#'what's this part mean' and then picking the peeled paint off the wall

[leadmeto]

ooc // entry 51 is one of my favorites because all brian does is worry about getting in trouble for being in an abandoned building and talk shit to alex about the movie they are in the process of shooting. he's such a little guy and he never did anything wrong and i love him completely.

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 9

Word Count ~ 5.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ doppelgänger sex, body horror

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

taglist ~ @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp @kaislashes @charli33-b33 @finalitgirl

Francis Mosses’ route is almost done for the day.

He normally started with the farthest destinations first and then worked his way backwards, finishing close to his home in the DDD sanctioned apartments.

But there had been a last minute add on, sending him back out again, further from the city and into the suburbs. He’s tired, as always, the early start to each shift, the thin walls of the building that do nothing to suppress the activities of his neighbors taking their toll. He rubs at the drowsy lids that keep insisting on shutting. Almost finished. Just this last one. Humming to keep awake. He should stop on the way home, pick up something for dinner. But that would mean delaying his return. Did he have the energy to even cook?

He’s thinking about you, the pretty young woman that guards the entrance now. The best part of his day. He should get you flowers. Say something, anything, instead of just polite formalities. Maybe today would be the day he found enough courage to express his feelings.

A little more alert now. His eyes flick to the paper on his clipboard. Yes, nearly there. He’s not familiar with this road. The houses are not as well kept. Some even look abandoned. Overgrown lawns. Broken windows. A tendril of misgiving curling around him. Something felt wrong. Maybe he should just say he couldn’t find the address. Offer up this part of the route to someone else working for the company.

But what if the person really needed it? It wasn’t fair to discriminate, was it? That sense of duty keeps his right foot pressed on the pedal. He’s going to finish the job.

He’s reached his destination. It’s difficult to see the numbers, half hidden by the weeds threatening to overtake the mailbox. At least the window panes are intact in this dwelling. Curtains cover the interior completely. The entire home is encased in shadow, darkness that seems to sap the sunlight from above.

The milkman shuts off the engine, easing out of his seat. He’s a little stiff from the long drive, the lateness of his shift. He touches one ear to a shoulder, repeating the process for the opposite side. A satisfying series of cracks. The rear compartment slides open and he lifts the wire rack from storage. The sun is strong against his back, a little perspiration making the white material of his workshirt cling to his skin. He’s suddenly craving something cold to drink. Maybe he should just invite you out. There would be enough time before curfew. Sodas at the local diner. He imagines you blushing that pretty pink shade, your hand covering your mouth. Shyly accepting his proposal.

Francis isn’t really paying attention to the cement walkway he’s traveling on that leads to the front door, ignoring the crab grass poking through the seams of each concrete slab. He doesn’t spare a glance for the peeling paint of the clapboards, the tarnish of the metal doorbell. The door creaks open and he’s got a smile on his face, his customary greeting for customers combined with thoughts of you. Just a heartbeat shy of reacting in time to who—what— waits for him in that dim interior, the hand reaching for the handle of the basket changing course at the last moment, latching onto his wrist and dragging him inside, the basket falling from his fingers, the glass shattering, spilling dairy product over the entryway.

He’s pulled off balance, thrust to one side, barely managing to keep his head from cracking against the wooden floor. Subflooring, not even a proper finished layer. No furniture inside. The home was stripped bare, except for the heavy drapes over the windows, the last illumination from outdoors disappearing from view as the door slams shut. The air is stale, musty. He feels the dust beneath his fingertips. No one has been inside here for a long time.

He’s barely started to struggle to his feet before the creature is upon him. Doppelgänger, he thinks with panic. It has to be. Hands pin his wrists down to either side of his face, his body shoved down beneath the heavy weight of the invader.

It’s not the first time he’s encountered one directly.

Once, when he was younger, he’d gotten separated from his mother at the supermarket. Not paying attention, distracted by the array of goods on the shelves, lost in whatever daydream had overtaken him, until he’d felt the hand on his wrist, the hand that didn’t belong to his parent or a concerned employee or fellow customer, but a doppel. The feeling of claws digging in. Seeking to break the skin, to draw out some blood, just the smallest amount needed to copy his appearance. The pain before an off duty DDD member had thankfully intervened had been sharp, hot, an intensity he’s still never forgotten years later.

This was not that feeling. This is like being submerged into a warm bath, but the water was sticky, cloying. It hurt, but there was something pleasurable about it as well. A kind of numbing tranquility. Pressing against becoming pressing into.

Hold still.

The command said aloud, or in the depths of his mind, he can no longer tell. One last burst of adrenaline making him struggle. The quick, disdainful flick of a claw, the alien’s true appendage, dragging across his skin. He feels the flecks of blood spattering near his collar, hears the wet collisions with the starched fabric.

“God help me…”

The only part of a plea or prayer he can muster. There was no escaping this. He can feel the thing burrowing inside of him. How was it even possible? The doppels only cloned or consumed humans. This merging was something new.

He can feel it digging around in his brain. Sifting through his thoughts.

A DDD establishment resident? Challenging.

Your face. He focuses on it in his mind, recreating each detail of every feature. The scent of you. Summer flowers.

Who’s this?

Don’t hurt her. Don’t you dare—

The numbness has worn off. It is no longer a soothing feeling. He is burning from the inside.

I won’t let you harm anyone. If you’re going to be me, then be me. You’re not going to hurt anyone ever again.

Let me in. Let me in, stop resisting.

Forgive me.

What’s happening? Changing me, I’m not…

Not one or the other. Combining.

Something new.

***

“Francis, wake up.” The doppel’s eyes fly open. A moment of disorientation and panic visible on his features until his eyes find yours in the wan morning light spilling in through the farmhouse window. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Your hand rests against his bare chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. What would an invader dream about that would make them so afraid? Being discovered? Destroyed?

He reaches a hand to touch your cheek. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m here, love. It’s okay. You’re okay.” You kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his face slightly and captures your lips again. Hungry. Nipping at your bottom lip. He’s turning, rolling you beneath him.

“My love. Mine.” Tasting your neck. His palm warm and heavy as it dips beneath the scooped neckline of your nightgown. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and index finger, tugging lightly, bringing them into stiff peaks. You squirm, writhing beneath his touch, the mouth of your sex watering for him. Always so ravenous. You can never get enough.

You’re not wearing panties. It’s easy for a pair of fingers to slide right into that warm, wet tunnel. Your breath hisses. He steals the next one, his mouth covering yours. Your fingers wrap around his forearm as he begins sliding the probing digits in and out.

“I want to devour you.”

“Yes, Francis, please…”

“Eat you and then fuck you,” the copycat’s voice continues low beside your ear. “You’re mine.” A growl. His tone coarser. A little more of the doppel side of him showing. Possessive. Aggressive. Acting in retaliation to something in the dream he’d felt threatened by.

“I’m yours.” Your pelvis rocks up against his hand. “It’s you that I love, that my heart belongs to.”

“What’s inside…”

“Yes, what’s inside.”

“Mine forever.”

“Forever.”

He moans against your neck. A broken, human sound. Lips trembling. Pressed gently in a line down your body, the fingers still thrusting in and out, tongue darting out to taste between the petals of your flesh, nose digging into your mound as he grinds his mouth against your clit, sucking. Your hand is now buried in his hair, your eyes watching the way the rising sun filters through the lace curtains, dappled light and shadows painting your torso, lighting threads of gold and chocolate in his hair, on the fine hairs that cover his forearms. A haze blooms around him, a shining halo, a precursor to the pink tinged eyelids, the exploring fingers now withdrawn, claws just peeking out, hinting at what lies beneath, his tongue replacing that vacancy, no longer the short one belonging to the man whose body he inhabits but something serpentine teasing inside, unfurling, squirming, reaching deep, fangs teasing the pink flesh outside, the reddened invader’s eyes asking, begging for permission.

You’re terrified, exhilarated, he’s never been there before, not when he’s like this, he’d been so careful to not let the beast out and you haven’t pushed him, it’s only been a week but it feels like so much longer and you want it, gasping an affirmation, fingers tightening in his tresses. The sensation of being so thoroughly tasted, explored, consumed as the intruder’s teeth sink, pierce, lost in that pad of fat above the start of your sex, his tongue buried inside while he sucks, drawing your bundle of nerves taut against the roof of his mouth drives you right over the precipice, the back of your skull digging into the pillows as you keen, whine, whimper, he drags every desperate sound of pleasure he can from you until you can no longer stand it, overly sensitive, overwhelmed, quaking as you see the rising face of Francis Mosses, no longer giving way to the monster inside.

His next kisses on your mouth are gentle, allowing you to recover, stroking your shoulder, carding through your hair.

“Where did you go,” you murmur, suddenly feeling languid, relaxed, your extremities tingling pleasantly in your post orgasmic state.

“You’re not afraid at all?”

“A little. But I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“It’s difficult to stop it.”

“So don’t,” you challenge.

“Oh, love, we’ve talked about this. I can’t…”

“Kiss me with that mouth. Your real one…”

“You want that?”

“I want you. I love you.”

“Sweetheart…” His tongue spears your mouth. Still human, still holding back.

You reach down, caressing his hardened cock. “What were you dreaming about? Tell me, I’ll chase them away. Won’t let anyone hurt you…”

“Hnggh…” He moans, his breath quickening. His body shifts, his erection nudging your entrance, your splayed legs tightening around him as he penetrates you, his mouth close to yours. “I was dreaming about the past. The day it happened, when I took Francis. He changed me when I went inside him. Weak body but strong mind. Faith. His feelings for you. I was terrified of being lost in that union. Sharing, merging…unmaking and rebuilding my identity. The way that feels, coming apart like that…”

You gasp and he settles his hips against yours, resting his weight there for a moment, buried inside of you. “He made me want to be him. I couldn’t resist. I’d never wanted anything so badly. Until I met you. The want I have for you, love. The sheer ache of it. I would do anything for you. Risk anything, give anything. You have become my entire world, my universe. The thought of losing you, because of a momentary slip of the reins, because of something I’ve done…I can’t bear it.”

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat. You’d asked him about Francis’ end so many times, halting after he’d stated it would be the end of your reason for he, the doppelgänger, to be with you. But that wasn’t true anymore, was it? Because you’d fallen in love with him. And you felt the same way. You’d risk anything, give anything to be with him. And now you know the truth of it. Why this doppelgänger was so different from the others. Different, because the human whose body he’d taken had irrevocably changed him. Altering his goals, his desires. Tempering the craving for annhilation. Seeking a more peaceful integration. A life with you. The milkman’s final gift.

“I know why you’re scared. I won’t try to push you. I just love you so, so much. I want you to know that.”

“Sweet girl,” he sighs. He’s blocking most of the sunlight now, his face looming above yours. “Just a little. I’ll try…”

You nod. “Let me feel you, love.”

His hips lift. Creeping out of you inch by inch. His eyes changing again. Jaw shifting, mouth evolving. A ripple across the surface of his stretched lips. Teeth parting. He’s entering you again, his cock mirroring the violation of the alien tongue now probing yours. Still gentle, cautious. Your flavor there. Closing your lips over this new shape and texture. Still muscular, smoother, thicker until it tapers at the end, coiling around yours.

Your body is on fire, your earlier release already forgotten as you roll your hips against his. A rough groan. The hand cupping the side of your waist tightens, thumb digging into your flesh. Every time his body collides with yours, the pressure against the bite he’s inflicting sends waves of pleasure through you, your swollen cunt throbbing around his prick.

You’re whining again, a needy, pitiful sound hummed around that foreign tongue invading your mouth, curling and stroking, sharp teeth dripping saliva down onto your lips, sliding over your chin and down your neck.

Then it is Francis’ mouth hovering over yours again, his soft brown eyes gazing into yours as he sheaths and withdraws over and over, a little crooked grin of triumph, pleased he’s done it, he’s maintained control.

“My bride to be, my future wife…” The words becoming temporarily incomprehensible, his face burrowing against your neck. “Forever…eternal…I am yours…” He’s looking into your eyes as he cums, filling you with hot spurts of seed, everything in that gaze begging, pleading, that this will be the time, the future he wants to conceive inside of you coming to fruition at last.

***

You’re watching Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger in the mirror.

Hair tidy, side parted, slicked into place. Dressed in a button front shirt and slacks. Freshly shaved. You love watching him get ready. The care and attention he gives the process. Wanting everything to be proper. Perfect.

“I believe I’m ready. What do you think?” He turns to face you.

“Very dapper. I’m sure everyone will be very envious when they see you leading me inside the theater.”

“I think it will be more the other way around. Beautiful,” he murmurs, admiring your dress, your lips and nails painted to match, a deep, dark shade of red. “And what is underneath this loveliness, I wonder?” His fingers tuck beneath the neckline of your dress, trying to sneak a peak at your lingerie.

“If you start that, we’re never going to make it out the door.”

“Would that really be so terrible?”

“After, Francis,” you reprimand gently. You’re not used to rejecting him. But you think it will be good for both of you to get outside, have a date together. You want him to enjoy every element of the human experience. So much of what he knows is based on war, on violence. Sometimes you yourself get so caught up in your work you forget what it is you’re struggling so hard to protect. Not just lives, but the quality of those lives. You want the best for those residents you guard.

You want the best for your fiancé, too.

***

You’re screened at the entrance of the theater.

It’s nowhere near the level of scrutiny you provide working for the DDD; the likelihood of doppels wanting to infiltrate an old movie house was very unlikely. The bored looking attendant barely glances at your ID’s before waving you through.

“That man is terrible at his job,” your beau murmurs as you enter the theater, heading towards a pair of seats near the back row. There aren’t many people present; perhaps lured by the nice weather outdoors. Enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. “Maybe we should have started the invasion here.”

“Francis!” He’s not speaking loudly, but you look around hurriedly. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’m only teasing, love.” He wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss against your temple. “No one’s listening, anyway. I’m sorry. It was in poor taste,” he apologizes, seeing your persistent scowl. “Forgive me?”

You tuck your dress beneath you before taking your seat. “I’m not cross with you, I’m just worried.” You didn’t want to draw any attention. As much as you like being out in public like this with the invader, you had to keep reminding yourself that you’re still at war. He’s still seen as the enemy, and no amount of declarations of affection for you would ever convince the DDD of his innocence. It was dangerous for both of you.

“Stop worrying. You’re meant to be having fun. Relax and enjoy this,” he whispers beside your ear. “No one knows. We’re okay.”

You try to comply, willing your furrowed brow to straighten. This had been your idea, after all. He was right. No one was paying any attention to you. Everyone present was seated in front of you, all facing the curtain shrouded film screen. Your doppel’s arm curls around your shoulders and you let yourself melt against him, the tension easing. Trying to recapture some of that feeling you have when you’re together at the farmhouse, away from the city, away from prying eyes. Your own little safe haven.

At last the heavy drapes shift aside, revealing the screen beneath. The sound of murmured conversation is extinguished, the only noise the occasional rattle of a straw in a cup, fingers digging into a box of candy or bag of popcorn. You have some chocolate in your purse. You withdraw it now, thumb dragging along the paper wrapper, trying to be quiet as the film begins.

The Warner Brothers logo appears. Then there is a map overlaid with the opening credits before the focus shifts to a rotating globe. You glance at your companion. His eyes are fixed on the screen. There was the invader’s original goal, so tantalizingly out of reach, that objective shifting to a very normal life with you, pretending to be human.

You squirm a little restlessly in your seat. The copycat’s thumb strokes your shoulder. “Easy, love. It’s okay.” His breath hot by your ear. “I love you.”

The words instantly soothe you. You manage to tear the foil and extract a piece of chocolate, already starting to melt. It was warm inside the theater. You offer it to your companion, watching his features as he takes the rectangular sweet between his teeth, breaking off a section and chewing, considering. “Good. Not as good as the jam. Not as good as you, but nothing is,” he whispers, mouth pressed close to your ear again. He accepts the remainder and his tongue darts out to taste your fingers, reminding you of the previous morning, when he’d invaded you with his real one, your pussy and your mouth teased with it, the familiar warm pulse between your legs asking for more.

You struggle to return your attention to the screen, absently slotting the next piece of candy into your own mouth.

It’s different watching the film again now that you’re older, in a serious relationship. The sheer ache of the tragedy of it all. The woman thinking her husband was dead, killed trying to escape a concentration camp. Falling in love with another man. Leaving abruptly to nurse her spouse back to health after learning he’d survived. The bitter conflict of the backdrop of the world war. Meeting again. Forced to choose between both men she loved. The nightclub owner insisting she leave, promising she’d regret it if she didn’t, a famous line of dialogue that was so often quoted.

It’s impossible not to see some parallels with your own romance. Choosing between Francis and the doppelgänger. A war that encompassed the world, this one not with other nations within that globe but alien invaders. What was the greater sin, betraying your heart or betraying the human race?

You’re quiet as you leave the theater, squinting against the dazzling sun outside. Francis’ doppel offers to drive your car and you let him, staring out the passenger window, watching the brick and mortar surrender to the trees and fields you’ve been missing already.

“This melancholy concerns me.”

You turn to find the milkman’s copy staring at you, eyes darting occasionally to check the road ahead. Empty, as it so often was.

“I’m sorry. I meant to ask if you enjoyed the film.”

“I enjoyed being with you. I always do.” He focuses once more on the path, steering around a deep dip in the ground. “That’s the hole the truck struggled with,” he murmurs. You’re so accustomed to it your body runs on autopilot, maneuvering around it without even thinking. “You’re worried about us being discovered.”

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself. “I didn’t want to ruin the experience for you.”

“You didn’t, love.” One hand leaves the steering wheel to cup your cheek.

“I don’t want to get caught. It would kill me to lose you. Absolutely destroy me. I can’t, Francis. I can’t lose you twice.”

You’re jostled as the car abruptly leaves the road, pulling into one of the fields near your house. The doppel hurriedly shifts the gears into park, cutting the engine with a rough turn of the key. He turns to you, one arm resting on the back of the bench seating. “Listen to me. You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going to let anything happen to either of us.”

“You don’t know that, though. Sooner or later someone is bound to find out.”

“Leave the DDD.”

“Francis, we’ve talked about this.”

“Leave the DDD and move in with me. Here. At the farm. Or wherever you want. Just get away from all this.”

“Francis…”

“Be with me. Please, love.” His fingers curl around the side of your neck, his lips brushing yours. “I couldn’t do it. I could never give you up like Rick did with Ilsa in the movie. You’d be safer without me, but how could I ever want that, how…”

“I love you. I’d never leave you. Never.” You kiss him, your mouth rough against his. His tongue strokes yours and the heat you’d experienced in your core earlier returns. Your fingers break through the carefully coiffed stiff strands of hair, returning them to their natural, untidy form. His fingers work on the buttons of your dress, his mouth now laving at that exposed patch of skin below your throat.

You’re so close to home, but it’s impossible to wait just those few more minutes, exiting the car, allowing your body to be pressed down into the fragrant grass. He strokes up your thigh, nudging aside the fabric draped over you, a little hum of appreciation escaping when he feels the new satin that covers you.

You’ve never owned so many pairs of lingerie, so different from the standard fare you’d worn before. You like the feel of it clinging to those intimate places, like the reaction of the doppel every time he reveals them, like unwrapping a gift, fingers shifting each piece, palming your breasts, your sex. He makes love to you under that open blue sky, in that clear air that’s just starting to turn a little cooler as the afternoon bows to evening.

Back at the house, you’re assisted in preparing dinner, steak and baked potatoes and green beans while Perry Como croons in the background.

Till the end of time

Long as stars are in the blue

Long as there's a spring, a bird to sing

I'll go on loving you

“Move in with me,” the pretender says again, drying his hands on a dish towel, then slotting his hands on your waist after you’ve finished sliding the potatoes into the oven. “I want this every night.”

Till the end of time

Long as roses bloom in May

My love for you will grow deeper

With every passing day

“After you meet my parents. Then we’ll move in together. One more week.”

Till the wells run dry

And each mountain disappears

I'll be there for you, to care for you

Through laughter and through tears

The smell of the meat sizzling in the fry pan on the stove makes your stomach growl. You’re starving. Always so ravenous, now. Working up such an appetite.

“Dance with me after dinner.”

“Yes.”

So take my heart in sweet surrender

And tenderly say that I'm

The one you love and live for

Till the end of time

After dinner, in his arms as promised, he steers you in a neat circle.

“I had a wonderful weekend with you.”

“It’s not over yet.” He kisses your neck, his hands sliding over your abdomen. “I hope…”

“I know. We’ll keep trying, love.” You want to give him a child. That fear still there. Discovery. You were never as devout as Francis had been. Would it be blasphemous to pray? To ask for help, protection, mercy for a creature that was so reviled?

He switches off the record player and the final lamp in the living room. There is now nothing but moonlight to guide you.

He settles onto the couch. You sit beside him. The ticking of the grandfather clock is loud in the sudden stillness. Your mouths collide. A different kind of hunger afflicting you now.

“You’re still hiding from me,” you chide gently, sliding a hand over one thigh, moving to the front of the fly of his pants, where the bulge fits neatly into the curve of your palm and fingers.

“About that,” he murmurs. “Partly it’s for fear of losing control.”

“You won’t,” you reassure him, sucking at his bottom lip.

“Partly because I wanted to fill you with human seed. Our best chance to make a baby.”

“And the other part?” You prompt, sensing there is still something left unsaid.

“I’m not sure if you’d like it.”

“You mean find it appealing?”

“Yes,” he admits reluctantly.

“I love every part of you.” Your hand squeezes and he sucks in his breath sharply.

“You really do, don’t you?” This said with a kind of wonder and disbelief.

“Is it really so strange? You find me attractive, and I obviously don’t look like your kind.”

“You are beyond attractive. You are gorgeous. The softness of you. That texture. The flavor…” He kisses your jaw. “I can never get enough.”

“So you can relate to that feeling of being addicted.” You’ve slowly begun to unfasten his belt, now working on the button and zipper.

“I wonder how much of that isn’t a result of the bites.”

“I think that contributes to it.”

“I didn’t know they’d have that effect.”

“It’s all new. Uncharted territory, didn’t you call it?”

He hums in agreement, the sound changing to a moan when your fingers dip beneath his briefs. “I’m tempted.”

“Do it.”

“What if you don’t like it? It would ruin things…”

“No. I want it feel it. In my hand. In my mouth. Inside of me.” He shudders against you. “I love you, my doppelgänger.”

A growl. The leash slipping. He nips at your ear lobe. “Sweetheart, if that’s what you really want, I’ll give it to you. It’s all for you…”

Heat against your hand, not the customary warmth of that reproductive organ but something else, a scalding kind of sensation. The flesh morphing, rearranging beneath your fingertips. Growing slicker. Reminiscent of his true tongue, the structure thicker at the base, narrowing at the end. Root, tentacle, something else, no word for that pulsing member you hold in the near darkness.

He’s sweating with the effort of restraining himself, tasted every time your mouth touches his, salted kisses accompanied by your hand cautiously sliding along the length, exploring, forced to stretch your arm as you caress the alien’s cock, finding the head at last not so unlike the human one, ending in a kind of domed, mushroom shaped tip. Fat, thick, it would definitely stretch you. The thought of it makes you shiver, your body drooling arousal.

“Does it feel good? I don’t know if I’m doing it right…”

“It is…” He says a word you don’t recognize, something in his native tongue. You can’t replicate it. “That’s why I didn’t tell you my name. You could never say it. Even what I just uttered isn’t quite…fuck. Right there. Oh sweet girl, you’re always so perfect for me. Sit on it, sweetheart. Let me fuck you.”

