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milksnake-tea · 1 year

Text

━━ homecoming.

He was always your favorite, ever since the day you'd found him. But you knew you couldn't keep him forever. One day, he would have to leave.

merman!blade x gn!reader

contains: fluff, hurt/comfort, a smudge of angst, blade is a little shit, reader is a scientist, potentially ooc blade, a hint of abandonment issues, making out (but nothing suggestive), not edited we die like jing liu, written before version 1.1

word count: 1.7k

a/n: posting this on the last day of mermay because ofc i am (im pst so shhh its not june yet). anyways merman blade is the most genius thing i have ever thought of no one will convince me otherwise

Your research facility was unlike any other in the world.

The hallways were enshrouded in darkness, with the only light sources being the illuminated tanks that lined the walls. They varied in size and shape, some cylindrical, others rectangular. Some tanks were lucky enough to have entire biomes in them, ranging from gorgeous coral reefs to murky kelp forests, and some had nothing in them at all. But what every tank had in common was an eerie glow of cyan that pulsated throughout their waters.

As you walked past the exhibits - your footsteps echoing loudly throughout the empty halls - your specimen began to unravel to life.

Electric eels sparked with lightning as you passed, and beside them, gigantic sea serpents hissed and coiled. Grindylows peeked from behind their forests, and jellyfish of all forms drifted aimlessly through their tanks. An eye the size of a soccer ball watched you from the largest exhibit of all, the giant squid thrilled to see its master.

This institute was home to mythology and biology alike, where fables rested alongside common knowledge. Here, in the middle of nowhere, with no land in sight, you were in the eye of the storm - vulnerable to the truths behind old sailors’ tales.

Despite this, you loved your job more than anything. These creatures that you studied, that you nurtured and raised, were like your children. Even the various hippocampi (who you didn’t have the heart to keep within your walls), were dear to you, and you to them.

Yes, there was the occasional sea monster that you had to shoot down. Yes, there were the occasional sirens who would try to lure you to your death. Most of the ocean’s creatures were dangerous, and well aware of it. Unfortunately, you were too smart and too stubborn to die.

A sharp tap on glass snapped you out of your thoughts. Smiling knowingly to yourself, you walked up to a cylindrical glass tank that spanned two stories tall, encircled by spiraling stairs.

“Hey, Blade. Missed me?” You greeted, placing a hand on the glass.

Out of all of the creatures that you held within your home, he was your favorite.

He really was a beauty. Gifted with a slender black tail, seared with a vicious red, the merman swayed gently in his tank, sleek, almost sharp fins flowing around him. Blackened scales gave way to fair skin, scarred with scratches and bites from previous battles. His hair billowed around him like a dark cloud, fading from black to a soft maroon.

You'd found Blade a few weeks ago, bleeding out in the coral reefs surrounding your little island of a facility. He’d likely gotten into a fight with other merpeople, as the more territorial ones tended to do. Even now, the wounds hadn’t completely healed, with bandages still wrapped around his abdomen.

Blade’s ever-cold face barely budged at your greeting. The second your hand met his tank, he backed away, swimming up towards the top of his tank - naturally expecting you to follow. You sighed, shaking your head knowingly.

By the time you had climbed the staircase to the top, Blade was already lounging on the stairs leading into his waters. His wet hair clung to his body as he watched you expectantly, his tail flicking small waves into motion. Sunlight cascaded over him from a glass ceiling, bathing him in a gentle light.

“You’re late.” His eyes never left your body as you neared him, eyeing you like a hungry predator.

You dropped your bag off some counter lining the walls. “I was dealing with the new shipments.”

“Oh? Am I finally getting some company?” Blade asked sarcastically, stretching like a cat in the warm sun. You don’t think it was an accident that he rolled over, shamelessly showing off his sculpted abdomen.

“Like I could just order a merman off the web,” you scoffed, sitting next to him and dipping your legs into the tank. “You’re just a special case.”

He didn’t respond to that, merely watches you with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint. Knowing him, it could be anything from warm affection to a mischievous desire to inconvenience you by the slightest amount. He was petty like that.

Briefly, his tail came to brush against your legs. You giggled at the action, the thin fins ticklish against your skin. A flicker of a smile flashed across Blade’s face, gone just as fast as it had appeared.

“How are your wounds?” you asked, your hand absentmindedly coming to pet his head. Where Blade would have bitten anyone else, the merman keened at the touch, closing his eyes briefly.

“Better.” His voice was barely above a whisper as you threaded your fingers through his wet hair.

“That’s good. No pain?”

“None,” he answered. As you removed your hand, for a moment, he chased it, before he met your teasing eyes and remembered himself. Coughing, he quickly turned away, refusing to meet your amused gaze.

“At this rate, you’ll be leaving sooner than expected,” you hummed. Blade’s eyes widened at your words, an unfamiliar pang hitting his chest. “I’m sure you’ve been missing your friends.”

Blade scoffed at the notion, rolling back onto his chest to stare at the floor. “Hardly.”

“Well,” you shrugged, kicking up some water. “At the very least, you’d miss the open waters.”

That, he couldn’t deny. But even still, the thought of finally leaving the facility had become foreign to him. Three weeks prior, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to get out of this place, this tank. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Hey, chin up.” Your hand cupped his cheek, bringing him to look up at you. “It’s not like you’ll never see me again. You can always visit.”

He doubted that. Out in the ocean, he had little free time to himself. He would spend his days constantly on the run from various mermaid kingdoms and tribes, and if not that, he’d be hunting, searching for his next meal. He journeyed the seas without end. Blade was a vagrant, a wanderer without a home.

But here, perhaps…

His body moved without thinking. Pushing himself up onto his arms, he leaned over you, water droplets falling onto your shirt as he caged you between his arms. His gaze had become hazy, his eyes lidded. His breath shuddered in his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, drinking in as much of you as he could.

Blade didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. You heard his words loud and clear, without him needing to say a word.

Stay.

It was unclear who he was talking to, whether it be you or himself. There was a subtle desperation in the way his chest heaved as he breathed, breathless without a thief.

Your arms, your welcoming arms, wrapped around his shoulders like a warm blanket, bringing him in for an embrace. Immediately, he latched onto the opportunity, gripping onto you as though you’d disappear if he dared loosen his grip. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, forever engraving it into his memory.

