of effort as well."

"You know you don't have to dress up on my account... I know how much you dislike donning evening wear."

"Tell that to the prick who put 'black tie' on the invite..."

Chris chuckles. "That would be my father."

"Figures..." I say with a roll of my eyes. "He's got more dinner jackets than you can shake a stick at."

"A necessity when you are a king, I'm afraid..." Chris reminds me. "But at least it isn't a white tie 'do."

"Oh, sweet Jesus..." I groan, remembering the last royal event that I had to subject myself to in a bow tie and matching waistcoat. "I was sweating like a priest in a brothel strapped up in that monkey suit."

"It certainly did not help that the air conditioning system had been broken..."

"In the middle of a heatwave..." I add. "With five hundred people packed into a room."

"Yes, that Venice trip certainly was memorable."

"For all the wrong reasons," I grunt sourly. "I somehow managed to get food poisoning as well."

"I remember," nods Chris sympathetically. "But at least you missed the terrible opera."

"Honestly, I would've traded that hellhole of a night for an entire week's worth of bad arias..." I grumble. "I definitely got the short end of the stick in that trade."

"You only say that because you do not know what it is to sit through four hours of off-key yodelling," Chris says with grimace.

"No," I admit solemnly. "Because I always bring earplugs."

Chris' eyes widen. "And you never thought to share them?"

"Doesn't really work if you only block one ear..."

Chris rewards my factual clap-back with a shove. "You are a sod, you know that right?"

"Thought that was old news," I reply with a grin, dodging out of the way.

"And yet you nevertheless continue to raise the bar..."

"Hey," I wink as I reverse my way back to the bar cart. "I have high standards."

Chris shakes his head with a wry grin. "You're impossible."

"Thought I was a sod," I quip over my shoulder as I refill both our glasses.

"An impossible sod," accedes Chris wryly as he slips on his monogrammed Breitling.

"Just so we're clear..." I smirk as I retrace my steps to offer him one of the tumblers.

"Thanks," he acknowledges, taking the heavy crystal. "What shall we toast to?"

I think for a second. "How 'bout blind, dumb luck?"

Chris lifts a brow. "That's a new one."

"Seems to be in short supply of late," I tell him, raising my glass.

"Very true," he agrees. "To Lady Luck, then! May she bestow her golden smile upon us once again!"

"'Cause we could all do with a fuckin' break," I add dryly, clinking my glass against his.

Chris brings the gin to his mouth with a laugh. "Did we not just have one?"

"Not all of us," I remind him, throwing my refill back.

"Well, we'll need to make sure you take some time in lieu, then."

"I'll be fine," I assure him. "I'll just chalk it up as overtime."

Chris chuckles. "At the rate you're going, you'll soon have more overtime on the books than regular time."

"Yeah, well..." I shrug. "Shit needs doing. But I'm planning on dropping off the grid for a couple of weeks once the Bash is behind us."

"Take a whole month," Chris advises, clapping a hand onto my shoulder. "You will have more than earned it by then."

I scoff. "I can't just—"

He firms up his grip. "I insist."

Lifting my gaze, I find his clear, emerald eyes locking me down.

I huff out a low breath. "Fine. I'll think about it."

"That is the best I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?"

"Yep," I tell him with a slap on his arm. "Now, hop to it, Cinderella — your ball awaits."

"Yes, I suppose we best get on," he concedes, depositing his empty glass on a side table. "Would be rude to turn up late for my own party..."

Turning on his heel, he strides determinedly towards the door of his suite. The footman stationed by the wall quickly grabs the latch and pulls the door back.

"Here we go..." I mutter under my breath as I drop my tumbler off as well and follow after him.

This is it. The start of the slow, downward skid towards the inevitable. The beginning of the end.

Because tonight's ball kicks off not just the months-long circus that is the social season, but the countdown to Chris' coronation as well.

As despite all the official interviews and press releases, it's no secret within the Palace that Constantine is living on borrowed time. His pancreatic cancer had been diagnosed too late, and even with vigorous treatment, it had spread. And even based on the most optimistic outlook, chances are good that he won't make it to Christmas.

Which is why New York — by necessity — had been such a whirlwind tour. Because any day could end up being the old bastard's last, and Chris has to be ready to step up to the plate at a moment's notice. Not that he isn't already running the country in all but name... It just isn't official yet.

But that's why the race to find the next Queen is exactly that — a high-stakes time-trial where the clock is against everyone.

Especially Chris.

Because if Constantine's condition takes a sudden turn for the worse, Chris may not get the luxury of choice. As some dumbass had had the bright idea a few centuries ago to enact a law that states that Cordonian monarchs must be married or engaged at the time of their coronation. Which means that Chris' hand could end up being forced by circumstances — and selfish interests — outside his control.

So, we better pray that he finds someone, and fast. Or that the doctors are wrong. Ideally both.

Otherwise, we're gonna be up the proverbial creek without a paddle, hurtling down the rapids of a constitutional crisis that could very literally tear the kingdom apart.

"Well... This is it," declares Chris as we arrive at the doors of the ballroom.

"Yep," I agree over the soft hubbub of gossip and classical music that's seeping out into the ante-room we're standing in. "Last chance to cut and a run."

"I am honestly considering it," he admits with a shaky laugh as the footmen prepare to open the double-height doors.

"Hey," I say, stepping in front of him. "If you need a time out—"

He shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?" I ask, fixing him with a critical eye as I wave at the staff to hold their horses.

"Yes," he nods determinedly. "Just... Just some last-minute nerves, is all."

"Understandable," I concede. "There are only about a dozen girls on the other side of that door waiting to throw themselves at you."

He eyes the barrier uneasily. "I suppose I should feel flattered..."

"...but you're seriously thinking about jumping off the balcony."

He bites out a strangled laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

"You never could beat me at poker."

"Shit..." he mutters, running an agitated hand down his face.

"Hey," I say, clamping my hands onto his shoulders to make him look at me. "It's a fucked up situation. I get it. Your dad's got one foot in the grave, you're trying to run a country, and the last thing you want to do is play Royal Bachelor in front of all these tossers. But you need a Queen. And the season's your best bet at finding one."

"But how will I know which is the one?"

"You won't," I admit. "Until you do."

Christ knows Gale struck me like white lightning out of the blue...

His lips curve into a ghost of a smile. "Blind, dumb luck..."

"Blind, dumb luck," I confirm, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Chris heaves a low exhale. "Here's to chance, then."

"Knock 'em dead, buddy," I say with a grin as I step back.

Chris lines himself up in front of the entranceway again. The footmen reach for the handles as the herald takes his position.

I give everyone the go.

The double doors swing open, and the herald clears his voice.

The music and the hubbub come to an abrupt halt as every neck in the room cranes around with unfettered interest.

"Preeesenting His Royal Highness, the Duke of Applewood!"

Chris squares his shoulders and lifts his head. And just like that, the man disappears and in his place stands the Prince — cool, composed, collected — any wayward reservations masked behind the diplomatic smile he's been practising since the age of three.

The crowd parts...

...and with one final inhale, Chris steps over the threshold and the doors close behind him.

A breath that I didn't realise I'd been holding explodes out of me.

Phase 1 — check.

Now to try and get through the remainder of the ball without any front-page scandals, culinary clusterfucks, or assassination attempts upsetting the carefully staged high-society apple cart.

Because I hadn't been joking earlier when I'd said we could all do with a fuckin' break. The media storm kicked up by Leo's abdication was still raging in full force through the pages of the tabloids, and it's only gonna be a matter of time before the paps get wind of Constantine's condition.

Which is why it's so critical that tonight's event goes off without a hitch. As the royal family — Chris especially — is in desperate need of a publicity uplift before the coronation... and the funeral.

And it's my job to quarterback while Bastien coordinates from the command centre.

So, I need to be especially on it tonight. As we can't afford any cock-ups.

Spinning on my heel, I make my way towards the closest side-door as I activate the hidden mic clipped to my jacket. "Falcon has flown, over."

"Confirmed," comes the crackled sound of Bastien's voice over the comms. "Blue Team — do you have eyes on Falcon?"

"We have eyes on Falcon, over," affirms Marquez.

"Walker, you're clear to take up secondary position, over."

"Roger that, over."

I feel my shoulders relax slightly as I reach the end of the service corridor.

So far, so good.

Just need to stay focused for the next six-or-so hours, and make sure that nothing goes sideways.

Opening the white-washed door in front of me, I slip into the ballroom near the back of the royal dais. Clicking the latch closed softly behind me, I catch sight of Constantine.

He's dressed to the nines in full royal regalia, patent oxfords polished to within an inch of their life. But the carefully coordinated window dressing can't hide the fact that the old man is a shadow of his former self.

His cheeks are sunken, his greying hair is sparse, and despite the carefully applied make-up, his skin lacks the usual vigour of health.

But I gotta hand it to the man. Despite his failing health, he's out here tonight. Putting on a united front for the sake of the kingdom — for the sake of his son — to make sure that the royal show goes on. Even if it fucking kills him.

Because that's the price of duty.

And regardless of his other failings — of which there are many — you have to respect him for that, if nothing else.

He spots me out of the corner of his periphery. "Drake..."

"Sir," I acknowledge with a respectful nod, coming to a stop.

"I trust everything is under control?"

"Yessir."

He eyes me for a moment before leaning back into his upholstered chair. "Let's ensure that it stays that way."

Knowing a dismissal when I hear one, I resume my path around the perimeter, scanning the crowd as I walk, always keeping at least one eye on Chris.

Because Constantine's direction had been clear.

Don't fuck up.

Not that I plan to.

I learnt my lesson the hard way in New York about taking my eyes off the ball. And like hell am I gonna—

"Managed to find a new shirt, I see..."

I freeze. No fuckin' way.

I must've imagined it. A trick of the space... A wayward echo... An auditory illusion.

But if that's true, then who the hell is standing behind me? Eyes locked onto my back like a laser-sight? Their familiar scent tickling my nose?

Camomile with a hint of honey.

I shake my head, trying to rejig my senses.

It doesn't work.

Which leaves me with just one option.

Steeling myself, I turn slowly around, part of me convinced that I've well and truly lost the plot, part of me 'bout ready to believe in miracles.

Because that voice... Here? That's just not possible. Unless there was something in that whiskey and I'm tripping major ballsacks right now.

Wouldn't be the first time Max pulled a stunt like that...

But as I complete the about-face, it quickly becomes clear that I ain't just obviously high — I've lost my motherfuckin' mind completely.

That, or a bomb has just gone off in the ballroom and I'm now stood at the Gates of Heaven, about to receive final judgement.

Because I can think of no other scenario that would explain why she's here, in front of me, wrapped in a shimmering, floor-length white dress that clings to her curves like wisps of a dream, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"But I guess you can't show up at a place like this in cowboy boots and Wrangler jeans, huh?"

The soft lilt of her voice slices through me like a boot knife. "Harp—"

I make the mistake of catching her eye.

And whatever semblance of rationale thought I may have had left dissolves instantly in the sparkle of her hazel-green gaze.

The crowd... The Schubert... The entire fucking kingdom crashes into inconsequence as I feel my already tenuous grip on reality slip, leaving me stranded on the twilight edge of reason, struggling for breath.

How—?

I have no clue how long I stand there, rooted to the spot like a vegetate stoner as I try — and fail — to make sense of what the actual fuck is happening.

Because this shit? It sure as hell ain't real.

"...Drake?"

The sound of her voice finally unglitches my brain.

I blink.

But she's still there. Staring at me. Like an unabating hallucination with a bad sense of humour.

With concerted effort, I force myself to choke out the only salient question. "The hell are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

"Why?"

"You left your jackets behind and—"

My jaw drops. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Who — in their right mind — chases someone halfway around the world? Because of a goddamn jacket?

Nobody. That's who.

The girl's obviously crazy.

Her smile falters slightly. "I thought I'd surprise you..."

"Yeah. Well, I hate surprises," I cut in acerbically, still trying to process this shitshow.

"Yes," she snips, hazel eyes hardening. "That much is becoming clear!"

"What the fuck did you expect, Gale?" I hit back. "That I'd just—?"

"I don't know what I was expecting!" she snaps, the force of her annoyance propelling her forward as she flings an arm out. "But it sure as hell wasn't this!"

"Well, that makes two of us," I bite out, suddenly finding myself nose-to-nose with her. "Because I would've expected a fucking heads-up!"

Her eyes narrow. "Do you know how many Drake Walkers there are online?"

I feel my jaw clench. "What the hell does that—?"

"Over a hundred!" she shouts into my face... loud enough for a few nearby aristos to turn their heads. "And none of them are you!"

I grab her by the arm. "So, you just decide to jump on a plane and—?"

"Yes! Because it's not like I had your number, either, Walker," she continues forcefully, jabbing me in the chest. "Because you just left and—"

"You fucking think I don't know that!" I yell back, the inherent accusation of her words ripping away the last vestiges of my sanity.

Several more heads to turn.

But I don't give a shit.

Because I can't seem to think straight around this girl on the best of days. Let alone when she springs herself on me like some damn jack-in-the-box — for the third fuckin' time just as many days — leaving me slap-faced and scrambling, and then accuses me of being an asshole?

Like fuck am I gonna act rational...

...also, why the hell does she have to look so damn good in that dress?

She's glaring up at me, chest heaving. "This was obviously a bad idea..."

I scoff humourlessly, her face inches from mine. "No fucking shit."

Her body tenses... but in the next instant the fight goes out of her just as fast as it ignited. Dropping her gaze, she mutters, "Glad we got that cleared up..."

There's something in her tone that I can't quite place.

But my burnt-out brain is too slow at cottoning on, and before I have a chance to figure it out, she's spun out of my grasp and I'm left holding nothing but air...

"Harp—"

...but by the time I look up, she's already turned and vanished into the crush.

Shit.

That obviously came out wrong.

But what the fuck had she been thinking? For me to just throw my hat over the moon like some star-struck moron? To sweep her off her feet and kiss her like we were in a goddamn rom-com?

I catch sight of the flash of her honey-caramel hair halfway across the room.

Crap.

That's exactly what I should've done.

Ignoring every single warning light going off in my head — she's not been vetted, she didn't have an invite, how the fuck did she even find me? — I throw myself after her.

Because as pissed off as I am that she was able to get the jump on me like she did — someone's sure as shit getting fired for that — I can't deny the fact that I'm still a complete and utter fool for her.

And the thought of her walking out on me — like I'd walked out on her — hits worse than a bullet to the gut.

"Harper!" I shout, pushing through the crowd of beady-eyed onlookers to try and get to her, much to their undisguised disgust.

"Oi, watch it, you!"

"C'est intolérable!"

"Do you know who I am!"

But if she hears me over the growing furore, she doesn't stop.

"For fuck's sake..." I grunt under my breath as I momentarily lose sight of her in the sea of heads.

This girl's going to be the death of me.

But if I'm going to have any chance of catching her, I know I need a change of strategy.

Spinning on my heel, I cut a hard and fast path back to the edge of the ballroom, spilling more than a few fancy drinks in the process as I knock aristos out of the way like bowling pins.

Heedless of the chaos left in my wake, I burst out onto the periphery of the crush. Throwing myself into a sprint back towards the tail end of the room, I bump off anyone stupid enough to get in my way.

I'm not losing her again.

Rushing past the raised dais, I see Constantine turn his head in my direction...

...but I've blown past him before he has a chance to open his mouth.

Sliding to a haphazard stop in front of the wall, I pause for just long enough to wrench the hidden door open before hurling myself down the service corridor.

Rushing past doors and junctions on my left and right, I pull up a mental blueprint of the Palace, trying to extrapolate her most likely position based on her speed and prior trajectory, and cross-reference that against how fast I'm going to determine the best option for an interception.

There. The main foyer.

Skidding around a corner, I double-time it down the narrow passageways, praying and hoping that I've been able to make up for time lost in the ballroom.

Arriving at the exit point, I throw myself against the door — nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process — and crash back out into the Palace-proper...

...but I can't see her anywhere.

"Fuck!" I cuss, running an agitated hand through my hair as I spin around.

Maybe I miscalculated. Maybe she's already gone. Maybe—

"Ooph!"

I collide bodily with someone speeding around the corner from the opposite direction, their head smacking into my jaw.

Agony shoots through my mouth as the unexpected impact causes me to bite down on my tongue.

Motherfucker!

But the sharp sting of the pain doesn't stop my body from reacting. If anything, it kicks my training into gear. Moving more on instinct than anything else, I execute a targeted sidestep to realign my centre as my hand snaps out to grab the other person by the arm to stop them from falling backwards.