Your heart is pounding as you stand long enough to pull your dress off overhead and remove your panties, climbing over the doppel’s thighs, that foreign prick tapping impatiently against your bare stomach. His hands clutch your buttocks as you raise yourself, guiding his dick into position. Your breath saws in and out roughly. Almost panicked. But so aroused. It’s too late to stop now. You’d asked for this. You asked for this and now…oh. Inside of you. A burning stretch, like having your maidenhood taken again for the first time. A whimper escapes you. Somewhere between pleasure and pain. Blurring from one to the other. Filling you. So warm inside. You can’t possibly fit all of it in there. A sob of frustration.

“My love,” he croons soothingly. “Our bodies weren’t meant to fit together, the anatomy, you can’t…”

“I want all of it,” you say stubbornly, disappointed. Feeling like you’ve failed him somehow.

“Look at how well you’ve done, sweet girl, letting me inside…” His hand strokes over your abdomen and you mirror his movements, feeling the bulge there. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I want to make you feel good.”

Your hands grasp his shoulders as you lift yourself up, supported by his hands, some supernatural strength from the invader providing assistance. Back down again. Up and down. A rhythm building. You’re getting used to it, slowly but surely. That tender ache within you starting to evolve into something else. A coil of pleasure knots your insides.

“Tell me your name. Even if I can’t say it…to hear it…” A foreign word. “No. From your tongue. That mouth…”

“Risky, love. Can’t…” The hands holding you are shaking. “Even this is…”

“What…what is it? Tell me.” You’re properly riding his cock now, grinding yourself down as far as you’re able.

“It’s dangerous. The desire to be let out…tear free…love, it’s…I can’t stop it…”

The coil inside of you snaps, your orgasm ripping through you. There is something else, something searing hot spilling into you, the stream of it running out as he lifts your body clear of his, then cradles you against him.

“You didn’t warn me,” you chide softly when you’ve recovered, your fingers gliding curiously across the trail of slick cum streaking your thighs. “There’s so much of it.”

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slap his arm playfully, then rest your forehead against his. “I told you you’d be okay.”

“Are you sore?”

“A little. It’s okay.”

“I don’t like hurting you.”

“I wanted it. I don’t regret it. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“My love, what am I going to do with you?” He says in mock exasperation.

“Hopefully marry me.”

“Oh, that’s definitely happening. Speaking of which. We need to plan that out. The details of where and when.” He makes a little disgruntled sound. “Can we go take a bath? This is getting rather…unpleasant.”

You can’t disagree, the feeling of being so damp and sticky, the decreasing temperature and congealing nature of the ejaculate getting more and more uncomfortable to be lingering in. “Yes. Let’s go upstairs. We can plan things out while we wash up. Then it’s bed time. We both have work in the morning.”

“I love you,” he says softly. “I’m so grateful you love me. The real me. I like being called your doppelgänger,” he adds, stealing a quick kiss before you scoot off his lap, allowing him to stand. You manage to find your discarded clothing.

“Well, it’s the truth. You are mine.”

He hastily buttons the front of his pants to keep them from sliding down as he rises, reaching out to take your hand, leading you to the foot of the staircase.

“Do you have a last name?”

The doppel chuckles. “Get upstairs, you.”

“I think I’m entitled to know, seeing as how I’m going to be your wife.”

“I’ll tell you my real name. Soon.”

Another kiss in the dark, the promise of a shared secret.

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Return (part two)

AO3

PART ONE

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!

Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.

You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope. 

“Ah! I know what it is!”

Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so. 

You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.” 

Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.

Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.

Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.

“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.

The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.

“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.

He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long. 

Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop. 

“Are you in the market for a new job?”

–

Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.

It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.

You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.

You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.

His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared. 

Everyone was afraid of him.

Except you.

When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?

He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.

Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.

One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare. 

Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.

His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.

“How was your day?”

There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.

“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.

“Try me.”

Those words.

Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.

But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect. 

It made him want you that much more.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.

You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.

The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”

“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”

You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”

A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.

Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.

Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.

You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.

The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more. 

One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.

“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.

He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention. 

At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.

–

All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now. 

He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt. 

Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.

Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone. 

Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.

Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market. 

He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics. 

“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.

The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.

Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.

Then he saw you.

You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets. 

You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size. 

Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.

You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.

Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.

His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.

Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.

The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.

He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.

Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.

As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes. 

“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat. 

“No,” Mando responded.

Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit. 

Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.

The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.

“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business. 

Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble. 

Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”

An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry. 

The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.” 

“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.

The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket. 

“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.

“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.

The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”

Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.

First task done. Second task on the horizon.

Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was. 

Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him. 

But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.

On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.

He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home? 

Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone. 

Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.

But if you said yes.

Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.

The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.

Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.

Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Clink. Shhhkt.

“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.

All business.

—

He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking. 

Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.

Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.

As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.

But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.

Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”

You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

Oh. Fuck. FUCK.

He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.

Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.

He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.

But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.

Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements. 

“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.” 

The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.

He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.

–

Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do. 

The brothels.

Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.

That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.

And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.

No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door. 

No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.” 

Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.

You would be banished from home.

The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.

Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.

–

Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.

But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner. 

Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.

The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right. 

A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.

Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.

One last stop. The bracelets.

Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another. 

The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.

A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.

The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.

His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays. 

Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection. 

Shit.

There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.

“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.

A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.

A good try, he thought.

“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.

“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.” 

She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.

“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street. 

The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register. 

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.

“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet. 

“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.

The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.

$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE

Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.

He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag. 

“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.” 

The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”

–

Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.

Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout. 

Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.

Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings. 

The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.

He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.

He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.

Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.

–

You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.

“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.

Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.

He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence. 

The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.

You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.

After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.

No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.

“Good night, cyar'ika.”

You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.

You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.

The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.

“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.

There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.

“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.

You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.

Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.

Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.

Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator. 

“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.

“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.

“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway. 

Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again. 

He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.

“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.

“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.

“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.

Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze. 

“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”

Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”

“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.

“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?” 

Kriff it.

“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”

Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something. 

He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.

He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.

The bracelet from the market.

“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.

You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”

“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.

“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy. 

“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.

Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact. 

Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.

“This means everything to me.”

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

[little-x-wolf]

this is me trying - s.w. x d.w.

synopsis: "dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days," dean had said and sam followed blindly. but had he known the future, would he have stayed?

warnings: heavy spoilers for s1-4, angst, a heart breaker all in all.

it had been six - no, seven months since sam landed in his cold, damp nightmare. each day bled into the next, a desolate blur of time that had left him feeling barely alive than a mere phantasm. the only time he did feel alive was when he would be high on demon blood, or watching the light leave their terrified, undead eyes.

and sam understood their fear. somewhere in a deep, dark, not clouded by demon blood corner of his mind, he really did. because he knew what they saw when they looked at him. he saw the same monster staring back at him from the chipped mirror bolted to the motel wall.

it wasn't his brother's beloved sammy. it wasn't that kid with the floppy haircut that bobby babysat whenever john wasn't around. it wasn't the sam winchester that dean picked up from stanford.

oh no, he would've hated this sam.

"dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days," dean had said and sam followed blindly. but had he known the future, would he have stayed? if he stayed, would that bright-eyed, golden boy have kept his spark? would he have a home again? a white picket fence with babies—that apple pie life his brother wanted for him?

it didn't matter now.

dean was dead.

sam wasn't.

and for all their promises and lessons about moving on, he couldn't. the impala smelled like him; of whiskey, apple pie and gunpowder. he could barely drive it anymore. often, he'd get into the passenger seat first, and the toy soldier stuck to the empty driving seat next to him would become a blunt reminder. it made him want to throw up sometimes, but he had nothing left to give.

his heart was empty.

then ruby appeared out of nowhere, with her stubbornness and dry humour matching dean's. she even called him sammy before he instructed her not to.

what was he supposed to do — this half-dead man?

this was him trying. trying to be the good little soldier that his father raised, trying to be his brother's sammy, trying to keep himself and the family buisness alive.

every attempt at normalcy felt like a cheap disguise, a costume he couldn't quite fit into.

bobby told him to move on so he stopped calling. he started building a wall inside his mind, brick by brick, with cheap whiskey, ruby and her demon blood. every day away from dean was a brick added to the wall separating him from the memories of his brother

he regretted it with all this heart.

"sammy!"

sam's eyes snapped open, searching the room frantically. there was nothing there except paint peel-offs, rotting takeout littering the floors and that ghastly, ghastly emptiness.

the sound of his heart pounding rang in his ears. there was an uncomfortable ache in his chest. he rubbed and rubbed over his sternum with trembling fingers. yet it remained, fitting perfectly within the cusp of his palm as if it were a tangible object hidden beneath layers of skin.

he so desperately wished to take a knife and carve it out, but he feared to lose the pain would mean to lose dean all over again. it would mean acknowledging the cruelest part of his existence—sam winchester would never be called sammy again.

[revelisms]

Little Numbers

Jinx has a lot of things she doesn't like—and, mainly, she doesn't like thunderstorms. Silco, slowly, is learning how to navigate that.

Rating: G | WC: 1.5k | Oneshot A lil' semi-sweet morsel of a character study, set early after Act 1. Features Jinx brainstorming a new invention, talking about her and Vi's papa, and asking Silco about his past. Silco is still figuring out how to be a Dad™️. Full story below and on AO3

They've something of a routine, in this.

He's come to expect it, over the months; on days like these, most of all. Past a spider-spiral of jade glass, glossed with gold, brews a storm: the rains speckling off the windows and battering over the roofs, a haze of gloom laid about their streets, like an old god stirred from the tides. It rakes its claws off every storefront and tile; leaves its footprints in polluted pools on the cobbles, with each howling stagger through the Lanes. It skews his office to gray tones, and ripples the walls with water-shadow.

A kindred spirit, in its own way. A comfort. But not for her.

The child dislikes the rain—much as she dislikes sunlight or the color lemon or the feeling of water in one's boots. Those menial things, though, can be corrected: a change of environment, new paints, fresh clothes. Contrary to the superstitions of those paid by his coin, however, he cannot control the weather. 

A storm will oft send the girl into a reclusive fit. Ill associations, perhaps. He knows, best of all of them, that memory's a wry devil. With a sorceress's charm, she weaves sensation into the most stubborn edges of one's nerves; she steals things that were once cherished, and tarnishes their taste to rot; she encases, cages, and gnaws at the mind. 

In his case, the work and the drink and the walks through the night's chill do enough to abide her. 

Jinx—as she is now asking to be called—is still finding her ways.

On the rare, rain-drenched instances she will emerge from her den, brave the firecracker of the thunder to peel up the bar's varnish-slick steps, he's learned to find her here: her quiet tinkerings echoing from the underbelly of his desk, her small head at his knee, a gargoyled hunch in the cave-cover it provides. 

He tends to think of the girl in feline terms: a spatting kitten clawing up the curtains. On these days, she's more akin to a pup at his feet—one he has to remind himself is there.

He shifts in his chair, pen in hand. She's brought a closet's worth of crafting supplies with her: papers, pens, metal parts, screws. His own work, housed in a series of reports, is similarly cluttered: steel mills, imports, distilleries, bullets. Cogs and wheels of his own toolbox.

"I see you're...working on something new." Rain smatters; his pen scratches. At his knee, the girl rifles through a set of oil-crayons. "Another invention of yours?" he wonders slowly, slicing the quill into three sharp lines. 

1-5-7. 

A code for Sevika: a blessing in order, with a red string. The mills were up thirty percent from the last quarter, but their chief of operations was getting skittish. Not all saw the promise in supplying disputes across the water. 

He could bend their workers' ears, differently.

A small, paint-spackled hand twists around the front of his desk. With it, a splatting page. 

The girl has her own codes, he's found. Music or mantras or poems, when the words won't seem to come to her. A color palette of emotions, when she isn't quite sure how to box them in, herself. He's picked up enough on their patterns. Blue means happy; yellow, sad; green, nervous.

She retreats her hand, quickly. In silence, he muddles over what he's left with.

No talking today, it seems.

Scrawled on the page: a flash of neon-pink. 

Her penmanship spears through the paper, jagged lettering and punctuated swirls. It has a touch of carnivalesque charm about it. Bold, vibrant, uneven.

Gilby — Gilbert — Gilly?  Like a smokie bear-BOOM! He's gonna be pink and red. See?

Underneath, she's drawn a ghoulish rendition of what appears to be a pipe bomb, with extra wires atop the head and a set of welded ears. The face wears the signature scowl she so seems to favor. Scribbled along the sides sit two claw-tipped paws.

Curiously, Silco cocks his head. She's gone so far as to outline the very chemistry she intends to use to stage the explosive. A viper-sharp mind in that little head of hers.

He hums. His pen scratches in a quiet response. A line jetted through smokie—above it, a thin respelling. Beside her drawing, he leaves notes of his own, in his sliced, sloping script.

Lovely colors. Consider a chlorate mixture — will better suit the size.

He slides the page back towards the edge of his desk, and returns to his reports. A thin set of fingers tiptoes over the varnish: slips the paper back out of sight. 

Another rumble of thunder bleeds through the streets. His pen sweeps down a second sheet. Not a moment after, he finds his work again interrupted. A series of stars have been added across her page.

Sawdust or sugar? Why is it better? How did you learn about chemistry?

Silco leans into one elbow, with a low breath. He has half a mind to send his reports to the girl; see if her sharpness for equations extends to analytics. 

Instead, his thumb slips her candy-colored questions farther over his wall of numbers, careful to avoid smudging her work. A gust of wind batters the rain against the windows. Beneath his desk, an incessant tick-ticking of metal. He scratches in his responses, lamplight glimmering on still-wet ink.

Sawdust. This design will have a greater reliance on pressure than combustion. From working the tunnels, then the doctor, then the tutors he knew of.

And so their routine begins: a question to a response, a response to a question. With each tradeoff, another smattering of doodles appears—some pink, some blue, some black.

Did you like school?

She's drawn a small galaxy, now, complete with star-shine and moons. He does his best to write around them: neat boxes of black lettering.

What I could get of it, under the company allowances.��They hadn't much care for an educated workforce.

The company hadn't much care for anything, beyond bodies sloughing through that black earth, doing as they were told. Huddled in the barracks, his lamp tucked beneath his sheets, he used to read stolen books cover-to-cover and back again: histories, economics, folktales.

What was your favorite part? Literature.

The girl scribbles a violent response, to that. He lifts his brows, patiently, fingers laced. Gives a dull huff to the slash of pink she slides before him.

UGH!! Borrring! Did you ever write anything? Boring for you. Started with union pamphlets. Some essays stuck in the press.

A light thwunk of her boot hits the floor. 

What about geology? I like geology. What's your favorite rocks? Consequence of the trade, less than like it. Minerals, not rocks. Covellite, jasper, bloodstone.

Each mineral hosts their own illustrations, by the time she turns the sheet back to him: a blue comet, a red heart, a green hand.

What were the mines like?

His pen idles on the page. 

"Am I to answer that in stanza, or in a speech?" he muses, dryly. 

Beneath his desk, a small sound, like an animal stifling a hiccup. After a moment, Jinx speaks. "Papa worked in the mines."

She hardly ever mentions her parents. When she does, it is with the same veneration that she speaks of her sister: like something too far gone to touch; something feared and worshipped, in turns.  

Silco thinks of his own father, nigh-nonexistent father, with a lineage stripped from him since birth, and feels his nail bite into his thumb. 

He thinks of Vander, for a short, vile moment—and then he doesn't.

"Then you know of it, enough," he mutters, regathering himself.

A feather-light touch toys at the clasps of his boot. "Papa hated them." 

He is back in them, briefly. Back in that hellish chill, dry as death; in the red-lamped glow signposting ten-meter intervals in the pitch; in the feel of the rock at his back, a crawlspace of a work path, ore and diamonds rattling in his carts; the smell of sulphur and sweat and dust in his lungs, thick as sludge in his throat. 

His pen twitches.

"Most the lot of us did, child," he says, far quieter than he intends, "and most hadn't a choice." 

Jinx says nothing to that, for a long moment. She makes no move to retrieve her sheet, either. But he feels her shift: a firmer pressure at his knee, her tinkerings forgotten. 

He lingers over her drawings. 

Pink. The color of her shame and anger.

Silco drags his thumb against the ridges of his fingertips, worries over the hard calluses the years of that labor had left: scar tissue too deep to fade. In the silence, his reports tether back his attention. Still, Jinx sits. 

He marks three sharp lines: another code for his right-hand. A gloss of green light begins to break through the gray. "These wretched things in life," he finds himself murmuring, "we all must endure. But we are stronger, for having endured them." His other hand loosens from his temple, finds the soft crown of the girl's head, and rests there. "Remember that."

Jinx draws in a small breath, picking at a piece of tin. 

For minutes, she doesn't say a word. Then, quietly: "Okay."

The rains lighten. He returns to his work, leafing through new proposals and policy drafts. 

At his feet, the child scribbles. 

Pink and blue, and pink and blue.

[john-kramers-left-sock]

Sawtober Day 9: Mask

Pairing: John Kramer x reader

NSFW (blood, trap stuff, it's Saw I mean come on)

(This is part 2 to my other one. I didn't realize there was a Sawtober thing so now I'm switching to it.)

“A game?” You whisper, walking towards the speaker. No wires are connected to it as if it was simply placed there without much care. You pick it up in your hands, turning the piece of cheap plastic over in your fingers. Pulling it closer, you bring it up to your ear, attempting to hear the voice better. When it doesn't speak again, your brows furrow in frustration.

You're left alone in that dark room for quite some time. The one exit is sealed shut, and there seems to be nothing else that can get you out. You sit there for what feels like an hour before a sudden click can be heard.

Looking up towards the noise, you notice a projector mounted to the ceiling. It sparks to life, the light from it shining on the wall before you. A video begins to play, casting a horrible scene before your eyes. "What the...?"

In front of you, the projector displays a video of a room. Inside, a man is lying on the ground. You assume it's Ben because of the clothes he's wearing, but it's hard to tell due to the mask on his face. While the footage is fuzzy, you can see that the mask is made out of a thick plastic with a smiley face painted on the front. There are two eye holes, showing Ben's eyes.

Once he begins to stir, Ben sits up with a groan. He looks around, attempting to pull the strange mask off his face. He winces when it doesn't come off, staying in place despite his attempts. Ben tries to shout, but it's as if the mask is keeping his lips closed. Only some muffled yells escape the man.

You watch as he wanders around the room he's trapped in, looking for some kind of exit or a way to get the mask off his face. He pauses for a moment, and you can see something dangling from the ceiling. It was hard to tell what it was from the fuzzy feed, but he grabbed it and clicked a button. A tape began to play from what you now know was a tape recorder.

"Hello, Ben. For the past five years, you have worked for a noble cause. Eight hours a day, five days a week, you clean the homes of the sick and elderly. From an outward appearance, you act caring and friendly to all those around you, but I know your secret. In the shadows, you steal from these people, taking precious items from those who have already lost so much. Deep down, you are a selfish person, using that friendly mask of yours to get what you want. Well, Ben, I want to play a game," the raspy voice spoke from the voice recorder, having the same sound as the voice from your speaker.

"You'll notice the mask superglued to your skin. This represents the friendly act you put up to steal from the most vulnerable of society. In your mouth is a bomb that will go off in approximately sixty seconds. To save your life, you will have to rip away your fake mask to stop the bomb from killing you. Live or die, the choice is yours," the voice finishes, the tape recorder turning off.

Ben panics, looking around wildly for any sort of escape. It sounds like he's attempting to beg, but no sounds can escape from the mask. After the timer starts, he runs around the room, looking for any kind of exit. He finds none, resorting to trying to break the mask. He smacks his face over and over again into the hard concrete, clawing and trying to break a hole over his mouth. It doesn't work, the plastic being too strong.

With thirty seconds on the clock, he grips each end of the mask and begins to pull. Muffled screams can be heard as he attempts to pull it away, his skin ripping from his face. Trying to peel it from the top down, he tears his flesh off, blood pooling from the open wounds. Each yank makes a sickening squelshing noise, bone, and muscle open to the outside elements.

Halfway down, he only has ten seconds left. He wrenches the mask down, exposing the mess of gore underneath. The cartilage in his nose is showing, and a horrific scream is released as it tears off his lips. With one more pull, the mask is off. Blood soaks through his clothes, drenching his skin. While some tiny patches were in tact, the flesh from his face had been ripped off. Chunks of muscle dangle from the piece of plastic, matted with the skin and flesh that coated the inside.

Ben spits the bomb from his mouth, kicking it away with only seconds left. He shields himself as it explodes from the corner, taking out some boxes and loose materials. He lay on the ground, sobbing in agony as his body shakes from pure adrenaline.

"Congradulations. You've torn away the mask that hides your real self. Only now can you face the world and be grateful for what you can really do," a voice speaks in his room, but he doesn't seem to notice. The projector suddenly turns off, leaving you in darkness again.

[robotsrawesome64]

Idk if your still accepting match ups for COD but here you go.

I’m a Gemini, ENFJ, trans Masc, He/Him, I’m a bit mouthy with a lot of different hobbies. I cuss a lot and pick at the skin around my thumbs as a nervous habit. I have a hard time opening up to people and tend to flinch when I get touched by someone for the first time. But once I do get friendly with you I tend to make more sexual jokes and crasser humor.

I wear glasses and usually long pants with sweater or tank tops with open button ups.

I’m Aromantic but Allosexual which means I have a hard time forming romantic attachment with people, but I wouldn’t find physical intimacy or affection.

I’m a cuddler, I love blankets and stuffed animals. I like music and writing. My favorite animal is a bunny.

I love cooking for people and others. So in the COD universe I would probably be just a civilian who works at a restaurant or something.

I’m fine with light angst and I prefer someone from task force 141.

Thank you so much for this!

S-S-S-S-SIMON

TWS: Implication of abusive home life, physical abuse scar, anxiety, picking, smoking(tobacco and weed), light drinking, aro dread (worry of being romantically liked), work stress (+reader shouts in kitchen), customer service, anger for shitty higher up, sudden snappy rejection to joke-brief mention, momentary disassociation+heat descriptive, gossip mention, momentary suggestiveness, depressivey thinking (PURP=SIMON) + Cuddly/platonic touchy Simon, aro4aro, hope this is ok and doesn't read too romantic, was thinking close squish vibes 😭💕 (im slowly learning; education welcome) Realistically sexual attraction would probz be a huge part but I cannae write it so feel free to mind blast the gaps

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Young adult Simon begrudgingly picking up a kitchen porter job. A role in your kitchen- well, as far as anybody was concerned. You'd been promoted to sous chef fast in this crappy bar/restaurant hybrid joint, which would be surprising if not for the paint peeling off the walls and constant inconsistencies of management.

Such as: yet again, you are left understaffed on a peak day and YOU had to lead ship because your shitass head chef didn't show up. Whoop de doo. What's more, you're tasked with training the fucking new guy, who- when you first had to come find him- seemed to have an attitude with an entitled cocky sway and his hands in his pockets. But that wasn't important right now; you had shit to prep and fast.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Safe to say the day was a blur. You muttering rushedly and guiding him in and around, barely getting a chance to meet him and take the sight of him in; just cringing as you try to squeeze past the big guy without touching, to and from your station.

The most you got was your anxious glances over your shoulder to check everything was running; that he was doing his job. A flash of his tatted arm flexing to press down the pass-through dish washer, suggesting the patchy art went up further when his crusty spare uniform's sleeve would move slightly in the motion. Oh, uh- good for him. Focus up.

What you hadn't gotten the space to witness was how Simon's personal too-good-for-this ambiance had quickly flattened into his tall frame curling over the sinks uncomfortably. His head down, diligent and thorough, only daring to give you morbidly interested side-glances when you weren't looking. He was otherwise very tuned in to the sound of you barking arguably obscenely worded orders at the junior chefs, daze only broken when one was suddenly directed at him- in which he whipped his head up to obey with a croaked out "Yes, chef."