If only he was human, he’d lament. If only he could walk the lands like you did. If only the two of you weren’t separated by land and sea. If only - his grip became just a little tighter - he could stay like this a little longer.

You stroke the back of his head gently, feeling Blade shiver at your touch. He wasn’t crying - you didn’t know if he even remembered how.

Deep inside, you wanted him to stay. You didn’t want to let him go. It was an ugly, selfish part of you that wanted to keep him for yourself. But you knew you couldn't keep him here. He had to return to the ocean, where he belonged.

He pulled away from you, yet still held onto your arms like a lifeline. You never thought you’d describe the stoic merman as desperate, but there was no other word that could properly depict the emotion swirling in his eyes.

Your hands came to cradle his face gently, unable to say a word. Blade’s breath hitched.

His lips barely parted as he spoke, his voice raspy and low.

“Forgive me.”

That was the only warning you got before he crashed his lips into yours.

His kiss was unlike any other you’ve had. Whereas your previous experiences were tender and romantic, this was hungry, raw, depraved. Blade kissed you with the fervor of a starving man, as though you would be his final meal. He was aggressive with his affections, practically clawing onto your shirt as he clutched you closer to him.

Your heart raced in your chest as you met his violent dance, parting your lips for a moment to allow him to slip in his tongue. You welcomed him in, firmly holding his face. Emotions swirled in you like the blurred voices of a crowd, overwhelming and satiating you at the same time.

To say that you were surprised by his actions would be a lie. You’ve known his feelings for a while now, and had plenty of time to accept yours. It was obvious, in the gentlest touches, in the way he could make you smile just by being around you.

You’ve avoided acknowledging these feelings for the longest time, and so did he.

When the two of you finally parted, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, the only thing you could do was watch. You studied Blade’s face, clearly now, for the first time. Your fingers traced around his jawline, admiring how his cheeks had become dyed with a pretty red. You swiped over his parted lips, still catching his breath from the kiss. Your thumb rubbed just underneath his eyes, brushing away the loose strands of hair from his face.

You’ve always known he was a beauty, but in this moment, he simply took your breath away.

Blade covered your hand in his, nuzzling into your palm. He softly pressed his lips to your inner wrist, a stark contrast from the kiss he’d just ravaged you with. He kept his eyes solely on you as he did this, trapping your gaze with his stare.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Huh?” You blinked, trying to snap yourself out of your daze. Blade smirked against your palm, swiping out his tongue and dragging it against your skin.

“Come, now,” he mused. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #hsr blade #honkai star rail blade x reader #blade x reader #hsr blade x reader #x reader #y/n #reader #reader insert #oneshot #mermay #archives 🏵️

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mailjeevasfan · 1 year

Note

hii! Can you do death note cast with a fem s/o who is very pretty, nice and rich pls? Like those pretty girls with Dior and Channel

ofc!

-death note x fem!reader

-light, l lawliet, misa amane, mello, matt, near, matsuda

༺♡༻

dn characters with a sweet gf who loves designers ❦

light

-he’d probably look good with a gf like this

-light is eager to make his public image look good, and having a presentable and wealthy girlfriend is definitely going to help with that.

-it feels strange to say but bro has a stressful life lmao so you being super sweet and nice all the time is going to be good for him. even if he doesn’t appreciate it on the outside very often, he really does.

༺♡༻

l lawliet

-i don’t think he would care too much for designer clothes and stuff like that. i mean, have you seen him

-however he appreciates that it is important to you. he knows that it’s the kind of thing you’re interested in, and slowly begins to compliment you when you have a new top or expensive perfume on etc (i’d like to believe you do this to get him to notice). i can also see him buying you gifts he knows you’d like, the crazy ass skyscraper he built proves he has the money (i’m still confused about that. aizawa had the realest perspective)

-i also think he’d find your personality cute. as much as he’d like to believe he’s great at staying on track with his work, even with you around, he can’t resist how sweet you are sometimes.

༺♡༻

misa amane

-would LOOOVE this!! she’d absolutely adore having a gf who appreciates high end fashion the way she does.

-even if your styles differ at times, you still both have a great eye for this sort of thing. you love to borrow each others clothes and go shopping together and stuff.

-i think misa with another very nice and wealthy girl would go down well tbh. you both being so sweet would work well and you’d be very close, especially due to your common interests.

༺♡༻

mello

-he’s a pretty stylish guy let’s be real. even if he doesn’t get it the way you do, with the specific designers you like, he still appreciates your love for that kind of thing.

-he’d never say it, but he finds your style very cute. i think he’d also buy you gifts that you’d really like. if he saw you in something he bought for you, he’d be so so happy

-your personality contrasts his well. he learns that he needs to be less aggressive and crazy all the time LMAO. in return, he teaches you to be more blunt sometimes. he totally teases you for being kinda preppy and for ur niceness from time to time. IN AN ENDEARING WAY THO

༺♡༻

matt

-kind of similar to l, except he can understand the want to be more fashionable. i mean he has drip bffr

-but seriously he gets it, but probably isn’t all that interested. he likes to see you happy when you’re in your favourite clothes, it makes him happy to see it. he probably doesn’t care about wealthiness, he just loves you because of who you are

-however, like mello, he also probably teases you for being kind of preppy and also being super sweet and nice.

༺♡༻

near

-this sounds so weird and stupid but i feel like near would appreciate the craftsmanship and detail orientation of the clothing? LMAO IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN he’s obviously not interested in fashion one bit but that’s kind of his way of trying to understand your love for it. it’s just how his brain sees it

-he would also buy you new clothes and stuff because it’s an easier way for him to show affection

-he really likes your personality too. he’s a pretty cold guy most of the time so you manage to warm him up a little ig

༺♡༻

matsuda

-aw i think he’d be so cute. i think matsuda is another person who genuinely gets your love of expensive clothes and materialistic things. he strikes me as a guy who would love love love to own a very expensive watch (you buy him one for his birthday. he cries)

-he’s the sweetest man alive so he’s probably the best match for a person like this on the list imo

-you guys are the cutest little couple. misa especially would find you guys absolutely adorable

༺♡༻

#death note #mail jeevas #mello #mihael keehl #l lawliet #light yagami #matt #misa amane #death note x reader #near #nate river #mail jeevas x reader #misa amane x reader #near x reader #mello x reader #light x reader #l lawliet x reader #matsuda touta x reader #matsuda touta

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sixhours · 5 months

Text

Postpartum

A one-shot set in the One Day at a Time universe. This probably won't make sense unless you've read that, but you do you.