Using their weight as a fulcrum, I redirect the force of our momentum into a spin to bring both of us to a stop next to the wall.

"You okay?" I ask, peering down at the panting, hot mess in my arms.

Gale snaps her head up so fast she nearly breaks my nose as well. "How the hell did you get in front of me?"

"Trade secret," I tell her.

She lays into me. On the exact same spot she hit me last night.

"Christ!" I exclaim, reeling back. "What the hell was that—?"

"For being an asshole!" she decries, hitting me again.

"Asshole?" I scoff. "You fucking ran into me!"

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have done if you hadn't been such a jerk, Walker!" she shouts, smacking me again.

"What do you want, then?" I demand, catching her wrist. "A goddamn apology?"

Her eyes blaze. "It would be a damn good st—"

Fuck it.

Giving her wrist a hard tug, I use the inherent resistance in her arm to yank her forward. And before she has a chance to object, I've crashed my lips against hers.

I hear her suck in a sharp breath of surprise before her body suddenly softens, melting against mine with a sigh as she gives into me.

The scent of her wildflower perfume subsumes me as she throws an arm around my neck, and I'm — at long last — home.

Because it's not until this moment that I realise how much I fucking missed her. Even though I barely know her, and I have no clue how... or even if we can make this — whatever this is — work, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was a monumental idiot for not going back to find her in New York...

...for the fact that I walked out on her in the first place.

Because this girl? She's unlike anything I've ever seen before.

The sheer fact that she's here — despite all the myriad-and-one ways in which I've screwed up with her — proves that.

And I'll be damned if I'll find another like her.

"Harper... I'm sorry," I pant between kisses, reaching up to cup her face in my palms. "For being an asshole... for being a jerk... for getting you fired... for hurting you... for—"

"I'm sorry, too..." she gasps, gripping my hair as my lips skate down her neck. "I didn't mean to... freak you out... like that... and I should've—"

"How did you even get here?" I ask, spinning her around to press her up against the wall behind me.

"Leo," she moans, arching up towards me as I drop a hand down to her ass, pulling her back into me. "He came to the apartment and—"

I scoff as I capture her mouth again. "Un-fuckin'-real..."

I'm gonna murder the bastard.

Because if this is his batshit idea of saying 'thank you' for me being here for Chris instead of him, then he's definitely more than one brick shy of a load.

As regardless of whatever kind of happy reunion he'd cooked up in his mind, there's only one possible outcome to this royal SNAFU — me losing my job. Because there's no way in hell that Bast will be able to overlook the fact that I deserted my post to chase after a girl.

Again.

As unlike last time, there are a good two-dozen witnesses who can throw me under the bus. And they'll do so with impunity, given half a chance. Because one of those witnesses is Constantine. And no way is he gonna let such a flagrant dereliction of duty fly. Especially not after the very clear command he gave me.

Plus, it's not like I can justify my behaviour with any kind of rational argument. Or swear on a stack of Bibles that I won't do it again.

I'd tried that in New York.

It hadn't worked.

But as I glance down at Gale's flushed face, one thing is crystal clear.

I'll deal with that shit in the morning...

~ Fin ~

A/N: This is it! We have arrived at the end! 🤗 Thank you so much for bearing with me over the course of this fic, which has been 2 long years in the making! Hopefully, the journey was worth it! There will be some Extras in the near future (art, a bonus chapter), but no ETA on any of these yet (too many other WIPs I want/need to finish). Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, reblog, comment, emote, and generally encourage me through this project! I - for one! - have certainly grown to love Drake more as a result! 🥰 Hope you have too!

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits: Harper - Cordonia - Drake - Constantine - Kiss - Christian

[spookysmujer]

Thru Your Phone, O. Diaz

Summary: Oscar accidentally likes one of your old IG pics and you won’t let him live it down.

warnings: fluff, shy!Oscar 🐱, s w e e t ending

word count: 1.5K

a/n: hi everyone, it’s been a minute! I hope you’ve all been enjoying the new year. I know how tough things have been since this pandemic started so if all you did was simply survive these couple of years: I am so proud of you. If you made a big commitment and did big things: I am also so proud! Let’s live 2022 with good vibes only. As always: please consider following the blog, heart/comment/reblog my content and turning on the notifs for when I post! T h a n k  y o u 💖

anonymously requested!

(gif belongs to the babe @blessedboo ✨)

There isn’t a single female in Freeridge that doesn’t wish to be desired by Oscar Diaz. The man is full of charisma and can say enough without saying anything at all. He’s the whole package. The right concoction of a good man gone bad.

And Oscar, himself, knows himself how desired he is too. But what does the santo, himself, desire? Perhaps a nice little treat from you. 

You were just an law-abiding citizen trying to get by in life. Unfortunate for you to be born in a town like Freeridge where the opportunities are limited but you’ve found a way to make do. A decent job, a small studio and occasional yoga class on the weekends. Peace of mind or something like that.

This isn’t how you foresaw your life at 25 but you get by and that’s a lot more than many can say so you were thankful and didn’t complain. 

It’s a Tuesday night and you’re mindlessly flipping through magazines and enjoying the night off. You decided to tidy up your small area when you stumbled across your high school yearbook, which distracted you from your intended cleaning. 

“Oh goodness.” You snicker to yourself, looking through and see the younger, foolish version of yourself. The many faces that you’ve seen come and go since high school. One of those faces sticking out to you, the one that sports a shaved head and teardrop tattoo below his eye.

Your mind wonders about him for a moment or two before flipping the pages.

Oscar had a long day and wanted to sleep the rest of the week away. Shit’s been constant and to come home to a half empty fridge, mess of a house and hermanito giving him attitude, pues, Oscar needs something to distract his mind. 

He’s fresh out of a steaming shower, at least he has that, with his towel resting on his hips and laying back in his bed. His thumb sliding up on his phone screen as he scrolls through instagram. If it’s a distraction he seeks then there isn’t anything better than seeing other’s making fools of themselves on the internet. 

There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But he does stumble upon a picture of green scenery. It’s a simple picture of an open field that a lot of people find themselves at.

He didn’t plan to linger until he realized the profile it belonged to. 

Oscar hesitates for a moment before clicking on your name. Your face suddenly appears, many different pictures of you do. Some food shots, some scenery, some family but he scrolls over to the pictures of you. The way your eye twinkles, how your smile is a bit lopsided but still wholesome. 

It’s been years, 7 years to be exact, since he’s really seen you. Sure, there have been moments he’s seen you. Sometimes passing by on the streets or at the bodega. But years since he’s really been in the same space as you. 

He smirks to himself as he scrolls to a picture from over a year ago. You’re in a nice little number, fabric on you like a second skin and mangonada drink in your hand. Oscar can’t deny feeling his manhood twitch upon seeing it. He clears his throat as he felt himself staring a little too long.

Oscar snaps out of it but doesn’t do so gracefully as his finger slips and hits his screen twice. A red heart appearing and making his own heart skip a beat. “Fuck.”

After your delayed cleaning is resumed, you cook and then do a ‘works’ unwind in the shower. Hair wash, shave, skin care and music to assist you in the feel good department. When you crawl in bed and notice the lone notification from that shaven head cholo, your heart skips a quick beat.

Your brows furrow as your mind ponders. The last time you spoke  with him seems like an eternity ago. When you open the notification, you are met with nothing. As if he didn’t like anything but you were certain that his name popped up with ‘liked your post’ before you unlocked your device.

“Hm…” You refresh your IG but again nothing pops up. It’s a moment later when you put two and two together. Was Oscar stalking your page and accidentally liked an old post of yours? That could be the only explanation for if it were your most recent post then for what reason would the like disappear or be taken back?

You’re guilty of going through other’s profiles and have committed the ‘old post’ like. It’s extremely embarrassing as no matter how quick you un-like it, the user will get a notification. Then you are branned as a fucking weirdo for looking at their old post. 

Instantly, a grin forms on your face and you laugh to yourself. You wonder what photo it was that he accidentally liked.

All thoughts of Oscar accidentally liking an old picture disappeared overnight. When you woke the next day, all you thought about was getting through your early morning shift. Despite having to haul ass out of your house by 5:30AM, being off by 3:00PM delivered happiness in the form of a sandia paleta covered in chamoy and chilito. 

When you thank the paletero and step away from the cart, you see a group of people walking up to it. Both your eyes and Oscar’s eyes widen instantly and you are stumped. You don’t move from your spot as the crowd departs around you. 

“Oscar Diaz.” You finally get out after nearly a minute of staring at him. 

He keeps his face as neutral as possible but there is no lying that his heart is hammering within his rib cage. Partially due the whole post thing and the fact that you are literally just as ethereal as he remembers. 

Oscar pursues his lips together, “Y/N, long time no see.”

The awkwardness is suffocating. But you smile and take a taste of your paleta, “Not so long though. I coulda sworn the last time we saw each other was last night?”

You see a tinge of red flare over his cheeks and he cranks his neck to regain his stoic persona. The color flushes from his face as he rolls his eyes and looks towards the paletero. You look back and laugh, once again meeting his eyes. 

“Which one was it?” You ask him and he shakes his head, stepping past you but at this point it became fun to poke at him. Though it’s not smart to poke the sleeping bear, Oscar had always been kind to you in school. That was a different man though, you remind yourself. 

“Dos, por favor.” Oscar says, handing the man $20, advising him to keep the change. 

The small act of kindness means a lot to the man, it makes you smile as well. When he gets handed the two mangonada paletas, he hands one to you. You look at it with a confused face. A small small at the corner of his mouth, “It was that one.”

Oscar walks off before you can say anything. 

You couldn’t be mad at the yummy treat though you needed to eat with a quickness and ultimately ended up with a brain freeze. And the sweet treats had you craving something salty, a short trip to the corner store would help that. 

As you mentally remind yourself to only get what you came for, you get out of your car to find the infamous red impala. You stop in your tracks when you see Oscar leaning on the hood, smoking a cigarette. 

He flicks it down when he sees you and lets out a puff of smoke.

“I’m not sure if I should be scared or not.” You call out, walking to stand close to him. He smirks and shrugs his shoulders, fiddling with a lighter. 

You look him up and down while he has his attention elsewhere. He’s filled out since you last saw him all these years ago. Course, you’ve seen him around but never truly got to see him.

Oscar clears his throat and nods towards the bodega, “The paletas make me crave those queso ruffles. What’s your excuse?” He tries to downplay the smile trying to break through. 

You chuckle and hit his arm, he leans away but moves over when you step besides him. There’s a comfortable silence for a moment before he moves away and leans in through his open window. He pulls out a big bag of ruffles, opens it and offers you some. 

The two of you lean against the car under the setting sun, it’s a sight for sore eyes. 

“You like mangonadas or just girls who do?” You speak up and burst out laughing. Doubling over and pressing your hands into your knees, it’s an ache in your tummy kind of laugh. 

Oscar knew you wouldn’t let him live it down. And for the most part, he didn’t mind. The next time a mangonada came up in conversation is after he took you to the beach a couple days after that fateful day.

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[katsu28]

more than chocolate cake and surfing

pairing: non-canon!Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: Rafe surprises Y/N in the middle of the night

warnings: cute shit overload, cheesy as hell

a/n: I lowkey wanted to write some fluffy cheesy shit for Rafe, but I definitely don’t condone his actions in the show at all. He may be hot as fuck, but he’s still done horrible things and got some major issues to work through...so non canon it is! I really do hope he gets help in s3 bc lord know that boy needs it

(gif found on google, credits to owner)

It was around 2AM when you heard the faint tapping of pebbles knocking against your window. You crawled out of bed to investigate, peering out of your window to see your boyfriend looking up at you. A wide grin spread across Rafe’s face when he saw you poke your head out.

“Rafe,” You breathed, feeling a smile of your own bloom. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you!” He called softly.

“I can see that, but it’s 2AM!”

“Come down!” He waved for you to join him. “I wanna show you something!” You shot him a pointed look, to which Rafe jutted out his lower lip in a pout, and then you had to go. You never could say no to Rafe when he brought out the puppy dog eyes.

Flashing five fingers at him to give you five minutes, you changed out of your pajamas, pulled on your shoes, grabbed your phone, and crawled out your window. You eased it shut behind you, but left it a crack open, then shuffled to the end of the roof, where you hooked your feet onto the pipe running down the wall of your house and carefully shimmied yourself down until your feet hit the ground.

Rafe’s arms instantly snaked around your waist, spinning you in a circle before setting you back down. “I hate it when you do that.” He murmured in your ear.

“I mean, I can go back upstairs if you want.”

“No!” His lips pressed against yours in a short kiss before he took your hand and led you to his dirt bike parked at the bottom of the driveway. “Helmet up!” He jammed a motorcycle helmet onto your head, then did the same to himself. After making sure your arms were wrapped securely around his torso, he revved the engine of his bike twice, and then you were off.

After some amount of time (you really didn’t know because you’d spend the entire ride with your eyes squeezed shut), you felt the bike lurch to a stop.

“Please tell me we’re there.” You whined, peeking one eye open. Rafe laughed, easing himself out of your death grip, pulling off your helmet and tucking a messy strand of hair behind your ear.

He took your hand once more, helping you off the bike and rummaging around in the compartment under the seat for a few seconds before procuring a blanket. “Come on.” Leading you a little ways away, he shook out the blanket and promptly threw himself down on it. You curled up next to him, snuggling as close to him as you could.

“Why are we here?” You asked softly.

“Tonight’s supposed to be the clearest night of the summer for stargazing. I know how much you love it, so I wanted to make it special.”

“Rafe...” A grin took over your face as you looked up at your boyfriend. “I love it.”

“I love you.” He hummed, kissing you gently. You kissed him back with as much love as you could muster before he pulled away.

“I love you so much, Rafe. More than chocolate cake and surfing.” He feigned a gasp at that, eyes widening almost comically as he put a dramatic hand to his chest.

“More than chocolate cake? I didn’t think that was even possible!”

“Neither did I until I fell in love with you.”

“That’s so cheesy.” He groaned, letting his chin drop onto your head on his chest.

“Cheesier than professing your love for me under the stars?”

“Touché.”

[browneyes-issac]

Memphis pt 4: The table

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! 18+ ONLY,PLEASE!!

Smuuttttt!! ( kinda light descriptive? 🤔 I think that's a good way to describe it without giving too much away.. 🤷‍♀️ )

AN: some of you probably guessed how this was gonna go with how I ended pt 3.😆🤭 Also this is my first descriptive smut writing, so be gentle please!! 🤣🙈

ok so I picture reader as a plus size lady, because I am. But you can still picture her as yourself completely.. It's just one little detail I'm throwing in about her because ya know the writer sees their selves in their stories a little bit sometimes. 😆💞

I feel like I got way into detail with this.. But hey, that is how I explain literally anything, so why would spicy time not be in there too... 😆🤷‍♀️

Thank youuu infinitely to @stxrrylunatic and @supernaturalgirl20 for reading through this for me and letting me ramble on about it in dms, lol. 🤣 Love youuu bunches!! 💞😘

Some keynotes/translations: When there is words in this font and have (") it is internal thoughts. When it is the font by itself it's me describing what the setting looks like, more in depth of what's going in their head, stuff like that. 😊

All translation is from Spanish. I just went to Google and asked what it was in Spanish, lol. If I got it wrong shot me an ask or a DM. 🤗💞

mierda - shit

mi corazon - my heart ( I swear this was something else when I was writing, but I don't remember.. 😆 I do like how my heart sounds so I'm keeping it.. 💞 )

cariño - sweetheart

Dios mío, cariño - my god, sweetheart

Summary: What happened after Frankie caught you after you threw flour at him? 🤔👀

Memphis masterlist

Main masterlist

So this gif.. Is so so sooo out of context and doesn't even go with the story in anyway... 🤣 But the an after reading, I will explain why I chose it.. 😆🤭

It all happen so fast and perfectly slow at the same time.

You were the first one to crash your lips to his, he was about to beat you to it, but the eagerness to know what his lips felt like took over.. You couldn't wait any longer. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you while grinning so big and mischievous.

Frankie groaned but laughed when you did. Because he's felt the same way since that first day and you were absolutely adorable with how you are so eager.

He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. After a few seconds of that, he walks you back to the dinning table. Lifts you up onto it while never breaking the kiss. You yelp because he picked you up. Never expected a man to do so because you've always thought you were too heavy to do so. He grins while leaning his forehead against yours so you both can catch your breath for a few.

" mierda.. I wanted to that when I helped you into your car at breakfast, cariño.. " he said while grinning and running his hands up and down your thighs, back up your sides.