Which made you double-take; this wasn't that kinda snooty establishment. He almost made your stressed scowl turn to a laugh from the shock, but no, he seemed dead serious as he effectively completed your request.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Before you knew it you had survived the reckoning of unprecedented big tables and last-minute front-of-house promised function food, leaving your eyes glazed in the direction of the finally unmoving ticket machine after allowing your chefs break. The uncomfortable wet trickle down the back of your neck expanded your awareness back into your body: the warm flush from the kitchen's humidity; the sore realization of your fingers on your thumb; the..gaze on the back of you? Sure enough, Simon 'casually' turned his head back around to totally (/s) focus on his piled-up workload. The hums of machinery, radio and distant chatter all seemed tensely faint in the silence of you two mandatorily alone.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ But hey, he definitely wasn't so bad. His gloomy, blunt countenance entertaining no-one (except maybe you, and a couple front-of-house girlies) when he barely bothered to stay after work for group drinks, etcetera. Don't get me wrong, he certainly had his own dry spark, but more often than not he'd seem to small-talk folks into a corner so he could back out and leave (especially with the girls). Sigh. Destined to never bond with the weird dude on a night out.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Or so that was your estimate, until mid adrenaline-filled panic from a work mistake, you see him over there reservedly wiggling to your music from the kitchen speaker as he worked. Or the first time he talked back to you in the kitchen, loud deadpan delivery as he teased you (to your co-workers' bafflement)- which just resulted in a loop of increasingly sweary quarreling, to Simon's probably-shouldn't-be growing smile to himself.

Thankfully, despite his words, he didn't fuck around. You could trust him with his role plenty fine. Or just trust him at work in general.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ When your head chef finally decided to clock in and had the nerve to start talking you out on this and that- oh my god. You did your best, but come break your hand was already exasperatedly dragging across your face as you walked to your spot. Simon roughly there too, mid smoke. Probably due back soon.

He nodded up in recognition, letting you settle before potentially opening the floodgates.

"He's a twat."

If you wanted to just sit, he'd sit. Plenty same if you needed to talk, allowing you good, deep time to vent whilst ad-libbing in agreement at your head's absolute expense.

None would go unnoticed, nor the way how your nails kinda fucked up your thumb as you spoke. It's not like he'd be on your ass about picking, just...details. Conclusively, your strife had successfully absorbed over to him, and now he was just bubbling in sympathetic frustration at the unfairness at his teammates energy being wholly undermined, disrespected and taken.

One thing was sure, full seriousness, if you wanted to go to HR/etc. about it, he'd absolutely have your back.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Second thing: the next day when he clocked in, he pulled something fluffy out his bag. What's tha- aww. A fuzzy little plush white rabbit, how cute is that? Conveniently pocket size. You tease him, because that didn't usually seem to be his style, before he's casually plopped it in your hands.

How did he..? I guess a lot of public conversations happen on the clock, and that he was listening to yours.

It was..nice..but..? It wasn't a nice feeling in your stomach, anxiously fiddling with Pocket Bunny instead with an thousand yard stare as you processed your emotions. You liked him, definitely, but the thoughtful gesture planted that worry that he was romantically interested. To say the least, it's always such a headache feeling forced to put out a 'disclaimer' on your existence. Co-worker gossip wasn't helping.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ So, you were brave. The pit in your gut uncomfortably hollowing further when he enthusiastically agreed to join for after-work drinks (because you asked), something he still barely does.

What seemed like excruciating filler time later, you're finally mostly alone, squeezed into some semi-sticky booth-table-thing. Simon leant over to you, squinting through the erratic dim, dark purple lights and shouting conversation over rumbly generic club music with his other hand on his drink.

Eventually you blurt out back the topic of your worries. Kind of. Not exactly confessing, but making the questions of orientation inescapable. Your heart just pounds faster when he pronounces back a, "WHAT?", leaning closer, 'cause he can't hear for shit in here- making you double down and repeat yourself until he's looking at you a little dumbfounded. How the dancing lights reflected pure off his wide dark ones was stressful until he burst out into a ramble, that piece by piece, seemed to resemble your own thoughts. Like a description for aromanticism by someone who didn't know the term. Your tension relievedly, gradually breaking and melting off. Adrenaline, however, still there as you bounce back in educational agreement.

It was like a weight had been lifted, truly. For him too apparently. The hypocrisy of the head chef being back wasn't as bad as previously thought if it meant more time slacking off with him. Sarcastic, bawdy back-and-forths in the kitchen that actually got him to crack into a proper chuckle (and got you both told off). Just shit that shouldn't be said that Simon was unblinking at, just returning that attentive amused look that got you through the day.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ So much so that Simon actually picked up more shifts. Something he was hesitant about from the workplace itself, but he needed the money, and being out the house was very welcome and having a friendly face there made it not-so-bad.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Or-finally- someone to side-eye at their peers and heads weird shit. Better yet to back you up, when Simon spoke out for you a couple of times. Someone to babble, pace and rant to outside in their own little break spot whilst he smoked.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ More shifts meant seeing each-other more, all of them. So when you eventually crack, from just life in general, or the last straw from the kitchen, he'd meet with you as soon as he could, offering a presence, a hug.. anything you want.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ His hugs are really fucking good. Cozy as hell. You can bury your face in the crook of his neck or his chest and he wouldn't flinch, just hugging you tighter, patting your head and stroking it. He's warm. Especially if it's after work and he's wearing that black thick hoodie he always does- omigod it's so soft. Well, not the most expensive fabric ever, but his presence makes it comfortable. Plus a lil' kiss on the top of your head if that's your thing.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ If that's something you both fall into, he jumps at the opportunity; touch-starved as fuck.

Leaning arms crossed over the bar to hover next to you, lurking over you; hugging your waist while he's waiting to go post-close; holding your waist for a sec to brush past you in the kitchen. From what was meant to be a simple break and hug, one time they found you straight-up conked out laying in the drystore in eachothers arms.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ He always waits for you until you're ready to leave together. Which might mean Simon with his hands in his pockets, having to sneakily get probed for the nature of your relationship by gossip-ier coworkers. To which he shrugs and deflects something or other. It wasn't any of their business (nor was he sure). Boys will be boys, they guess.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ But yeah. In pitch black night, almost every night, he escorts you home if you let him. Holding hands if you want. Sometimes smoking a joint. A stupidly lengthy journey (for him) to your doorstep and back to his, whether you drive, do public transport or whatever. He disguised it as casual good companionship. He didn't want to be creepy, its just.. that flicker of reluctance in his eyes when you got to your destination gave you the impression he was purposefully putting off having to face his home.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Days pass. Weeks become months. New people rotating in and out of the team. The days get longer, welcome spring breeze stilling to more humid heatwaves. But he's always there.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ One new thing about Simon: he was off sick for a few weeks, and now he's back. But he's almost always wearing a surgical mask? He didn't seem sick anymore, I mean..maybe a little more mellow, then snappy, not as into your banter as usual.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ So one night he's walking you back, sweating through that dumb mask- which he switched out to a black one he keeps using- you invite him in. Sleepover, or something?

He's surprised maybe, but after using the last of his energy for a subdued cautious sweep of the place, he's exhausted. He double-bounces backwards back on your bed, still adjusting his mask back up from the movement, looking up to find an adorable welcome menagerie of stuffed animals.

It almost makes him smile. First proper one in a while as he looks over to you and takes in the sight of your room, hand subconsciously stretching out to reach for your knee and rub circles. Oh, and to snatch that little bunny out of your pocket, hugging it to him instead with a smirk. Bonus points if he pisses you off.

With the blankets soft against his head and side, he got an idea. Unraveling them, gesturing you closer to properly wrap you in his arms and nuzzle down into the cozy bed situation. With bunny, him and the whole gang. Maybe you could go to sleep like this. But, come on, surely without the mask-?

He caught your wrist at even an indication of the thought of it, gently holding it back down against his chest. From your close proximity you could finally see the beginnings of a big healing scar at the the top of his cheek where the mask moved slightly in his vague refusal. Ah.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ There was a lot of unkind things in this world, but Simon was not. (Uh, to you at least.) You could only give his hand a reassuring squeeze in the hopes that life would lighten for you both. And if not? At least you'd always have each-others back.

B-B-B-BONUS ROUND:

Steals your glasses and looks stupid in them.

Performs elaborate yet half-hearted puppet shows with your stuffed toys.

Periodically asks what you're writing now, squinting over your shoulder. His tones dry but he needs to be updated of the drama, damn it.

Exchanges the most would-be-an-eyeroll sideye of solidarity over at you when he seems to get flirted with romantically. Or fems in general. They just don't seem to get the hint.

Subtly acts like a space-making service dog for you in crowded places or if it looks like someone's gonna touch you.

photo cred~ @yumethefrostypanda

[sideblogformindtrash]

Alright. A rebranded version of Orfeu, Farlan and Haru's part of the story. It's heavier than it was last time, and everyone's morals are worse. It will have more explicit content, as well. And I really don't know how much of it I'm up to writing, so let's just see how it goes.

CW: human pet; dehumanization; noncon; past and present; noncon alcohol use; BBU-adjacent;

It's not too explicit in this one, a bit more towards the end.

Farlan opened the door of the car for him. He smiled, the man knew how to be a gentleman when he wanted to. 

Stepping outside in the gravel he took a moment to look at the house towering over them. He had been to houses like this one before, some lived in and some abandoned, each telling a story in their carved up stones. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like, once it was left neglected, with its foundation rotting and paint peeling off the walls and the memories of those who lived there once impregnated on the old cement like grooving smoke.  He couldn’t help but wonder if someday a part of his own soul would be stuck within those walls. After all, Farlan said he could stay for a couple of months, as long as his dad was away.

“Do you like it?” Farlan asked, hooking a hand around his waist.

He smiled, throwing himself against the man’s chest, tip toeing to be able to kiss his cheek. He was so tall, and smelled so good. He knew he was a little fucked up from the times they had chatted a bit… but still was one of his preferred clients. 

“It’s lovely” He winks, suggestively tracing up his back. Although he returns the affection, he doesn’t seem satisfied.

“Be honest. This ain’t you”

He giggles, glad he’s picked that up. Means at least he was paying attention to their conversations. 

“...It 's too big. You know, houses are alive. It will rot and die and crumble and be filled with ghosts and we’ll all be stuck inside it forever. It will someday become a maw”

Farlan glances up at the house, furrowing his brow. 

“That 's alright. I kind of already hate it”

Orfeu smiles. Sometimes it’s not the place itself, but the people inside it that turn a cozy home into a trap.

“Is it really okay for me to be here?”

“Yeah. Dad will be gone for a while. Business and all”

He smiles, swinging on his feet. It’s exciting, and honestly unexpected too.

Over the years, he’s worked his way up to richer and richer clients, till he had a pretty good list of them. They’d take him on travels who could never dream of paying for himself, or meet him at these lavish hotels. Never at their own home. Always a hidden, shameful secret.

Not that he was complaining. He’d be spoiled to the hell and back either way, all he had to do was have some class and give these fuckers some attention. At least Farlan didn’t seem ashamed of him. 

After a last look at the house, Farlan gently pushes him towards the door.

“Let 's go in. It’s cold”

A smile creeps up his face when he sees the inside. It’s even more lavish than he could have expected, every wall and ceiling painted in rococo-like style, every corner filled up with details and golden furniture, the walls built in archways, spiraling staircase in old varnished wood, a golden hanging chandelier. There’s so many trinkets all around… he is sure they won’t miss it when he takes a few.

Well, and there’s a living ghost at the doorstep, white curly hair framing his face like a fallen snow, a perfectly practiced kneeling position, hands softly curved over his lap and a soft pleasant smile. His eyes have nothing but burning devotion. 

“Is that your pet?” 

…The reply is a twitch on Farlan’s face, as it stares down almost hatefully at the kneeling boy.  What the pet could’ve done to deserve such anger he’d never understand, but Farlan had told him about the pet before.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t like them growing up, didn’t like hearing them scream, he didn’t want one now. Yet he was given one and now he just… Hated it. Except he learned to like the screaming.

Orfeu smiled and pretended that didn’t make him a little uncomfortable, but he had met his fair share of pets at this point. It was almost mandatory for his richer clients to have one, and not uncommon for them to want the pet to participate. At the end of the day, having absolute control over someone seemed like a common fetish among those circles, almost as much as being controlled. Even more so when the ‘partner’ was someone who couldn’t safeword out of it. 

And Orfeu would just. Take a deep breath, swallow down his feelings and go along with it. What the fuck was he supposed to do anyway, other than just make sure to keep himself safe?

“He’s adorable” He smiles at the pet. He was infatuated with Farlan up to a second ago and now… Just staring at Orfeu with big scary eyes “May I…?”

He asked the pet, but it’s Farlan who answered. 

“Go ahead. You two will become… very intimate anyway” Farlan nudges the pet with his foot. It's cue enough for the pet to lean forward and kiss his shoe “He’s a desperate little slut. He’ll get wet just from you looking his way”

The pet’s face goes red with shame, the softest mew under his breath, but there is some truth to that When Orfeu touches his head, he seems to melt, exhaling deeply and leaning into the touch so much, he’d fall if Orfeu took his hand away. 

Makes him wonder how much conditioning that took. 

“What is his name?” 

“...Father calls him a songbird sometimes. Ain’t really that” he twists his nose in scorn, but the pet can’t see this time. He’s got his eyes closed, in heaven just from being petted. 

“...You didn’t give him one?”

“He doesn’t need a name. He’s just my thing”

Orfeu smirks, gently pushing the pet back. It mews, sad as the hand is taken away, but he goes back to kneeling, like hands clasped on his lap.

“Well. Your thing. Like me?” 

Farlan fixes up his glasses, glancing away and cleaning his throat. His face flushes a little bit.

“No. No. Not like you”

“...Oh love. Exactly like me. Kinda like you, too~”

There was an abyss between him and the pet, and an even larger one between the two of them and Farlan. But they were all the same dust in the end. They’d all lose a part of themselves in this house and be stuck in here forever, someday becoming ghosts made of smoke. And their lives, in the hands of the same uncaring god. 

“Pet. Bring us wine” Farlan demands, just as a way to interrupt that discussion. The little thing away to fulfill the request “Let’s go up. I’m tired”

He follows close behind, noticing the way Farlan struggles up the stairs ignoring the elevator despite being clearly in pain. He’s pretty sure he left the cane on the car. 

The pet joins them halfway, steps so light he barely notices till he’s right behind them, wine in hand, but not daring to run past his Master. He wonders what his name was before, and where he came from. If at some point in his life, he was held by loving arms, or was it all just misery and pain? Because he remembers being in a lot of pain himself, when he tried to sign away his own life.

Farlan groans, sitting on a big cozy armchair in the bedroom, and relaxing a little as he takes the weight out of his hips. The pet puts the wine on the table, and kneels by his side. 

“Come on. Sit” He gestures to the other armchair. Orfeu considers just going on his lap instead, but Farlan seems to need a moment so he just obeys.

“That’s some fancy fucking wine” The label on the bottle says it’s a least eighty years old and imported. Truthfully, it is wasted on him. He couldn’t differentiate it from a cheap one anyway. Not that he’s complaining, as he swirls it around and makes a whole show of tasting the wine. It’s red and it’s sweet and that’s about all he can say. At least, Farlan seems amused by it. 

“Shouldn’t he get some too?” He asks, glancing at the pet, kneeling quietly on the floor.

Farlan seems to ponder for a moment, then with a gesture, makes the pet crawl towards Orfeu. He kneels at his feet, eyes wide, having a harder time hiding his fear and anxiety now as Orfeu tilts his chin up and takes the cup to his lips. The pet takes an hesitant sip, a line of red dripping down his white skin. 

From there, it is easy enough to finish off the bottle and then move into bed. 

Farlan is brutal with the pet making it cry and whimper, the bed creaking under them. He leaves the pet’s light skin colored with purple bruises, makes him croak and whine and cry. He’s rough with Orfeu too, of course. But hey. Unlike the pet he likes it. And truly… he’d rather invite that attention all on himself.

He does what he can, eventually managing to shift Farlan’s attention, keeping the pet underneath himself, gently petting his hair. 

At some point, they fall asleep together, in a messy, sweaty pile. 

Farlan leaves early in the morning, mumbling something about being late for class, leaving an empty space in the middle of the bed.

Orfeu yawns, and pulls the pet towards him instead, letting it bury his head on his chest, falling asleep again.

tag: @whump-blog (im guessing you wanna tag-)

[sweetandsourfics]

Show Stopper

Eddie Munson x Theatre Kid Reader | SFW | 1 of ?

Summary: The Freak and a Theatre kid. Who knew that Eddie would find his Princess behind some poorly constructed props?

Warnings: Explicit language, fluff, Eddie being a sweetie as usual.

Author's Notes: This is part one of 2 (maybe more, idk) of Eddie and his little Theater kid lover. Yes, you heard me! Lover. Feedback would be very much appreciated. I love hearing everyone's thoughts and opinions. PS. Eddie would 1000% call you his princess.

The Hellfire Club conducts their sessions in the auditorium hidden amongst the props.

Often they are entering just as you and the other theatre nerds are leaving.

Polite smiles and shy waves are exchanged between you and the Hellfire members.

Tonight was a night where the Hellfire members crawled into the shadows and tested their warriors. Unknown to the members, a lowly drama club member stays behind from her pack.

With the school's production of 'The Snow Queen.' Only a month away. You had volunteered to stay behind and try and finish painting the Ice Queen's castle with a few others. Who all left an hour ago.

The Hellfire Club chattered away. Their voices bouncing off the high ceilings. Hearing them made you feel less lonely as you painted another layer of blue onto the plie wood.

That was until they went silent. It was eerie how quiet they all went. You swear you could hear a pin drop.

The silence was cut down by Eddie's booming voice. He narrated passionately of where the players last left their campaign.

Eddie's voice pulled you into the scene. It didn't matter that you have joined the story many hours deep.

The stoke of your paint brush began to slow. No longer dipping from water, to paint to board.

You winced has players were injured and cheered to yourself as a few Nat 20s were rolled. You'll have to ask what it means but you have picked up from their victorious cries that it was a good thing.

You got so lost in Eddie's words that you didn't realses time slipping you by. It wasn't until Eddie announced that they should stop for the night you looked at your watch.

10:08 pm

Shit. You curse under your breath. Collecting brushes. In your haist you didn't see the tin of Fresh Ice Blue.

With a deafening clang the tin tumbles spilling it's contents painting your sneaker and the stage floor.

"Shit! Fuck! Shit!" You string out a line of curses discarding the brushes to quickly stop the spill from pooling.

You didn't hear Eddie leave the Hellfire's sanctrume until his voice comes comes from behind you. "You okay?"

"Yes-no." You panic, "I've knocked over some paint."

Eddie pears around you, cringing at the splattered paint.

Without being asked Eddie peels off some pages from a pile of news papers and starts to clean the mess.

With Eddie's help you manged to sort of clean the paint from the wooden stage.

"It's...not bad?" Eddie winces through his teeth.

Rubbing your eyes, you let out a defeated sigh. "It's questionable."

"Very questionable but I didn't see anything. I was the only one here." He says moving dramatically. "No theatre nerds in sight."

You couldn't help but smile. He always manged to put a smile on your lips. Even if he or you didn't realise it.

Tossing the balled up paper in the bin you look up at the leader of the Hellfire club. "Thank you- for the help."

Eddie flashes you a toothy grin. "It was not a problem."

A silence falls between the two of you. It wasn't awkward but it was heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Eddie clears his throat, kicking his scuff shoe against the stage. "I've got a game to pack up so, I better get started with that."

"I'll help. You helped me with my mess it's the least I can do."

You follow Eddie as he disappears behind the false brick wall. Moving through the maze of probs he leads you to his throne.

You're jaw drops as you see the remance of the Hellfire's game.

"This is some set up."

"Nah, it's not that impressive."

"Yes! Very King Eddie and his knights of the....rectangle table."

He laughs proudly, flopping onto his throne. "A king? The princess of the drama club has growend me king!"

You play along with his dramatics, "and may I say your majesty you can spin a good tale."

"You heard?"

Shyly you pick at the miniatures. "I didn't mean too." You gesture to the ceiling, "acoustics."

"Blame it on the acoustics." He teases.

You can feel your cheeks grow warm with a blush. You hope Eddie doesn't notice.

Once the Hellfire's mess has been tidy the two of you leave side by side. The night's air nips at your skin.

"Do you need a lift?" Eddie asks.

You try to sputter out a polite decline. You don't want to be an inconvenience but he swoops in with his kind words before you find your voice.

"I wouldn't rest not knowing if the princess has or hasn't made it to her castel."

You stutter out. "I would really appreciate it if you could."

"Then follow me, princess."

Again with pet name. If any other boy called you Princess you would have destroyed them verbally but when Eddie says it. It sends the butterflies in your stomach wild.

"That's my ride." Eddie gestures towards a beaten van. "I know that it isn't the type of steed that is worthy of a Princess but-"

"A trusty steed is better then a shiny one."

Eddie's van spuuters to life. The head lights eating the shadows and a drum solo shaking the quietness.

You look down at your shoes faking interest in the new paint splatters. Squeezing your fingers, you scold yourself for being so awkward.

You can sing and dance in front of hundreds of people with unbreakable confidence, yet an audience of one Eddie Munson has your confidence eating itself.

You are grateful for Eddie's music as it makes the silence less tense, and Eddie's fun facts about the song or band does force you to squeak out a few words.

Eddie turns down the radio as he pulls into your driveway.

"Thank you again, Eddie." You like the way his name feels on your tongue.

He smiles softly. Those dark eyes observing you. "It was my pleasure. "Til next time, Princess."

Climbing out of his van, you wave goodbye as you close the door. You took two steps before the glow of the headlights started to recede. Spinning on your heel, "Eddie!"

You shouting his name forces him to slam on the break. Eddie pokes his head out of the driver's window, "what?"

"Come to the play, yeah?" You squeeze the strap of your backpack.

"I'd love to!" A smile breaks out on his face.

You can't see them, but you know his dimples are on display.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

oh? Racoon wants to write about vamp!Rudy? Then, what about this? Do you know that thing cats do when they show you their belly but its not an invitation to rub? What if Rudy is trying to be a little playful with Mason? To amuse him, maybe. But when he´s trying to baby talk to him using those strange sounds vamps do and makes Rudy uncomfortable, Rudy accidentally bites on Mason real hard and ends up sucking him a bit? What about a muzzled vampire Rudy that´s anxious about biting again, so the muzzle *should* stay on? Or something. But one thing: Very guilty and muzzled Rudy.

So I looked up why cats show their bellies and went with a combination of affection/submission for my Critters. Should Mason recognize why Rudy’s doing this since he’s such a professional? Yes. 

TW: Nonhuman whumpees, pet whump, broken jaw.

~~

It was clearly a toy, made out of wood and plastic but it was fun to play with. When one little plastic mouse was pushed down into a green wooden block, another would pop up. There were only a few mice that cycled through a pattern, but it was satisfying to sit and just endlessly push them down. Clyde had gotten bored of it ages ago and wandered off to another part of the basement, but Rudy was more than content to sit and fiddle with it. 

Eventually, Rudy heard the lock turning at the top of the stairs that meant the Man was coming down. That was important enough to draw his attention, picking up the mouse toy and taking it with him to the main room in the basement. 

The enclosure here was very nice - far nicer than the one at the store. It was so much bigger, with warm toned lights that didn’t hurt their eyes and places to hide. Clyde was perched at the highest point of the wall climber, slowly peeling the paint off the wall with his nails. 