Rating: Teen Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, mostly follows canon, angst, hurt/comfort, fluffy baby stuff, babyfic, postpartum depression-ish (not really, but could be triggering), ppd, hormones are wild y'all, breastfeeding is hard, mentions of Sarah and her being black so obviously leaning hard into the tv series and maybe racial themes if you squint? Word count: 1.8k

Notes: Sometimes I just can't get these characters out of my head.

You can also read Postpartum on AO3.

Joel wakes to the sound of crying, and not the baby’s this time. It’s Charlie, sitting up in bed with Anna at her breast, curled over the child’s nursing form and sobbing.

“Hey, whoa,” he rasps, sitting up and fumbling for the bedside lamp. “S’wrong?”

“She’s not getting enough,” she says through tears. “I don’t know…I just…it’s been three days and she needs to eat and there’s no letdown and I can barely squeeze anything out–”

“Hey, shh, s’okay,” he says. “Midwife said that’s normal, ‘member? Can take a few days for everythin’ to…uh…work.”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if I’m b-broken? What if she’s starving and she can’t tell us?”

He shakes his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and sliding over to tuck her under his arm, careful because she’s sore and tender everywhere.

“You’re not broken,” he says. “You’re just…tired. And–”

“If you say I’m hormonal I will hurt you,” she hisses, then her eyes go wide and apologetic in the dim light, lower lip quivering.

“I’m sorry,” she moans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–it’s these fucking hormones, isn’t it? Fuck.”

“S’alright, I know–”

“You don’t. You really don’t. Everything hurts and I’m wearing a goddamned diaper –and these fucking cloth pads are worthless, I think I’m leaking on the bed again–”

“S’why we put a towel down. It’ll wash out—”

“...and my vagina is fucking ruined . It’s g-g-grotesque.”

“Midwife said you didn’t even tear,” he says, biting down hard on his cheek to stifle a chuckle. “I’m sure your, uh…your…um y’know…is just fine.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, tears catching on her lashes and streaming down her cheeks.

“My nipples feel like they’re being rubbed with broken glass. She doesn’t even have fucking teeth yet, how can it hurt so much? And she’s not getting enough, I just know it–”

He swallows hard and rubs her back like when she was in labor, firm strokes at the base of her spine.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpers, rocking forward over the baby. “I can’t…I wanted this so bad and now I’m just going to fuck it up.”

Another sob and now the baby starts to fuss quietly. Salty tears drip from the end of Charlie’s nose and land on the shell of Anna’s tiny ear, catching in her hair, dribbling down her forehead.

“Oh, great, now I’m crying on her,” Charlie sniffs. “Take her, Joel, before I drown her, she’s gonna be soaked–”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up,” he murmurs, but he lets Charlie slide the baby into the crook of his free arm. He bounces Anna for a few seconds, watches her tiny hands and fingers flex, then relax. Soon she’s fast asleep, entirely unaware of the drama unfolding around her.

“You’re doin’ just fine,” he says, kissing the damp curl of hair at Charlie’s temple. “S’only been three days.”

“I’m so scared,” she whimpers. “How are we supposed to do this? The world is fucking over , and we’ve gone and–and brought a child into it. What the fuck were we thinking ?”

“We weren’t. We were really fuckin’ drunk,” he quips.

She glares up at him with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, biting back the urge to laugh as he redoubles his backrubbing efforts in a silent apology. “But…you’re doin’ so good. She’s safe. She’s healthy. Look–she’s snorin’.”

Indeed, Anna’s tiny sniffles have deepened into soft baby sighs that puff against Joel’s bare chest. He finds himself unable to look away, drawn into a trance by the subtle rise and fall of her ribs, the rapid pulse of her heart thrumming under her delicate skin.

“She’s perfect, see? You’re doin’ great. Could use a little more sleep is all.”

Charlie whimpers miserably and presses her face to his side. “She can’t sleep if she’s starving, Joel.”

“She’s not gonna starve. We’ll call the midwife in the morning. She said they have—what is it, donors? If you can’t—“

This elicits another wail from Charlie. “You mean if I’m broken .”

Shit.

“No, no, that’s not what I—I meant just to—I’m—fuck,” he grits out, decides he’s better off shutting up. Instead, he rocks his daughter in one arm and holds the mother of his child in the other, waiting out the storm.

“Was it like this with Sarah?” Charlie murmurs after a while, voice laden with exhaustion.

“A little,” he says, hesitating. “Her mom was a lot younger than you an’ she wasn’t…wasn’t ready. She was a kid herself, and I prob’ly wasn’t the best partner. Hell, I was only 22. S’not an excuse, but…y’know. S’what it was.”

He shifts uncomfortably, remembering the long nights, the fighting, the abrupt dissolution of his family’s future before it had even begun.

“Anyway, she uh…she couldn’t handle it. Left when Sarah was a few months old.”

Charlie makes a sound in the back of her throat, then reaches over, gently grasping one of Anna’s impossibly small feet, rubbing at her little toes until the baby spreads them wide and pushes against her fingertips.

“She’s so perfect, I’m worried I’ll…I’ll ruin her, somehow,” she whispers. “But I can’t imagine leaving her.”

He meets her eyes, the next word rolling tender from his lips, tightening his hold around her shoulders to emphasize the point.

“Exactly.”

They stay like this until her breathing slows, until they’re drifting in that liminal space of exhausted new parents. Charlie wipes at her eyes, lets out a drained sigh.

“I wish he could have met her,” she says, her words muffled against Joel’s chest.

He . Her late husband, one of many ghosts that floats about the edges of their lives, caught in the periphery. Joel feels a twinge of something like envy, but it’s hard to be jealous of a dead man, so he brushes it aside.

“You’ve never told me his name, y’know,” he says instead.

“I didn’t? Oh,” she trails off. “It was Marcus.”