You moaned so softly but at perfect volume for him to hear and make his cock twitch with excitement. Him touching you like he is sends shivers up your spin and all the way to your core, causing another rush of arousal to coat your walls and your dress.

" fuck, I did too. But I was too nervous to do so. God I've been thinking about this ever since, all day and night. Frankie kiss me more, please. " he doesn't have to be told twice, he cuts you off mid saying please.

The moan you let out when he instantly guids his tongue into your mouth is so unholy but Frankie swallows it and gruts with you while he is inching closer to you, same with you with pulling him closer with your legs.

This round of making out lasts for a good 5 minutes before Frankie breaks it and says; " Y/N, mi corazon, may I take your dress off so I can see more and.. " he doesn't finish what he says, he just guides his hand slowly up your thigh inches from your core.. Then looks up to you with such lustful eyes and smirks at you.

You just watch him so intently with redding cheeks and an evil grin creeping up on your lips.. " Oh Frankie. Yes, a million times yes. " you whine to him while leaning your head back from the shiver that caused.

He helps you off the table to take your dress off. Slowly turns you around while feather light touching your skin causing endlessly more goosebumps to appear on your skin.. And giving you little kisses all along your skin, nipping at his favorite parts of you. Once he pools the dress around your feet he turns you back around.

" Dios mío, cariño. You are more gorgeous then I ever imagined. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you or seeing you. " he says while leaning down to your neck to leave kisses while talking. Which causes you to blush a bit, but whimper at those words because it's him and he said it so sexy. And the feeling of his kisses is thrown into the mix of the cause too, of course.

You tilt your head to the side to give him more access to your neck while you start on his shirt.. After it's unbutton, you shimmy it off him while running your hands over his Greek god like golden skin. Next his pants, he helps you do that because he's getting more eager now.. You instantly see the tent in his boxers. Which cause you to grin so evil and cause another rush of arousal to your core. You don't even think twice, start palming him to tease a bit. He stops you and says;

Well he grunts and rest his forehead on yours because that took the breath out of him, then speaks..

" baby, i want to taste you first then we can do whatever you want. " the damn precious smirk on his face after he says that causes your heart to swell 100x bigger, " oh my god, I think I love this man he's so precious.. " you think to yourself.

You pull him into a hot steamy kiss. You both are devouring each other in the most sweet and hot way.. Tongues dancing so perfectly together.. Little nips of each other's bottom lips hear and there.. Swallowing each other's noises you make for each other because you are so so in need to be the closest you can be to one another.

Frankie starts kissing down your neck leaving small bite marks that will be gone by morning, well most of them. He tends to get carried away on some spots.. He makes his way to your breast. He looks up at you through his eye lashes with that damn smirk of his that you are absolutely smitten about already. Then... He starts leaving little kisses all over the plump flesh, slowly getting more hungry with his kissing.. After a little bit of that.. He latches on and sucks, lightly bits. Just absolutely devouring your breast. After he is satisfied he kisses a trail to your other one and does the same exact thing.

As soon as he starts being more hungry with his kisses you're hands fly to his curls. Fingers intertwined with them perfectly, pulling and scratching so heavenly. Pulls such a sinfully delicious growl from him that you feel in your soul and it goes straight to your cunt, making you buck your hips to relive some pressure and arch a bit to push yourself into him more because it feels so sinfully amazing. You are a whippering moaning mess the whole time. Never knew that a man kissing and everything your breast would turn you on so much. But you are absolutely never gonna get enough of it because Frankie is a God at it with that tongue and mouth of his..

Frankie starts kissing down your belly. Giggles start coming from you like crazy because he's kissing so lightly and his facial hair is tickling a lot more then it should right now. Damn senses are on edge in the most beautiful way. It causes Frankie to stop and asking if you're alright.

" cariño, are you alright? " he says with a chuckle. He is completely tangled around you. Arms wrapped around your waist/back, lightly massaging and scratching your back. His chin resting on your tummy so adorable like.

" yes, baby. Just my senses are very on edge because of everything, so you kissing my tummy and your mustache tickled.. " you say while caressing his cheek with one hand and smoothing his hair/running your fingers through his hair which causes him to lean into yout palm and let out a soft hum. After a few seconds you say; " you may proceed my love. "

Frankie has that evil smirk again. You absolutely catch it and it makes you whimper, back arching off the table as you call out his name. Once again sending sparks down to your core. " I swear I am already making a mess and he hasn't even touched me there yet. " you think to yourself when you feel yourself getting even more wet..

He puts delicate kisses on your center and thighs. Then untangles his arms, but of course caressing your sides as he moves down to your legs to spread them open for himself. When he gets to your knees he kisses both then slowly moves them apart. Kisses up the inside of your legs, when he gets to the inside of your thighs ( both times) he bites, licks the delicious pain away that then causes some marks that only you and him will know about as they heal.

When he is biting and licking those spots, the moan that escapes you is so loud but very appreciative it should be illegal. And causes your hands to shoot to his hair again to tug to tell him that you love what he's doing and your back to arch so much that you almost sit all the way back up.

And then...

To be continued... 👀💞🤭

AN after reading : what the gif means-- when I start writing out anything, I put all the usual stuff before ya start a fic, so I don't have to really mess with it besides writing out what is needed.. And that includes a gif. I just chose a random one, was going to change it after I was done writing this.. But after I thought about it, I wanted to be a dork and leave that one.. 😆😆 So the inspo/theme for that is you know how people always compare sex to anything western.. That is purely the tie I made with the gif and what happened in this part... 😆🤭

I hope you liked this part!! 💞🤗 I had so so much fun writing this part!! 🥰

Tags: @heythere-mel @prolix-yuy @supernaturalgirl20 @stxrrylunatic

if you would like to be taken off or added to the list, just shoot me an ask or a DM and I'll get it taken care of!! 💞🤗

[anika-ann]

Attached: Word Is that We Might Work It Out

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series 

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6850🙈

Summary: You said yes to Professor Rogers – Steve – taking you out for ‘coffee’. Ball’s in your court – and you decide to make your move. 

A date, maybe first of many, maybe not. A date with the gorgeous professor who happened to read your erotica about him. What could possibly go wrong? 

Warnings:  alcohol consumption, professor-student relationship and unspecified age gap, language, lots of fluff

A/N: Timeline-wise, this one-shot fits in after chapter four of Attached!!! At the end, you can find the reason behind me writing this. You can consider it one big flashback, if you will 😅 Gif by capchrisevaans.

Series masterlist | previous in timeline

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You lasted one day. One full day since the encounter in the office, since Professor Rogers admitted he would like to take you out for coffee or something similar. Since you two exchanged numbers.

It took you twenty-four hours – maybe less – to decide that so what if that might be a bad idea. It was not against the university rules and Professor Steve Rogers was a fucking specimen who also seemed to be a genuinely nice human being and if you allowed yourself to play chicken just because something only might go wrong in the future, you’d be an idiot.

Penny, your roomie, wholeheartedly agreed. She actually punched the air in victory as you were nursing a greasy lunch due to the wild-ish celebration of the end of the semester together the night prior and you just said to the void: “You know what, screw it. I’m gonna go for it.”

You didn’t even have to say what you were talking about – Professor Rogers had been the topic ever since the faithful Monday.

So you texted him that if the offer still stood, you’d like to meet up on Friday evening. Was he free?

Hey, Y/N :) Thank you for reaching out. Friday sounds great. Do you have anything specific in mind?

“Dude. He’s such a cutie. Who even texts like that?” Penny chuckled, a wide grin on her face as you couldn’t but read the text out loud.

“I texted him like that.”

“Touché. Because you want to impress mister ‘hot as fuck intellectual’ there.”

You just rolled your eyes, neither confirming nor denying. Mostly because Penny was right. But he was the first to use an emoji and… yeah, cutie indeed.

Well, I never say no to dinner and I’m down for almost anything-

“I bet you are,” Penny hummed to your ear and you swung after her blindly and thought of a better phrasing.

Well, I never say no to a dinner and I’m not picky. You choose. Seven-ish sounds good?

“Spoilsport.”

“Stop reading over my shoulder!” you chuckled and bit your lip as the answer came almost immediately.

Seven is alright. I’ll think of something to treat a girl right ;)

Your stomach made a small somersault, your face instantly radiating heat at the possible innuendo. The phone vibrated again before you could fully process the image your mind painted of him actually saying it in his gentle timbre.

Just so we’re clear, what is the nature of the dinner? It can be whatever you feel comfortable with.

Your heart leaped into your throat, hammering wildly.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Since you texted him, you made one thing clear with yourself. If you were doing this, it was going to be a date. You wouldn’t be doing things by halves.

Penny next to you made a noise that sounded as something between an aww and her gagging on nothing. “He’s disgustingly considerate for a man his age planning on going out with a girl your age.”

“He’s not that much older,” you protested instantly, frowning. He wasn’t. She knew that; you had both done your research. “And I think it’s amazing.”

You caught Penny’s smile from the corner of your eye as you typed.

“Well, it is kinda sweet. And I know he’s not, I’m messing with you. It’s just-- DON’T SEND HIM THAT!”

“Why?” you questioned, looking at her quizzically and totally clicking on send on purpose at the same time.

I’d be comfortable with a date if you are.

“It’s so lame. Of course he’s comfortable with a date, he suggested it. Duh.”

The reply came way too fast and Penny chuckled behind you as your jaw went slack.

“You know what? Don’t mind me. Good job. Keep it up,” Penny patted your shoulder as you stared at the screen where Professor Steven Grant Rogers just texted you a damn heart.

It’s a date <3

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was a date indeed.

Steve texted you an address on Friday morning (along with an adorable good morning :) ), apologizing that he couldn’t pick you up, making sure you’d be alright getting there on your own. You found it absolutely sweet, considerate and smart. You suspected that his ‘inability’ to pick you up had something to do with the fact that you lived at the dorms and if he showed up there, it would be trending in the university chit-chat room within five minutes.

You spent a better part of the Friday afternoon researching the place and the weather forecast so you could dress accordingly and getting ready.

You were not ready for a date with Steve Rogers however; your nerves were a mess and nothing could ever prepare you for when he showed up perfectly on time in front of the restaurant---- wearing a suit no less.

How were you supposed to function when he was wearing such elegant clothing, a suit he filled up so fucking well?! And he looked just as breath-taking as always, stupidly perfect beard and slightly tousled hair you just wanted to run your fingers through and his smile was so gorgeous and--- Jesus Fucking Christ, the suit- how could you even put words together when looking at him-

“Wow, I feel so underdressed now.”

Clearly, you could speak just fine, only you lost your brain-to-mouth filter. Also, your mouth might have started watering and your heart was pounding like crazy. You would not survive tonight.

But, you also had a point. The restaurant was supposed to be a nice place, but relatively plain. And he showed up in amazingly fitting dress pants, white shirt, a tie and a suit jacket. So yes, you did feel underdressed.

“Oh no, no! You’re not,” he rushed to reassure you, eyeing your semi-leisure white dress with burgundy flowers with an attentive gaze that had you shifting your weight nervously. “I’m overdressed if anything. Sticking out like a sore thumb, I’m sorry.”

You could always just strip the suit jacket, was your first thought, but luckily for you, this time you managed to contain the words before they got out to the open.

“You’re fine,” you said instead, not knowing how else to react; needless to say you were grateful for the smile he gave you despite the double meaning.

Yes, he was fine indeed. Always. It was unfair, really.

“Thanks. You too. In fact, you look beautiful.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, your mind suddenly racing a mile per minute.

It was ridiculous. It was just a word. But for one, it was spoken so kindly and genuinely you couldn’t but think he meant it, for two, it was Professor Steve Rogers who told you that and--- beautiful.

You couldn’t remember a guy ever calling you beautiful.

Cute? Sure. Pretty? Maybe. Hot? Might have happened once or twice . But beautiful?

You might actually swoon.

And you were so lost in your head that you couldn’t but silently stare at the lethally handsome man in front of you and then it again registered in your brain that this was your fucking crush speaking to you and he was on a date with you and he had read your erotica, one that was about him no less-

Your face was set aflame in an instant and you… you couldn’t let out a word.

“It everything okay? Did I… did I say something wrong?” Steve asked hesitantly, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows and it reminded you of all the times you had seen him wearing such thoughtful expression in the two classes he taught instead of Professor Barnes and-

You were screwed.

Tonight was going to be a disaster.

“No, uhm, no, sorry--- maybe we should go inside or-“ you muttered, lightly gesturing towards the door and could you get any more awkward?

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

He let you walk in first like a real gentleman, the lightest skim of his fingers on your lower back, which caused your heartbeat to skyrocket; and only when the hostess seated you, you realized you never accepted his kind compliment.

It was too late for that now, you assumed, so you sipped at the still water which waited at each table, and repeated like a mantra to yourself that you needed to get your shit together otherwise you’d ruin your shot before the night even started.

But clearly, you succeeded at that already.

Whatever awkward aura you had around yourself, it seemed to extend now to him too – he shifted slightly in his seat (he had pulled out your chair for you before, because of course he had), his shoulders stiff. Despite that, he smiled at you over the menu.

“So… all exams worked out? Enjoying the freedom?” he asked casually.

“Oh, yes. Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” you uttered with a forced smile, your stomach twisted unpleasantly.  

For some reason, you felt like you were having a lame attempt at small talk with a professor, which you were, but it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

Not tonight. Not on a date.

What were you even doing here? What were you playing at? Professor Steve Rogers was entirely out of your league, gorgeous, funny, kind and smart and here you were, barely making conversation.

It was pathetic really. It was embarrassing for both of you.

“You up to anything fun?” he queried, the question less enthusiastic than the one before. He was already growing tired of making your uncooperative brain work at least a bit, it was obvious.

Your gulped as the memory of last night popped in your head – staying in, quiet evening, in a mood for some dirty writing--- oh bless, another reminder of why this dinner was and should be really weird.

Steve read your smutty story. The one about him.

“Nothing special,” you squealed silently, earning a plain nod. “Eh, we went out with Penny, my roommate and best friend in one person. But mostly I just stayed in and--- caught up on sleeping.”

“I know what that’s like,” Steve hummed, clearly as grateful as you were when the waiter appeared by your table to take your orders.

Silence stretched as the man left, your hand beginning to fiddle with the neatly folded napkin on the table, lump growing in your throat due to your nerves.

“What about you? Anything… fun?” you asked reluctantly, noticing a brief smile passing Steve’s lips. Pretty, sinfully pretty lips. Perfect. Untouchable for mere mortals like you.

“Oh, not much. Few exam sittings, faculty meetings – we had one now, hence the suit-“

“You came here right from school?” you blurted out, startled – and clearly surprising him with your rudeness. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Yes, I did. We have a meeting every last Friday of the month.”

“Oh my god, you must be so tired,” you sympathized with him quietly, the uneasy feeling in your stomach only growing. He came here straight from work and for this? “Why didn’t you say something? We could have postponed or something.”

Steve swiftly shook his head, his warm hand landing on yours, gently stopping your restless fingers. This time, it was butterflies in your stomach erupting with life, the sweet comforting gesture warming your heart. He wanted to be here. He came here for you. He was interested in you.

And the feeling was mutual. So why was it being so weird then?

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you reached out. I’m glad that you said yes in the first place,” he admitted, features softening despite the tension in his shoulders never leaving. His brows furrowed as he slowly withdrew his hand – it must have been an automatic reaction then. “I’m not that tired and… and maybe I was little worried that if I asked for a different date, then…”

He trailed off and your lips parted in surprise, your heart swelling in your chest at what he was implying.

Did he think you’d back out? Did he think that all the potential obstacles intimidated you too much? That you’d think it wasn’t worth it? That it wouldn’t work out anyway?

Seeing as you were now, you couldn’t blame him. Despite him being the world’s most charming man, here you were, being… not at all yourself, stressing for no reason.

It seemed to you that had had chemistry, back there in his office. This date made sense. When you imagined how this could unfold, well, it went a bit differently too. There was considerably less embarrassment going around.

This was why you preferred writing to speaking. That’s why you liked daydreaming. Because reality was often less than ideal, no script, awkward silences, misunderstandings…

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your food arrived.

You both thanked the waiter politely and you hoped that at least now you’d have a good excuse for the lack of normal conversation.

“What are you sorry for?”

You sighed and nibbled on your lower lip, not missing the way his gaze instinctively flickered there, pupils dilating just a fraction – but enough for you to notice. Your heart skipped a pleased beat – but the undeniable physical attraction couldn’t be enough.