The Man sat down on one of the chairs in the main space, speaking slowly enough for them to understand most of what he was saying. Rudy liked him, he was nice. He gave them food and space, even if he did touch them a lot. It wasn’t like being groomed by a denmate because it never accomplished anything. He’d tell them such strange things that way - a tap on the hands to tell them to stay, immediately followed by a brush on the elbow urging them to pull to the left. Everything was jumbled and made no sense. Rudy quickly figured out the human didn’t know what he was doing, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spent a whole day hiding in fear and confusion after he was told to from a pat on the head. Clyde had had to come get him out. 

But now he understood the man better, lingering a few feet away while he still played around with the mouse toy. Just on instinct, he rounded his back when the man walked past. 

What he never expected was the human’s stumpy little claws running down his spine. 

Rudy arched forward with a sharp yelp, the sudden spike of fear putting every sense on high alert. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had twisted around and sunk his fangs into the human’s forearm. 

Mason cursed loudly when he felt the sharp teeth gripping his skin. Shit, what the hell? 

“Rudy, release!” he shouted, grabbing the vampire’s throat to try and push it off. It didn’t help, incisors digging even further in at the resistance. Mason cursed again and used his bodyweight to take them both to the ground. Sitting on the vampire’s stomach with his knees pressing down its hands, he tried again to pry it off. 

“Shit Rudy, fucking let go.” 

The vampire squinted at him and made another one of those weird chittering noises in the back of its throat. Did it think it was playing? It was latched on for a lot longer than he was comfortable with, and Mason was not interested in his vampire discovering it liked human blood after a steady diet of animal. 

Feeling like he didn’t have another choice, he gripped the vampire’s jaw with his free hand and squeezed. 

While the snap wasn’t loud, he felt it through his fingers. Mason was able to release his arm in just a moment. 

Rudy scampered back until his back was against a wall, hands coming up to cup his jaw. It hurt, it hurt so badly but the sensation that made him feel sick was how deep the pain was. Deep somewhere that wasn’t supposed to get broken, somewhere that he didn’t know how to get fixed. Accidents happen, fingers and sometimes legs get hurt from falls but his jaw? 

Not a moment later his denmate was there, a gentle hand over his eyes and another tentatively feeling over the hurt spot. The pressure there was nearly unbearable, Rudy jolting and grabbing onto Clyde’s waist. Pain pain pain danger danger danger he wanted to be completely hidden from the threat, small enough to disappear into the shadows. 

“Clyde, corner.” 

The other vampire flinched, pulling its head up to look over at the man. “Hurt,” he started, glad using the human sounds was his job. “Stay-” 

“No,” Mason ordered, pointing to the side. Clyde deflated a bit, not wanting to move. Frustrated, Mason shook his head and quickly made his way upstairs. Rudy gave a frightened whimper as the door slammed and pressed his forehead further into Clyde’s shoulder. Vampires didn’t cry like humans did, eyes a little glassy but still clear. 

Far stronger than he looked, Clyde pulled Rudy into his arms and started to move away, trying to find a small and safe corner to tend to his denmate. Before he could get too far, the door opened again. 

When Mason returned, he had a protector around his neck and a thick long sleeve jacket made for handling unruly vampires on. Clyde shied away from him and hissed, more from instinct than from true fear. 

“No, put him down, Clyde.” 

Rudy curled closer to him. “Hurt,” Clyde repeated, trying to add that begging tone humans liked. “Hurt-” 

“I know, I know he’s hurt,” Mason said, stalking a little closer, on hand casually behind his back. “I’m going to help him feel better. Help.” 

Clyde was frozen where he stood. The Man had never hurt them before, been nothing but nice and good. A little strange, but still good. The fact he had hurt Rudy rung Clyde’s head like he’d been hit. It was wrong, too out of the normal. 

He didn’t have time to react to the prick of the injector in his arm before his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious. 

Rudy chittered a panicked little noise and tried to get away after he was dropped, but Mason lunged forward with a second injector and soon he was asleep as well. 

When Rudy woke, the first thing he realized was how strange he felt. He was awake, but still felt a little asleep. And his body ached, as if he had been running and climbing for a day. After a few blinks to clear his vision, he sat up in the nest where Clyde was curled against them. They were in the upstairs one, where the man stayed. They came up here some days when he was home, fascinated by the strange objects in his house but having learned to look, not touch. 

The next thing Rudy realized was he couldn’t open his mouth. 

There was no muzzle, no gag or good reason he couldn’t, simply a horribly tight feeling around his teeth and jaw when he tried. He whimpered brokenly, hands scrambling around his chin and lips. Metal, there was metal in his mouth keeping it closed. 

The Man was there in a moment, keeping his hands down and stopping him from scratching himself. 

“Hey, hey you’re okay. It’s okay.” 

Rudy whimpered louder and tried to tug his hands free but he was strangely weak. Usually he’d be able to get out of the man’s grip, but he couldn’t even make him budge right now. 

Even more bizarrely, the Man transferred both of the vampire's wrists into one hand and held them there, the other coming up to lay heavily on the back of Rudy’s neck. The touch made him stop struggling at once, staring directly into the man’s eyes. 

“It’s okay. The wires will help your jaw heal. Like a bandaid, but stronger -okay?” 

Rudy understood most of those words, but he still didn’t understand the point. How was he going to eat? To keep his teeth sharp and in good condition. With his hands held down and Clyde the one that usually communicated with the man, his best attempt at these questions was a pained whine. 

“I know you’re sorry, bud. But you can’t bite people. Understand? No biting, no matter what.” 

The pressure on the back of his neck grew stronger and Rudy nodded his head quickly, using the human gesture. No more biting, the man was right. No matter that he was a human, the man was still stronger than them, still in control. He got to make the decisions - he was their denleader. He said Rudy was sorry, so Rudy was sorry. 

Trembling, but understanding it was expected, Rudy slowly leaned forward to press his forehead into the Man’s shoulder. Showing he was trying to find comfort in the denleader like he was supposed to. 

Nevermind he found very little there.

tagging the Rudy and Clyde crew cause why not

@whumpingredroses @suspicious-whumping-egg @albino-whumpee @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpeesblog @whumppinggrounds @themarlo

[firstbeachgoblin]

Hey! I hope you’re well, can i request an imagine where reader is Embry’s imprint and they haven’t seen eachother in months because reader has a life she can’t just drop for him but she comes back when the pack is blowing up her phone ? Thank youu and don’t worry if you don’t write it, it’s fine!

Thank you for the request! It took a Long time But It's now complete with a total whopping 5k words!! Any way I hope you enjoy the fic.

I put it under the cut because it's so long but it's my brain baby at the moment lo.

Returning to you.

Embry Call x Reader

5058 words

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

Most of my life has been spent in the Forks area so getting to travel to Europe for six months to see the art and culture was a dream come true. The past four months I’ve been travelling through Europe, starting in Greece and ending my trip in the Irish countryside.

The old art and architecture filled me with a joy that I could not get anywhere else in the world. The smells, sounds and sights all played their own part into the experience. I got to see the moon rise over Mount Olympus, the David by Michelangelo in the Vatican, tour through the Louvre, drink wine on the beaches of France and so much more. I’ve been living my best life.

It's been a dream to see the world, I've met so many new people and tried so much food. I’ve enjoyed every minute of my trip, but there was a part of me that longed for the beaches of La Push.

That part is Embry. Embry Call. My boyfriend, my pal, my love and my light. To me Embry is my everything and to him I’m his everything. That is one thing that has been made perfectly clear the past four months I’ve been away. Every day he’s told me he misses me and I know he means it, I’ve been told not just by him but also the rest of the pack.

Everyday I’ve woken up to ‘Good morning I miss you.” Sometimes he phones to tell me that he feels like he might die if I’m away for any longer. I always chuckle and tell him he will survive, it’s not like I’m going away forever; but that's what he feels like it is. This usually earns me a long winded whine from the other end of the line.

My phone buzzed against the smooth surface of the bedside table while Embry’s face flashed across my screen signalling that he’s calling. A smile graces my lips as I pick up the phone to be greeted with his loving voice.

“Hi (y/n)!! I miss you so much.” sadness was laced in his usual cheery greeting, it hurt my heart to be away from him but I would never trade this experience for anything. I’ve been planning this for years and I wasn’t going to pass up cheap plane tickets.

He filled me in on the pack's shenanigans, complaining about how they keep teasing him for being glued to his phone awaiting any updates I would send him. The later it got the heavier my eyelids seemed to feel, my speech started to slur with exhaustion of time zones while Embry continued to become more energetic with each passing minute.

“Em. . .” A yawn interrupted me mid sentence, a low whine emanated from the phone as he knew I would want to get to bed to have the energy for the long trip I’ll embark on tomorrow for Ireland, which is my last stop. I’d be spending the remaining two months of my trip in the lush countryside.

“I think I should get to sleep, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.” I mumbled into the phone.

“But (y/n)!” he dragged out. I knew he wanted to talk longer but I physically cannot do it. Even though Embry and I don’t live together officially yet, we’d talk into the early morning till one of us fell asleep.

“But (y/n) what?” I dragged out the ‘a’ matching his whine.

“I miss you and want you to come home.” I could hear him pause over line before he continued.

“Besides, sleeping isn’t the same without you.”

I ran my hand through my hair gently tugging on the roots easing the tension that’s built up over my trip. As much fun as I’ve had, he does have a point. Sleeping just isn’t the same without Em. My nights have been spent restless in beds that aren’t mine without the comforting touch of my boyfriend; but that doesn’t mean I can just drop everything and go back home.

“Em you know I can’t just pack everything and go home. . .” I looked at the painting that hung over the tv that sat opposite of my bed. A puppy-like whimper fell from his lips when he spoke again, his voice cracked like he was going to cry. It broke my heart hearing him upset.

“I-I know I just really miss you.”

“I know Embry I miss you too, but it’s only two more months then I’ll be home.”

We chatted for ten more minutes before I fell asleep on the phone. As much as I missed falling asleep in his warm embrace I can’t just fly back home, not yet at least.

The blaring of my alarm woke me from my slumber. The clock face read 6:02 a.m. taking everything within myself to peel back the blankets that encased me in their warm grip. I patted through the bed sheets to find my phone only to knock it onto the floor in the process.

My lock screen adorned a photo of Embry with icing smudged across his face from his birthday party but a swamp of text messages from the pack covered my favourite photo of him. Five texts from Leah, seven from Jake, nine texts from Paul, 12 texts and two missed calls from Sam and a whole group chat titled ‘(y/n) come home.’

The group chat kept pinging with the members of the pack who were still awake discussing the logistics of flying out to Ireland to take me back home. Was Embry really causing that much strife in the pack for them to create a group chat? Knowing him, it couldn’t be too far from the truth.

Leah and I call once a week to check in and make sure the other is doing okay since I left. It’s one of my favourite parts of the week being able to have a one on one with someone sensible. Every week she fills me in on Embry begrudgingly, she does it because she knows it makes me happy which I appreciate.

Reading through her texts she didn’t say much in regards to Em’s behaviour the only message relating to him was “come get your man child please, he’s getting snot on the floor.”

I listened through Sam’s voice mails which were begging me to come home, he informed me that once Em knew I was asleep he started moping around Emily’s house again for the fourth consecutive night in a row. This was news to me.

The texts entailed that Embry was becoming a pain on patrol and that Paul ‘couldn’t take another minute of the incessant whining.’ I told them the same thing I told Embry; I’m not dropping everything and rushing back home to sooth the wails of a love sick boy. There isn’t much I can do from across the ocean anyway.

I stretched my body and headed towards the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower before I had to leave for the airport.

I packed the few remaining things I left out to prepare for the flight and headed my way to the lobby to check out. I enjoyed travelling but I wasn’t going to miss sleeping in hotels and hostels.

Two weeks have passed since I touched down in Ireland and to say I’ve been having the time of my life is an understatement; I’ve been having a ball living my best life.

The land was capped in a luscious emerald green sea of grass that waved in the wind, the roads were lined with hand built stone walls that marked the division of farmers fields.

Sheep and cattle grazed in pastures, and old castles dotted the countryside. It was gorgeous. It was a view that I wanted to see again, a view I want to see with Embry.

It felt like time was flying by between sight seeing, trail hiking, museum tours and calls with Embry and Leah. It has already been a month. I had one more month before I was to jet set back to the U.S. and see my Embry.

One more month before I was back in La Push surrounded by the scent of sea water and trees with the looming threat of rain constantly overhead except in the summer. For two months of the year La Push was bright and sunny with the expected summer storms that happened.

I had fallen asleep on the phone with Embry again when I realized my phone was lost in the sea of sheets as it buzzed with an incoming phone call.

I couldn’t find it until the call had gone to voicemail and my phone landed on the ground when I gave up and ripped the blankets off of the bed but whoever called must have felt it was really important. Picking up my phone the most unflattering photo of Jacob was plastered on the screen, his name in white.

“Hello?” I asked groggily into the phone, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I looked over at the clock which said in bold red numbers 1 am.

“Hey (y/n)! You sound like you just woke up.” I heard him chortle from the other end.

“That’s because I just woke up Jake, it’s one in the morning.” a yawn escaped my lips, I know I’ll have a rough time getting over jet lag when I go home.

He occupied twenty minutes with idle chatter and borderline interrogation about all the sights I’ve seen before I asked him why he was calling me so early in the morning

“Embry has spent the week at my house, you need to come home there’s nothing we can do anymore to occupy him till you return.” He sighed, Jake knows I want to finish my trip but we made a deal that I would come home early if there were absolutely no options left to keep Embry from sending the pack into hysterics.

I knew he was buttering me up for something.

“Are you sure you can’t figure something out? It’s just another month!”

“Another month of him eating my cereal and getting dirt on me from my dad!”

I snorted with laughter at the fact that Billy was telling Embry every embarrassing detail from his childhood.

“Jake please just let me think about it okay?” I sighed, flopping back into my hollowed cave of blankets and sheets.

“Okay, I’ll let you think about it but don’t think I won’t be telling Sam.” he warned.

We laughed together and he wished me a good night before hanging up the phone, before I slipped back into slumber I sent Jake one more text.

‘You wake me up at one in the morning again and it’s over for you.’ in which he responded with ‘Oh no I’m so scared lol.’

I reached over to the bedside table and plugged my phone in before the sweet embrace of warmth and slumber took over my senses.

The next three days I was bombarded with texts from Paul whining about the wolf mind link and how every patrol shift he had with Embry was spent tuning out his constant thoughts of me.

Standing in the shower with hot water running over my skin soothing my tense muscles I heard my phone buzz against the granite countertop. I rolled my eyes and continued to bask in the endless hotel hot water.

As bad as staying in hotels could be, the hot water made up for the early breakfast and sheets that were tucked in a little too tightly.

I had shampoo in my hair when my phone started buzzing again, this time with a call. I grumbled under the stream of water washing away the soap before it could get in my eyes; whoever's calling can wait.

I moved on to conditioning my hair, letting it sit while I wash the rest of my body with a lightly scented lavender soap.

I refused to use the complimentary soap because it dried out my skin and the lotion just left me feeling sticky instead of moisturized.

Watching the soap run down the drain my phone rang again, I clenched my fists, who could possibly be calling me now? I still refused to get out of my steamy heaven to answer my phone.

My gut told me that whoever was calling wouldn’t let up until I answered. I washed out the conditioner from my hair and wrapped it in a towel.

The mirror was coated in a layer of steam, the tiles were cool against my feet. I wrapped the plush towel around my body, mopping up the droplets of water that remained.

My phone started vibrating with rapid fire text messages from the pack’s group chat they made a month ago. I sighed, picking it up to sift through the messages. I read a message from Jared telling me he’d pay me to return.

The pack always made me laugh, together they’re a walking sitcom. There is never a dull moment with them, someone always had something witty or sarcastic to say.

I checked to see who had called me and it turned out it was Sam, I listened to his voice mails and immediately phoned him back.

As soon as I hit the call button it only rang for half a second before he picked up.

“Thank you for calling back, I thought I’d have to call two more times.” he chuckled.

“Well I was in the middle of a shower, can’t really take a call there.” I moved through the room with my phone pressed between my shoulder and cheek. Stopping at my suitcase to pick out what I was going to wear for the day.

“I’m going to be frank with you, I need you to come home. . .” I let out a huff before he continued.

“Embry needs you badly, he’s just a pile of mush on the floor now. It’s a chore to get him up to go on patrol. Please?”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do Sam, I’ll try to book a flight for the earliest date I can find.” I knew I was giving in but from what they were telling me and the constant texts were getting to be difficult to manage.

“Thank you, when you get back I’ll buy you take out for a month okay?”

“I hate that you know what my weakness is.” I laughed through the phone, a month of free take out? Hell yeah. It made the prospect of going back a little brighter since I wasn’t going to complete the rest of my trip.

I wasn’t losing out on too much though, I had seen and done everything that I wanted. It wouldn’t be too bad to go home early.

We talked for a couple more minutes before parting ways, I threw my phone on the bed and watched it bounce a couple times before turning my attention back to getting dressed. Since I had a flight to book it was okay to spend the rest of the day lounging in pj’s.

The soft fabric of my pj’s brushed against my skin as I jumped into bed with my computer in hand, and now it was time to book a flight back home. Maybe text Paul and tell him he can quit complaining as well.

I woke up the next morning with my flight booked for take off in the afternoon and my daily good morning text from Embry. I felt a little sad to be leaving such a beautiful country but the trees, ocean and Embry all called my name.

Pacing through the room I grabbed the comfiest set of clothes I packed for my return flight back to Seattle, I had enough time to sleep on the plane to be conscious enough for the three and a half hour drive back to La Push.

I was set for a long day ahead of me but it was going to be worth it in the end, seeing the bright and happy face of my boyfriend, getting to hug him and kiss him again.

I made one last check of the room before I gathered my clothes and toiletry kit and made my way into the bathroom to shower before my long flight. As I was stepping into the shower my phone pinged from the counter with a text from Sam.

“Have you booked that flight yet?” it read.

“Yeah I’m due for take off at 1. I should be back in La Push some time tomorrow!”

My fingers brushed the cool surface of the counter top as I put my phone back and got into the shower, hot water immediately running down my back; this time my phone wasn’t being blown up by a desperate wolf pack trying to get my attention.

I can’t sit in the shower for hours on end this time, I have a flight to catch and a boy to surprise. Embry was currently still under the impression that I would be coming home in two weeks. Boy would he be in for a surprise.

The residual steam wafted out of the bathroom while I brushed my teeth revealing my towel wrapped body and hair in the mirror behind the skin. I checked the time and noted that I had two hours to check out, make my way to the airport, and check into my flight back home. Two more hours before I could smell the trees and ocean, two more hours before I could see my friends and hug Embry.

The time managed to move by in a blur by the time I was shutting the trunk of the yellow cab that was going to drop me off at the airport. I got into the back seat and the driver peeled away from the hotel front onto the winding roads.

“Aye where are you headin’?” The driver inquired in a thick Irish accent.

One thing I noticed in my stay here was that the accent changed in every town or village I passed through. It added to the charm

“Well, I’m on my way home after spending six months in Europe.” My eyes scanned over the green hills that rushed past in a blur.

“My favourite places I’ve been have definitely been Ireland and Greece.” I smiled towards him.

The lines around his eyes crinkled with the smile that graced his face at the mention of Ireland.

“Well that’s good to hear innit? Glad you’ve enjoyed your stay. We welcome ya with open arms if you return.”

We held a light conversation until we arrived in front of the drop off area for passengers, thanked him and grabbed my bags before heading into the crowded lobby.

The front of the terminal was metal and glass that reached towards the heavens with automatic doors gaping open like a mouth. Inside was a dull white with light grey floor which my shoes clicked against with each step.

It was packed with people like a can of sardines, I weaved my way through the masses towards the check in desk which thankfully only had a short line to get through.

Under the mix of fluorescents and natural light the desk lady’s bags that donned under her eyes glared with visible exhaustion from the mass amounts of people that swarmed the terminal.

Despite her clear drowsiness she still greeted me with a warm smile and a soft hello.

I grabbed my ticket and thanked her then turned and pushed myself through to the security check, dropped my luggage off and took a seat to wait for the boarding call for my flight.

As I waited grey clouds started to fill the sky blocking out the little sun that was once shining in its place.

My eyes grew heavier by each minute that passed, waiting could be hard, but waiting in an airport where there’s no sense of time is worse. So I distracted myself by people watching.

A lady was bouncing her baby, the old man across from me was snoring. A businessman paced back and forth speaking urgently into his phone, a family chatted excitedly for their family trip to the Canary Islands.

I pulled my eyes away from them as the call for my flight rang out over the crowded terminal, grabbing my suitcase and making my way towards the gate.

Excitement filled my every step as the anticipation grew and bubbled inside me. I gave the greeting flight attendant a small smile and made my way to my seat, for being last minute I managed to get a window seat.

We sat on the tarmac for twenty minutes before taking off and before I knew it the seat belt light pinged off and I was fast asleep jet setting my way back to America, back to my home.

I couldn’t tell what time it was when I woke up but the clock on the tv screen said 2 a.m. and that we’re due to arrive in an hour. I sat up in my seat and gazed out the window into the starry night sky.

Energy started to course through me as I watched the arrival time tick closer and closer. A light rain misted down over Seattle as I left the Seatac terminal and made my way through the maze of cars in the night that was made darker by the rain.

I spotted my blue Subaru and popped the trunk so my interior and seats wouldn’t get wet. It had been a long six months since I last sat in my driver's seat, the wheel almost felt foreign in my hands as I turned the key and listened to the engine roar to life.

I drove through the winding roads of the city to the Seattle-Bainbridge Ferry to take the 45 minute ride into Bainbridge and headed North to get on the 101 then turn onto 110 which would take me back into the heart of La Push.

The closer I got to Forks the brighter the sky became; well as bright as it could be on a gloomy day. The clouds became painted in the glow of purple and pink as the sun rose over the horizon, the rain had let up and left me with an overcast sky for the remainder of the drive back.

Since I slept virtually the entire flight back I didn’t feel the weight of exhaustion at all, but surely when I arrived back in the arms of Embry I knew I’d hit the wall with sleep deprivation.

As I barreled through the corridor of trees I passed the signature ‘welcome to Forks’ sign and turned right onto the 110, twenty minutes to home. I was so close but my soul felt like it was light years away.

The clock on my radio told me that it was currently 6:45, the pinks and purples that coated the sky faded away to the typical grey that fills my senses with delight. Sea salt and washed up kelp started to seep into the air that circulated into my car making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Closer to Beach Drive I got the stronger the smell of the ocean became. The turn signal clicked as I turned onto the road that gave way to Sam and Emily’s house so they could take me over to Embry’s in the off chance that he happened to be awake at this hour.

It’s highly unlikely that he would be up at this hour but it’s not something I could be one hundred percent positive about. I stepped out of my car and turned around to see Emily running as fast as she possibly could towards me with open arms and a huge smile plastered across her face.

Dropping my bags I dashed across their lawn into her embrace.

“Oh (y/n)! I missed you so much, you must be so tired.” She released me from her hug and settled her hands on my shoulders giving them a gentle squeeze.

“I missed you too Emily, I knew I’d be tired but not this tired.” I chuckled while wiping at my under eyes in a feeble attempt to wipe away the exhaustion.

She put her hand on my lower back and led me inside for the awaiting cup of tea while Sam moved my bags into his truck.

The warmth of their home embraced me, the comfort of their kitchen was familiar. The only thing missing was the rowdy group of boys that made up the pack who usually occupied every available seat in the home.