He rumbles an mmm in acknowledgment and rests his chin on the top of her head, marveling at how perfectly she fits there, wondering if he could fill that space for her someday.

“Sometimes I could swear I see him in her,” she continues. “Isn’t that silly?”

“I dunno,” he murmurs, swallowing hard. “Sometimes…I think I see Sarah in her, too.”

She blinks up at him. “Well…at least that makes sense .”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Joel sniffs, tracing a thumb down Anna’s cheek, lost in thought. “Sarah took after her mom…she was half black. Looked nothin’ like me.”

He regards their daughter–pale complexion, silver eyes, straight dark hair. But still, she’s in there; his Sarah, his baby girl. Something about the slope of her nose, the arch of her eyebrows, the curl of her thumb against her bottom lip.

“What was Sarah like?” Charlie murmurs sleepily, nestling further into the crook of his shoulder.

“Stubborn as hell,” he says immediately, the words pouring out before he can lose his courage. “An’ you don’t have to tell me she got that from me. Already know.”

“You? Stubborn?” Charlie says, and he can feel her smiling against him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks. “When Sarah was about three, she threw a fit in the store. Wanted…somethin’ or other, I dunno. A toy, prob’ly. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I had to drag her outta there kickin’ and screamin’.

“Except…she doesn’t really look like my kid, y’know? So she had the whole store convinced I was tryin’ to kidnap her, and they got security askin’ me questions, and she doesn’t understand, just keeps…keeps cryin’ and holdin’ on to me–”

He breaks off, surprised at the clarity of the memory; his flailing, sobbing kid in his arms as the security guard grilled him, the creeping shame and anger at being singled out, him and his girl against the world. A lump lodges itself in his throat and he blinks back tears.

“Got us outta there as fast as I could,” he says. “God…haven’t thought about that in forever.”

“That’s…awful.”

He shrugs. “Losin’ Sarah was awful. The rest was just…life.”

“You don’t talk about her,” Charlie whispers.

“S’hard, but…this helps,” he murmurs, stroking Anna’s dark hair, ducking his head to place a gentle kiss to her crown.

“Anyway,” he sighs, a deep, shuddering breath as he brings himself back to the flour-sack weight of the baby girl in his arms, the warm comfort of Charlie’s shoulder against his ribs.

“All that to say…I get it. Hell, sometimes I catch myself thinkin’ Ellie has my eyes,” he chuckles. “Makes no fuckin’ sense…but maybe it don’t have to.”

Charlie shifts, rests her head against his chest, slurring her words slightly. “Mmmm…she does, though, doesn’t she?”

“Sure, let’s say she does. And this li’l one has…Marcus’ smile or ears or somethin’, maybe. He’s part of you…so he’s part of her, too.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, yawning. Soon her breathing is slow and even, her body relaxed and pliant against his.

He allows himself the luxury of staring, struck by the way Charlie’s dark lashes fan over her cheeks, the mirror image of Anna’s.

Within minutes, they’re both asleep in his arms.

“Joel…Joel, wake up. I think–”

Charlie’s voice is soft and calm, no longer frantic, her words nuzzling gently against the dim reaches of his brain. He’s vaguely aware of the weight of the baby being lifted from his chest. He blinks, stretching, neck and shoulders tight where he’s dozed off against the headboard. The light is still on and a soft early morning dawn filters through the bedroom window.

He watches with heavy eyes as Charlie puts the baby to her breast, watches Anna’s little mouth eagerly searching for the nipple, bobbing against it greedily before latching on, drawing a soft hiss from her mother at the initial sting.

The baby makes deep, wet suckling sounds and tiny, satisfied grunts, making him think of a piglet. He smiles groggily and cups her soft little head in the palm of his hand, watching frothy bubbles of milk gather at the corner of her lips as she eats and eats and eats.

“Joel, look…”

Charlie’s trying to show him something but he’s too tired, too sleep-deprived to understand until he feels her hand guiding his, placing it on her swollen breast the way she used to place it on her stomach. The flesh underneath is tight and full and definitely not broken.

He kisses her crown and breathes her in, all lavender and powder and milk, still cradling the baby’s head in his hand as he drifts off to sleep.

#the last of us hbo #fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #babyfic #hurt/comfort #angst #postpartum depression #postpartum

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months

Text

✨Deep Blue Part 1: Into the Deep✨

Diver! Joel Miller x marine biologist! OFC

Series Masterlist

A/N: Here is my submission to my ocean writing challenge! I originally thought this would be a one shot, but I thought of other parts I want to write, so I hope you enjoy part 1! 💙

Summary: Cleo gets more than she expects when she is gifted a spot on a great white shark diving experience. Little does she know, her friend, Jenna, was trying to play match maker all along with a certain hot diver named Joel Miller.

Rating: 18+ Only MDNI

Word Count: 6.4k

Tags: Cleo is the original female character of this story, diver! Joel, switching POVs, flirting, a little bit of grumpy Joel, feelings, eventual smut, diving with great whites in California, Joel owns a boat, no use y/n, no outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The California sun beats down on Joel’s tanned skin, the summer breeze throwing around his tousled curls from the wind of the calm seas. He walks along the wooden deck, hauling some diving gear to his boat called Deep Blue. She was one of his most prized possessions, the first boat he got to make a business out of. Nothing beats sailing out to sea and diving with the beautiful creatures of the deep. Call it a sport or a hobby, but he’d stay out on the tides all day if he could, and sometimes he did.

He grunts as he hoists the expensive, heavy gear over the edge of the boat, tossing some brand new fins and regulators over the side. As he starts walking back to his white Chevy for more gear, he hears a high pitched voice calling his name down the dock.

Christ.

“Joel, wait up!” Jenna yells loudly, her flip flops flopping against the sturdy deck.

He groans and stops in his tracks, turning around to face the nuisance of his day. “Hi, Jenna,” he mutters as he rolls his eyes.

“So, will you do it?” she asks with big hazel eyes, pushing him to say yes.

“Do what?” he scowls.

“Will you take her out?”

“Take who out?!” he barks.

“The girl I told you about! Come on, Joel. She’s dying to dive with some great whites, and you’re the only guide I trust to do that,” she whines pathetically.

He sighs with an annoyed expression and crosses his large arms over his broad chest. “Why doesn’t she just buy a ticket like a normal person then?”