“For this,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. His features twisted in disappointment and something that looked a lot like regret flashed in his eyes. “I want to be here, Steve. I really do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me-“

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” he was quick to oppose and you couldn’t help it as a wry chuckle escaped you.

“Well, there’s certainly nothing wrong with you. And still, there’s this…”

“…tension?”

You wished.

“Sort of? But not the fun kind, for sure.”

He grimaced, but a spark of amusement lit up his blue irises. “Awkward air around us?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed victoriously as he voiced exactly what you were thinking. Then you quickly lowered your voice, looking around. Luckily, no one stared at you. You realized you leaned closer to him over the table, your heart racing at that, but you didn’t withdraw; it was a lovely opportunity to get even a better look at his perfect face. “But I don’t know why!” You knew why. “I like you, Steve-“

“I like you too. And I know I already said that, but you look stunning.”

Your cheeks burned again, but this time, you managed to stutter out a thank you at least. Stunning, Jesus, was he for real?

“T-thank you. You look incredibly handsome too. Then again you always do—why did I say that.”

One corner of his lips quirked up.

“Why thank you, I’m glad you did. The feeling’s mutual, believe me.”

“Then why does this feel like one of the most awkward dates I’ve ever been to?!” you whisper-yelled, causing him to chuckle, the tips of his ears turning red.

His hand once again landed on yours, this time deliberately, the gesture warming you in more than one way.

“Well… I’m nervous. You might be too.” You hummed in agreement. Was that all it was? “But the way you said it, at least it seems to me that it could have been worse, right? More awkward?”

You felt the corners of your lips rise at the remark, shrugging. He had a point there. And he squeezed your hand a bit and good Lord, it should not be making your heart race so much, but he was touching you and he was being really sweet and his fingers were nice and warm and long-

“Tell me.”

You blinked in surprise, realizing you had been staring at your joined hands. You raised your gaze, finding him watching you with a subtle smile.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me about the most awkward date you have ever been to,” he clarified, his thumb caressing your wrist.

You only hesitated for a beat before you nodded in agreement, god knew why. Perhaps you did need a reminder that this could have gone much more disastrously and it was mostly your traitorous brain telling you that you were messing everything up.

Plus, Steve deserved whatever he wanted – so far, he was the only reason this date wasn’t as disastrous as it could be.

“Okay. You ever been to a speed dating event, Steve? Because I have.”

“Oh, this is ought to be good,” he noted with another squeeze to your hand, before he released you. Shame. He sipped at his wine and dug into his pasta. “I’m all ears.”

This is ought to be good, Steve said. Well, maybe. You certainly hadn’t thought so at the time.

Explaining to Steve that as you had been under duress from no other than Penny, you both went to the event which promised you meeting ten dashing men in only an hour. You’d get five minutes with each, as anonymous as you’d wished to be, receiving a folder with nothing but a table with the first names of the men and a yes and no option and a line for your own notes about them.

You weren’t sure what to think of it – but after three epically failed Tinder attempts, you agreed to try. If nothing else, you’d gain a new experience.

And an experience had it been. You even lasted a month with one of the guys, but you didn’t tell Steve that. It wasn’t important.

André was.

André Whatever-was-his-last-name – because that was how it worked, no last names – definitely believed he was important. With the guys moving around the tables from one woman to another, spending five minutes with each, you could already hear André closing to your station from two tables over.

He was hard to tune out, courtesy of the colour of his voice, extremely unpleasant to your ears, and him never letting the woman he faced talk. Always interrupting. Always turning the conversation around so it would be about him.

Asshole.

You liked to think you weren’t quick to judge people, but André was making you cringe before you were even introduced. And then you actually were.

A minute into his monologue to you, you felt like you were being tortured.

And then the waitress managed to stumble and spill a glass of white wine – partly over your table, but mostly on the floor. At least she caught the glass and you had but a tiny spot on your dress.

“She was apologizing so profusely and I wasn’t thinking, okay. I went for the napkins few tables over to help and— I didn’t realize I put the open folder down for everyone to see,” you explained, feeling like face-palming when you remembered the night.

Steve watched you in anticipation, a small smirk and a knowing look on his face as he guessed you had already circled ‘no’ for André at the time.

Oh, you wished it were that simple. You felt your cheeks burn hot as you continued.

“André read it, of course. Obviously, he already got a hard ‘no’ from me, but… I might have written a tiny note for myself as to why,” you admitted and Steve’s eyebrow rose minutely, his curiosity piqued even more.

You took a deep breath.

“I wasn’t exactly kind to him. It was something along the lines of self-important asshole who probably compensated for something.” Steve huffed in amusement. But oh, if he only knew... you sighed and continued. “And If Draco Malfoy and Gilderoy Lockhart had a love child, this would be him.”

No sound came from your companion this time and your teeth anxiously sank into our lower lip, your pulse wavering. What was Steve thinking? Did he think you had been rude? Mean even? Nerdy? All of the above?

He stared at you for full three seconds, clearly rendered speechless by your harsh judgement.

And then he burst out laughing.

Suffocating weight fell from your shoulders and you silently joined him as you explained yourself.

“I was in my Harry Potter phase! And in my defence, I think it was actually pretty accurate...”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, sweetheart,” Steve chuckled lightly before laughing some more, irises twinkling with amusement and something… softer.

You shuddered upon hearing the endearment spill unwittingly from his lips, upon seeing the emotion on his face.  And maybe you were a little proud of yourself for making him laugh and lose the tension in his shoulders completely.

“It was one of the longest and most awkward three minutes of my life, the silence that followed,” you huffed, massaging your forehead. “He did not appreciate the comparison.”

“I bet,” Steve cackled, taking another bite of his meal, smile playing in the corner of his lips as he swallowed and continued. “But you’ve got to give it to him, he knew his Harry Potter characters.”

“Ha! My thoughts exactly. But that’s a little bit of weak base for dating, I think, especially since I kinda already hated him.”

“Oh, you did? I didn’t catch that,” Steve joked lightly, causing you to smile despite the horrid memory.

And funnily enough, telling him and remembering it… it did make you feel better and more at ease with him.

“Ha ha ha, laugh it up, Professor. Your turn.”

“I’m sorry?” he said, clearly puzzled. It didn’t escape your notice as his voice faltered, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the addressing.

Oh, so that’ s still a thing. You couldn’t but smirk a bit at that.

“An awkward date. You have to share now, it’s only fair,” you shrugged, only for a terrible realization to dawn on you. “Please tell me there is at least one awkward date story, Steve. Tell me this isn’t really your worst date ever.”

He shook his head with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, there’s plenty. I’m just trying to think about one that won’t scare you away from me. I’d hate that.”

One corner of his lips raised, he looked you up and down, lingering on your lips for a bit before meeting your gaze, something you could only hope was fondness and wanton in his eyes. Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your abdomen at the thorough onceover despite the gentle tone of his voice.

Fuck how could he make you feel hot and soft at the same time.

Unable to stand the intensity of his stare, you lowered your gaze and gulped, your stomach making an excited slip. He did want you. You had been being silly, letting your nerves get the better of you.

Clearing your throat, you willed yourself to look up, finding him still watching closely – and perhaps, there was a hint of a red to his cheeks, the tip of his ears burning as if despite the blatant flirting, he was unsure of himself too, because he didn’t want to mess up with you either.

You found it absolutely endearing and your heart swelled. The way you got to see there was more to him than his professor side and his dashing looks… you felt incredibly lucky. The more you got to interact with him, the more it wasn’t just your sinful thoughts belonging to him – he was quickly working on stealing your heart as well.

Plucking up your courage, you were the one to reach out this time, carefully sweeping your thumb over the back of his hand, smiling.

“I’m not scared off all that easily, Steve.”

He mirrored your genuine smile, a glint of something you couldn’t read lighting up his eyes.

“That’s good to know,” he said lowly and sighed, narrowing his eyes as if he was assessing you again. “Alright, here goes…”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You actually managed to get one more awkward date story from Steve, because frankly, his experiences were hilarious. And surprise surprise, he was a great narrator. Plus, while he talked, you could ogle him shamelessly without fear of looking strange.

But you guessed that since you were on a date, you could ogle him anyway. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, whenever he got the opportunity, he reciprocated it. It finally did feel like a date, the air growing thicker as you gradually shifted closer and closer, the light touches prolonging, feet meeting under the table without parting as soon as they made contact.

Your belly kept warming up with each smile and laugh, with every second of the intense eye contact, with every flicker of his gaze to your lips and vice versa. Sharing a dessert was a terrible idea, because you wanted kiss the crumbs sticking on his lips away. You teased each other, you complimented each other – with Steve absolutely winning the undeclared contest – and you realized that despite sharing your most embarrassing dates with each other at the beginning, this was the absolute best you had ever been to.

And you didn’t want it to end.

The light sweater you had brought with you did nothing to shield you from the surprisingly lukewarm wind. As you wandered the streets, Steve finally heard out one of your first thoughts you had had when meeting him today – he shrugged off his suit jacket.

Which… yum. The seams of his shirt were crying for help and you could only think fo one way of helping them – taking his shirt off too. But alas, Steve didn’t continue the striptease, probably because you were on the street. Instead, he did the most wholesome thing and held out the jacket for you to slip into.

You only hesitated a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip. How could you say no to that?

“That’s awfully cliché and really sweet at the same time,” you muttered, causing him to shrug, one corner of his lips raised in a smirk as he helped you put it on, forefinger most definitely deliberately caressing the side of your throat before withdrawing.

A shudder ran down your spine, electrifying feeling going straight to your core. The whiff of whatever cologne he was wearing enveloped you, clouding your senses. Goddammit he smelled so good.

“Maybe I just want to see you in my clothes,” he hummed, the suggestive remark knocking the breath straight out of your lungs.

Stepping to your side from behind your back, you caught a glimpse of his expression – a little bit smug, a little bit panicked as it probably registered with him just how much suggestive it was, perhaps crossing a line.

It was absolutely not crossing the line, because the thought of wearing his clothes, preferably grabbing it because you couldn’t find yours after you threw it all around the room as you frantically stripped each other was making your head spin in the best way.

“Maybe I’d really enjoy wearing your clothes after you rip off mine.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, a choked noise leaving him and you couldn’t but laugh at his dumbstruck expression. Surprise, professor, you little shit. I can keep up.

“That was… mean,” he said, clearing his throat. Your eyebrows rose, pot calling the kettle back style. “But I see how I deserved that.”

“Damn right… but that doesn’t mean it’s a lie,” you shrugged, chuckling at the exasperated look he shot you.

‘Man, she’s gonna fuck you up on a whole new level and I’ll be here for it in the front row with a bowl of popcorn,’ Barnes’ words to Steve which you weren’t meant to hear echoed in your head, making you grin.

The teasing was intense, yet you felt comfortable in it. You blamed Steve and his nature – he already felt like a guy to go lengths to make you feel at ease enough; the way he had kept insisting on you choosing whether this was a date or not only proved it. He made it easy to be yourself, making you feel like you could.

And he made it perfectly clear that he was enjoying seeing you like that, that he appreciated you as you were.

But the closer you got to the campus, the more the reality was settling in, your laughter fading, butterflies and heat replaced by anxiety. He was still a professor. If you went for it, it wouldn’t always be uncomplicated like this. The awkwardness crept in as your steps grew slower, the inevitable arriving.

He couldn’t walk you home, to walk you to the dorm, even if the desire to do so radiated from every fibre of his being. He couldn’t do that for the same reason he hadn’t picked you up.

You came to a stop, feeling like there was this invisible border to a safe, students-free part of the city, the line you couldn’t cross side by side.

“So, uhm… this is it, huh?” Steve hummed, grim. You appreciated the lame attempt at a smile though and reciprocated, turning to face him.

“Looks like it.”

Heavy silence settled over you pair. Your eyes trailed all over him, lingering on his face, noting as he did the same. He was beautiful; you didn’t care you should say that about a man. He was. The light in his eyes dimmed compared to that just a few moments ago, but it was still there, expression soft, almost as soft as his beard looked, causing your fingers to twitch in need to run them over it and pull him in for a kiss.

Your lips tingled as the idea. You had never kissed a man with a beard and you wanted to know how it felt. The fact it was Steve only sealed the deal and made the need grow exponentially.

You wanted to kiss him so bad. But here you stood, unable to move, unable to speak. You sighed.

“Would you-“ “I want to-“

“Sorry,” you and him said at the same time again, laughing it off quietly, your fingers running through your hair.

Your stomach clenched when you noticed his eyes following the movement almost wistfully.

“You go first,” he prompted you gently.

You didn’t argue – if you learned one thing tonight, it was that Steve was a gentleman and that was so rare these days that you wouldn’t want to discourage him from being that way. Even if you really wanted to know what he was about to say, as soon as possible.

“I… I just want to say thank you. For the… for the date. I had a good time, so I hope you had too, at least a little,” you offered lamely, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks.

Like a schoolgirl blushing in front of her professor. Jesus, why were you being like this again.

Steve didn’t seem to find you as awkward as you felt however, your name slipping from his lips, kind and soft.

“I had a very good time. You’re amazing.” Your lips parted at the blatant and genuine compliment. His eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, that came out so strong, I didn’t mean to put you in spot like that-“

Stronger than ‘maybe I just want to see you in my clothes?’ you asked yourself. No, you didn’t think so. It was just that the playfulness had left at least two blocks back.

This felt more serious. More intimate.

“Ditto,” you whispered, gracing him with a shy smile he instantly mirrored. “But hey, I already knew that, so…”

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly, his smile only growing. When he looked at you again, his eyes were the beautiful warm blue that made you weak in the knees.

“Would you like to do something like that again?” he queried lowly.

Yes. YES. YES PLEASE. Minus the awkwardness at the beginning and the one a moment ago, preferably.  

“Yeah. I’d like that,” you agreed simply, taking note of how his face lit up even more.

How could a man be so indescribably hot and yet adorable enough to tug at your heartstrings?

“Good. I’m glad.”

He tugged at your hand unexpectedly, pulling you to your left, his other hand steadying you by gently grasping your forearm.

Before you could question his actions, a pair of men swaying in a drunken haze passed you, having no care in the world for whom they might crash into.

“Thanks,” blurted out lowly, sparing a second to shoot their backs a dirty glare.

But Steve’s hands were still on you, distracting, as you stood face to face, chest to chest, a little too close, a little too far. Your heart sped up in your ribcage, breathing picking up in anticipation. So close…

But all Steve did was to squeeze your forearm reassuringly, lifting your joined hands to his face.

Just like the day you agreed to get coffee with him, he kissed your knuckles, only this time it was much firmer. His smile was sweet and utterly irresistible as he kept looking at your face and you felt all the worries about the future melt away once again.

He was so precious and this felt so right and--- you didn’t want him to kiss your hand.

Well, you wanted it, but you wanted more too.

You had been aching to kiss that mouth since you had first set eyes on him, on that inhumanly gorgeous and hot creature. You were on a date, you both had a great time and clearly he was giving you the opportunity to decide how far you wanted to take this, because as much as every little touch of his made to crazy, the displays of affection were positively chaste.

And you wanted to take it very very far.

Your rational brain wouldn’t let you just hop into sac with him today, but fuck, you could do with a kiss. You wanted to feel that perfectly trimmed beard of his and you wanted to taste him.

Did he?

You stepped even closer as he let go of your hand, distracting you minutely; due to the sudden proximity, it landed on his chest and Jesus fucking Christ he was firm.

Your fingers clutched at the white fabric of his shirt as you observed his face, your gaze inevitably flickering to his lips. Glancing up once more to find him still watching you intently, pupils dilated, your breath caught in your throat, heat stirring in your belly.

Rising to your tiptoes, you gripped the fabric tighter and shortly pressed your lips to his.

It was a funny feeling – lips hot, soft and slightly chapped, a stark contrast to the beard, less rough than you expected, leaving a tingly sensation behind. It was different; exciting and addicting. Before he could react and before you could think twice, you kissed him again, this time lingering for a few seconds, your eyelids falling shut.

Your heart fluttered when you felt his lips reluctantly respond just as you withdrew, his grip on your arm tightening. You ran your tongue over your lips to savour the feeling, mouth instinctively curling up in a smile, gaze meeting his.

Little wrinkles appeared around his eyes as he smiled as well.

“You okay?”

You nodded, almost too eagerly, lowering back to your whole feet. Involuntarily, your gaze flickered to his mouth again, wanting more.

“Uhm… beard,” you piped up unhelpfully, pressing your lips together as soon as the admission left them.