I took a seat at the kitchen table where three cups of tea sat waiting, I should have expected a q and a when I returned. Wrapping my hands around the mug the warmth that radiated from it filled my hands.

Emily took a seat beside me and Sam entered through the door and sat adjacent to both of us.

“So how was the trip?” We sat around their table chatting until our cups were empty and filed out of the house into the early morning air.

“Emily and I will drive your car back to your place after I drop you off at Embry’s, the kid’s been sleeping in my living room more often than I’d appreciate.” Sam’s eyes crinkled with a smile, I knew he was joking but at the same time there was truth to his words; and honestly I couldn’t blame him.

“Thank you for putting up with him while I was gone, I owe you guys one and you owe me take out for a month.” He rolled his eyes and ruffled my hair turning into the Call's driveway. Embry’s mom had already left for work leaving him to his own devices; which meant he would sleep in as late as his heart desired.

We got out of Sam’s truck and he dropped my bags on the doorstep. I turned and gave him a quick hug and a thank you before sticking my key into the lock.

The door creaked open and I dragged my suitcases to a stop in their front entry way and shut it behind me.

My shoes landed on the floor with a soft thud and I gingerly walked up the stairs to ensure I wasn’t too noisy while making sure to avoid the one squeaky stair.

I got to the top of the stairs and hung a left down their light beige hallway that gave way to the oak door that guarded Embry’s room. His soft snores filtered through the door, it’s door knob was cool in my hand. Making an audible click with the turn of my wrist.

Dark mahogany brown hair peaked up from beneath the sheet that tucked Embry’s body out of view. One pillow was on the floor while the other was tucked firmly between his cheek and arm, I smiled at the sight of my sleeping boyfriend which filled my every inch with the utmost joy.

My sock covered feet pressed into the carpeted flooring with each step I took towards his bed making sure to step over the piles of dirty clothes that were scattered around the room.

The sun filtered through the gaps in the window blinds casting pools of golden light on the floor and along his walls causing the crystal prism that hung above his closet to sweep dashes of colour across his walls.

I pulled back the grey top sheet to reveal his peaceful face and I swear my heart was going to burst with the amount of love that I feel for him. His hair was tousled in every direction and a cow lick stuck straight up on the left side of his head.

My hands ran over his hair, smoothing it out while I whispered his name. Embry groaned a bit and rolled over, I whispered his name a little bit louder and moved my hands from his hair to his shoulders running them along his arms finally waking him from his slumber.

“Hi Em!” I gushed out as his brown eyes opened and focused on me. His face split with his toothy smile and his arms shot around me, pulling me down into his chest.

“Do you know how much I missed you?” Embry mumbled into my hair.

“I figured a lot with the amount of texts I got from the pack.” I reached up brushing the hair from his face.

“You can never leave me for that long again. . .I didn’t know what to do without you here.” He ran his hands through my hair placing a gentle kiss upon the top of my head.

“I was so worried about you. I couldn’t protect you and make sure you were safe.”

“Well next time I’ll make sure you can come, then you don’t have to worry.” Craning my neck up I placed a kiss upon his lips which were still a bit swollen from slumber.

“The important thing is that I returned safe and in one piece. The other important thing is I get to spoil you with the gifts I brought back!”

His laugh filled the room sending vibrations through my body.

“Hey! That’s my job to spoil you, not the other way around.” He ruffled my hair causing us both to laugh. I peeled off my socks and wiggled my way under his blanket.

“I think it’s time we catch up on six months worth of cuddling.” I poked a finger into his side.

“Yeah I think that’s a good idea, you owe me for being gone so long.”

“What? I came back early!” His hands made their way under my shirt to rest on the bare skin of my back sending waves of heat through my body from being pressed into him. Oh how I missed my heater.

“Yeah, by like what? Two weeks?” his silky voice chuckled out.

“I missed you Embry.” I told him, placing a kiss on his exposed shoulder.

“I missed you too. Now let's go back to sleep, you look tired.” He said to me as he rested his chin atop my head and pulling me closer.

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

A Modest Proposal (Alcina x Fem!Reader)

Premise: You finally muster up the courage to propose to Alcina Dimitrescu. But will everything go as planned?

Note: Even though we technically don't know Alcina's middle name, I gave her Carmilla as her middle name in homage to another beloved Sapphic vampire! :)

Warnings: blood. Steamy scenes her and there, but nothing NSFW.

As you take the last steps towards your mistress’s chambers you have to stop for a minute and take some deep breaths. The other maids had taken to giving you concerned glances all morning. Your nerves had been so fraught that a plate had slipped out of your sweaty hands and broken. You didn’t mind the stares. To everyone else, this is just an ordinary day. Not for you.

Today is the day you are going to propose to Alcina Dimitrescu.

However, you have some errands to run first. For that you are going to have to ask Alcina, ironically enough, for the rest of the day off.

You steel yourself, slap your cheeks to banish any last nerves and knock on the door.

“Come in,” you hear an elegant, mature voice call.

Lady Dimitrescu is seated at her secretary, lining up accounts for the month. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. Upon clearing your throat, she takes off her reading glasses and when she sees you a smile bursts across her face that takes your breath away.

After a year and a half of courting, you could still not believe that this beautiful woman was your lover. You take in her laugh lines and dimples, her slightly puffy cheeks that she hated but you found adorable, her carmine lips freshly painted, and her blue eyes with a corona of gold around them that you found absolutely mesmerizing.

She takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Yes, iubirea mea, what can I do for you?”

“I would like to take the rest of the day off if that’s alright with you,” you say in a rush.

She blinks, surprised, but then smiles. “I don’t mind. After all, you’ve been working so hard lately. Have you cleared it with the head maid?”

“Yes-” Before you can say any more, in an instant Alcina has bent down and taken you in her arms with your back against her ample bosom. You feel hot breath on your neck and her curls tickle your ears as she whispers, “We could spend the whole day together. How would you like that, pet?”

You find yourself lost for words as she moves your uniform collar and begins kissing your neck. You lean back and sigh. Her perfume is intoxicating. She moves one hand to your hip and the other begins to peel back your skirt.

You would rather do nothing more than to make love to Alcina on your day off, however there are other matters more pressing. It takes great self control to take her hands off of you. A look of hurt crosses her face. You turn around and give her a chaste kiss and hold her face in your hands. “Forgive me, darling. I would love to but I have some errands to run. May I see you later? Dinner, the usual time?”

Her expression brightens and she kisses you deeply. “I’ll look forward to tonight then,” she says, tucking a curl behind your ear.

You can only nod and when you turn around, Alcina gives you a playful slap on the bum. You look back at her and she gives you a devilish grin.

Closing the door behind you, you can’t help but let out a chuckle. Alcina’s libido, it seemed, could never be satiated. As you take a step you wince and rub your behind. That woman honestly didn’t know her own strength sometimes.

You wrap your scarf around you as you leave the castle grounds. It may be the dead of winter but you find yourself sweating from nerves. The Duke catches your eye and waves you over.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! Just the lady I wanted to see. Your package just arrived.”

You feel your breath catch but nod silently. He turns around and begins rummaging around in the store. You turn around so as to not catch a glimpse of the Duke’s massive behind and you freeze. Alcina is at the window enjoying her morning cigarette. And she is staring directly at you.

You whisper to him, “Wait.” Alcina is still looking at you as she’s taking a drag off her cigarette. Smoke wreathes her gorgeous face. You give her a nervous wave. She waves back and then hears the phone ring. With a grimace, she puts out her cigarette and steps back inside.

You turn back to the Duke. “All right. It should be fine now.”

The Duke smiles and then presents you with a box slightly larger than a normal engagement ring box. With bated breath you open the box and behold the engagement ring that you have bought for Alcina.

Getting the ring had not been easy. When the Duke had told you the price for an engagement ring, especially a custom-made ring for Alcina, you nearly cried with frustration. After all, the main purpose of you working at Castle Dimitrescu was to send back money for your aging parents. When you and Lady Dimitrescu had first begun courting and she learned of your family’s financial situation she had offered to send them money herself each month so you didn’t have to work. However, your pride would not allow it. Any money sent back to your home, you wanted to come from your labors.

Getting enough money for your parents while also raising money to buy the ring had been a long and arduous process. You had begun taking up extra shifts to make up the money. There had been many nights where you had fallen asleep on the sofa with a feather duster in your hand and Alcina had to scoop you up in her arms and carry you to bed herself. But looking in at the ring within the box, you found it had been all worth it. The ring is beautiful, around 14 karats of gold inlaid with rubies forming the House Dimitrescu crest. You are sure Alcina would love it. It had taken time to get the exact measurements of her ring finger. While Alcina was asleep, you had taken her left hand often and studied her ring finger making sure the ring fit snug but not too tight. To get the crest right, you had taken to drawing it over and over again in your off time before you had a drawing good enough to show the Duke to have it commissioned.

You look up and grin at the Duke with tears in your eyes. “Duke, it's beautiful!” you breathe. “Alcina- er, Lady Dimitrescu will love it!”

He pats your hand as you slip the box into your apron pocket. “Not a problem at all, m’dear! Good luck tonight!”

With that done, you head back to the castle. You practically skip back to the gates, taking out the box every so often and peeking inside. Your joy dissipates when you realize what the next item on your to do list is.

Asking for Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters’ blessing.

When you walk in, you actually run into them getting ready to go out. Bela smiles at you as she adjusts Daniela’s cowl on her traveling cloak. “Y/N! Good to see you! Mother told us you had taken the day off.”

Cassandra pipes up, “We were just going out to go hunting! Want to come with us?”

“Actually I wanted to talk to you all about something,” you say as you look around the foyer for any sign of the girls’ mother. “Is there somewhere private we can all talk? Preferably somewhere your mother doesn’t frequent?”

Daniela’s eyes glitter mischievously. “Oooh, keeping secrets are we? Come on, I know a perfect place we can hide!”

Daniels leads the pack to the library. “Mother usually practices her singing around this time,” she says over her shoulder. “So there’s not a chance she’ll overhear anything you say.”

Sure enough, you hear Lady Dimitrescu’s voice singing an elaborate coloratura from upstairs. Perfect.

Daniela’s hands run over the panels in the wall. “Now where is it….Aha there it is!” Daniela picks up a loose panel on the wall and puts it to the side. She steps in and backons the rest of you forward.

There is no light in this room save for torches every couple meters. The room can’t be much more than 6 feet tall, so there was no way Lady Dimitrescu could fit in properly. “We used to hide from Mother here all the time as children,” Daniela winks conspiratorially at you.

Cassandra begins jumping up and down excitedly. “Now what’s the secret? Tell us! Tell us!”

You take a deep breath and then let it out. “All right...Tonight I am planning on proposing to your mother and-”

You are cut off by the girls’ cries of jubilation. Daniela runs over and gives you a big hug. Bela has burst into happy tears. Cassandra continues jumping up and down and chanting, “Bonus mom! Bonus mom!”

You can’t help but laugh. “Does that mean I have your blessing?”

“Of course!” they yell in unison.

Bela says excitedly, “The ring! Do you have a ring?”

Blushing furiously you nod and take out the black velvet box and open it. They “ooh” and “aah” and take turns looking at it before they finally relinquish it back to you. As you put the box back into your pocket, you say, “Well girls, I need to start getting ready. Please make sure not to do anything to arouse your mother’s suspicions. I want it to be a surprise.”

The girls nod their assent, but Cassandra interjects, “Do you need help getting ready? We want you to be looking your best for tonight!”

Everyone enthusiastically agrees and you can’t help but smile fondly at the girls. You may be closer in age to them, but ever since you had begun courting their mother, you loved them like they were your own children. “All right, if you insist.”

The girls cheer and Cassaandra takes you by the hand and leads you back to your room to get ready.

15 minutes before your meeting with Lady Dimitrescu you take a look in the mirror. The girls truly outdid themselves on your makeover. Daniela had curled your hair and it hung in ringlets over your shoulders. Cassandra had given you one of her dresses, a red column dress that was backless with a plunging neckline. This wasn’t the sort of thing you would normally wear, but you had to admit the silhouette was very flattering, highlighting your natural curves. The best part: it had pockets large enough to hide the ring box! Bela was on makeup duty, giving you wingtips sharper than Alcina’s claws and a smokey eye. You spritz on some rosewater perfume and head out. As you pass the hall mirror, you consider putting your hair up in a chignon but think better of it. Alcina had always liked your hair best when it was down.

When you are at the door to Alcina’s chambers you take a deep breath before knocking on the door. “Come in, iubirea mea,” Alcina’s voice purrs within.

You head inside and Alcina has her back turned on you, lighting the candelabras at the table she has set up for you two. “I’ve needed this, my love. You should’ve heard what that fool Heisenberg-”

She stops and stares at you. You can’t help but feel self-conscious as she takes you in. She finally sets the candlestick she was using to light the others back in the candelabra and heads purposefully towards you. She scoops you up in her arms and kisses you deeply, burying her hands in your curls. She breaks the kiss and strokes your cheek. “You look beautiful,” she says breathlessly.

You can’t help but blush at the compliment. “So do you,” you reply as she sets you down gently, praying she doesn’t hear the box rustling in your skirts. She takes your hand and leads you to your seat where she pulls out your chair for you. You take her hand that is resting on the back of your seat and kiss it.

Dinner proceeds as normal at first. You listen to her talk about her day, which takes your mind off the proposal for a bit. Then she puts it at the forefront of your mind when she says, “I saw you talking to the merchant this morning. Did you have anything special coming in?”

Your mouth goes dry. How do you respond to that? “Oh, no. He just wanted to chat. You know how he gets!”

Alcina purses her lips but nods eventually. “Indeed.”

Awkward silence settles over you for a bit. Then she begins talking again, this time ranting about Heisenberg and you almost sigh in relief. This is easy. You just have to listen and agree with whatever she says.

“And then do you know what that fool called me? He called me a ‘simp’ for Mother Miranda! I didn’t even know what that was. I had to ask my daughters and when they told me of course I was infuriated.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, a simp? Me? Ha! Imagine! He’s just jealous because he wishes that he had half the devotion that I have for her!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you think I’m a simp?”

“Uh-huh.”

She glares at you from across the table. Damn. She’s caught you.

You stumble over your words trying to correct your stupid blunder. “I mean, no! Of course you’re not a simp! Where would he get that idea?”

Alcina leans across the table and takes your chin in her hand, forcing you to look directly into her eyes. “Am I boring you, pet?” she asks, a dangerous edge to her voice.

“Er, no! No, I'm having a great time!” you say, smiling stupidly at her.

Alcina lets go of your chin and settles back in her chair, crossing her arms. Her stormy expression can’t disguise the look of hurt on her face. “You were the one that suggested we meet tonight, darling. I can’t see why you would want to if you’re not going to at least attempt to be present with me.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I-”

She turns away from you, her large hat blocking her expression. “Maybe you should go.” She gets up and crosses the room to open the door.

No, no, God, no this can’t be happening. This is your worst nightmare. You can’t let her open the door, you just can’t.

You practically fall to one knee. “Alcina!”

“What?” she snaps, turning her head toward you. Her expression softens as she sees that you are down on one knee with the box open. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she says so quietly you have to lean to hear it, “Draga mea, what are you doing?”

You had a big speech prepared for this. But everything else has gone to hell in a handbasket, so you might as well get it over with. “Alcina Carmilla Dimitrescu, will you marry me?”

Alcina just stands there and stares. The tears that had been building in her eyes now spill over as she kneels down to your level and gives you a passionate kiss.

You smile against her lips and break the kiss. “Does that mean yes?”

“Yes, my darling,” she gives you a watery smile and caresses your jaw. “Yes.”

With trembling hands you take the ring out of the box and slip it on her left ring finger. She lifts her hand and inspects the new ring in the chandelier light. The rubies catch the light, nearly blinding you with their brilliance.

“How does it fit? It’s not too tight?”

She beams at you, positively radiating with joy. “It fits perfectly.” She then rises and heads over to her dresser and opens the top drawer. To your surprise, she pulls out a red box with the Dimitrescu family crest on the top. She sinks to one knee and presents you with an old, but beautiful ring. It must have been passed down through the Dimitrescu bloodline for generations.

Your face feels hot and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. She gently takes your arm. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” She wipes the tears that have already begun cascading your cheeks. “It is tradition for House Dimitrescu to propose with the family ring to symbolize the unification of two houses. I had been planning to propose to you next week. You beat me to it, you clever girl.” She takes your hand and slips the Dimitrescu family ring on your ring finger. It is slightly larger than your finger, but you don’t care. You couldn’t be happier.

Alcina takes you into her lap and kisses you passionately. In between kisses, she queries, ”All those extra shifts you took. They were all for me?”

“Yes, my love,” you say breathlessly. “All for you.”

She stands up and takes you in her arms. You wrap your arms around her neck as she deepens the kiss, exploring your mouth with her tongue. You can taste salty tears on her lips. She carries you over to the bed kissing you the whole time and sets you down gently. She kneels over you on the bed and you rest your leg on her hip. The slit in your skirt rises up, exposing your stockinged leg. After putting her hand gently on your shoulder, Alcina begins kissing your neck. You lean back into the cushions and sigh.

You hear a low moan in her throat, almost like a whine as she kisses your pulse point. You don’t say anything; you just nod. Soon enough you feel the sharp but familiar sensation of Alcina’s fangs piercing your neck. She holds you against her body and you bury your hands in her curls, causing her hat to fall off. Briefly taking her hand off your shoulder, she slaps the hat aside like it was so much rubbish. You take pleasure in every sigh, every moan, every exclamation you elicit from her as she drinks. When she finally stops drinking she wipes her mouth and gives you a seductive smirk. “Good girl,” she purrs.

Alcina’s mouth is on yours again as she undoes your halter while you unhook her garter. She breaks the kiss and cradles your face in her hands. “Te iubesc, draga mea.”

You take her hand and kiss it while saying, “And I you, Alcina.”

The two of you make love until the sun rises the next morning.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Bad things happen*

When - the day the group gets stuck on the car-packed highway and Sophia goes missing. That’s the first episode of the second season titled ‘What lies ahead,’ and as usual, there is word-for-word dialogue. It’s maybe a week after What’s worth going postal.

Relationships - being part of the Slowpoke Series means it’s (you and the gang! #foundfamily) a Daryl x Reader end goal. Daryl goes full brothers-in-arms for T-Dog in this episode, so that’s reflected in this story.

Perspective - 2nd person

Pronouns - you

Genre - starts off fluffy, gets stressful, finishes with hope that will unfortunately be doused by plot in the next story. It’s canon, people, we gotta.

TWs - language, discussion of blood and injuries, and a child goes missing

Word Count - 5,700, with pictures for your trouble

Stories/plot points referenced - your strong protective streak, How’s your head? Pt 2, Jacqui’s fondness for crossword puzzles, Ain’t nothing..., Hell of a day, Two idiots, What’s worth going postal, and your EMT training. Here’s the Masterlist is here if y’all want to take the plunge.

Oops, you drained your water bottle again. You’d meant to ration it a little better. The potable water supply is kinda low right now, so the group will have to stop soon by a river or stream to boil some more.

Fort Benning is maybe...three or so days away? Maybe longer. It depends on the conditions of the roads and streets, and they aren’t the best by any means. There have been so many detours and necessary stops, that a ~150 mile trip which would’ve taken a day back in the before-times has taken three-ish weeks (or however long it’s been).

Thank God you’ve got a car charger for your music player.

Today, you and T-Dog even had the stomach to crack open Jacqui’s book of crossword puzzles while you shared the earbuds. Bless both your hearts, neither of you are the best at crosswords. How was Jacqui so good at these? The clues are so vague! Anyway, he’s busy picking the next song while you’re still trying to figure out a particularly hard clue.

“Ugh, stupid.” You have to look up at the ceiling again. “Got motion sick again.”

“You keep forgettin’ to take breaks,” he chuckles. “Here, this next song I’m picking is gonna make you forget all about that, you ready?”

Leaning your head back against the wall, you giggle and nod. James Brown’s signature “Wow!” then blares through the earbuds as you’re both treated to ‘I Feel Good.’ T-Dog begins to sway along to the music while he considers what the hell the answer is to #42 down. “What does ‘leaning column’ even mean?” he mumbles under his breath to the tune of the song.

You absently start to peel away the wrapper from your water bottle (it’s the refilled generic Gatorade bottle Daryl gave you. Hey, it makes a great bottle) while you wait for the nausea to cede. Bored and not wanting to think about any more crossword clues, your gaze falls onto your brother and Andrea seated at the table. Shane’s cleaning the guns again, and it looks like he’s showing Andrea how.

He catches your eyes briefly as you watch him begin to instruct her. Dale is still hesitant about Andrea handling firearms after what happened at the CDC, but she’s seemed very improved since then. Besides, gun safety and handling is wise for anyone to know, especially these days.

“Oh jeez,” Dale groans, and you feel the RV slow to a stop. “Aw, no.”

You quickly remove your earbud and stand to walk to the front despite the vehicle still being in motion. But even from the back, you can see what’s wrong. A massive tractor trailer is flipped and laying across the roadway, while scattered passenger vehicles block most of the routes forward. What a horrible accident, the poor souls.

Oh good, Daryl’s driving back. That motorcycle is coming in handy; it’s great on gas and can weave between all the smaller places that cars (and big lugging RVs) cannot. If only that SS symbol on it was spray painted away.

“Y/N? Dad wants to know what’s going on,” Carl says through his walkie.

“Highway’s blocked, kiddo. Daryl’s on his way back, though, he might could’ve found us a path around,” you answer.

As Daryl pulls up to the driver’s side, Dale asks “See a way through?”

With a nod and a toss of his head indicating that they should follow him, Daryl makes a u-turn and slowly begins to lead the way.

You lean against the passenger seat and look over Glenn’s shoulder as he frowns at the map. “You okay?” you whisper to your friend.

Unsure, he points to the route you’re on, then to another one. “Uh...maybe we should just go back,” he tentatively suggests. “There’s an interstate bypass –”

“–We can’t spare the fuel.” Dale’s response is resolute.

Shane doesn’t argue, so he’s in agreement. Personally, you don’t see why you can’t siphon from the cars here and follow Glenn’s gut and turn around. There are so many abandoned cars, it’s – it feels almost like a graveyard. Then you see an SUV with decaying bodies in the seats and realize that’s because it is one.

“Carl, I’m gonna ask you to not look towards the left and I hope that you’ll trust me,” you quietly speak into the walkie. Sophia you have confidence will avert her gaze, but Carl would be too curious.

It’s unnaturally quiet as the caravan carefully makes its way through, the thudding of the motorcycle the only real sound. “Can we get through here?” is the only thing spoken, and Glenn does it softly as if noise were forbidden.

Which is why you unintentionally gasp when there’s a sudden clash and a high-pitched squealing coming from the front of the RV. Oh Moses, and a fuck ton of either steam or smoke.

Shit.

And Dale is mad, but is trying his best to not act upon it as he brings the RV to a stop. The closest he gets is when he rips his seatbelt off and throws the door open. “I said it. Didn’t I say it? A thousand times: dead in the water.”

Your brother dryly states “Problem, Dale?” He was either trying to imply that it was nothing that Dale couldn’t fix, or trying to make light of a very unpleasant situation.

“Oh, just a small matter of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of–” but Dale cuts off upon seeing Glenn. “Okay, that was dumb,” he seems to narrate out loud, perhaps in wishing that they’d turned around like Glenn suggested.

Meanwhile, Daryl, ever efficient, is rummaging through the nearest car for supplies. “If you can’t find a radiator hose here,” he drawls, “there’s a whole bunch of stuff we can find.”

“I can siphon more fuel from these cars, for a start,” T-Dog offers, already ready with the hose and container.

Carol seems nervous but on-board when she wonders “Maybe some water?”