“She’s not just a normal person, she’s my friend!” she laughs out, stomping her purple flip flops into the edge of the deck.

“Well, tell her to get on the list. I’ve got customers waitin’ to be taken out on the water.”

He starts moving again, brushing past her until she grabs his bicep and holds him back. “But Joellll, she’s wanted to do this ever since I met her. She deserves a private tour. Can’t you just give her a chance?”

“Are you tryin’ to set me up on a date or somethin’?” he asks with one eyebrow cocking up high on his forehead while his dark eyes narrow at Jenna.

“Duh! She’s like my best friend. And she’s totally your type,” she smiles, her blonde ponytail blowing softly in the salty breeze.

“No,” he says harshly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to get done.”

He tries to walk past her, but she steps in front of him with her arms crossed over her aquamarine colored tank top. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs defeatedly. “You’re not gonna stop askin’ until I say yes, ain’t that right?”

“Nope!” She laughs loudly as she twists her hips in place.

“Christ,” he mutters. “What’s her name?”

“Cleo, and she’s a total babe! Like she’s a knockout. Totally your type, like I said earlier. She’s a new marine biology graduate. She’s a killer diver, extremely smart, gorgeous, and she’s super sweet,” she beams.

“I don’t know, Jenna. I don’t really…”

“You don’t really what? Date? Well, you should! Come on, do it for Jonas,” she begs, puppy eyes simmering into his skull.

“Jonas ain’t the one houndin’ me about this, you are. You beg your boyfriend this much for things? Jesus Christ,” he mutters while he pinches the bridge of his nose in mere frustration.

“Well, sometimes,” she giggles, “but this is about you!”

“Jenna, I’ve got a business to run. I’ve got payin’ customers waitin’ for me to call ‘em back. I can’t jus’ take one of your friends out on a dive for free jus’ ‘cause you want me to,” he hisses.

“I promise you I’m not asking for no reason. This would mean the absolute world to her. And hello, she’s single and hot, and you need to get laid! You’re rotting away on that boat, Miller. Pretty soon you’re gonna shrivel up and…”

“Jenna,” he warns with the tick of his jaw.

“Joel Miller, please! Come onnnn, just take her out once. Promise it’ll be worth your while. Please, please, pleaseeeeee,” she whines.

“Alright, alright!” He holds a hand out to stop her from running her mouth anymore and sighs, carding his fingers through his slicked back tousled curls as another groan escapes him. “This Sunday. Have her here, at my boat by 9:00 in the morning, no later than that.”

“Yes! Thank you, Joel! You’re the best!” She throws her arms around his neck and gives him a big squeeze until he pushes her off annoyed, readjusting his button-up shirt by the blue collar.

“She doesn’t even know you’re tryin’ to set her up, does she?” he huffs.

“Nope!” she giggles.

“Goddamn it, Jenna,” he groans. “You owe me big time.” He points an accusing finger at her, and she just gives him a big toothy grin in return.

“Yeah, yeah. Just wait till you meet her. I won’t owe you a damn thing after that!”

She runs up the dock to go find Jonas, and Joel just stands there and sighs, muttering curse words under his breath while he hauls himself back to the truck.

“She better be worth it, Jenna,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head while he clenches his jaw.

This would be a long week.

Joel sets the scuba gear out on the back of the boat, preparing the oxygen tanks and BCDs all while getting ready for the trip out to Catalina. Right on the outskirts of the island is a little alcove where the great whites love to hang out early in the day.

He sighs while he checks the air in the tanks, cursing under his breath from Jenna getting under his skin. He should be having a fully booked tour today, not taking some girl he doesn’t know out on the water for free. It was a favor he was doing, a nice thing he shouldn’t be doing. Even though Jenna was his friend, he didn’t need her begging him to take out one of her friends.

He’d thought about canceling all day yesterday, paced up and down the dock while clenching his jaw and flexing his fingers into tight fists. Jonas had asked what was up, but all he had to say was Jenna’s name before Jonas started rolling his own eyes, too.

It’s not that Joel is against dating or taking girls out, but taking just one out on a private tour is going to cost him later. He likes to do the great white tours with big groups. He’s never done a private one yet. This would be his first, and he wouldn’t lie that he was nervous as hell that it was a woman he was taking out. But the bit about you being a marine biologist made him feel a little better. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as he was expecting it to be.

He lines the colorful fins up next to one of the white leather seats and hoists the anchor up on the deck. As he leans over to stock the ice chest full of waters, he hears light footsteps down the wooden dock and then a young woman clearing her throat.

Just when he dumps all the waters into the ice chest, he hears your voice for the very first time. “Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Joel? I think this is where I’m supposed to be, but I just wanted to be sure I was in the right spot.”

He stops what he’s doing and pushes himself off the ice chest. “That would be me,” he murmurs from the floor. When he gets a strong hold on the back of the boat and pulls himself up, he gets a good look at the woman that stands in front of him.

“Are you here to…” His mouth parts open and he chokes on his own words. His eyes go wide when he sees you standing there, a pink beach bag over your shoulder with a nervous smile splayed across your pretty face.

He can’t believe his eyes, blinking once, twice to make sure you’re even really standing there in that short blue summer dress that barely grazes your tanned thighs. His eyes slide down your body, taking in the beauty that stands before him.

Your hair reaches your shoulders, summer kissed highlights coating your beachy waves. Your eyes are absolutely stunning, shimmering diamonds that remind him of the deep blue sea. The sun hits them at just the right angle, making them sparkle like the glistening ocean surrounding him. Your body is tanned, toned, mesmerizing like the siren call your voice gives off when you speak. And your smile. God, your beautiful smile. He thinks you look like an angel, like you were sent just for him. He doesn’t know you, not yet, but now he’s thinking he shouldn’t have given Jenna such a hard time because he thinks he’s just found the most beautiful girl in the world.

He blinks a few times, slowly registering that he’s just standing and staring like a mad man when he should be helping you onto the boat. He clears his throat and holds out a hand, waiting for you to take it. “I’m Joel Miller, captain of the boat and also your diving guide. And you must be…”

“Cleo,” you finish for him with a slight blush to your warm cheeks.

“Cleo…” he repeats slowly, memorizing the color of your aquamarine irises entirely, mapping out starfish in your deep blue ocean eyes.