Steve’s smile widened as he once again grasped your hand, leading it to cup his face – not before he dropped a kiss to your palm.

You almost let out a very embarrassing whine at the curious sensation, your mind, still enveloped in Steve’s warmth and cologne, wondering how the beard would feel elsewhere.

Your fingers unwittingly caressed the hair, thumb brushing his lips, unable to resist.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, lips parting, hot breath fanning over your skin as watched you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out and that was it – you pressed against the soft swollen flesh at the pet name, causing a low grumble echo in Steve’s chest.

And then his hand slid to your waist, the other sinking into your hair, and he pulled up into a kiss that had nothing to do with how patient he had been before. He was still a gentleman, but it was a close call – he angled your head to his liking, his lips dancing with yours in a sensual dance with just a tease of tongue licking at the seam of your lips, causing you to sigh in bliss, granting him access.

He hummed appreciatively, the sound shaking your bones as he held you flat against him, the heat of his body seeping into yours – as if every nerve ending in your body wasn’t on fire already. He breathed you in, consumed you entirely – there were no other words for it.

There weren’t many words you could think of to begin with, too busy feeling his broad shoulders under your palm, fingers roaming to find the soft hair at his nape, revelling at the taste of him, just a smidge of tongue and you wanted more, your insides twisting in need--- and oh, your back was pressed against a wall now.

You let out a small startled sound which Steve instantly swallowed – but it was a good wake up call for you both. The motions of his lips slowed, softened, a gentle caress more than anything, his thumb stroking your cheek.

Breathless, you chased after his mouth when he retreated, earning one small peck and then another. He rested his forehead against yours, nose briefly skimming yours, causing you to smile and meet his gaze.

“Sorry,” he muttered and you genuinely wanted to slap his arm or something for apologizing for that. Because you knew what you’d be thinking about for the next few hours, days even, hell, probably weeks. “For springing out like that. I just… wanted to do that for a long time.”

The admission had your heart skip a beat and you couldn’t but lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth – and nope, you weren’t over how it felt, his beard against your lips. You wouldn’t be over it for a long time, you suspected.

“Me too.”

“So… we’re doing this again, right?“

You smirked up at him as he reluctantly released you. “You springing out like that or-“

“Don’t test me, babygirl,” he nearly growled, causing your eyes going wide as saucers, feeling as if you were sucker punched to your gut – and liked it.

Babygirl. Jesus, he was going to be the death of you.

“You can spring out like that again too,” you chimed, your voice sounding a bit strangled, because holy shit he just called you that. His gaze flickered all over your face, a shade darker than before. Your underwear was thoroughly ruined with that single look… and the earlier make-out session. “But if we’re talking second dates, I’d definitely do that too.”

He huffed and shook his head, a chuckle escaping him.

“You’re a minx…. I think I like it.”

You grinned at him and then sighed regretfully, reaching to slip off the jacket, which made him frown.

“You could give it back later.”

“Don’t tempt me… don’t want to rob you of it--- and there would be questions,” you explained, knowing that even walking around the campus like what would raise rumours of god knew what.

Like, maybe someone would think some gentleman like Professor Steve Rogers himself lent it to you or something, gee, where would that come from...

Steve nodded in understanding, accepting the jacket and shrugging it on.

“Plus, I’m thoroughly warmed up,” you added cheekily, causing him to chuckle incredulously again. With a sigh, he leaned in, cradling your jaw in one large hand and pressed a sweet lingering kiss to your forehead.

You could melt on spot.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Let me know when you get home safe?” he asked of you gently, tugging at your heartstrings some more, because of course he did.

“I will. You too?”

His smile was soft and sweet as he promised to do so, clearly touched by your care. Well, that made two of you.

“Goodnight, Steve. Thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you.”

You breathed in deeply, dropping a last kiss to his cheek and quickly spun on your heels to walk away – because if you wavered a second longer, you might have not left at all.

Sure, you looked back at him several times, finding him standing where you had left him, his eyes following your receding figure. But you kept walking.

And once you couldn’t see him anymore, you broke into a fit of giggles, hiding your face in your palms to muffle your delighted squeal.

You were just coming back to the dorms from the date with Steve Rogers.

And despite the hiccups, it was the best damn thing in the world, leaving you giddy and already craving another date and more. Your cheeks hurt from smiling by the time you made it to the dorms, your heart pounding excitedly the whole time.

As promised, you let Steve know you made there safe, earning another text with a heart. It only made you squeal again, fingers frantic as you replied – and with a kiss for goodnight so he knew you truly enjoyed your night, ending included.

What he didn’t know was that maybe, just maybe, the next evening you wrote a tiny story in which you elaborated at what could happen if he ever pushed you against a wall and kissed your breathless ever again.

And hopefully, he would.

Soon.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

...how it happened? I was asked about the first date, very kindly and in a no pressure manner.

S: Hey, just out of curiosity, you don’t really have to answer… how do you imagine their first date went?

me: Hm, let me think, I guess, mm, it would be like this--- oh shit. Oh no. It’s gonna be a fic again, isn’t it? Maybe I could finally write a headcanon or a drabble--- sigh.

As if I could ever.

Thank you for reading :-*

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled

[fabricated-misslieness]

Daniel Le Domas x gender neutral reader

Yo I hate Alex that motherfucker but also I think it’d be easier if Daniel killed Tony in the forest and then ran away with Grace, but I guess it’d be safe to bet that others left for the forest when the car got flipped.

Also for some reason my gifs aren’t workin

Requested: No

Word Count: 2847

Warnings: suggested use of drugs because Emilie exists, mentions of hypothetical violence, some angst i think, mentions of a gun in a world war themed board game

Normal AU where Le Domas are a ‘normal’ rich family, still weird, but no deal with the devil.

Servants, lavish parties, gourmet food, expensive alcohol, this was the life you might be inheriting. You say ‘might’ because you’re not married, nor are you getting married. 

Your partner, Daniel Le Domas, was born to a rich family, so he was entitled to all these privileges, not that he seemed quite fond of them. Deep down you knew he was, but he for sure didn’t make it clear.

“Don’t worry,” Speak of the devil. He reassures you, squeezing your hand as you walk down the halls to the music room. A music room, for god’s sake! Not speakers, not a radio, but their butler playing the piano. At least they didn’t have a ballroom, that would just be way extra. “We’re a normal family, I promise.”

“Normal?” You raise an eyebrow, gesturing to a nearby seemingly ancient, though you exaggerated that, portrait of a newlywed couple. “All the portraits I’ve seen so far are newlywed couples.” 

“That’s normal for rich families.”

“Haha.” You say sarcastically. “But seriously, you can’t even paint them in normal clothes? Not even family pictures of one of your many vacations?”

“First of all, who said we even had vacations?” You assumed they did, seeing as they were wealthy. Doesn’t the average rich person go on vacation twice a year? Whatever, who were you to assume? Though the thought of it is still a little peculiar, so you decide to question it.

“You don’t? No little tour over Europe? No visiting the seven wonders in the span of a week?” You go on and on, suggesting outlandish places.

Daniel nudges your side playfully to get you to stop. “No, haven’t even toured the US.”

You laugh, nudging him back. “You’re no fun, for a board game family.” You pluck a nearby board game from it’s shelf, Yankee Bayonet. Initially, you’d been attracted because of the gun on the box. It's world war one or two themed. “Well, can’t blame you. Don’t know how this would seem fun. What’s it even about?” You put the box back on display before Daniel can scold you for touching it.

“Honestly, I don’t know. There’s so many games, and I’ve barely played a quarter of them. That one, however,” he points at a box further down the hallway, “that one I play-tested as a kid. It’s somewhat fun.”

“Somewhat.”

As you near the end of the hallway, your eyes land on a portrait of Charity. You stop, which makes Daniel stop too. For a second, he’s confused, until he looks up at the portrait. Immediately, he turns to survey you. Among every emotion dancing in your eyes, he catches disturbance, nervousness, and most importantly, a splash of disgust. “Charity.” You say a little bitterly.

“Charity.” He repeats. “That’s where our painting used to be.” He cups your cheek and pulls you to look at him, putting his other hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, putting one hand on his hip and the other on the hand resting on your cheek. “It’s nothing. If I’m going to be with you, I’m going to have to face your family.” Daniel smiles, giving you a quick peck on the nose. He’s glad you’re so willing to get to know them, especially with how much he’s down-talked them, to put it lightly. “The only thing that confuses me is why this is still here. She’s your ex-wife.”

“They took a liking to her.” The both of you grimace. “She was just as crazy as them. Honestly, I don’t see what they see in her. But,” He takes your hand and presses a kiss on it. “I won’t let her bother you. If you want, I’ll even flaunt our relationship more than I would’ve.”

You shake your head, turning towards the next corridor. “No need. I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words, “I’ll be fine.”

You were not fine, in fact, you were a fish out of water. Standing next to the family, you felt severely underdressed, even when you’d gone out your way to wear something fancy. Though that wasn’t the biggest problem. They were all very distinct, but they fit into the family. Of course, they were family, but it made you feel like an outcast.

“(y/n),” Becky greets you with a smile. You offer her a hand, but she gives you a hug instead. You barely manage to reciprocate it. “I’m delighted that you came for a visit."

You give her the best smile you can, hoping she doesn’t notice it’s fake. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” You’d really thought that meeting the family would go smooth, honestly though, how could you? These were rich people, your lifestyle, mannerisms, nothing was even remotely similar to theirs.

“Oh, thank you.” She hands you a glass of champagne which you gingerly take, just to be polite. “I hope you can bring my son back to his old self. He’s never been the same since the divorce!” Before she can take you off towards a couch somewhere, Daniel stops her. He’d excused himself for some whiskey when you made it to the entrance and promised he’d make it quick.

“Mom.” He scolds lightly. He takes the drink from your hands and leaves it on a servant’s tray, knowing you’re not one for fancy champagne.

“Daniel.” Her face lights up. She gives him a quick hug, which you notice Daniel is a bit uncomfortable in. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She teases.

Daniel nods rather stiffly, moving to your side and taking your hand almost immediately. “Been busy.” The whole family knows that ‘busy’ meant being with you, yet he covers up for it anyway.

“I know, I know. They’re a nice catch, by the way.” Becky pats you on the shoulder, a gesture both you and Daniel seem to dislike. “Well, I better not keep you for any longer. I’m sure the rest of the family is eager to meet you.” For some reason, you highly doubt that. 

Becky leaves you for another glass of champagne. Daniel turns to you once she’s gone. “You okay?” He holds your hands in his in the hopes it’ll comfort you.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He can tell you’re lying, you’re not hiding it very well. He gives you a knowing look, pushing you to tell the truth. “Alright, I’m not okay. Charity and your aunt have been eyeing me up since we arrived, your dad looks way older than your mom, Emily and Finch seem too happy to be real, your nephews are creepy, and Alex and Grace both look like they want to leave. That’s not reassuring, now is it?” Your ever rising tone makes Daniel squeeze your hands to stop you.

“Honey, they’re harmless.” He knows that’s an awful way of reassuring someone, but he knows that no matter what he says, you’ll still be doubtful.

You frown, letting out a sigh through your nose. “I know they’re harmless, but..” You bite your lip, trying to find a way to sugar coat your words. “Charity looks like she wants to kill me and your aunt looks like she could skin me alive without even blinking.”

“Look,” He brings his hands to cup your cheeks. “there’s nothing to worry about. From now on, I won’t leave your side. And if I need a refill, I’ll bring you with me. I love you.”

You sigh again, closing your eyes. In the end, you nod, opening them back up to look at him. “I love you too.”

“Good,” He brings you in for a chaste kiss. “Let’s go fuck them, like mom says.”

"She really says that?"

Daniel was right, they were harmless. Well, you hadn’t talked to Charity, but at least you’d talked to the second person giving you a serial killer look, aunt Helene.

Turns out the stink eye was her resting face and that her husband had died tragically. It was the main reason she looked so miserable. She was most likely merely reminiscing about her husband while looking at you two, the newest couple in love. If anything, it made you feel bad for her.

"I'm pretty sure I saw her take a pill like a shot in the hallway." You side glance Emilie as Daniel pulls you off to the side. You were just done talking to her, and somehow, even with all that parental stress, her smile was genuine. She was happy and extremely friendly. Well, so was her husband, but even he had a bit of awkwardness in him. "She's not suffering from anything, is she?"

Daniel shrugs, "Not that I know of."

He sits the both of you down on a loveseat out of earshot from the rest. "Now, we only have to wait until dinner." You nod. "But I have something to tell you. When somebody marries into the family, they have to play a game. It's just tradition. Play the game and you're part of the family, but win it, and you'll gain respect. Might as well get some practice in, right?"

"Did you just propose to me?" You mean it as a joke, but Daniel shrugs and reaches into his pocket. It's a wonder how people aren't looking over right now, well, apart from Charity.

"This is a claddagh ring. It's been sitting in my pocket for ages." He says as he pulls it out of the box. The majority of the ring is normal, but in the middle is a heart with a crown on it. "But, it's up to you how you want to wear it."

"So is this a proposal or..?"

He gives you a quick rundown on the meanings. On the right hand crown pointing towards the fingerprints is single and looking, towards the wrist is taken, on the left ring finger crown pointing towards the fingertips is engaged, and pointing to the wrist is married. Obviously, you're not married or single, so that leaves taken or engaged; and he's giving you that decision.

"You want me to choose?"

Daniel looks like he's regretting his spontaneous and presumably drunken decision. But with a swig of his drink, he smiles again. "Yes. I mean, we've talked about marriage and all but I wasn't sure if you'd be ready. I'm still not sure, but now that you know about it, you might as well wear it."

You admire the ring as you weigh your options. Daniel takes your free hand, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, especially your ring finger.

Engagement is the brightest thing in your heart and mind, despite that, it still finds doubts. Your in-laws, they were weird. But they didn't have anything to hide, they were harmless. On the plus side, you loved Daniel.

That was the final push. You grab Daniel's left hand, sliding the ring down his ring finger with the crown pointing to the fingertips.

Daniel's left hand curls around your right, the metal feels cold against your skin, despite all your fiddling. You look up at him, seeing his brows furrowed with confusion. You speak up before he can, "I might as well be proposing to you, if you're giving me the decision."

Daniel laughs, giving you a kiss followed by an eskimo kiss. He isn't usually one for eskimo kisses, but you figure it's happiness. "Okay, but I'll buy you one."

"Deal." You give him a final kiss before pulling him off the seat. "What should we play?"

"Well, first we have to go to the game room."

"The game room?"

You were hoping the game room was the room with the double doors painted with the name 'Le Domas', seeing as they were a board game family, but apparently not. "It's reserved for family, so technically you're not allowed in. But, we have a game room for parties." Daniel explains on the way. Rich people and their special rooms…

Once inside, Becky plucks a family board game from the shelf, no doubt a Le Baile product. Before you can join them at the couch, however, Charity pulls you off to the side.

Daniel follows, putting his arm around your shoulder protectively. Charity glares at him for a second before turning back to you, it was clear she wanted you alone. "Care for a game of chess?"

"Usually, we play more traditional games, stuff that would be here during my great-great-grandfather's time. He founded the company but the family tradition comes from before most of the games they've created." He whispers quickly into your ear. Due to the quickness, you almost fail to comprehend his words, but luckily you understand them.

"Alright." You agree to the game. Charity leads you over to the chess table, where conveniently, the chess board is already set out.

Daniel pulls a chair from seemingly out of nowhere, setting it down to your side, much to Charity's distaste.

"I got chess when I married in." Somehow she manages to avoid bitterness in her tone. "You should go first."

God, you barely knew the basics.

"So tell me about yourself." Charity speaks up.

You give her a quick rundown, which hopefully doesn't reveal any information that she could use to her advantage. "Interesting." She takes your bishop. "From what I've heard Daniel say, I expected the worst." 

Daniel narrows his eyes at her as a warning, though Charity doesn't see. Her eyes are glued to the board.

"I don't know why he'd leave me for you."

"Charity." Daniel warns her.

Charity holds her hands up in mock surrender. "I'm only speaking my mind. But I'll stop now."

She does stop for the remainder of the game, nevertheless there's no doubt in your mind that she has a lot more to say. She beats you quite easily, though she seemed disappointed when the reward was not getting to remarry your new fiancé. It's either that or you'd read her wrong.

"You have much to practice." Becky remarks, taking a sip of her champagne before continuing. "But, you'll get there." She smiles.