“Or food,” Glenn echoes.

Rick, Shane, Andrea, and yourself remain quiet, but it’s Lori who’s the most hesitant. “This is a graveyard,” she states plainly, visibly conflicted. Hand tightly grasping Carl’s, her voice is very small when she says, almost as if to herself, “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“Thank them while you search,” you hush gently in her ear. “That’s what I do on runs or on a hunt.”

T-Dog appears to be psyching himself up as he repeats “Alright, alright, here we go,” as he heads into the mess of cars.

As you quickly duck into the RV to grab your (Jacqui’s) messenger bag to fill with supplies, you hear your brother announce “Come on y’all, just look around. Gather what you can.”

Dale looks at Glenn and to the RV, requesting “Son, help me with this?”

You first look around and make sure the kids are within sight, then head straight for the first car. Daryl had been pilfering around the trunk, but only casually. That car is packed with stuff, hopefully with some first aid supplies or medicine somewhere. Stepping next to Andrea, you wonder what she’s staring at – oh. Oh, no.

Baby stuff. It’s strewn around as if there was...as if there were a struggle. There’s even a bottle on the ground.

Your stomach drops and your throat grows tight. Just thank them and find supplies for your people, you remind yourself.

Andrea shares a vacant look with you, her hand on her stomach before she mutters that she’s heading back to the RV. You clasp her arm briefly before she walks away, then resume your search.

Anything you can find, you’ll be grateful for. You have no more surgical tape left, just a roll of electrical tape courtesy of Dale’s toolbox. More clean gauze and bandages are needed. You’d run out of magnesium supplements (forgot them at the CDC, actually), the iron supplements were almost gone, and having any kind of oral antibiotics would be a godsend. Inhalers, statins, anti-allergy treatment, pain relievers, disinfectants, even just some more sunscreen or bug spray would be something.

Allowing yourself to spill some tears, you pull out the diaper bag and a tote bag from the open hatch of the car. As if in answer to a prayer, it contains a half-full bottle of pediatric amoxicillin, SPF 150, and vitamin D drops. You take the packet of wipes, and yes, some diapers; they absorb a lot.

In the tote bag, there are some menstrual pads along with one pink disposable razor, an analgesic/antibacterial spray, three mini packs of tissues, a travel-size bandage pack, and some ibuprofen, all of which you stuff into the messenger bag. And you aren’t sure why, but you also grab the little pair of baby socks.

From two cars down, you hear Daryl grunt “Hey, I’ll get the caps off,” before prying the gas cap open of the car T-Dog wants to siphon. They work well together. It’s such a happy surprise; just a few weeks ago Daryl was making rude-ass (racist) comments to him. Now he’s helping him out and becoming friends. It makes sense, though. T-Dog is a saint and it’s rubbing off on him.

As you peer around and determine the next promising vehicle, you note Carol admiring an expensive-looking red shirt. Having been in one once herself, your mama mentioned that women from domestic situations, with the exception of appliances on occasion, often aren’t allowed nice things for themselves. If Carol doesn’t take that shirt for herself, you’ll grab it for her as a present.

Okay, this car looks nice, you’ll check it next. It’s got unopened luggage and a blanket over what looks like a cooler, awesome – shoot, the door is locked. So you try another. Then a third...yup, the fourth too, and the hatchback. You suppose you could break a window, but that’s too noisy and would also risk needing stitches. You’d never yet given stitches to a person, actually, just to clothes.

Maybe if you fiddled with the keyhole enough with your pocketknife? Gotta be some quiet way in there. Your people need more potable beverages and more food, that cooler is bound to have one of those things. After feeling around the tires for any spare keys, you take out your knife and try to wiggle it around like you’ve seen in movies and TV shows. Eesh, the handle on your poor knife is gonna break any day now. It’s been jiggly for almost a week at this point.

A laugh masquerading as a cough sounds from beside you. “That ain’t gonna work.”

Only half-serious, you huff in response. But when you turn to look him in the eyes, you can’t keep a straight face. “Take over any time, Daryl.”

“Just gimme a sec,” he murmurs, and pries it open with one, two, three wrenches using his little tool there. “Voila.”

“Thank you!” First thing you reach for is that blanket, and sure enough, there’s a cooler under it.

“Aw shit, there anythin’ in that?”

“Let’s see if they got some root beer for you.”

“Or some orange Gatorade for you,” he recalls, grunting as he bends forward to pull the cooler sideways.

“Sportsman’s Signature Flavored Electrolyte Re-Hydration Beverage,” you remind him, voice strained as you two lift and pull it from the backseat. Dang, this cooler is heavy. What’ve they got in there?

“Hey, don’t lift it too much, you don’t wanna mess that shoulder up again.” His eyes flit up to yours for a moment before he cocks his head after setting the cooler upon the ground with a heavy thunk. “Wait. You remember the name of the Gatorade stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m reusin’ the bottle for water,” you begin. Hands on the lid, you pull it up in tandem with Daryl while you further explain “The wrapper start–” but choke upon smelling one of the worst things your nose has ever encountered. What the fuck is in this thing?

You’re gagging so hard that you’re coughing and tears are blurring your vision. He’s in a similar boat, just with added swearing under his breath.

Yanking your shirt up by the neckline to cover your nose, you shudder as you look inside to find rotten eggs, meat, a quarter gallon of rancid milk, a massive container that once contained ‘roasted garlic hummus’, now mold, likewise a jumbo bag of ‘baby carrots,’ now rotten and liquidy (*gag*) along with what was possibly once a cucumber.

Small favors that when you push aside the hazelnut coffee creamer, you also unearth some water bottles peeking out from under the egg carton. Once those are rescued from the cooler along with some cans of seltzer, Daryl slams the lid shut and spits.

Right now, you’re thirsty enough to ignore your guilt at immediately cracking open a water bottle when the supply was so scarce. You chug, then offer some to Daryl, who enthusiastically grabs it and follows suit. “Damn, that was nasty,” he rasps, wiping his mouth with his arm.

“Awful,” you pant, still trying to hold back your gag reflex. Gesturing toward the seltzer, you say “L-least we got some bubble water out of it, huh?”  

“Next time there’s a cooler, cover your nose ahead of time.”

“Hell, I’ll grab my N95 from the med bag first.” After another long drink of water, you cap the bottle.

“Lemme know if you need me to break into another car for ya.” And with that, he’s off to help T-Dog with another gas cap.

There’s a Swiss Army knife in the glove compartment of the next car you sift through, along with a multi-tool and some napkins. Nothing else. In the next car, a child’s sports duffel carries a pair of sneakers one size bigger than Carl is wearing now, so you grab them, along with the anti-fungal cream and clean socks.

There’s also a tied mesh bag with several mini water guns in the trunk...might as well snag those for Sophia and Carl (...and you and Glenn, let’s be real). You quickly click on your walkie to ask “Kids, you stayin’ close to your mamas?” You know that they’re with their mothers and that Dale’s on watch, so they’re fine. You’re just paranoid, this place is unsettling.

Okay, and you’re carrying too much right now. Trotting back to the RV, you head inside and plunk the water guns down and the bottles and cans on the chair next to Andrea, who’s trying to reassemble her pistol at the table. “Hey, here.” You place a can of seltzer on the table. “You look thirsty.”

Back outside, you press your baseball cap further down to block the sunshine. Where’s your brother...ah, there’s Shane. As you jog over, you swing by the car with the red shirt and grab it for Carol and tuck it away in your satchel.

Then you read the sign on the van Shane’s eyeing.

“‘Lipsey Mountain Spring Water?’ Do you think...”

“Oh, I do,” he affirms, expression brightening as he leans his shotgun against the side of the van and stands at the rear door. He opens it, and...aw shit, it’s full! Yes!

Glenn, who appears to be trying to strip the truck directly behind it for parts, is oblivious.

“Hey Glenn,” you sing.

“Hey, Glenn. Were we short on water?” Shane finishes, and within an instant, he flat-out cracks open one of the giant water cooler bottles and drenches himself.

“Just promise to keep your shirt buttoned, loser,” you tease him, shaking your head.

Glenn is laughing as he calls out “Hey, save me some!”

“It’s like bein’ baptized man,” Shane sighs. Looking at you, he waves you over. “C’mere, weirdo, I know you want to.”

“I’ll get my hat soaked, how’s that?” you giggle back, fully expecting to be playfully shoved under the deluge entirely, which, of course, happens next. You manage to rein in your squeal, and splash him in revenge.

“You gonna call them kids over or what?”

“Oh wait, let me fill up the water guns first!”

As Shane repeats “Water guns?”, you dash back into the RV and make an impish look at Andrea when you grab the mesh bag of mini water pistols before running back to the truck.

“Yo, check it out, Glenn,” you tell him, holding up the bag.

“Aw, heck yeah. Water guns?”

“Those’ll cheer ’em up,” your brother states, still happily letting the water flow down his back.

After you’ve filled two of them, you see Rick running bent low and waving to – what?

What’s happening?

“Get under the cars!”

“Y/N, go. Now. I’ll get Glenn,” Shane directs as he gently pushes you to get down.

Does this mean there’s something bad happening? Is there a hoard?

“Glenn!” you whisper.

Wait, the kids.

Oh shit. Oh shit, you need to see if they’re hiding with an adult who can keep them sa–

“ –C’mon! Under!” Shane hisses in your ear, grabbing you with one hand while he drags Glenn along with the other. You don’t realize that you’d frozen and tensed up until you’re being tugged along.

Before you know it, you’re crawling under the car and become sandwiched between them. As Glenn asks in fear “What?” and your brother shushes him, you fumble around for your walkie to radio the kids.

“Carl, Sophia? Do not make a sound, don’t even – don’t even answer me,” you stammer as clearly but softly as you can. “Stay under the car, stay with your mamas, do not make any noise or move until an adult you trust comes to help you! If you use your walkies, remember: only light blowing, taps, or scrapes until somebody replies.”

Shane reaches his right arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer when you’re finished speaking. Hands shaking, you turn the volume down all the way but keep an eye on the indicator light so you’ll know if they’re speaking into them – just in case something awful happens and they need to make noise and use the walkies. In your other hand, you clutch your wobbly pocket knife.

“Shh, try to slow your breathin’,” Shane hushes into your ear.

The smell reaches you all before the telltale noises. Shuffling. Moaning. Gurgling. Raspy growls. That’s when you start to pray please, please, please, please in your head and Shane’s grip around you tightens. With his left arm, he’s trying to maneuver his shotgun as slowly and undetectably as possible.

How many are there?

A few minutes later

You thought you heard a ripping noise from the direction of the RV and could’ve sworn there was a cry, but you hear nothing now.

Those things are everywhere, but they’re still moving. They will pass. This will pass. It’s okay. It’s okay.

A few minutes later

Most of them are gone, the hoard is almost through.

The red light on the walkie starts flickering. Clicking onto the lowest volume setting, you listen. To whichever child is making the blowing sound, you start to scrape back so they know that you heard them, but need them to stay quiet.

Then they start to tap after a little while, and you feel safe enough to whisper back “Sit tight.” There is only one walker at the moment to the left side, but more are behind it, a few yards away.

“They’re gone down here,” gets whispered back.

“Wait,” you repeat.

As you say this, the walker to your left stops moving for a moment. Its feet turn towards you. Shane’s muscles tense even further, and you and he stop breathing.

Lightly, Glenn taps on your arm as he tilts his body and carefully re-positions himself so that if you three need to bolt, you can bolt. You do likewise, inch by inch, as does Shane. Please, please, please please, please.

A few minutes later? One minute?

Okay. Okay. The little final cluster is almost passed. Not many more behind them, just a straggler or two by the looks of it (that you can tell under this truck, at least). Thank God.

The tension in your body eases as the cluster of shuffling feet pass without pausing or tripping. Shane’s still clutching the shotgun, but you can see that his breathing has slowed to a normal rate.

Turning your head, you mouth to Glenn “You okay?”

“Alive,” he mouths back.

But then your ears prick as you hear...what’s that little noise? Is that – who’s crying? It’s so soft, it almost sounds like–

Every muscle in your body goes rigid.

That’s Sophia.

Oh fuck, that’s Sophia, shit, shit, shit–

“–No, don’t!” Shane breathes into your ear, right arm back around you and slowing you from crawling out. Glenn is looking at you in horror and shakes his head, neither helping you nor letting you pass.

And you’re trying to wriggle your way out of your brother’s grasp, but he’s too strong. What the fuck, why can’t you pry him off?

Sophia is still crying out, as little as you can hear from this distance. They sound like frightened screams, not pained ones. What if something happened to Carol – oh God, or to Carl?

As low as you can, you growl “Shane, you let go of me,” which only serves to urge him to grip you tighter. Glenn is still trying to catch your eyes and mouth something to you, but you ignore him – you need to get free and get to that little girl! Why isn’t everybody running to her? God damn you, Shane, fuckin’ let me loose! you want to shriek!

From the side, Shane next wraps his legs around you next in a full restraint maneuver as if you were some dangerous criminal hopped up on meth. “Rotten pig bastard,” you hiss at him, barely making a sound but meaning every damned word that you cursed him with.

“You could bring them all down on all of us, don’t you risk our necks like that!” he hisses back, somehow remaining quiet as he does, but also while clapping a hand over your mouth, which in your rage, you automatically try to bite. Glenn is now helping him hold you back.

Angry, helpless tears fall despite your best efforts. You know that you’re seeing red and that it’s risking the others – hell, you’re going full fucking postal right now – but you don’t know if you can stop, as much as you want to. It’s as if you aren’t in control.

Thankfully, it’s also when you notice that a few stragglers have slowed near the truck that you're struck another jolt of fear that shakes you out of it, rendering you able to stop resisting. For now.

Shane removes his hand from your mouth, and you try to catch your breath and stay as silent as possible.

The whole thing can’t have taken more than 15 seconds but it felt like an hour.

And when you gauge that the walkers moved on far enough...you pray for forgiveness before elbowing your brother in the ribs, knocking your head into his, and scurrying backwards, crawling down the center of the truck to weave around Glenn as fast as you can.

Sophia’s screams sounded as if they’d moved away, as though she was running. Your clothes get snagged twice on your way out, but then you find yourself out into the sunlight and you try to get your bearings.

There’s one asshole shuffling towards you, and before you can coordinate what to do in your head, you realize you’ve already driven your knife into its skull. Oh, your knife broke. There goes that.

A flash of movement catches your eye from the left, far down where Lori and Carol had been with the kids. Was that Rick?

Either way, you’re already running towards that direction. Clicking on your walkie, you blow into it and tap and scrape and pray and beg for a reply.

Wait, fuck it, if she'd been screaming, that’s already a louder noise than a walkie. “Sophia, baby, answer back, it’s okay,” you speak into it.

Lori and Carol are over by that car...alright, Carl is with them. But then rapid footfalls come from your rear right, and you spin around, ready to kick–

“–Whoa, whoa, it’s me, s’just me. T-Dog’s bleedin’ out, we need you, c’mon,” Daryl pants. You barely notice that Shane and Glenn barrel past you as you digest what he just told you.

What?

T-Dog’s what?

“H-how bad? Was he bit?”

He starts to tug you back towards the others. “Ain’t bit, but he ripped his arm open on somethin’ sharp. His damned shirt’s soaked already.”

“Sophia,” falls out of your mouth.

Daryl looks at you confused, but continues to lead the way. “You’re wipin’ your hand again.”

Snap out of it, Y/N. “Daryl, was the bleed bright or darker red? And were you able to slow it any?”

“Shit, I dunno, um,” he curses under his breath. “Regular red, I guess, but he ain’t lookin’ good.”

“The med bag is on the hook in the RV bathroom, please get it for me,” you request. “Some waters and something sugary, too, please.”

“Y/N!” comes from your right.

“Go away, Shane, I’m sorry I elbowed your stomach,” you utter softly, continuing to jog with Daryl. You don’t even sound mad when you say that, you’re simply in shock.

Daryl points. “Keep headin’ over there: see that truck with the construction shit, by the overturned car? T-Dog’s there.” And with that, he runs to the RV.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Your brother asks, now jogging with you.

“Teddy’s bleedin’ out and somethin’ happened with Sophia,” is the only response you can muster. “Bad things, b-bad things happen in threes, something else is gonna happen.”

“No, bad things happen all the time. Now are you hurt?”

“Ain’t bitten, Shaney, please go help Sophia.” There’s T-Dog, laying on the ground and surrounded by dead bodies. Your breath hitches.

Oh shit, he’d bled a lot. That might could very well be a pint already, his shirt is soaked. But his eyes are open and he’s blinking at both of you, so in the least, he’s moderately alert.

As you reach into the messenger bag to grab one of the menstrual pads and kneel beside T-Dog, Shane stresses, “Rick was over there when it happened, Carol and Lori told me he ran after her, so she ain’t alone. She’ll be just fine. Let me help you.”

With a dazed nod at your brother, you focus your attention to T-Dog’s right arm. “Teddy, were you bit?”

His voice is weak and slightly slurred as he responds “Nah, Daryl…Daryl saved my ass.”

“Spell your last name,” you request, unwrapping the plastic packaging off the pad. The flow was still streaming, but beginning to clot. Both the clotting and the darker color indicated that it was venous rather than arterial, thank God.

“D-O-U...G-L...A-S.”

“Tell me the name of your old church,” you ask next.

After you rip the sticky backing off the pad so that it can be folded for more absorption, you do so carefully as not to contaminate it, then press and firmly hold the makeshift dressing to the gash. Stopping the bleed was of the utmost, even moreso at this point than disinfecting.

At first he winces in pain, but then mumbles back “Um, it’s...Holy Cross. It was Holy Cross Lutheran.” Good, that means he’s still coherent, at least for now.

“Dog, look at your arm, man, I mean, we talked about not runnin’ with scissors,” Shane jokes lightly with him. He’d grabbed two traffic cones from the construction van and is laying them down by T-Dog’s feet. “Alright, bud, lift your legs for me, put your feet on these things. We want ’em elevated.”

After T-Dog does as instructed, Shane nods and comments to you, “He’s still a 14 on the GCS as of now, that’s a good sign.” True, he was almost a perfect score.

“Got the bag,” Daryl pants, having arrived back with the bag in his left hand as he kneels down beside you. A screwdriver clatters out of his pocket, which he ignores.

“Inside the front pocket, you’ll find a baggie with gloves. Please put on a pair,” you direct to Daryl, then look to your brother. “Shane, go. Please.”

After pausing and relaxing his jaw, he inclines his head, then alters his expression to a grin as he tells T-Dog “Don’t let this one baby you too much, alright? You’re gonna be fine, man,” before heading off.

Once Daryl has his gloves on, you instruct him to “Keep the pressure on this like I am,” referring to T-Dog’s arm.

Once he does, you slip on a pair of your own, then start on the basic vital signs check, doing your best to chat with T-Dog to keep him distracted and keep yourself from falling apart.

Several minutes later

“I didn’t ask before, but why’d you want Shane to go?” T-Dog asks, wincing as you slowly bend his injured arm up, positioning it with a sling so he doesn’t move it too much.

Daryl’s helping him sit up and is bugging him to finish his juice box and packet of saltines while you redid the bandage.

T-Dog’s been cleaned up and is fine for now, he just needs to eat and drink and rest. As for whether or not infection is gonna set, ugh, you don’t know. All you know is that you cleaned it as thoroughly as you could and that all you have by way of oral antibiotics is pediatric amoxicillin.

“I’ll tell you later,” you respond quietly. You attempted to sound casual, as if it were that you and your brother had simply argued again.

Neither T-Dog nor Daryl seem to have been aware of what was happening with Sophia before, so they don’t need to be burdened with that yet. Maybe she’s already back and the others haven’t returned from down the road, you remind yourself.

Or, you don’t want to be the one to tell T-Dog and Daryl that she ran off screaming.

What you do want is to get him safe as possible, as fast as possible, so you can run down there and see what’s going on. If she’s still out there, you can’t waste any more time not out there getting her back.

“Let’s get you into the RV, Teddy, you need to lay down somewhere safe and have somebody you're comfortable with help you change into clean clothes,” you announce, crouching beside his uninjured left arm so you can help him up by lifting from his underarm.

“I’m a’ight, I can get up on my own.”

“You can also fall and smack your head ’cause your blood pressure is so low,” you gently put to him. He’d lost about two pints altogether. Any more and things would have started to go south.

Daryl quickly ducks under T-Dog’s left arm, lightly pushing you back, and wraps his own around the man’s shoulder to actively help him stand. “I got him. I meant it about not messin’ your shoulder up more.”

That man has been so damned helpful this whole time. He cleaned off T-Dog’s torso with baby wipes after you’d cut his shirt off, for one. Reaching a hand out to touch his arm, you wholeheartedly tell Daryl “Thank you.” Oh great, but now your eyes are welling up. Nothing a little immediate distraction won’t hide...there, you can pick up that dirty screwdriver that had fallen from his pocket. “You use this to kill a walker?”

“Andrea. Think it was her first time doin’ it.” He groans slightly as he helps T-Dog stand. “When I grabbed the med bag, she gave it to me. Didn’t want to look at it.”

“She okay, brother? Wasn’t bit?” T-Dog asks with concern even while wavering on his feet from the dizziness.

“Nah, just spooked.”

“A screwdriver’s genius,” you have to admit. “The straightness of it means it won’t get stuck as easily.”  A few times, your now-recently deceased, wobbly knife had gotten stuck, namely that first time you’d manually put one down a couple of weeks ago. “Hey now, Teddy, you seein’ stars or you good?”

“M’good, ain’t gonna collapse just yet. Daryl’s got me.”

You turn and look back at where Sophia last was. “I, um, I need to go check on something else. Daryl, please make sure Dale or Andrea or whoever is stayin’ in the RV checks his fingers every so often for sensation, okay? Teddy, you hear that? Any change in sensation to your fingers, have somebody carefully undo the sling. I’ll have the green walkie turned on if you need to reach me, otherwise drink plenty and stay reclined.”

“Where you going?”

“I j-just gotta go check on somethin’,” you repeat as you switch on your walkie again and begin to sprint down the packed highway. You even leave the med bag and bag of trash right there by the truck, fuck it, you’ll take care of it when that little girl’s back safe. You see Glenn in the distance and shout “Rick back with her yet?”

“No. We’ve been trying to reach her with the yellow walkie, but no word back yet. How’s T-Dog?”

“T-Dog’s gonna be fine if no infection sets. You said Sophia ain’t answered – sh-she ain’t answered at all yet?” you pant as you reach him. Lori and Shane are comforting Carol and Carl while they look down the embankment and into the woods.

Glenn shakes his head and adjusts his baseball hat in response.

“Was she bit? Do we know, um –”

“Two walkers chased her, then Rick chased them,” he explains. “That’s all we know. They haven’t even been gone 15 minutes yet.”

“Why ain’t we – come on, let’s go, we’re the two fastest.” You wave him along and start to get a move on.

“Hold up, we’re waiting for Rick to come back first just in case we make problems worse by separating,” he hesitates, albeit while following you. "You know how they say bad things happen in threes, dude.”

“We’ll stick together, I got a walkie, and tracking them should be easy since they was moving clumsy.”

Carl sees you and you stop briefly to squeeze him tight before turning around to head down the hill.

“Whoa, Y/N, where you goin’?”

“The more of us out there, the more efficient, Shane.”

“The more of us out there, the more risk to all of us,” he stresses. “Rick was right behind her, I trust him, so should you – Y/N, stop, come back!”

“What if they need us?” you call back, careful to not slip down the steep incline (as Rick did, by the looks of the disturbances in the dirt going down there).

Again, you start to repeat in your head please, please, please, please as you reach the bottom and start racing into the woods.