You latch your hand with his, and he swears he stops breathing for a couple seconds as your soft fingers mold to his rough, calloused hand. You seem to lose your words as you just stare up at him, blinking those thick, long eyelashes his way.

Jenna’s really done it this time.

He helps you up onto the end of the boat, leading you to the edge of one of the white leather seats where you set your bag down.

He glances at the waterproof watch on his left wrist and looks at the time. You’re fifteen minutes early. What a good girl you are. “You’re early,” he says with surprise in his voice, looking up from his watch to the beautiful girl that stands before him.

You shrug your shoulders and give him a half smile. “It’s only considerate to be early. Besides, I wanted to get a good spot before anyone else showed up in case I lost out on a good seat.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you and leans against the metal railing. “Other people?”

“Yeah, aren’t these tours usually fully booked?” you ask, confused at the question.

“Sure are, but looks like you’re the only one today. It’s jus’ you and me, darlin’.”

Your mouth drops open, wide eyes landing on his while you look totally baffled by the statement. “No other people booked?”

“Nope,” he half smirks, crossing his arms all proudly as he watches the gears in your head grind and tick.

“Oh. That’s ummm… wow,” you stutter, still baffled at the response. Jenna clearly didn’t tell you anything other than you had a ticket for a great white shark dive tour.

“Is that a problem?” he asks, trying not to laugh at your shocked expression.

“Oh, no! Not a problem at all! This is just kind of incredible that I even got a spot today and that no one else booked. Lucky me,” you laugh.

“Lucky you,” he smirks, deciding he won’t tell you the real reason you got a free tour. At least not yet he won’t. He’ll let you enjoy the afternoon without bringing up Jenna.

“Oh, wait a second. I have something for you.” You dig in your little beach bag, reaching in and pulling out a plastic container. “I made these last night. Thought I could indulge everyone in a little snack for the trip, but looks like it’s just you. So, these are for you.”

You hand him a small container of fresh chocolate chip cookies that look delicious. The soft cookies looking like they could melt on his tongue. He takes one look at the batch of cookies, then back at your shy smile. He thinks you’re so sweet. “Now, how did you know chocolate chip cookies are my favorite, darlin’?” he asks with a crooked smile.

“I dunno. Guess it’s just your lucky day,” you beam, eyes all starry and dreamlike.

He carefully opens the clear lid and snatches a fresh cookie from the top, popping it in his mouth slowly. The cookie is warm, gooey, the chocolate melting on his tongue. He silently groans as it slides down his throat, his taste buds coming to life. He’s never tasted anything quite this good, especially for something being his favorite dessert. He has a major sweet tooth, but he thinks he might be sweeter for you now.

He finishes it off and swallows, licking his bottom lip clean as he closes the container and grins your way. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted. Thank you. Think they might all be gone by the time we get back to shore.”

You giggle, flipping your long locks over your shoulder as you bask in the moment. He thinks you’re absolutely breathtaking with the sunlight glowing down on you right now. “Glad I made them then,” you smile.

He sets the cookies down inside the helm and walks back out, stopping right in front of you. “So, you been divin’ before?” he asks with a curious expression.

“Mhm. Loads of times. I’ve been certified for a while, just haven’t had the opportunity to do something like this before. It’s really exciting! And great white sharks of all things? I’m so lucky,” you gush.

He chuckles to himself, admiring your wide grin and big beautiful eyes. He would have a hard time saying no to this one. “Yeah, nothing like gettin’ up close to those beautiful creatures. Definitely incredible,” he replies softly.

“So you’ve been doing this a while now? Doing shark diving tours?” you ask curiously, crossing a tanned leg over your knee while you patiently await an answer from him.

“Sure have. A little over three years, but been divin’ way longer than that.”

You nod your head, a small smile curling over the edges of your glossy pink lips. He thinks he could look at you all day long.

Another moment passes and he almost forgets he has a schedule to make. “Well, should probably get goin’. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Yeah, probably should,” you reply.

He smiles shyly at you and nods to the red cooler in the back of the boat. “Got some cold waters in there for you if you need anything to drink. Snacks are up in the cabin. Oh, but before we go, let me show you around the boat.”

He leads you around his boat, showing you all the safety and emergency procedures, showing you the bathroom underneath the first level, giving you a tour of inside the cabin and a quick rundown on how the steering works in the boat in case there was an emergency.

He finds that you’re a quick learner, knowing your way around a boat pretty well. Impressed is an understatement, he’s quite enamored with you already. A beautiful marine biologist who’s definitely a knockout, just like Jenna had told him. Maybe he should start listening to her ramble about things more often.

When he finally sets off to Catalina Island and gets out far enough to where there’s no one around, he glances back and sneaks a peek at you. He watches you looking in awe out on the blue horizon, catching sprinkles of ocean water in your sun kissed hair, getting lost in your gentle smile when you see a dolphin jump out of the wake of the water behind the boat. Yeah, he’s hooked already.

The water is calm today, barely any waves that rock the boat back and forth. It’s just a peaceful Sunday morning, one that might turn his world upside down.

When he looks back again he freezes, eyes blowing wide when he sees you slipping your sundress down your thighs, only now wearing a revealing coral pink bikini that accentuates the curve of your ass, the cleavage of your full breasts.

He chokes on his own spit, having to tear his eyes away from the tanned beauty that stands before him. But he still watches you with the flick of his eyes in the mirror, spreading sunscreen all over the soft skin of your body. He wishes he could help you spread the lotion on your back, run his fingers over your long neckline, lather it down your long legs, tangle his fingers with your hair, kiss the delicate skin of your collarbone…

Cleo, Cleo, Cleo.

He shakes his tousled curls and runs his fingers down his jawline, catching the edge of his greying scruff. He needs to pull himself together, has to stop getting distracted by you. Jenna was more than right, he’s a fucking goner.

The salty ocean breeze kisses your tanned skin as you stand at the back of the boat, your hair tangling from the wind blowing against your shoulders. The water is crystal clear, shades of vivid blues bouncing over the soft waves. Today was the big day, diving with great white sharks along Catalina Island. The moment you’ve been waiting for your entire life.