You smile back, standing up from your chair. Daniel does so too, almost protectively. He stares ahead towards Charity. The two seem to be having a glaring contest. You decide to ignore them, "I don't know about that."

"Oh, sure you will." Her eyes trail towards your hands when you intertwine them.

"I didn't see that there before. Claddagh ring, left ring finger pointing up." She continues to stare, a little disrespectfully. She notices this before it becomes moderately disrespectful. "You're engaged." Her smile widens.

Her words catch everyone's attention. Almost immediately, Emilie runs over with the brightest smile you'd ever seen.

"Congrats!" She exclaims, reaching out to hold your hand but stopping when she sees it connected to Daniel's. "I can't wait to have you in the family!"

"Thanks."

"They're not normal." You remark as you sit next to Daniel on the bed. The family had insisted that you stay the night, and while that was quite sweet of them, you really wanted to get out of there. They were no longer creepy or ominous, but you want a break. You weren't feeling as social as you did when you came in.

"Can't judge what normal is when they're the only family I've met." Daniel brings the blanket over your legs. "Sorry, anyway."

You shrug, planting a kiss on his forehead. "It's alright. Though that proposal was a little spontaneous."

At the mention of the proposal, Daniel shifts his ring around on his finger. "I was drunk, still am. At least I got it out of my chest. Who knows how long I'd keep it in my pocket otherwise."

"Knowing you, it'd be months, maybe a year."

"Hey!" Daniel whines, nonetheless, it's followed up by a laugh.

You can't help but give him a kiss again, this time on his temple. Daniel moves closer afterwards, pulling you into a proper kiss on the lips.

"Did you like them?" He asks when you pull apart.

You shake your head side to side in a more or less motion. "Mostly. Charity is Charity, you know. Your dad seemed to only focus on the engagement, I think I saw Emilie snort something, I don't know what to feel. Well, your mom is nice, maybe a little too nice. She hopes that I make you behave like you, but I wouldn't know how that is."

"So that's what she was talking to you about." He bites his lip for a second. "Well, don't worry. I believe I behave the way 'I used to' around anybody that isn't them, apart from Alex and Grace."

"Reassuring." You say sarcastically, laying down.

"Seriously? Can't tell the difference?" He lays down, cupping your cheek and allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

"Honestly, yeah. It's a little concerning." You nuzzle into his hand.

"Well, don't be. We'll be back home in no time. After breakfast, though, they're going to insist on that." You groan at the thought. Daniel simply laughs in reply, turning off the lamp.

"Goodnight, sweet dreams. Love ya."

"Love you too."

[pottersfia]

putting on an act | hp x fem!reader

part three

part four

masterlist

warnings: it’s pretty long (for me at least), barely looked over sorry, swearing, fluff, tension😁😁, mention of sex, angst at the end, NO CHO SLANDER‼️‼️

prompts:

5: “DONT COME IN! WE’RE UH- HAVING SEX!”

20: top of head kisses

48: “Ugh our kids are gonna be awesome”

a/n: he looks so hot in this gif bye

through this endeavor, harry had noticed something; you’ve never been on a date together. he figured it probably seemed weird from an outsiders point of view, no one (not even ron and hermione) knew how your relationship started. one day you were known as best friends and the next you were locking hands anytime you were in view of others.

he was honestly nervous of the idea. was he really taking you on a date because of cho or because of you? but on the other hand, it could be an opportunity to somehow strengthen this fake relationship. it was a perfect excuse, if anything it’d be more proof to other that you were actually dating.

you woke up on a saturday morning to the sun shining on your face. you got up, lazily and got ready to go out for breakfast in the great hall.

“good morning, sleepyhead.” harry said to you as you sat next to him.

“good morning.” you yawned and leaned your head in your hand, eating your food.

“today’s a hogsmeade day, hopefully you didn’t forget.” you smiled at harry’s words, glad you’d have a chance to get out.

“you’re right, it is.” you replied.

“i was thinking we could go on a date.” you looked up at him, slightly taken off guard.

“really?” you asked. harry nodded.

“we could go to honeydukes then somewhere else, i don’t know whatever you want.” he said as he turned back to his food. you smiled, the idea of being on a date with him sending butterflies to your stomach.

“yeah, we could go to the three broomsticks and out by the lake after. the weather’s pretty nice today.” he looked back at you with a smile and nod.

“sounds excellent.”

“what sounds excellent?” ron’s voice was suddenly heard as he and hermione sat down.

“we’re going on a date today.” you told them.

“so i’ll be stuck with ronald the whole time?” hermione exclaimed.

“hey! i’m pretty good company if i do say so myself.” he replied.

“keep telling yourself that.”

you and harry laughed at their bickering as the conversations carried on.

you were currently sitting with harry at the three broomsticks, each enjoying a butterbeer.

“you’re telling me you’d want five kids?” you laughed and so did he.

“it’s just a thought, realistically maybe two or three.” he replied.

“i agree, my kids will at least have one sibling.” you nodded. “what would you name them?” harry thought for a moment.

“well i’d definitely want to use my parents names somehow, even if it’s just a middle name.” he said. you smiled.

“i have a whole list of names.” you said.

“of course you do.” he laughed and so did you. “ugh, our kids are gonna be awesome.” you felt your face heat up at the comment and let out another small laugh as you went into a few moments of comfortable silence.

“so, um, how’s the cho situation going?” as much as you wanted to forget any of this was about someone else, you felt obligated to ask. you wanted to know where his feelings were.

“oh, right uh,” he looked up and saw cho enter, how ironic. they shared a quick moment of eye contact and a smile. “ok i think? we’ve only really talked a few times. i don’t know what i’m supposed to do at this point.” you looked between harry and cho with a sigh, taking your last sip of butterbeer.

“why don’t we go now.” you said, harry looked at you and smiled. he stood up and held your hand, walking out with you.

the two of you laid out on a blanket by the black lake, sun shining on your skin and the sound of yours and harry’s soft laughter in the air.

“do we have anymore grapes left?” harry asked you. you sat up and looked at the bowl that sat between you two. there were only two grapes left. you grabbed one of them and looked down at harry.

“open up, potter.” you said. harry sat up and raised an eyebrow at you.

“y/n, we both now your aim is rubbish.” he said. you scoffed and place a hand over your chest in mock offense.

“ouch that one went right to the heart.” he laughed at your act and gestured for you to throw the grape at him. you threw the small fruit and watched as he stared at it with his mouth open just for it to bounce off his forehead and into the grass.

“oops?” you said and you both fell into laughter. you looked at the bowl again and grabbed the last grape. “one last grape left.” you held it out to him. he went to take it from your hand but you pulled away. he looked at you and you shot him a playful smile. he reached again but failed.

the act turned into an all out war filled with teasing and laughter. that was until you stretched your hand up over your head and not realizing how close you were, harry reached for it. in an attempt to move your hand backwards you ended up falling over harry following suit and catching himself on his hands. your laughter stopped as you realized the position you were in. harry was hovering right on top of you. his eyes met yours and his breath hitched as he was unsure of what to do.

the moments you spent staring at each other felt like hours. your mind was racing until you snapped yourself out of it with a nervous laugh.

“uh, harry?” you practically whispered.

“r-right, uh sorry about that.” he said as he sat back up. you sat up, trying to collect yourself after what just happened. you looked at harry to find he was staring blankly at you. you smiled and ate the grape that was still in your hand.

“what-” harry realized what you did and you laughed at his reaction. the two of you laid back down in your previous position, staring at the darkening sky. you lingered in silence.

you could’ve sworn that in the moment you noticed harry checking you out. the image ran back in your head and you noticed how you stared down at your lips. was it possible he actually liked you? he was being pretty distant from cho. you needed to find out for yourself.

harry was conflicted. practically the whole day he had let his mind wonder on to the idea of being with you but it was always interrupted by reality. at the three broomsticks the presence of cho snapped him out of it, during the picnic “date” your teasing and comments that he interpreted as friendly banter interrupted it, and just now the moment you shared being cut short interrupted it. all he wanted to do in that moment was lean down and kiss you but he couldn’t. he would never do something to ruin your friendship.

“if i’m being honest, being in a relationship is a nice change from being single.” harry’s words interrupted the silence. you turned your head to him.

“really? why’s that.” you asked, amused. he shrugged.

“i don’t have to deal with the constant weird tension around other girls. most of them have backed off.” he turned to look back at you.

“ok mr. chosen one.” you laughed. “you’re welcome for helping with your female attention problem.”

“ok, when you say it like that it’s weird.” he laughed back. you shook you’re head, sitting up.

“it’s getting pretty late.” you commented. harry sat up too.

“yeah.” he stood up and so fid you. he picked up the bowl as you grabbed the blanket, folding it in your hands. you turned back to harry with a small smile, looking up at him.

“thanks for spending the day with me.” harry smiled back. he took a step closer to you and kissed the top of your head. your face heated up.

“n-no problem. you’re great company.” you held his hand and the two of you made your way back to the castle that is hogwarts.

•••

it was sunday night and the infamous weasly twins had the idiotic idea to throw their normally done on friday common room party.

you had to admit you were looking pretty good. the time you spent with harry on saturday really seemed to boost your mood so you wore your favorite outfit and let loose with your friends, get a little tipsy, and dancing the night away.

harry was practically drooling over you. it was one of the rare times he let himself really look at you. he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face.

“oi, mate we exist too, ya know.” he felt the person tap his arm and looked back to see seamus with a cheeky grin. ron, dean, and neville shared the same look as they stared at him.

“what?” he said. they laughed and shook their heads. harry suddenly saw you walking towards him.

“harry!” you practically screamed.

“hello y/n.” he chuckled.

“you need to stop being a boring wallflower and dance with m-” you tripped a bit over your feet and spilled whatever was in that cup of yours on yourself. “oh no!” you exclaimed.

“godric y/n, uh,” he grabbed the cup away from you. “why don’t you get changed into something else, there’s a big red stain on you.”

“yes i can see that.” you whined. harry put an arm around your shoulder and led you to your dorm room. you opened the door and fell on your bed.

“ugh it’s so comfortable.” you sighed. harry laughed and kneeled next to you.

“do you wanna ho back out there?” he asked you. you sat back up and nodded vigorously. “get changed then.” you nodded again and went you your draws to get something new. without thinking twice, you began undressing.

“woah woah, y/n! i’m still here.” harry quickly turned around. you laughed.

“oops.” was your only comment. suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Y/N! ARE YOU THERE?!” you heard one of your friends calling for you. you covered your body with the clothes you held, you and harry sharing panicked looks.

“u-uh YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO OPEN THE DOOR!” you yelled back.

“YEAH D-DONT COME IN! WE’RE UH- HAVING SEX!” harry yelled after you, instantly regretted his words. you looked at him in disbelief and he shrugged.

“oh, I’LL BE GOING THEN, um SORRY!” they yelled back.

“really? we’re having sex?” you questioned.

“it was the first thing i thought of!” he replied. you shook your head.

“i bet you’d like to fuck me, huh?” you smirked. harry’s eyes went wide.

“what?” he asked. you laughed again as you opened your bathroom door and closed it to change.

•••

eventually you and harry got back to the party. you promised him you wouldn’t drink any more and went back to dancing.

after a while you found yourself sat down on a couch, listening to your friends nonsense conversation. in the corner if your eye you saw harry walking out of the common room. this was your chance. you stood up and followed him. you were going to ask harry about his feelings, maybe even confess your own. what’s the worst that could-

and there it was.

you saw harry kissing someone. but it wasn’t just someone, it was cho. you were in shock. you knew to cho’s knowledge he was in a relationship, but cho wasn’t what bothered you; it was harry. any hope that he liked you back was down the drain.

cho opened her eyes for a brief second and that’s when she saw you. she instantly pulled away. harry looked at her confused then followed her gaze and saw you. you looked like you were gonna break down in tears.

“y/n,” harry said. you ran away.

taglist:

[to be adding send me a message/ask!]

@inglourious-imagines

[cinebration]

Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Epilogue]

You tie up loose ends.

Ahhhh! This epilogue is, like, twice the size of other chapters. I should’ve broken it into two, but I figured you all wanted to get to the end!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​, @city-of-weird​, @all-the-right-regrets, @alannister-always-pays-her-debts​, @fleetwoodsmacabitch​

Warnings: violence

Gif Source: captaindelafere

General Howzer looked too thin to be a military man at his age, but what people mistook for smallness was all lean muscle, as tough as a coffin nail. His hair had gone gray despite his age, but it gave him a steeled look that he didn’t mind. It added to the ferocity of his blue eyes.

With Specimen 049 back in the compound, he let himself breathe easy for a moment. Her absence had been a source of great distress for him—a fact his jaw still attested to, aching from all the grinding he had inflicted on it.

But there was still the trouble of how Specimen 049 had escaped.

It kept him up at night. How had she contacted the outside? How had she arranged the help? They had scoured her quarters after the breakout, searching for anything that indicated how she had reached beyond her concrete room. Having found nothing, Howzer had to admit it hadn’t had anything to do with Specimen 049. Someone else had come for her on their own initiative.

Howzer considered shutting down the program. Specimen 049 had been one of a few successful experiments—perhaps the best, because she had never resisted, had never fled.

Until that one day.

She may not have orchestrated the escape, but she had flown the coop all the same when the opportunity arrived. She had obliterated his best team when he sent them after her.

Perhaps the experiments were ultimately a failure. Everything had worked but for the ability to suppress or remove the flight instinct, the need to escape prison. If even Specimen 049, his model subject, had shucked her chains, then there was no hope.

Chaos erupted outside the compound, alarms blaring, but Howzer didn’t question it, too consumed by his problem. Whoever was assaulting the base had no hope of success, besides.

The doorknob of his office turned. He glanced at it in irritation. “Private, I ordered you—”

He froze as you stepped into the room, followed by the man he recognized as your liberator from the week before.

“Specimen oh-four-nine.”

“General Howzer,” you said, your voice crisp, without inflection. “I’m glad you decided to work late tonight.”

You moved forward, crossing the room in three quick strides. Howzer reached for the gun in his desk drawer. Your hand clamped down on his wrist, snapped it. Pain exploded up his arm. The gun clattered to the floor as he hissed, cradling his wrist.

You gestured to the other man. Nodding, he handed you his pistol and circled around the desk, pulling the keyboard of Howzer’s computer toward him.

“What are you doing?” Howzer growled.

He watched in mounting horror as the man located the program files. He went into Specimen 049’s folder, deleted it, and then backed out. He hesitated, then deleted everything related to the program before purging them from the hard drive.

“You can’t just erase everything,” Howzer sneered. “We’ll just recreate it all.”

You shook your head, yanked him to his feet. “We’ll see.” Turning to the other man, you ordered, “Finish here.”

You paused, pulled open another drawer of Howzer’s desk. A bottle of scotch lay at the bottom, a quarter of it gone. Taking it, you pushed Howzer toward the door.

“What happened? You were my best results.”

You remained quiet, shoving him through the door and down the hallway. The chaos of the explosion had drawn everyone to the front of the compound. You led Howzer away to the back, then through a steel door.

The cold night air hit Howzer like knives. He shivered despite himself, the pain in his wrist flaring. Fear pushed at him, but he shoved it down. He was General Benjamin Howzer, and damned would he be if he let some young upstart intimidate him.

“Your car,” you demanded.

He pointed to a brown sedan nestled beside an SUV. Fishing in his pocket for keys, you clicked the button. The car’s lights flashed.

“I expected you to lie.”

“Good. That’s what we trained you to do.”

Howzer was already planning his escape. The car was home turf for him. He knew the way the wheel jerked to the right when he hit pot holes and how quick it would take to slam the seat back against you. He knew the passenger seatbelt was loose and fraying, unreliable.

He would walk away.

You shoved him into the driver’s seat, got into the passenger seat. Howzer settled in behind the wheel, trying to anticipate your moves.

You handed him the liquor bottle. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me make you.”

He stared you down. “Make me.”

Starbursts exploded in his vision as you seized his face, jamming the bottle against his lips. He felt a tooth crack, blood mingling with the burning scotch. He choked, unable to swallow so much so fast, but you were forcing the bottle further past his lips, down into the back of his throat.

Then it was gone. He gasped, lungs and throat burning, lips pouring blood. “You fucking bitch!”

“I am what you made me. Now drive.”

Fear tried again, more successful this time in making him afraid. “Where?”

You gestured to the street leading to the highway.

There was still an opportunity to escape. Howzer tried to formulate it in his mind as he started the sedan and worked his way to the freeway. He slowly put on his seatbelt.

You didn’t do the same.

Even better, he thought.