But you and Glenn almost trip over each other when you hear her small little voice come through the walkie. Holding it up to your ear, you get “–cave by the creek.”

“What did she say?” you both shout up the hill.

“That Rick hid her in a cave by the creek!” Carol sobs back in relief.

That gave you a concrete destination more or less, so you speed off like a shot. You feel like you could float there! Bad things happen in threes your ass; Sophia is fine.

Your brother is now almost down the hill, and calls back to her, “We’re gonna go get her, Carol, sit tight!”

And Daryl’s voice, to your surprise, rings out next. “Y/N, you got the trail?”

“So far, but we’ll need you to lead the way! Let’s roll!”

[missluckycharms]

These small moments.

Single Dad!Harry and his little love, Honey.

Summary: mornings with Honey are Harrys favourite, small chats with blurry eyes and lazy smiles is what makes him feel closer to his little lady.

A/N: ahhh they’re so 🥺 enjoy !!

Click *** for visuals throughout the story.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff and dad jokes.

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist.

It’s nearly seven in the morning.

The sunrise shining through the windows and casting a bright warm hue onto Harry’s sleeping body in his bed. The white sheets tossed about and his head buried in the pillow, his cheek smushed to up and his lips slightly parted letting out small snores.

The only sound throughout the whole house is the sound of birds chirping about outside and the engines of cars on their way down the roads, the morning rush nearly upon the streets as people make their way to their nine till five jobs. The house has a slight breeze throughout due to Harry always sleeping with his window cracked open, and his door cracked open also to allow honey to walk in when she needed her Papa.

Speaking of the little love, she’s already awake, in her own small pink coloured bed, many pillows around her and her stuffies lined up against the wall, her favourite stuffie in her hand — Pascal from Tangled is her favourite stuffie, she brings him everywhere, even sneaks him into school in her back pack when Harrys not looking. She does this every morning, she lays in bed and talks to her stuffie or just stares at the ceiling, her glow in the dark stars now white and barely noticeable in the bright room, her pink curtains casting a pink hue around the room.

She waits five minutes before she’s hopping out of her bed and padding along towards her door, she pulls it open as it’s only closed a little, allowing enough of a gap for her small body to fit through. She snuggles pascal as she walks, looking around and noticing her Papa must still be asleep, she immediately darts for his room, peeping her curly head in and looking at his sleeping body, his back facing her and his bed messy as usual, but there’s always enough space for her to snuggle up next to him.

She doesn’t wake him, she tip toes towards the side he’s not laying on, throwing pascal up first before she’s hiking herself up on the large bed, a small groan when she has to put more strength into getting up than usual due to her sleepy state. When she’s up, she brushes the curls from her face with a harsh swipe, her blue doe eyes looking at her Papa, his hair messy like hers. She lays down on the pillow, looking at her Papa as she softly taps his cheek and pushes pascal towards him.

“G’morning button” he grumbles when he hears a small giggle, pascal now on his back as her dimples pop out at how ridiculous the man looks with a small green chameleon stuffie on his bare back. He smiles when he hears her hearty laugh, instantly wrapping his tattooed arm around her and squishing her into his chest.

“Papa! Cant see!” She laughs loudly, her small body being caged by her Dad’s broad muscular one, his own laughs filling the room as she peeps her head up at him, a small pout on her lips which causes him to lean down and peck her lips lightly.

“Have a good sleep? Yeah?” He asks when she nods happily, her small hand playing with his cross necklace as he shuts his eyes for a few more minutes, face buried in her chestnut curls as she talks to him and pascal, Harry never knowing which one she’s actually talking to sometimes.

“Papa? Pancakes now?” She asks after another five minutes, her small attention span running out which causes Harry to wake up from resting his eyes, smile back on his face as he turns them over so he’s laying on his back and Honey is sat on his stomach slapping his chest looking at his tattoos — she loves his tattoos or his “paintings” as she calls them.

“Papa, your pearlies are gone” she says disappointed looking to see that her favourite necklace of his which is his Pearl one, is missing. She loves to run her small hands over it, the feeling and look of it making her eyes wide in awe at the beauty of it.

“Should I wear them today?” He asks with a smile, watching as she rubs her eyes a little, slowly waking herself up as she lets out a small yawn, her small pouty lips returning as she babbles on nonsense as Harry tries to tame her hair a little before he has to style it for her today.

“Love your pearlies Papa” she says brightly, laying down on his chest, her curls tickling his chin as he wraps and arm around her back, rubbing small circles on it as she relaxes a little, her small body still trying to wake up as Harry softly kisses her head.

It’s when his alarm rings when the two actually peel themselves from bed, Honey immediately springing up and slapping his phone to turn off the sound, it’s her favourite thing to do for some reason, she always shouts “I did it Papa!” Which makes him laugh and nod kissing her head proudly. They’re both in the kitchen now, the early start allowing them to lounge about in their comfy clothes for awhile while they make breakfast. Harry is only in a pair of grey joggers while Honey sits on the counter, helping him add in flour and sugar to the pancake batter in her baby pink bunny printed silk pyjama set *** the darker complexion of her skin standing out against the pale pink, Harry was overjoyed when he seen she had the same skin tone as her Mum, her darker skin causing her blue eyes to be brighter.

“Wanna help crack an egg button? Need t’be careful though, don’t want crunch pancakes now do we?” He asks with a grin as she pulls a disgusted face shaking her head. Her small palm helps her Papa’s hand crack the egg and she giggles watching it plop down into the dry mixture.

They scarf down their banana pancakes through small chats and giggles, Harry cracking his usual jokes that have Honey giggling loudly as she shovelled her pancakes into her mouth, their faces hurting from laughing by the time they’re up in her bedroom, Harry standing at her drawers, holding up small outfits as Honey sits like the diva she is on her bed, giving him a thumbs down when she doesn’t like an outfit he picks. She’s so stubborn, but she gets that from him.

“I do it Papa!” She says annoyed now, marching over to him as she picks her up with a laugh, her small hands rooting about until she pulls out a white cable knit jumper with a few frills on the sleeves and a baby pink velvet pinafore to go over it. She smiles up at him as he nods, happy with her choice. ***

“Did good button, need to put some tights on you though, getting a bit nippy out” he says as she nods, walking towards her sock drawer and pulling out some white knitted tights with an smile as Harry gives her a thumbs up, causing her to laugh loudly.

“Why Papa shave?” She asks sitting on the sink, her small outfit on her and her brown boots swinging on her feet as she dangles them off the counter beside the sink watching as Harry applies his shaving foam and wets his razor under the water, he’s still shirtless and only in his joggers as Honey watches on — she loves watching him, when he’s shaving his face or when he’s cooking, even when he does something a small as put her DVD in the player, she’s fascinated by him and Harry thinks it’s because he’s all she has, and he doesn’t mind being the centre of her attention as she is his.

“Papa has hair on his face, sometimes it gets itchy when it lets long. You don’t like it sure you don’t, always complaining it tickles when I kiss ya” he says with a laugh, his hand gliding the razor over his face as he inspects himself in the mirror, trying not to nick himself as Honey watches on curiously.

“Yuck! Hate Papas beard, gross!” She says as Harry looks at her, his face shaven and the foam gone, he picks up his curl cream and scrunches it through his hair a little.

“S’not nice to say gross button, remember? Cant say things are gross” he warns her, her small face falling but nodding as she takes the small scolding from her Papa, he rarely scolds her and when he does, he feels guilty but he knows it’s for her own good. Apart from a few slip ups here and there, she’s the most well mannered toddler ever, everyone that meets her complements Harry on his good parenting which means so much to him due to what he’s been through to get to where he is now.

It’s another few minutes before Harry is fully dressed, a baby blue striped grey suit *** on his body and his usual gucci heeled boots that Honey loves the sound of, she instantly perks up at the sound knowing her Papa is near. She claps when he walks out from the bathroom, it’s her new thing, she claps like he’s putting on a fashion show, causing him to strike a pose which causes her to fall back onto the bed in fits of laughter.

“Alright button, hair time!” He says as she widens her eyes, trying to wriggle off his bed and run away. She hates her hair being combed due to her curls being unruly and always tangled on her head. He grabs her and makes monster noises at her, tickling her belly as she screams out a laugh, nearly falling from his arms as he places her down on the counter by the sink, she spins around and watches herself in the mirror.

“What are we going for today Miss Styles?” He asks her like a professional hair stylist, her smile wide as she grabs a pink hair tie with small butterfly clips also, she shows them to him in the mirror as he smiles, taking her hair brush and de tangling spray. He struggles a little but he gets there in the end, her hair tied up in a pony tail and the small butterfly clips all around her head as she smiles brightly at herself.

“Did good job Papa!” She says clapping her hands, seeing how her Dad is improving, he’s been watching tutorials nightly and even trying some on himself as he gets used to braiding and all that stuff for when she starts asking for more complex styles in her curly hair.

He packs her bag and they’re both out the door quickly, he straps her into her booster seat in his black Range Rover, her legs dangling about as she rings and dances to the song on the radio, Harry keeping his eyes on the road but they flicker to hers in the rear view mirror when she speaks to him. Honey loves school, she loves her teacher and she loves making new friends due to her out going personality that she definitely got from her Mum, she could make friends with a tree if she was near one.

She’s holding his hand as he walks her in the gates, the other kids all lining up on their designated class spot on the ground, a yellow circle painted on the tarmac signalling the younger class. The Mums are all there with their kids, the odd few Dads there also but it’s always the Mums who are smiling and speaking to Harry as they watch their kids walk into their classroom, small hands waving as they excitedly march into the school. He doesn’t stay long after she’s gone in, mainly because the Mums have no filter and would publicly flirt with the single Dad even when they have wedding bands on their fingers.

He brushes off all the women, smiling at them as he runs out the gate, hearing them all whisper amongst themselves as they excitedly look on as he pulls away in his expensive car heading towards his work building. Harry feels empty when Honey is gone, he loves mornings with her, just him and her going about their mornings, making breakfast and cracking up at jokes they tell one another back and forth over banana pancakes every morning, some mornings they have cereal if they wake up late and sometimes if they wake up extra early and can’t go back asleep, they get ready and Harry brings her out for breakfast before dropping her off at school.

It’s the little moments with Honey that Harry cherishes, knowing she won’t be his little love for very long, but doesn’t think about that. He lives in the present with her and he loves how they are now, he loves his little lady with all his heart.

[onenerdtwonagas]

Making Acquaintances

(Uriah meets Cairn)

“Sheesh, you’d think if the Council wants me making deliveries for them, they’d at least give more concrete directions… I dunno, Pollux, what do you make of this?”

Uriah held out the piece of parchment for the sprite sitting on his shoulder to look at. The tiny creature cocked his head one way, then the other, before sneezing and shaking himself vigorously.

“I thought so,” Uriah sighed, frowning down at the directions. At least Hue had written them in English; he couldn’t yet read the language the Council used for official business. He was still learning through Orpheus, of course, but that didn’t mean he could make proper heads or tails of it.

“May as well have told me ‘make a right at the fifth tree on the left’. I mean, everybody and their second cousin’s got a temple or cave or something. How am I supposed to know this one from any other old set of ruins? The only temples I’m familiar with are Orpheus’s family’s place, and the Council’s capitol city,” he mumbled, looking at the map as he carefully made his way through some dense greenery. The air was damp and cool, and the canopy in this part of the jungle was dense; not much sunlight got through to the plants and soil Uriah was navigating. It made him wonder what sort of plants they were, to grow so thick and strong with such little light. He got just distracted enough by the question to get tripped up on an old exposed root.

“Ah—sonofa—Ugh! That’s it! That’s it, I’ve had it! Somebody else can deliver this thing,” Uriah groaned, picking himself up and swiping dirt off of his clothes. “I’ve been trudging around out here for hours and I still haven’t found the place! So help me if this is some sort of hazing prank—“

Pollux, who had caught himself in the air as Uriah went down, chimed as he hovered in place.

“What? Don’t tell me, wildcat? Bear? Some other unfortunate thing come to terrorize me?”

Pollux flared his little glow with a loud peel, making Uriah wince as he straightened his glasses and turned in the direction the tiny creature was looking in. Uriah blinked as he finally saw the temple he’d been sent to deliver the scroll to, just like the ink illustration he’d been given as a reference.

“…Oh. Well. How about that. Took long enough.”

He finished straightening his robes and fished around in one of the deeper pockets of his coat for the scroll he’d been given.

“Let’s see, wonder if…” He squinted. “…Clar… Cir…? Ah, well, whoever it is, let’s hope they’re home. I don’t wanna stick around if I can help it. Orpheus should be getting home tonight from his latest trip. C’mon, Pollux.”

Uriah made to step forward towards the temple’s crumbling guardian pillars, the faces and bodies of the winding serpents carved into the stone fairly eroded and worn with age and weather, but he noticed the lack of the tiny weight on his shoulder. He turned and looked back at Pollux, who had perched onto a branch nearby.

“Pollux, come on, bud. We’ll be in and out no problem.”

The sprite clung onto his branch stubbornly. Just what was bothering him? Uriah shook his head and waved him off.

“Fine, be like that. But no sugar cubes for you tonight,” he huffed. “Be back in five.”

Uriah held onto the scroll as he paced carefully into the ruins. He knew better than to walk around crumbling stone carelessly; it had resulted in him meeting his husband, sure, but he didn’t fancy a second concussion thanks to a collapsed stone floor. The interior was slightly better preserved, being protected from the worst of the elements, and seemed to improve in quality the further he wandered in. Whoever the deity was that inhabited the place, Uriah had to admit they had a rather refined taste. And very serpentine. He’d lost count of how many snakes were carved into the walls and pillars and decorative architecture, not to mention the tiles that depicted carefully painted, heavily detailed serpents. And gold. Lots of gold.

“Eesh, ritzy,” he whispered to himself. But dark. Definitely dark. He began wishing he’d forced Pollux to come along, if only to use him for a light source. Uriah didn’t have the ability to conjure a light for himself.

“Um…Hello? Anybody here?” Uriah called out, glancing around a dim chamber. It looked like the receiving hall in Orpheus’s family temple, but no one was present. No attendants, no deity. But somewhere in the distance, from the dark hall at the far end of the room, came a metallic echo. Like coins falling. Uriah didn’t exactly like the implication, but he had nothing else to go by. He swallowed and placed a hand against the wall to feel his way through the dark as he made his way down the hall.

“Hello? I’m here with a delivery from the Elemental Council,” he announced, to nobody in particular. The metallic sound answered again. His hand felt a gap in the wall, and after running his fingers along it, he could tell it was a doorway. Uriah blinked, trying to adjust to the dark as he entered cautiously.

“…Anybody home?”

His foot collided with something small and solid, and he heard the distinct sound of metal clinking away on the floor and spinning to a stop. Before he could question it, a row of torches along the upper ceiling of the vast room lit themselves. He had to shield his eyes against the sudden change in brightness until he had readjusted, looking around nervously.

Mounds of gold and treasures were heaped around the room. Jewels, coins, small statuettes and plates and even some hints of weaponry. Just shiny, glittery, golden and gem-colored trinkets everywhere. He couldn’t count them all. Once the initial shock wore off, Uriah sighed and placed his hands on his hips.

“Oh, I get it. Haze the new guy by testing his morality. Very funny, guys! I’d like to go home now if the joke is over!”

A low, loud rumble echoed around the room. Uriah froze as the gold shifted like a landslide. Massive dark coils made themselves visible, followed by a strong titan-sized torso with muscular arms and a head that easily dwarfed the now-timid elemental. Tattoos and intricate markings decorated skin and scales. Webbed ears and dreads shook spare coins and jewels free before the being turned its gaze towards Uriah, golden serpentine eyes blinking once before the creature—a giant naga—curled its full lips into a smirk.

“Well, well, so I wasn’t hearing things in my sleep.”

Uriah took a hesitant step back. This being—this naga—was massive. He knew he was married to a god, and yet, Orpheus had never seemed so foreign to him as this naga did. There was an aura of pure power that emanated from him and filled the room and made him feel small. Weak.

The naga cocked his head and stared down at him, one clawed hand resting beneath his chin in a gesture of amusement and intrigue.

“What have you come for then, little man? Here to pilfer some of my offerings?”

He shook his head.

“You…y-you are…big,” Uriah said breathlessly, his confidence utterly extinguished. He ran a shaking hand through his hair before clutching onto the scroll tightly.

“Yes.”

He chuckled. Uriah felt it in his bones. Big, indeed.

“W-Well, uh…g-g-getting to the point, um, I-I think I was sent here by the Council? The Elemental Council, I mean. And uh, I…don’t think you’re the person I was meant to find so—“

“Cairn.”

“Pardon…?”

The naga’s eyes flickered pointedly to the golden ink on the outside or the scroll.

“…Oh. Oh, is that what that says? H-Huh! Well then if this is for you, I-I’ll just leave it with you and be on my way! Sorry t-to disturb you, Sir!”

He set the scroll down and tried to back step his way towards the hall he had come from, but felt his body press against something firm and solid.

“Wait,” Cairn, apparently, mused, his spare hand sweeping Uriah back to his previous position. Uriah squeaked under his breath; it was as if he didn’t weigh a thing to this huge being.

“Just who did the Council send this time, hmm? You’re a new face.”

“Uh…y-yeah, new hire. S-S-So to speak,” Uriah stammered. He took a nervous step aside and away from the naga’s large and very strong-looking palm.

“Really? How very interesting. It’s not every century a new elemental gets added on.”

Two of his claws deftly pinched the ends of Uriah’s robes and lifted the fabric as if inspecting it. The flustered man cleared his throat and tugged them back, fidgeting as he tried to decide between keeping an eye on the hand or the face.

“Cairn, w-was it? Can you uh…m-maybe not…do that?”

“What do they call you?”

Uriah hesitated. Giving out names could be a bit of a gamble with some mystical beings. Some could use it as a form of control, or to hold power, or to steal identities. He looked up at Cairn uneasily, but was met with the same mischievous smile.

“It’s only good manners, tiny one. I’ve told you mine. Now, you.”

“…Uriah.”

That seemed to spark some further interest. Uriah flinched as Cairn’s hand came close again, the tip of a large, sharp claw tilting his face upwards.

“Really? Surely not the one the pantheon’s been fussing about these days? Let’s have a look at you.”

“H-Hey!” Uriah squeaked, finding himself tripping over his own feet trying to back away. Cairn easily caught him in his palm, raising him from the floor for closer inspection. Uriah finally noticed the heavy scent of incense and amber; it must’ve been coming from Cairn. He saw his face reflected in the golden piercing on the naga’s lips and swallowed. He did not like being so vulnerable.

“My, aren’t you something,” Cairn chuckled, inspecting the uneasy man in his hands. “No wonder they love gossiping about you. First human in over a thousand years to become immortal, an elemental no less, and the husband of the new night god. A little marvel, aren’t you? A rarity, certainly.”

Uriah winced and ducked his head as a clawed finger came close to his face, and hardly dared to move or breathe when Cairn merely brushed the tip of his finger over his head, as if toying with a doll. He couldn’t tell if this being was dangerous, or benevolent with a bizarre sense of humor. Either way, he didn’t want to upset him.

“Y-You, uh…k-know my husband?”

“He’s popular, too, naturally,” Cairn answered. “Half of the gossip is about him choosing a mortal for his spouse, the other half…well, he’s an attractive one. I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Powerful father, too. His entire family is, actually. Not many rival the ancient lines.”

“And you’re from one of them, I-I’m guessing?”

Cairn laughed. It was louder than Uriah expected, and he covered one ear to avoid a ringing headache.

“Oh, there’s nothing like me, you can be sure of that.”

Before Uriah could even begin to wonder what he meant, Cairn sighed and picked up scroll with his other hand, pinching one end between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a flick to unroll it.

“What did they send me this time… Ah. ‘We must respectfully ask and insist you stop entrancing and taking our messengers captive. Reoccurring offenses will be seen as acts of kidnapping.’ Oh, dear, did I forget to send that last one back?” Cairn tutted, but seemed rather pleased with himself. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Uriah assessing a potential escape to the floor, and pinned him to his palm with his thumb.

“Ah, ah, not yet. We’re just getting acquainted, after all.”

“A-Actually, I’d like to get back to my h-husband? Please?”

“So soon? You just got here,” Cairn sighed in a mock pout.

“I-It’s fine! I-I wouldn’t want to bother you!”

“Stay a while. Let me show you my hospitality…”

“Ahem. Cairn.”

The large naga paused, looking up from the squirming man in his hand and towards the entrance to the room. Uriah strained to look back over his shoulder and between Cairn’s fingers.

“Orpheus! Oh, thank God!”

The young god had one set of arms folded, the other with his hands resting on his hips, and his expression set somewhere between exasperation and calm. Orpheus glanced to his husband.

“Hello, dearest.”

He redirected his gaze up towards Cairn.

“I heard my husband was sent on an errand. I didn’t expect it would be to you, of all beings.”

“Hello, young god,” Cairn greeted, smirking with the same cheshire smirk as when he’d spotted Uriah. The man shrank again as Cairn stroked his head with a finger, the edge of his claw combing through his curls. “So this is your partner? Fascinating. We were just getting to know one another.”

“I can see that. I’d like him back now, if you don’t mind,” Orpheus pressed, gesturing from Uriah to the floor. “Wouldn’t want the Council getting wind of you holding another one captive, would we?”

“Oh, very well,” Cairn conceded. He lowered his hand and tilted it, depositing Uriah unceremoniously onto his hands and knees before giving him a teasing pat on the head.

“There, no harm done.”

“And the other one?”

“Other one?”

Orpheus gave him a pointed look.

“Ah, yes. That one.”

Cairn waved a hand and muttered some sort of incantation under his breath, flicking the spark of magic away as if it were a pesky gnat.

“Hmph. There. Should be right as rain and on his way out in…” Cairn tilted an ear upwards. “…Just now, actually. Can hear the poor fool running. As if I ever did anything that awful to him.”

Uriah had stood and planted himself firmly behind Orpheus, giving Cairn cautious glances as he dusted off his clothing. He gawked as the massive naga sighed and, of all things, shrank himself down to a much more normal size, turning to address the couple.

“You’ve got an interesting one, this human of yours.”

“You…y-you could change your size this entire time?!” Uriah blurted out. Cairn grinned, showing off pointed fangs.

“I can do a lot of things, little Uriah. But where’s the fun in showing all of my tricks at once?”

Uriah floundered for a response before Orpheus reached up and closed his jaw for him, offering him a gentle pat on the cheek.

“Thank you for…entertaining him,” Orpheus said somewhat awkwardly. Uriah could tell he was struggling at maintaining his manners.

“Of course. Do bring him by again, I rather like this one.”

Cairn winked and chuckled again as Uriah ducked further behind Orpheus.

“…I will have to see if there’s time for visiting,” Orpheus responded. “For now, I think I’m going to take him home. And Cairn? Do try not to harass the Council.”

Cairn bowed in a manner Uriah considered half-sarcastic, but retreated back towards his piles of riches, already returning to his previous size as he settled amongst the glittering mass.

“Yes, young god. Ah, here. A token for your husband. Consider it a belated wedding gift.”

Cairn flicked a piece of the pile towards Uriah’s feet. The man bent slowly and picked it up with caution. It looked like a small golden orb, but when he tapped an indented portion it expanded out into a miniature astrolabe. Uriah looked from Cairn to Orpheus, seeking some sort of guidance.

“It is appreciated, but are you certain you wouldn’t like to keep it?”

“I’ve no need of it, and you are the reigning Night God. It suits you far more than I. My favorite pieces tend to be a little more…serpentine.”