You’re a recent graduate of Scripps Institution, getting your Master’s degree in Marine Biology, specializing in sharks. You never even imagined swimming with great whites would be possible, that was until you were introduced to Joel Miller. A dreamy boat captain and dive master that took people out on excursions to dive with the beautiful creatures of the deep.

He’s easy on the eyes. Sandy brown tousled curls threaded with silver locks, a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard he likes to slide his fingers through. His shoulders are broad, toned abs glistening in the sun over smooth, tanned skin. And his eyes. God, those big, beautiful brown eyes. Golden honey irises that glitter like gold in the ocean sunlight. He’s such a dreamboat.

You don’t know how you got so lucky getting a private tour with him, but you were eternally grateful for this rare opportunity. Great white sharks and a handsome, broad diver? What more could you possibly ask for?

You slide your skin tight wetsuit on and peel the thick layers over your bright pink bikini. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, even when he’s throwing the anchor out into the cold blue water. A couple minutes later and he’s right at your side, flicking his eyes over your figure.

“Need a hand with that?” He nods to the back of your wetsuit, and you slightly turn for him.

You gasp when he places his large hands on you, one gently sliding around the curve of your hip and the other slowly zipping you up. His warm breath blows down your neck, clouding your mind as his meaty hand lingers for just a few seconds too long on your hip.

He circles around and starts handing you your buoyancy compensator. “So, a marine biologist, huh?” he asks, flicking his honey eyes over you again.

You blush and nod. “Mhm. Just graduated this spring with my master’s actually. From Scripps Institution of Oceanography.”

He cocks an eyebrow up and lets out a low whistle. “Impressive. That ain’t an easy college to get into. I guess congratulations are in order.”

You laugh while you adjust the straps around your buoyancy compensator. “Thanks. I definitely worked hard to get in.”

“I’m sure you did, sweetheart.” He flicks his amber eyes up to yours and then gets back to work on feeding the oxygen tank into the back of your BCD while you try to fight off another deep blush to your cheeks.

After he gets your gear aligned on your back, he sheds his white t-shirt and throws it to the side. You have to avert your eyes from staring at the toned, tanned abs that appear in front of you, have to bite your lower lip when he slides on the skin tight black wetsuit and grabs his own BCD and oxygen tank, gearing up without as much as one grunt from him. Strong. He’s so strong.

“Check my oxygen tank, will ya?” he asks nicely, turning his broad back to you while you assess the tube and all the cords, making sure none were tangling around each other.

“Looks good, Joel.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You absolutely love that nickname, but maybe he’s just being nice. He doesn’t sound like he’s from California, but from down south somewhere. Maybe that was common there, just some southern hospitality.

You smile up at him and brush it off. “No problem.”

“Your computer workin? he asks, checking out the digital numbers on it.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Good. Now check your regulator,” he instructs.

You click on the button where air blows out, showing him the equipment is up to speck. “Check,” you reply. “You’re very vigilant, you know that?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Have to be, sweetheart. It’s my job to keep you safe. I know you signed a waiver, but it’s still my responsibility to keep you safe out there. The ocean is dangerous, even if you are an excellent diver. Anything can happen, jus’ gotta be prepared for the unknown. And I’ve dealt with a lot of stupid, irresponsible guests on my boat. But you won’t be one of those, will ya?”

He cups your chin for two seconds too short, making it a point to say you’re not those stupid divers. And the way he looks at you all invested and adamant makes your thighs clench together. “No, sir. You won’t catch me slipping out there. I wouldn’t dare,” you say confidently.

“Didn’t think so, darlin’.”

Darlin’. Jesus, you’re sunk.

He hands you a clean scuba mask and leads you over to the metal ladder at the back of the boat. He stops you for a second, putting a large hand on your shoulder as he turns you to look him straight in the face. “Before we go in, I wanna make somethin’ clear. Want you to stay real close to me. Don’t stray off. This is great white territory, their territory. You make one wrong move and you could be in a world of trouble. You don’t mess with them, they won’t mess with you. We clear?” he asks in a deep, serious tone, eyebrows fused together as his eyes stay fully focused on you.

You nod and give him a thumbs up. “I got it, Joel. Promise I won’t stray off, and I’ll respect their territory.”

“Attagirl,” he smiles, patting you softly on the back of the shoulder while you fight to keep your voice composed.

Attagirl. He just called you a good girl basically. Damn it, you weren’t supposed to fall for the shark diver, but look at you. You’re basically soaring off the cliff at this point.

He takes his large hands and starts double checking your gear, making sure all cords are secure and that you’re safe during the dive. You can see he’s very protective already. You watch him slide his hand over your regulator, watch the way he’s so careful with the equipment, with you. It makes butterflies start again low in your stomach.

“Do you ever get customers that freak out in the water?” you ask, watching his eyes flick to yours and a small smile tug at his plush lips.

“All the time,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s kinda crazy that they pay all this money, and then some just decide to stay on the boat. I had this guy that freaked out under the water before, had to get him out quick ‘cause he was attractin’ a large female shark. And I can’t tell you how many have climbed back on the boat after jus’ five minutes out there. I’ve had a lot of ‘em bail. A bit disappointin’, but what can you do? Guess it’s their money and their experience. They can choose how they wanna spend it,” he sighs, running a hand back through his wild sandy curls.

“That’s too bad. They missed out on a great experience,” you say, eyes still locked on his.

“Sure did. You’re not gonna bail on me are you, sweetheart?” He cups your chin, running his calloused fingers smoothly over your skin, making you gasp when he smiles warmly over at you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smile.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, dropping his hand from your chin and turning back to the vivid blue water.

That’s my girl. Oh no, you’re hooked. Hook, line, and sinker. He’s got you right where he wants you, like a baited fish.

You step closer to the back of the boat, letting the salty sea water spray your teal colored fins. The air is calm, waves barely lapping against the top of the water. It’s an absolutely perfect day to dive. “So, you’ve been coming around this area a lot?”

“Mhm. This is one of my main diving areas. It’s perfect. Not too far off from a colony of sea lions, a coral reef just a little north of here, and this is the main area great whites come to feed,” he says, leaning against the edge of the sturdy boat.

“That means you’re familiar with the sharks?” you ask with hope filling your eyes.