Howzer’s foot pressed down on the gas, pushing the speedometer past eighty, then ninety. You watched dispassionately.

Fear wrapped around his guts.

“When this is over, I’m going to get your boyfriend, too,” he snarled. “You’ve damned him in all of this.”

He eyed the crop of woods looming up ahead alongside the highway.

“You won’t get the chance.”

Howzer’s seatbelt suddenly went slack. He glanced down, saw your hand retreat from the release button.

He had planned to swerve into a tree, but seeing the seatbelt made him hesitate. He shot a glance at you.

“Nice try,” you whispered, and yanked the steering wheel beneath his hands.

~~

Booker drove the car down the long stretch of road, searching for you. He found the wreckage of Howzer’s sedan, the crumpled body of Howzer himself wrapped around the tree.

No sign of you.

Trying not to worry—had someone else grabbed you first?—Booker drove further down, searching the woods.

At last, he glimpsed something gray in the distance. As he drew near, it resolved into you, wandering slowly down the asphalt. He pulled to a stop beside you.

You slipped into the passenger seat. A dark bruise was forming on your arms and forehead. Booker gestured to them. You frowned in confusion. He reached over and gently brushed the back of a finger across your arm. It sent a prickle up his hand.

“Dashboard,” you murmured, watching his finger.

Pulling away slowly, Booker refocused on the road. An SUV was approaching from the opposite direction. The headlights flashed.

“They came to help?”

The surprise in your voice matched Booker’s own. “Yes.”

“See? Family comes through.”

Chest constricting, Booker rolled to a stop beside the SUV. Andy stuck her head out of the driver’s window. “Everything good?”

Booker gave her a thumbs up. He could see the others crowding at the windows, peering at him and at you through the windshield.

“There’s a place not far from here,” Andy continued. “To crash for the night.”

Booker shifted uncomfortably and glanced at you. “Whatever you want,” you told him.

“Okay,” he answered Andy.

He followed the immortals to the safe house. The car ride passed in silence, you staring out the window. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything. He felt uncomfortable, hyperaware of your presence—the way you were breathing, your reflection in the window.

At last, he asked, “Why did Howzer call you Specimen oh-four-nine?”

“That was my number.”

He recalled you telling him to call you “Spec” if he wanted a name back when he first met. Clearing his throat, he said, “My real name is Sebastien.”

He felt your eyes on him before you quietly gave him yours. He repeated it over and over in his mind, guarding it like some precious piece of you.

Pulling up to the safe house, Booker was surprised to discover it was actually a two-storey house. There were enough rooms for everyone to sleep on their own.

You trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom, the shower turning on moments later. Booker and the others stayed downstairs, infected by your silence.

Andy offered Booker a bottle. He reached for it, hesitated, shook his head. Arching an eyebrow, she pulled from it herself.

Booker kept an ear toward the shower, listening to the shower splash differently as you moved. The others watched him, exchanging glances with each other.

Nile broke the silence. “Will she be okay?”

Booker frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t have a mission. Isn’t that what she was trained to do? Always follow a mission? I mean, she was doing that when she brought you to Quynh, wasn’t she?”

The shower turned off. Booker heard you cross softly across the floor.

“She’s free,” he murmured, “and she’s strong.”

“What about you?”

The question shook him. What about him? He hadn’t thought about it since he returned to the States to break you out.

Overhead, he heard a door shut quietly, a mattress squeak.

“I’m going to help her, if she’ll have me,” he answered.

~~

Despite his exhaustion, Booker didn’t sleep that night. He rose early and made breakfast for everyone, including himself, after venturing into town to buy groceries.

You were the first to descend the stairs. Sunlight had yet to dispel the early morning darkness. Booker snapped to attention as you approached him. You looked rested, perhaps more so than he had ever seen you. Something about the softness of lingering sleep on your face made Booker’s heart trip.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you answered. Sitting at the table, you dug gratefully into the plate of food: eggs, oatmeal, bacon, toast. Booker had given you a triple portion, remembering the last time you had scarfed food down.

“I was thinking,” you began, then hesitated. Jabbing at the bacon with your fork, you asked, “Did you do the other thing I asked you to?”

Booker nodded and fished the flash drive out of his pocket. He had palmed it into a USB port on Howzer’s computer, pretending to delete the files when instead he had transferred them over. You took it from him with a delicate touch, as though afraid to break it.

“Do you think there are any left?”

Booker’s chest ached at the sound of your voice cracking. “I saw a lot of names.”

“But are they alive? No, don’t tell me. I’ll find out.” You pocketed the flash drive and resumed eating. “So, what’s the deal with you and the others?”

“I still have ninety-nine years.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry. What will you do?”

He sat down across from you, not quite meeting your gaze. “I was hoping…you wouldn’t mind having me around.”

The fork paused halfway to your mouth. You gaped at him, jaw slack. He would have laughed if not for his anxiety over your answer.

Lowering the fork, you cleared your throat. “No…”

Booker felt like bricks had hit him over the head. He glanced away, stared down at his hands. What had he expected? That you might think of him as more than anything than the guy who had been part of a mission?

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He jerked his head back up. You met his gaze levelly, a tentative smile on your lips. Relief coursed through him, better than anything he could think of. Raking a hand over the back of his neck, he struggled to fight the grin pulling at his mouth.

“If I catch you drinking, I will shank you with the bottle,” you told him.

“I believe you.”

“Good. Now, where do you think we should start?”

“Here,” he answered, and he leaned forward to kiss you.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑆/𝑂 𝐺𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝐷𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑘

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Bonus naggy mom disclaimer: Everyone please drink responsibly, alcohol can seriously mess up your five senses and you'll be hating yourself in the morning when you're hungover and remember all the dumb shit you did. And especially don't drink and drive, if you plan to drink, be sure to have a responsible designated driver or call an Uber, taxi, Lyft, etc.

✧𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰✧

You opened your eyes, the slight light coming from the slit of the curtains hurting your eyesight. You tried lifting your head, but ultimately failed as a killer headache took over. You groaned and fell back on the pillow.

"Maybe now you'll think twice before doing something stupid like, oh... I don't know? Hmm... getting wasted at a sketchy bar and then roaming around the streets alone!"

You didn't even notice Hongjoong was in the room till his nagging made you aware of his presence.

"Don't yell at me! My head hurts!" You exclaimed, clutching your head.

Hongjoong shook his head in disapproval as he reached over and poured you a glass of water. He wasn't actually mad at you. He was just panicked so much last night when he couldn't find you anywhere, thinking about all the things that could happen to you, if they didn't already. He was actually relieved to find you all in one piece.

"Here. I'll go make you something for your hangover." Hongjoong handed you the glass of water along the some painkillers before heading out to the kitchen.

"I love you Joongie." You called out, knowing full well he wasn't mad at you, just worried.

"Of course you do. Who else would put up with your crazy antics?"

You laughed at his usual way of saying he loved and adored you as well.

✧𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪✧

"I don't wanna go home!" You whined as you tried to break your hand away from Seonghwa's grip, who was currently dragging you through the parking lot.

"I never asked for your opinion and frankly right now I don't care." He replied, turning around and proceeding to lift you up and carry you into the car.

"You're so mean Park Seonghwa! Never letting me have fun." You said as you tried slapping his hands away as he strapped you into the seat.

"I let you have fun.... safe and wholesome fun. Not this kind of rowdy fun that ends with you complaining the next day." Seonghwa sighed trying not to hurt you.

"I never complain!" You protested.

Seonghwa smirked.

"Oh no? Let's see if that's true tomorrow."

He knew it was all bullshit. Tomorrow you'd be running your mouth, cursing yourself for drinking so much and he'd still be there taking care of you because he loves you and he's a sucker for you..... also to tell you he was right all along.

✧𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸✧

Yunho was seriously regretting taking you to this club. He should have known that since you were tinier than him and Mingi, obviously your alcohol intake would be much lower than theirs. Mingi didn't help either, he kept pushing drinks to you even after Yunho told him to stop.

"Lighten up Yunho, when did you become such a boring stick in the mud?" Mingi complained.

"When I started dating, like seriously dating, not like you who just hook up with random people." Yunho couldn't help but take a jab at his friend.

Yunho decided to go outside to cool down for a bit, not wanting to make the situation more tense and to not lose his temper. He came back inside once he was calm and was scared when he couldn't find you.

"Where's Y/N?" He looked over to Mingi.

Mingi just snorted as he pointed to where you were and Yunho was speechless when he saw you on top of a table, dancing wildly as you tried to take your shirt off.

"Ok! I think it's time to go home!" Yunho pulled you off the table and covered you up in his jacket.

"But why? Don't you like it when I strip for you?" You teased him, almost stumbling back when you tried to walk.

"Baby trust me, I do enjoy it...when there's not like 500 people looking. Now come on, I'm taking you home."

✧𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰✧

You woke up and the first thing you saw was Yeosang staring at you with a sly smirk on his face.

"How's my baby feeling?" He couldn't hold back the snort in his voice.

"Don't. Fucking. Start." Your threat wasn't menacing enough as you fell back into the couch when you tried to get up.

"Seriously? You couldn't even take me to the bedroom?" You whined.

"Bathroom is closer in the living room, which actually, you spent a lot of time in, puking your guts out and I helped you out." Yeosang replied proudly as if he did something extraordinary.

"Go away if you're going to be like that, I'm not feeling good." You groaned and plopped a cushion over your head.

Yeosang pouted and gently patted your tush.

"Aww come on baby, you know I'm only playing. How about I go make you something to help you? Hmm?"

You nodded softly and Yeosang melted at how cute you were, and went to the kitchen to make you food.....but since he was also a little shit, he made it a point to make as much noise as possible just to annoy you.

"Kang fucking Yeosang! Stop making so much noise! My head is going to burst!" You screeched.

✧𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷✧

"Ok there we go."

San struggled a bit due to you squirming around, but he finally managed to get you tucked in bed. Your drunk self had other plans though and grabbed him by his belt loops.

"Sannieee....." You whined.

"What?" He asked, trying to stop your hands from wandering too far.

You giggled softly before saying:

"Please fuck me."

San blushed slightly and chuckled.

"Baby as much as I'd love to, you're too drunk and about to pass out anytime. I'm not going to take advantage of you in your condition. I love and respect you too much to do that."

You became emotional at his words and actually started crying. San became flustered.

"No please don't cry sweetheart! You're going to make me cry and we can't have that." San bent down and started trying to calm you down, stroking your hair and kissing your cheeks.

"I just can't believe you actually said that. You love me so much to-"

You didn't get to finish as you passed out immediately.

"There it is. You see? Told you you'd pass out."

San couldn't get mad as you were hilariously cute whenever you got wasted.

✧𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲✧

Mingi stood staring at the people in front of him: San, Wooyoung and Yunho just sat silently in the living room, while Yeosang held a totally drunk you up.

Mingi sighed.

"You know....when I said keep Y/N company....I didn't mean get them wasted!" His voice boomed through the living room.

"Ok...true...but look on the bright side.... at least it was in your house and not some club or bar...right?" Wooyoung tried reasoning with him.

Mingi was so furious at them, he actually began scolding them, adding a few insults to reprimand them for dragging you, his innocent and pure baby, into their reckless behavior.

"Mingi..." You tapped on his arm for the 20th time.

"Not now sweety, I'm not finished yet." He shrugged you off.

"Mingi I think I'm gonna-" You clutched your stomach in pain.

Mingi immediately scooped you up in his arms and rushed you to the bathroom where thankfully, he got there in time so you could throw up in the toilet.

"It's ok sweetheart, let it all out." Mingi said as he held your hair up.

Once he was done taking care of you and putting you to bed, he was going to cut off the other's heads for this.

✧𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰✧

"Wooyoung! I think I'm dead!" You called out to him, who was currently in the bathroom.

"You're talking though." He responded.

"Yeah I know! But I'm dead!"

You pressed your face into the pillow, feeling like shit and wanting to die.

"So am I speaking to your ghost?" Wooyoung let out his high pitched laughing.

"Shut the fuck up Wooyoung! This is all your fault!" You screeched.

"How is it my fault?!" He popped his head out the bathroom.

"You're the bad influence! You were there last night repeating 'Another shot! Another shot!' and you kept at it till I swallowed the entire bottle!" You accused him.

"I did no such thing!" He said as he came into the room.

"Oh sure. Now you don't remember! Fuck you." You huffed and covered yourself in the blankets.

Wooyoung snorted and sat down next to you, gently rubbing you through the blanket.

"Come on baby, you know you're not mad at me. After all, who's going to make sure you're taken care of in your state?" He cooed softly.

You peaked out from the blanket.

"Are you really going to be the sweet boyfriend you are and take care of me?"

"Nope. I'm calling Seonghwa to come over and deal with your hungover ass." He laughed and backed away when he felt you shift.

"Jung Wooyoung!" You screamed as you threw the pillow at him.

✧𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸✧

Jongho was really holding back only cause you were drunk and you were in front of a lot of people, but you made it really hard cause you kept clinging to him and kissing him randomly. You always did get touchy whenever you got drunk

"Jongho?" You pouted at him.

"What?" He sighed, knowing you were going to say the same thing you've been saying the past 15 minutes.

"I love you." You said as your lips began attacking his neck.

Jongho tried to gently pull you off him, embarrassed that his Hyungs were snickering and laughing at his flustered state.

"Sweetheart could you maybe control yourself?" Jongho groaned when he felt you start to bite at his neck.

"Jongho! This was supposed to be a family friendly get together, not a spot for you two to get kinky." Wooyoung teased him, as Yunho and Mingi pretended to be making out just to piss him off.

Jongho had enough. He told them if they continued, he'd break their necks like one of his many apple victims. He then detached himself from you and picked you up to take you home.

"Enjoy this time while you can Y/N, cause tomorrow I'm making sure you understand why you shouldn't pull stuff like that in front of others."

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

[ijustwant2write]

Watch Your Words-Arthur Shelby x Shelby!Daughter!Reader

(GIF credit to @paulinska44stark)

Tags: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @jenepleurepasbaby @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight @haphazardhufflepuff @mzcrazy2

Masterlist

Prompt List

Requested by anonymous: 'can you do a arthur shelby one where the reader is his daughter (16-17) and they get into argument and he says something he doesn't mean and she runs off and everyone starts to get worried when they cant find her but she with bonnie or Isaiah and Arthur finds her and they talk and he apologizes and they make up'

Characters: Arthur Shelby x Shelby!Daughter!Reader, Isaiah Jesus x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Alcohol abuse/drunkenness, neglect, swearing, crying, fluff

                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I moaned as I stirred that morning, hating how little sleep I had got. My father had been out once again, stumbling in at who knows what time, not keeping quiet and sounding like he was having a fight with himself downstairs. It wasn't unusual for him to drink this much, he used to do it a lot more, and I thought it had stopped for a while; the company was doing well, there hadn't been as much trouble recently, my father had been more present in my life. However, I watched it all crumble before me, returning to nights by myself, cooking for one, not having anyone to talk to.

Before heading downstairs, I peeked into my dad's room, wondering if he had made it upstairs. I was wrong, hoping that he was sprawled out on the sofa. Again, I made the mistake of thinking he wasn't that drunk, finding him lying down on the kitchen floor, two of the chairs from the dining table knocked over, as well as smashed glass surrounding it.

Sighing, I brushed some pieces of glass away from his head, hoping he would want to head to bed as soon as he woke up. Dad was on his back, head tilted to the right as he lightly snored. His coat had been in the hallway, along with his hat, but he had failed to take his jacket off, it was half way down his arms.

"Dad," I quietly said, shaking him lightly,"dad!"

He jolted awake, taking in a sharp breath, trying to figure out where he was. When he saw me, he groaned, wiping a hand over his face. Helping him sit up, I prayed that he wouldn't be sick (I had dealt with that situation too many times), not saying anything yet as I didn't know what mood he was in.

"Fucking hell." his voice was raspy, still rough from the night before."Did I wake you up?"

"Last night you did. But it doesn't matter."

"Sorry love."

"It's alright." I lied, managing to sit him down in a chair."Do you think you can stomach something?"

"Nah."

I didn't press further, grabbing a broom and sweeping up the glass into a pile. He said nothing more. As I got rid of the glass, making sure there were no more pieces we could step on, I noticed his fist on the table clenching up.

"Dad? You OK?"

"Just thinking about last night." he mumbled.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Don't worry. It's not for your ears. Go on, go get dressed."