Cairn tapped a claw against the golden hood of a cobra statuette. Ah. That explained the heavy amount of snake motifs Uriah had noticed on his way in. Orpheus made the appropriate parting for the two of them before guiding his flustered husband out, knowing fully well that Cairn was watching them go.

“Are you alright?” Orpheus asked.

“Ask me when my pulse slows down,” Uriah huffed. “Just what is he? Another god of some kind?”

“Cairn? He’s… I’ll be honest, I don’t know what he is, exactly. No official godly title. I think he may be something else entirely.”

Uriah blanked, considered questioning further, and then decided he’d had more than enough for one day. It was time to go home, have a stiff drink from Orpheus’s family’s store of wine, and try to forget just how bizarre the day had been. He probably wouldn’t be looking at that astrolabe for a while…

(Decided to write a silly piece with @scales-and-spirals oc Cairn trolling Uriah. I hope I portrayed him accurately; I’ve seen other ‘trickster Cairn’ stories and I’m hoping this is the right way to write him! <3)

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Undercover | Mob!Steve Rogers

I saw this post  by @rosierose-e​ and got inspired to write this mob! Steve Rogers smut. All mistakes are my own. 

ALSO THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! Love you all and appreciate the support immensely! Thank you :) 

Warning: Smut!!! NSFW choking, cockwarming, swearing

Part Two

Word Count: 5k

You squinted as you looked at yourself in the mirror. The weight of the false lashes a foreign feeling on your eyes. You felt like a clown. This was not you at all. You wore the basics: some foundation, concealer, blush, mascara and if you were really feeling fancy a lip gloss. But nothing heavy. One, your skin was unforgiving and if you went heavier than the BB cream you used you would have pimples for days. Two, in your line of work heavy makeup just wasn’t ideal. 

“Wow, you look amazing.” You looked up in the mirror to see the rookie Peter Parker getting into the van behind you. Peter was sweet, a little naive, but a good agent nonetheless. He had joined the force about three months ago and Director Fury had insisted he learn from the best, so now he was your partner for the remainder of the year. 

“Thanks, Pete.” You sighed as you straightened up, pulling the hem of the skin tight black dress down only to have it bunch up again. “I feel ridiculous.” 

“Well you don’t look it.” He handed you a cup of coffee and you took it with a grateful smile. You needed all the caffeine you could get tonight. 

Tonight you were going undercover at the notorious Red White and Blue Gala hosted by none other than notorious mob boss Steve Rogers. It was his lame attempt and pretending to be an upstanding citizen but hosting an event in honor of the men and women in service. A good cause but for a bad reason. It was rumored that more than just helpful charity happened at this event. 

 You and the rest of your team had been tailing Rogers for close to two years. Trying to get anything to tie the bastard down to all the crimes you knew his organization was behind. But he was good at his job. Leaving no trace evidence that could link any of the nefarious acts back to him. 

He was a cocky son of a bitch and you wanted to be the one to nail him. 

Peter glanced down at the watch on his wrist before clapping his hands together. “Almost showtime, partner.” 

You felt your hands get clammy as the nerves started to wrack your body. You had done undercover work before in the last seven years you’ve been a part of the force but there was something different about this one. Something more dangerous. Steve Rogers was a dangerous man. 

You turned back to the mirror and fixed your hair and makeup one last time before letting out a long breath. You again tried to pull down the hem of the dress but with no avail. You wanted badly to be mad at the catering company that you had been able to infiltrate but you knew that this was probably the work of Rogers. Sick bastard. 

You slipped on the four inch heels they gave you and you nearly stumbled into Peter as you tried to take a step. Heels. Another thing not usually worn in your line of business. 

“Okay, this is a listening device.” Peter explained as he pinned a small but beautiful butterfly pin on your right breast. You couldn’t help but chuckle as his hands fumbled as he accidentally grazed over where your nipple would be. “Sorry.” 

“It’s a boob, Parker. It’s fine.” Peter just nodded before finishing pinning it. 

“Anyway,” he continued. “It’ll be recording everything that we need and coming right back here to my feed in the van. It’s small enough that it won’t get detected by any scanners. Unfortunately we won’t be able to communicate but if you say ‘pineapple’ we’ll come in and get you out.” 

“Pineapple.” You said more to yourself than to Peter. 

“Pineapple. And I mean, Y/N. Anything starts to get fishy you get out of there. Roger’s is ruthless.” 

“I know.” You patted his shoulder. “Thanks for looking out for me, rook.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He pushed you out the van. “Kick ass, partner.” 

You gave him a small salute before turning around and following another group of girls dressed just like you into the expansive mansion in front of you. 

You tried not to be too awestruck as you took in the structure of the building. It looked like something out of an old mystery novel. The entire place was dark. Dark wood and dark furniture. The lights all a dimmed tan light that fed into the mysterious atmosphere. Your eyes darted to the artwork that littered the wall, all depictions of a fall from grace. 

Is that how you see yourself, Rogers? A fallen angel? 

“Hey!” You snapped back to attention as a frantic voice called over to you. “What the hell are you doing? Get to the kitchen.” 

You bit your tongue as you glared at the rude man before following the rest of the women into the kitchen. 

Dressed all like you, there were probably about twenty other women there. All of them easily could have been supermodels. The rude man pushed you towards a group of about three of them who were all balancing drinks on a tray. 

“Grab one and go.” The man, Stan you gathered from his nametag, said before turning to another group of women. You picked up a tray and prayed to all powers in the universe that the combination of full glasses of wine and these heels didn’t cause you to completely embarrass yourself. 

The ballroom was huge. You suddenly felt very small as you wandered around the room, offering drinks to some of New York’s most high profile residents. You kept your eyes peeled for the familiar mob boss. Your heart rate sped up as you noticed him across the room, chatting with a beautiful woman. You watched as he leaned down and whispered something to her, causing her to blush before playfully pushing his shoulder. He just smirked before turning his attention to the man on the other side of him-Clint Barton, completely ignoring her now, but she still stayed by his side watching his every move. 

Pathetic. 

You had to get to him. Get him alone and get him talking. But how? 

“Well aren’t you the prettiest thing in the room.” You felt yourself stiffen as a pair of hands wandered down your back and rested on your hip. The smell of expensive cologne attacking your senses. 

Slowly you turned around to find James “Bucky” Barnes looking at you like a predator to its prey. Bucky, was Steve’s right hand man. His best friend. He was handsome. Dark hair, even darker blue eyes and a smirk, that if he was anyone else, would have your panties melted off before you could even blink. You glanced down at the infamous metal arm that was hidden underneath an expensive suit jacket, but his hand flexed slightly as he noticed you looking at it. 

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You forced out. “Can I offer you a drink?” You pushed the tray between the two of you in offering and also creating more space. 

“No, I’m all set, doll.” He raised his glass of scotch. “Just wanted to talk to a pretty thing like you.” 

“There are plenty of other beautiful women here.” You said, your voice slightly cold. You hoped he would get the hint. 

“None quite like you.” He smirked and you fought everything in you to roll your eyes. 

“Does that line actually work?” 

Bucky took a step back at your bluntness. You see out of the corner of your eye, Rogers and Barton start to head towards the door. You had to make a move, because if he left to go do business he might not come back down for a while. 

“It was nice talking to you, Mr. Barnes.” You quickly moved past him, ignoring his short “wait”. You rushed, but not too obviously, towards where Steve was heading. If you went fast enough you could cut him off. You felt your heart drop to your stomach as you tripped over your heels, the tray in your hand shooting forward and the glasses of red wine landing square on Steve Rogers’ suit. 

“What the fuck?” The room went silent at his angry outburst. You stumbled as you tried to stand up, but were immediately hoisted up when his large hands wrapped around the tops of your arms. 

“I’m so sorry, sir.” You sputtered. For a moment you forgot where you were. Why you were here. His blue eyes, dark with fury, scanned your face as he held your arms. You had never really taken a good look at him. All pictures in his file weren’t anything special or high definition. But now, seeing him up close? You were beginning to understand the woman from earlier giddiness. 

He was beautiful. 

You bit your lip as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. You suddenly felt very aware of your body and the fact that he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. 

“Go.” He pushed you towards the door he had been walking to with Barton. You walked through the door with shaky legs as you heard him mutter something to Barton before following you. 

“Sir, I’m so-” 

“Shut up.” He growled as he stepped through the door, the heavy wood slamming shut behind him. “Walk.” 

You hesitated. You didn’t know where he wanted you to walk to. Grumbling, Steve once again pushed you forward and you just started walking down the hallway. As you walked down you noticed a door that was slightly ajar. You glanced in while walking past and took note of the firearms and drugs that were very obviously there.

“Keep. Walking.” Steve’s voice was harsh in your ear before you heard him slam the door shut. 

“Yes, sir.” you muttered. 

The two of you continued to walk until you made it to the room at the end of the hall. Tentatively you opened it, waiting for any different direction, but Steve remained silent behind you so you continued. 

The room was...different. It was very different from the dark vibe of the rest of the house. There was a large bay window to your left that overlooked the back of the house that homed a large garden and pool. The walls were painted a soft beige and the furniture a lighter wood than the rest of the house. Even the bed was covered in a white duvet that looked like a cloud just waiting to be jumped on. It was homey. It was nice. 

“Mr. Rogers-” 

“Who do you work for?” He demanded, shutting the door. 

You froze. You tried hard to make sure your face didn’t give away anything as he stared you down. You didn’t let your gaze falter as he stalked closer to you. 

“Lee’s Catering.” You answered earnestly. 

“Bullshit.” He was now only a foot away from you. His broad shoulders heaving as he raked you up and down. “I know every single girl that works for Stan. I’ve never seen you before. So answer me again and honestly this time. Who the fuck do you work for?” 

“So he’s not allowed to hire new girls?” You snapped, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. 

Fuck. 

“Watch your tone with me, sweetheart. You’re on very thin ice right now.” He closed the final gap between the two of you and you gasped when his hand went around your throat, but not tightening enough to cut off any oxygen. 

“That old bat isn’t allowed to hire anyone that I haven’t vetted.” He hissed in your ear. You shuttered as the vibrato of his voice sent shivers straight down to your core. 

“Please.” Your voice came out in a whisper as your eyes pleaded with him. 

Steve opened his mouth but nothing came out, his nose brushed along the curve of your neck and you sucked in a breath as his mouth latched onto the sensitive spot underneath your jaw. 

“Strip.” He commanded, pushing you back causing you to fall onto the bed. 

“What?” 

“Take off your fucking clothes so I can see if you’re wired.” He snapped. You slowly pulled at the hem of your dress before drawing it up your body and over your head. Before you could fully get it off he stopped you. Your heart stopped as he reached over to the butterfly pin and pulled it off the dress. You watched in horror as he walked to his door, opening it and calling out to someone at the end of the hall. 

“Yeah boss?” You tried to see him, but Steve’s frame was blocking the small opening in the door. 

“Take this and run a test. Let me know if it’s bugged.” He demanded before closing the door. When he turned around he raised an expectant eyebrow at you letting you know you still had to take off the dress. You resumed your actions and turned your face away when his eyes flared at the matching set of red lingerie you had on underneath. 

“See? No wires.” You whispered. 

Steve didn’t say anything as he stalked towards you, rolling up the sleeves to the dress shirt he had on. Your body flushed as he leaned over you, his strong arms resting on either side of your chest. Slowly, he moved on hand to the strap of your bra before lowering it down off your shoulder. His thumb brushed over your pebbling nipple and you wanted to smack the smirk that formed on his face straight off. 

“I better double check you’re not hiding anything anywhere.” He muttered before pulling the cup of your bra down, exposing your left breast. You shuttered as his thumb brushed over it again, this time with no barrier. His mouth was hot as wrapped his lips around the bud, causing you to let out an unwilling moan. Your hips bucked up as his tongue expertly ran over your nipple. His deftly unclipped your bra and moved his mouth to your other breast and continued the same assault. His hands moved down to your hips to steady them from bucking against his growing member. 

“Hmm, looks like we’re clear up here.” He chuckled as his lips moved up to your jaw before capturing your mouth with his. 

The kiss was fiery and embarrassingly so sent a wave of pleasure down to your aching core. You moaned into the kiss as you ran your fingers through his hair, giving it a tight tug. Steve growled at your movements as he fully leaned into you now, his muscular thighs trapping yours on the bed. 

You ran your tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it in to find his own. You nearly came as Steve moaned into your mouth, his hands tightening on you and pulling you up to meet his rutting hips. Using all your strength you spun the two of you around, your mouths still connected, so you were now straddling his pelvis. You pulled away from the kiss and sat up. 

Steve slowly opened his eyes, his pupils blown in desire as he looked up at you through hooded eyes. You began to unbutton his wine stained shirt, running your hands over his porcelain skin when it was fully opened. You traced your fingers over the tattoos that littered his abs and ribs. You took pleasure in the fact that Steve would shiver with every pass of your fingertip. 

“I’m sorry about the stain, Mr. Rogers.” You said innocently, leaning down, your breasts pushed together as they rested on his now bare chest. 

“You should be, princess.” His voice was deep. You let out a small yelp as one of his hands gave a harsh slap to your ass. “This is an expensive shirt. And don’t even get me started on the trousers.” 

You hummed in understanding as you gave tiny kisses across his jaw and neck, taking time to suck on the skin around his collarbone. Your hands wandered down his body till they came in contact with the trousers in question. Slowly you sat up, running your hands over the stain on his pants but your eyes never leaving his. 

“I hope you can get the stain out.” You licked your lips as you moved your body down his own until your face was directly by his crotch and the stain. You sucked on the stain near his cock and smiled when his member jumped in his briefs. You slowly pulled down his pants until he was just in his underwear, his cock trying so hard to break free from it’s confines. 

Steve groaned as you finally freed his aching member. You gave the tip a little kitten lick as you looked up at him. He was now resting his weight on his arms as he leaned back and watched you in absolute wonder. You brushed your thumb across the tip, dragging the precum that had gathered there down the rest of his shaft. Your mouth watered at the thought of having him in your mouth. But you wanted to torture him a bit more. 

You ran your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock, while your hand squeezed lightly at the base. You wrapped your lips around the tip, your tongue playing with the slit there before pulling back with a pop. 

“Mhmm, tasty.” You continued treating him like your own personal lollipop, but never fully enveloping his dick in your mouth. 

“Sweetheart, either fucking suck it like I know you can or I’ll shove it down your fucking throat.” Steve wrapped your hair into a makeshift ponytail and forced your head up. “Got it?” 

You didn’t respond, instead you finally took him into your mouth. You pushed past your gag reflex and took him all the way in until your nose brushed against the hairs on his naval. 

“Oh fuck.” Steve’s voice praised as he started moving his hips, fucking his cock down the back of your throat. 

Your eyes watered as you let him use your throat as his own little fuck toy. You reached between your legs trying to relieve the tension that was building there. You moaned around his cock as your fingers toyed with your clit. 

“Shit, I wanna come in that fucking pussy.” He moaned as he pulled you off the floor and threw you back on the bed. You laid back, your fingers moving back to your clit as you watched him fully take off his clothes. He watched you with interest as you moved your lace panties to the side and slid a finger up your slit, gathering your juices before gently rubbing your clit again. He ran his hands up your legs before grabbing your hand and stopping your actions. 

“This,” He patted harshly against your pussy and you moaned at the sensation. “Is mine. Don’t touch, unless I tell you to.” 

“Yes, sir.” You moaned as his fingers replaced yours. Your back arched as he dipped one finger into your hole. 

“Fuck, baby. When was the last time somebody fucked this little cunt? You’re so fucking tight, baby.” He moaned, watching as your pussy greedily closed around his finger. 

“You’re gonna feel so good around my cock, sweetheart.” Steve’s eyes met yours and for a moment he looked like a man that you might actually want to be with. His cold exterior was gone and replaced with a man who was just as lustfully lost as you were. 

“I want your cock now. Please.” you cried out as he slipped another finger in. Your body bucking as he curled his fingers up hitting that spot that so few had been able to get to with you. 

“Yeah? My little slut wants daddy’s cock to fill her up?” He leaned over you, capturing your lips again. You moaned into his mouth at his words. You never admitted it to anyone but you always had a little bit of a daddy kink. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly as waves of pleasure crashed over you. 

“Please, daddy.” You whimpered against his lips as your hips bucked against his. “Please fuck me.” 

Steve chuckled darkly, kissing you quickly again, before ripping your panties clean off your body. You didn’t even care that he just ruined the most expensive pair of underwear you owned. You just needed his cock in you now. 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him lineup his cock with your dripping hole, slowly pushing the head into your tight channel. You both let out moans as he bottomed out. He fell forward, his forehead resting against yours. You whined as you tried to move your hips against his but he just forced them down with his hands. 

“Steve!” You all but screamed. “Please.” 

“Patience, baby.” He said through gritted teeth. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight. Squeezing daddy’s cock so good. I just need a minute.” 

You let out a humph as you continued to buck your hips against his. 

“What the fuck did I just say?” He growled, he leaned up and wrapped his hand around your throat. “Don’t be a fucking brat.” 

You opened your mouth to apologize but it was overtaken as you let out a yelp as he pulled himself out before slamming his cock back into you. You threw your head back as he fucked into you relentlessly, his hand tightening around your throat. You were in a state of euphoria as his cock dragged in and out of your walls. 

“Oh my god.” You mewl as he continues to completely destroy your pussy. Before you could process what’s happening, Steve flips you over so your face is pushed into the fluffy comforter. He pulls your hips back so your ass is in the air and he easily slides back into you. 

“Tight little cunt fucking loves my cock.” You cry out as his hand delivers a slap against your ass before moving to your hips and pushing you back onto his dick. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock hits your g-spot. 

“Daddy!” You call out. Steve leans over and pulls you up by your neck, causing your back to be flush with his front as he fucks up into you. His other hand moves down to play with your clit. 

“Are you gonna come baby girl? I feel your pussy milking my cock. You wanna come?” He growls in your ear. “Huh? You wanna come all over my cock?” 

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” 

“I’m so close, princess.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck. “Come on, baby. Squeeze my cock, make daddy come with you.” 

You feel that familiar feeling in your tummy as your orgasm approaches. 

“Shit.” You breathe out as your orgasm gets closer and closer. Steve’s fingers move faster against your clit. You cry out as your orgasm finally crashes over you. Steve lets out a groan as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, his cum shooting inside your walls. 

“You feel so good.” He breathes as his orgasm dies down. You hum in agreement but you’re too tired to say anything else. You close your eyes as you feel Steve lower your both to the bed. You whimper as he pulls out of you. 

“I’ll be right back.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you just give him a nod. You’re completely incoherent. Totally fucked out. He’s gone for a couple minutes and you hear the water in the bathroom running before he comes back. With your eyes closed you don’t see how he pauses at the side of bed, appreciating the curves of your body as you curled yourself under one of his many blankets. 

You whine as you feel him move the blanket before running a washcloth between your legs. “Steve?” 

“Yes, princess?” You hate that your stomach flutters at the nickname. 

“Don’t leave.” You mutter, closing your eyes once more. 

Steve doesn’t respond for a second and at first you think that he’s going to leave but then you feel the bed dip and a strong arm pulling you close. You smile to yourself as your hand lands on top of his. 

“Get some rest.” He whispers in your ear. 

“Mmkay.” you hum and you don’t know if it’s your imagination or not but you swore you felt Steve smile against your skin. 

You wake with a jolt. You glance at the clock and curse silently. You’ve been asleep for two hours. You turn over and see Steve still there, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. You find yourself staring at his long eyelashes and how they rest gently along the tops of his cheek. He doesn’t look like a scary mob boss here. He looks human. He looks peaceful. 

“I can feel you staring.” Steve opens one eye and gives you a small smile. “Like what you see?” 

You gasp as he grabs you and has you straddle his hips. You rest your hands easily on his chest and stare down at him, smirking as you feel his cock start to stir. 

“Hmmm, I love these.” His hands reach up and twist at your nipples causing you to bite back a moan. 

“Steve…” 

“And your pussy is so responsive to me, princess. It’s like it was made for me.” He rubs his thumb across your clit. “I can feel how wet you are again.” 

“Well you’re playing with my clit. Of course I’m gonna get wet.” You retort. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at you. “You really think being sassy is in your best interest?” 

You roll your eyes but don’t respond. Steve grumbles before lifting you up a bit and impaling you on his now hard cock. 

“Fuck!” You slap his chest and Steve chuckles. Nonetheless you start rocking your hips against his. 

“Nuh uh,” Steve tuts. He holds your hips still. “You’re just gonna sit here like this. Keep me nice and warm.” 

“Steveeee.” You whine, lowering your head to his chest. 

“Don’t be such a brat then.” He growls. You raise your head to look at him and even though his words are tough, his eyes are soft. And for a moment your taken back. “So sit still for daddy.” 

You groan but stay still. Steve runs his fingers up and down your back, tracing patterns along your skin and you hum in appreciation. Your peaceful moment is upended though when his phone rings on the nightstand next to him. 

“Rogers.” He answers quickly. You stay quiet as you hear the voice on the other end of the line talk about the product movement. You smirk to yourself as Steve begins to discuss logistics, completely ignoring your presence. 

“I’m a little busy, Stark.” Tony Stark? As in Mayor of the city Tony Stark? He was in on this too. “I’ll call you back.” Steve threw his phone back on the nightstand and brought your face up to his to pull you into a searing kiss. 

“Please, daddy?” You say against his lips. You start rocking your hips again and this time, Steve doesn’t stop you. 

You're a moaning mess as Steve’s hips snap up yours, your orgasm fast approaching. 

“Gonna cum already?” 

“Yes, yes! Oh god, I’m so close!” You breathe as he quickens his pace. 

“Cum, baby girl. Make a mess on daddy.” He groans, his head tipping back. 

“Steve!” You choke out as your body spasms with pleasure. Steve comes quickly after you and you shutter as you feel his seed leaking out of your worn out hole. 

You lay your head down on his chest again and try to gather your thoughts. You need to get out of here. 

“I should go.” You whisper, sitting up. Steve’s cock is still inside you and you almost don’t want to leave because you feel so full. 

“I wanna see you again.” He runs his fingers across your cheek. The sense of power you feel seeing the country’s biggest mob boss underneath you, drunk on your sex is overwhelming. You love the feeling. 

“You will. Soon.” You lean down and give him a deep kiss. “I promise.” You peck his lips once more before gathering your clothes from the floor. 

Slipping on your shoes you give him one last wink before hurrying out the door and down the hall. You manage to find a way to the kitchen without having to walk through the rest of the party and you sneak out behind a delivery man who brought in a ridiculously large ice sculpture. 

Once you're outside you take your heels off and run towards the van down the street. You hurriedly knock on the back, checking your surroundings to make sure no one sees you. Peter opens the door and he looks like he’s seen a ghost when he sees you. 

“Y/N!” He pulls you into the van. “Oh my god, I was getting worried. When we heard him say that he wanted to check the pin I had to turn off the devices so they wouldn’t get traced. And then you didn’t come out. But Fury said that you would be fine but man, I was so nervous and-”

“Parker, shut up and hand me a piece of paper.” You clapped your hands together, pulling him out of his ramble. Peter nodded and handed you a pen and paper watching intently as you started writing down everything you overheard on the phone call. 

“What is this?” 

“Rogers is working with Stark and they're moving some sort of product tomorrow.” You said proudly.

“How did you...this is huge!” 

“My Ma always said that there are two ways to get to a man. One is through his stomach and the other is in his pants.” You shrugged. 

“And I’m guessing you didn’t make him a grilled cheese sandwich.” Peter makes a face. 

“Not exactly.” You laugh. “Now let’s go. We gotta get this to Fury.” 

Part 2