I did as he said, knowing he was particularly sensitive at this moment. It was quiet downstairs when I was getting ready, a blessing and a curse. He could be sat down gathering his senses, trying to sober up, or he could be working himself into a frenzy. It had happened before, and I was scared it could happen again. I loved my father, he had raised me well, considering that we were Shelby's. Though I supposed I had Aunt Polly and Aunt Ada to thank for that, not him. He had always tried to be around when I was younger, wanting his child to know her dad. But as I got older, when I could become more independent, that's when he realised he could have a bit more freedom, especially since the woman (my mother) he fucked wanted nothing to do with him, just to look after the child they created.

I returned to him once I was ready for the day, slowly stepping into the kitchen. My heart sunk at the sight of whiskey in his hands once again. How could someone drink so much and continue? I had been drunk before, and I didn't enjoy the headache the next day.

"Dad, did something happen last night?" I hesitantly asked, slowly walking towards him.

He scoffed."Some people don't understand what respect means. I'm Arthur fucking Shelby, I don't think twice about killing a man."

I hated when he spoke of killing. It was something I always pushed to the back of my mind.

"You would not believe what this woman said to me last night. She...she said...how the fuck did I end up with a daughter like you? How could my daughter, who apparently has the heart in an angel, look me in the face everyday and smile? Hm? Well go on then, answer her question!"

"Dad, she was just trying to win you up."

He took a swig of his drink, clumsily leaning back in his seat."No, no, she meant that! And I want to know too. Since you're so perfect, what are you doing in the Shelby family?"

I backed away, now pressed up against the wall opposite him."You're not making sense. Look, I'll cook us something to eat, it'll help with your headache."

"The only headache round here is you."

"What?"

"Don't know why your whore mother left you on my doorstep. I'm a killer, how would I know how to raise a child?"

"Just shut up dad, you're wasting your energy over this."

He shot up from his chair, causing it to hit the cabinets behind him."Don't you tell me what to do!" 

I flinched back, hitting my back and head on the wall. He had never hurt me, but there was a different rage in his eyes, and I was scared that this was the look his victims saw before he killed them. 

“When I fucked her, I was drunk, done a few lines, eh? I didn’t even know her name, but it didn’t matter. She might have been a prostitute, she might have been a woman at the club. But it didn’t matter.”

“Dad,” I sobbed, wondering if I should just run,“please stop talking like this.”

“I’ve slept with hundreds of women, never had a baby turn up though. But of course, just when things were going good for me, I got stuck with you. I had to spend money on you, feed you, dress you, shit, I had to make sure I knew what the fuck I was doing and be there for you. My fucking life went out of the window.”

I didn’t need to hear any more of this. Taking my chances, I darted towards the hallway, throwing open the door and running into the street. People on their way to work (or coming back from a long night out) watched as I sprinted past them, tears streaming down my face, despite the wind repeatedly drying them. I had heard my dad call for me, and I was sure he had fallen down trying to come after me. Stumbling into Charlie’s yard as I slowed down, I sighed with relief when I saw that no one was there. It seemed stupid to come here, when it was my family that owned it (and they were the people I wanted to be away from), but it was also somewhere I felt safe. Sniffling, I used one of my dress sleeves to wipe away the tears, now idly walking around the place. It was so dirty here, gloomy and dark; it reflected the mood at the moment.

Sitting down on a chair, that was terribly out of place, outside the stables, I leaned back, hating how the cold air hurt my lungs from running. My throat was recovering from being dry, but now there was a metallic taste in my saliva. It wasn’t lady-like to sit like this, but who gave a fuck? Coughing before spitting on the floor, I sunk deeper into the chair, legs spreading out to make it comfier.

“What’s little Miss Shelby doing all the way out here by herself?” I heard Isaiah call. However, the cocky smirk he held disappeared when he saw my teary face.“Shit, what’s happened?”

“My dad.” I sobbed, sitting up properly when he knelt in front of me.“He’s just drunk and...he said some things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble, Is.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Isaiah held on of my hands that was resting on my lap.“You’ve never been this upset before, he’s clearly said something that’s hurt you.”

“I’m tired of his habits Isaiah, he’s gone back to his old ways. I hate it! I don’t understand how he can go out almost every night and drink to that extent. He’s broken things in the house, he’s been sick, he’s fallen down the stairs, and yet it continues! And today, he said hurtful words to me. Told me how I was just the child of a whore, I was unwanted, he was basically saying he regrets taking me in when he could have easily given me to an orphanage!”

“Hey, calm down.” Isaiah kept his voice quiet.“He’s drunk, you know that. And that means he doesn’t mean those things.”

“They say that drunk words are your true thoughts.” I snapped.

“(Y/N), please listen to me.”

Reluctantly, I looked down at him, trying not to smile at the image of our hands interlocked.

“Your dad loves you far too much for his own good. He’s only ever loved his family, as in his brothers, sister and aunt, and that was just the normal. You were different. Yes, you weren’t planned, meaning he hadn’t prepared himself to welcome yet another person in his life.And he had to throw himself into parenthood, had to realise he was looking after a child. It was like going cold turkey for him. Now I’m not excusing his words or actions from earlier, he shouldn’t have ever said such things to you. But he worries, he worries because he loves you so much that he doesn’t even understand it himself.”

“I know that deep down...it just hurt. And I’m scared that he’s going to keep doing this to himself.”

He sighed, standing up, tugging on my hand.“Let’s go. We don’t need to be in this sad place.”

I slightly smiled, still holding his hand as I stood. However, he let go, taking off his coat and putting it on me. Luckily I was just tall enough for it to not drag on the floor, otherwise I would have dragged it through mud. He made his usual cheeky remark about it ‘looking better on me’, causing me to roll my eyes but laugh all the same. He distracted me as we walked, trying to steer the topic away from family matters.

"Isaiah, do you want kids?" I randomly asked.

He chuckled."Was that an offer?"

I shoved him away from me, causing us to laugh."You know what I meant you prick."

"Yeah, I do. It's still early days for me, especially since I'm doing a lot more for the boss and all that. But once I find my girl, I'll want to have my own family."

"That's very sweet of you Is. I can see you being a father, and a good one at that. Once you grow up a bit that is."

"You're wanting a mature man then, eh (Y/N)?"

"Yeah, do you know of anybody?"

He pretended to think."Nah."

The dreadful feeling that had been stuck in the pit of my stomach was almost gone, until I saw my dad running around the streets, obviously looking for me. Poor people in the street were bombarded by questions, he was terrifying to them. When he saw Isaiah and me, he was relieved, taking long strides towards us. He didn't look angry anymore, but I was still wary, hoping Isaiah would stay beside me.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) love, I've been looking everywhere for you!" he exasperated, trying to catch his breath.

"She was down by Charlie's yard." Isaiah explained.

"Why didn't you find me straight away?"

I butted in before he got angry with Isaiah."I was upset, Isaiah cheered me up. I wouldnt have come back anyway."

"I'm sorry (Y/N). I really didn't mean anything that I said this morning. It was the alcohol, I swear!"

"You'll use this excuse for the next time too."

"There won't be a next time, I promise!"

"Dad, do you know how much you upset me today? You basically told me you didn't want me, you called my mother a whore. There were so many random things that came out of nowhere, and it was purely to hurt me because you were hurting."

"I know. A woman in the bat last night reminded me of how your mother was, or at least I think she did. She made the same comments, saying that I didn't deserve to have such a lovely, good hearted girl as a daughter."

"No, sometimes you don't. But you're lucky that I love up to that title, because I love you too much to let this get in the way of our relationship."

"I'm going to stop, I won't do that again!"

"You're not going to drink again?"

He hesitated."I...I mean-"

"Dad, I was joking. I'm not expecting you to quit drinking altogether, just don't drink as much. And not just because you say mean things, because you've hurt yourself in the past. And there's so many people who are after you."

"Alright love, I'll hold back. For you. Am I forgiven?"

"For now." I hugged him, still upset, but knowing that we had to move past this in order for him to get better."I'm going to stay with Isaiah today though. I feel like we should spend some time apart, for the rest of the day at least."

"Why with Isaiah?"

"Because he's my friend, and he's helped me take my mind off things. I'll see you later dad." I kissed his cheek before grabbing Isaiah's hand again, dragging him away.

"You know you're dad is going to kill me right?" Isaiah said once we were out of earshot.

"He won't. Not if he wants me coming back for dinner tonight."

"I'm going to lose you that soon?"

"You would be so lucky Isaiah."

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[apocalypseornaw]

About Time

*Not my Gif* Sam finally admits he's in love with you. (Some nsfw)

The day Sam met you was a trial by fire sort of thing. Him and Dean needed a couple extra hands on a hunt so Bobby had sent you and your cousin their way. Your cousin was only a couple years older than Dean so the two of them teamed up leaving you with Sam. He was impressed from the start because you managed to finesse the local fuzz in a way that Dean wouldn't even be able to. 

On the hunt itself you held your own against the nest of vamps and ended up even carrying one of the more injured victims out yourself. Your cousin just shook her head when him and Dean told you they could've went back for the girl "She thinks she's wonder woman. I swear this girl is either gonna be the death of me or end up ruling hell" Dean bought you a beer afterwards, Sam was hooked.

Over the years you kept in contact with Sam and Dean then when your cousin died you ended up starting to hunt more often with them and eventually took their offer of a bedroom in the bunker. You and Dean had quickly become best friends, same as you and Cas. Sam had been harboring feelings for you for years that only got worse living in close quarters with you.

------

You'd been living in the bunker for a couple months when one morning Sam got back from his run to overhear you talking to Dean in the kitchen "Dean either he doesn't look at me like that or he is the most oblivious man on the face of this earth" you'd recently split from a guy you'd been seeing off and on so he didn't want to get his hopes up until Dean said "That's where it helps having the guy who's known him since birth on your side sweetheart and standford or no standford Sammy doesn't really take subtle well. Just tell him how you feel because I've listened to him talk about you for years. I've heard him cuss every guy you've ever dated. He feels the same"

He headed to his room to act as if he hadn't heard any of the conversation. When he walked into the library after a shower you were sitting at one of the long tables looking over a lore book and glanced up when he walked in "Hey Sam" he smiled "Good morning Y/N. Where's Dean this early?" you held up a half of a glass of orange juice "It was his turn to go on a supply run and we're out of coffee" 

He walked over to sit down next to you and tilted the book you were reading to see the front of it "Enochian?" You shrugged "Figured it'd come in handy if I could translate at least a few words if Cas wasn't around?" "That's smart" he said with a smile and realized just how close he was sitting to you when you moved to face him and your hair brushed his shoulder "Sam, can I ask you something?" your eyes widening told him you hadn't realized the close proximity either "Of course" he held your gaze and watched you nip at the tip of your thumb which was something you did when you were nervous no matter how rare that situation was "Do you wanna go out with me?"

He reached to pull your hand away from your mouth and smiled when you tracked his movements with your eyes "I'd love to"

-------

That friday you and Sam headed out to a local bar that Dean said served decent enough food. Hell Dean had even let you take baby out which was a rare thing indeed.

You walked into the bar behind Sam and smiled when he reached back to grab your hand "C'mon sweetheart" he pulled you towards a booth in the corner. You slid in first and he slid in after you. You glanced around and saw that a live band was setting up, the bar itself looked clean and with a normal enough crowd. 

After the waitress took your order Sam turned towards you "Why are we nervous? We've known each other for years" You shrugged "I don't know. Maybe we should go ahead and kiss and get that out of the way?" he laughed lightly then said "That actually sounds like a good idea" you leaned up to touch your lips against his in a quick kiss that quickly deepened when he pulled you into his lap. Your hands went to his shoulders to steady yourself when you felt his tongue flick across your lips asking for entrance so you opened your mouth slightly and had to stifle a moan when you felt his tongue slide into your mouth moving against yours. 

His hands slipped under your shirt and a low moan escaped you at the feeling of his hands on your skin. The waitress clearing her throat broke the two of you apart. You never broke eye contact with Sam when you threw a twenty down and said "That'll pay for the drinks, cancel our food please" she simply took the money and walked away with a laugh. 

You climbed out of his lap then grabbed his hand "Suddenly I'm not hungry, how about you?" His eyes ran across your body before he finally said "Not for food"

-------

The ride back to the bunker felt longer than it ever been. You were trying not to distract Sam but god you'd finally felt his lips on yours and was wondering what they would feel like on other body parts.

About halfway back he finally pulled off the road and killed the lights. When you shot him a look he raised an eyebrow "Come here" you quickly straddled his lap feeling how hard he already was underneath you. "Do you want to wait until we get back?" He asked kissing your neck and down to your collarbone pushing your shirt down further to give him access to more skin. "Who says we can't have another round once we get to a bed?"

He chuckled against your skin "I like that answer" he moved his hands to the seam of your shirt and you moved to let him pull it over your head. "I've wanted this for a long time" he whispered letting his tongue run across the top of your bared breasts. You let your head fall back with a moan as he sucked gently on the skin there. "Sam, is there enough room?" he glanced up at you and you realized your choice of words "I mean in the front seat?"

He thought about it for a moment then pulled back "Get in the back" you climbed off his lap and climbed across the seat while he stepped out then opened the back door to climb in with you. You laid back on the seat and curled your finger at him "Come here Winchester" he pulled his shirt over his head then climbed up you leaving a trail of kisses on every inch of exposed skin. When he got to your mouth the kiss was hungry but gentle. He rolled his hips against your and a groan left his lips when you moaned at the movement. "We really need these jeans off" you laughed so he leaned back up far enough to help you slip off your jeans and boots then kicked his own off.

He spread your legs then licked his lips "God you're beautiful" you felt a slight wave of embarrassment at being completely bared and must have moved to cover yourself because he caught both of your hands in one of his "Nope, I want to see every inch of you baby" there was soo much sincerity in his voice you relaxed and he smiled "Now lay back. If I do anything you don't like tell me ok?" You nodded and he lowered his head leaving kisses up your left leg until he got to where you needed the most attention "Sam" you moaned when he licked into you curling his tongue up against that sensitive spot.

You could feel an orgasm building and gripped his hair as your breathing quickened. He added two fingers in with his tongue and that was all it took. You came with a moan of his name on your lips. He worked you through the orgasm then kissed his way back up your body. When he got to your lips he caught your mouth in a hard kiss allowing you to taste yourself on him "Please fuck me Sam" you moaned and he smiled against your lips "Yes ma'am"

When he slid into you, you bit your lip against the stretch. Once he was fully inside of you he stilled letting you adjust to him. "Are you ok?" he asked kissing your neck and chest. You nodded after a moment and tapped his hips "Move Sam" he started to roll his hips against yours every movement rubbing against that spot deep inside of you "God damn Sam" you moaned and he laughed "I'll take that as a compliment" you knew from the angle and pace he wouldn't be able to come easily so after a few moments you urged him "You can go harder Sam you won't hurt me"

He started to thrust harder and you felt your eyes roll back as that building pressure burst again. "Fuck Y/N you're so damn beautiful taking me like that baby. Ugh you're squeezing me hard enough I can barely move" he groaned biting down on your breast hard enough you knew there'd be a mark there come morning. "Sam oh fuck please tell me you're close" you begged and he nodded hitting even deeper inside of you.

When you felt his hips shudder you knew he was close. "I'm close baby" he whispered and you gripped his shoulders when you felt him come emptying inside of you. He thrust a few more times before collapsing against you moving just enough to make sure you could breath fine. "Fuck why did we wait so long to do that?" you asked with a laugh kissing his tattoo since it was closest to your lips. "I don't know but I look forward to doing it again" "And again?" you asked pulling him to you for a kiss.

-------

Luckily Dean was asleep by the time you two got back so he didn't see both of you come in carrying your shoes, Sam only wearing jeans and you wearing Sam's shirt. You dropped your pile of clothes in your room then headed to Sam's room with him. The night was far from over.

------

A couple weeks later Dean and Cas had ran into town to grab supplies so you were sitting at one of the tables in the library looking over news articles to make sure there was nothing near by that needed attention. Sam stood there watching you for the longest, your hair was falling out of your bun and you were chewing on the end of your pen. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.  You glanced up after a moment and grinned "I'm literally your wallpaper on your phone so if you wanna stare you have pictures"

"I love you Y/N" he said so easily and didn't even think twice about it until your smile fell. "I um I mean it's ok if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to tell you" but you cut him off by grabbing his hand to pull him closer "Sam! calm down" when he finally stopped talking you laughed "I love you too. I have for a while"

You heard clapping and looked up to see Dean at the bottom of the steps "About damn time" Cas looked around him "I tried to get him to not eavesdrop" you laughed again "Don't worry Cas I'm used to it"