“I suppose so,” he smiles, slicking back his curls with ocean water. “There’s a large female great white that has stayed close to the area. And there’s a couple of juvenile ones that stay near her. I reckon those are her pups.”

Your eyes light up, and you smile widely at him. “That’s incredible! Have you named her? The female.”

He flicks his eyes once over you and chuckles to himself, surprised you’re so eager to learn about the sharks. “As a matter of fact, I have. I call her Wavebreaker.”

“Why’d you pick that name?” you ask, leaning your head to the side to assess his soft features.

“She likes to breach a lot when she’s huntin’. Comes up to the surface a lot to say hi, I suppose. Maybe she recognizes my boat,” he shrugs, smiling out to the crystal clear water.

“Guess she recognizes when she’s safe around someone,” you say shyly, fighting yourself for throwing in anymore compliments, like his honey colored eyes.

“Guess so,” he smiles, the soft breeze of the salty ocean blowing against his slicked back hair.

“Alright, c’mon. Let’s go in. You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” you smile giddily.

He leads you to the very edge, flippers almost submerged by the cold water. “Remember, stay close to me. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” Before you can choke a response, he nods his head to the water and jumps in, causing a big splash to form around the bubbling water.

You waste no time and go after him, jumping in to feel the breath of icy water slide down your entire body. You pop your head above the surface for just a couple seconds, adjusting your mask and fixing your regulator, then you follow him into the dark depths of the sea.

You start to glide through the clear blue water, following after Joel as you dive deeper and deeper, bubbles from the regulator blowing above your head. You pass thick spots of green seaweed, swim past large schools of colorful fish, take in breathtaking sights of pink and orange shaded coral reefs, and glide past a few sea lions that seem to be in a hurry. It’s all so beautiful, so magical under the water. Like a breath of fresh air, somewhere where you could stay forever if you could.

You follow Joel to a wide open area, making sure to stay on the heels of his rubber flippers. He makes sure to look behind himself every few seconds, making sure that you’re alright, safe. Just the sight of him checking on you makes your heartbeat pick up and your mind reel around impossibly fast. You decide right now that Joel is a protector, period.

You lose sight of him as an assortment of calico bass pass you by, getting lost in the flurry of bright colors that hypnotize your mind. Out of the corner of your eye you see a dark shadow lurking beneath you, but when you look down it’s gone. You gasp. That must’ve been a shark, but it was too quick to catch a glimpse because you were too involved with the other school of fish.

A few seconds later Joel grabs your shoulders and turns you to the right, letting his fingers linger there on the wetsuit, but you swear his fingertips imprint down to your skin. His touch even burns like fire in the sea.

Before you know what’s happening your eyes grow wide, your mouth would’ve dropped open if you weren’t sucking in oxygen from the regulator. Right there in the near distance is a beautiful, giant great white shark. That must be Wavebreaker.

She swims with grace in the water, her pectoral fins wide and almost shimmery under the glow of the sun shining down into the water. You watch her make circles in the distance, finally see the other juvenile sharks join in the shadows.

You can’t stop yourself from being so giddy, watching them swim in the salty water, large black eyes scanning the area, assessing the waters for prey.

You try to go a little closer, but Joel grabs your hand and pulls you back behind him like he’s shielding you from the inevitable. He takes his time letting go of your hand, keeps the space between you closed up, feeling his body heat reverberate right down your veins, like Joel seeps through your skin.

Jesus. He really did have a strong effect on you. He might as well just toss you to the sharks at this point. You’re completely hooked on him.

You stay idle in place, gently kicking your legs while you breathe through the regulator, captivated by the enormous beauties in front of you, watching them swim with no thoughts of the two humans in their realm.

You’re speechless, watching your dreams come to life in front of you. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, and you don’t think anything else will ever live up to this beautiful, encapsulated moment right now. And it’s all because of Joel.

Your eyes flicker over to him, but he’s not watching the giants that peacefully swim through the clear water, he’s looking at you. If you weren’t underwater, you’d probably drop your mouth open and blush at the sight of him staring at you. His regulator is in the way of seeing his mouth, but you see he’s smiling just a little at the girl in front of him. That girl being you.

He takes your hand in his and leads you forward, silently gliding through the water while you take in this perfect moment. He keeps his hand in yours this time, not letting go until the oxygen is almost up and the two of you head towards the boat, where you can breathe fresh air again.

When you breach the top of the water, you drop the regulator from your mouth and shout at the top of your lungs. “Joel, that was incredible! Did you see them? They were ginormous! And the juvenile sharks? Oh my God that was so amazing! The size of Wavebreaker and how docile they were in the water! I mean, fuck!!” You can’t keep your excitement in, and Joel just smiles and stares at you with these captivating brown eyes, ones that say he’s completely enamored by you and wants you to keep talking because obviously he is enjoying your enthusiasm for the love of the ocean.

You go on and on, and he doesn’t stop you one time, not until you’re completely done blabbering on. “Glad you had fun, darlin’,” he smiles, helping you up out of the water, his hand lingering on the side of your hip softly.

You take your fins and gear off, peeling the suctioned wetsuit from your sun kissed skin and watch him do the same, more gracefully than you. He sets the BCD and oxygen tank down on the deck with ease, carefully setting yours next to his and dismantling the oxygen tanks. You just stare at him, watching his big hands work while you stand in a foggy haze.

Salt water drips from his slicked back sandy locks, his huge biceps flex every time he twists and turns the tops of the oxygen tanks. You think he’s just the perfect diver and boat captain. Seriously, how did you get so fortunate?

“So, how’d I get so lucky to get a private tour with an experienced shark diver? Aren’t these things usually sold out?” you ask, leaning against the metal railing, your fingers dancing over the cool edges.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “They are usually fully booked, but your friend might’ve pulled some strings.”

“My friend…?” you ask, pondering just who could’ve pulled these kinds of strings. You think and think, knitting your brows together and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Mhm. A blonde, annoying, intolerable girl sometimes,” he chuckles to himself, shaking out cold water droplets from his slicked back curls. It suddenly dawns on you, only one certain person would have the nerve to pull this kind of stunt. Jenna.

“You mean Jenna?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.

“Yep. That’s the one,” he nods.

“Wait, how do you know Jenna?”

“I work with her boyfriend, see her around the docks all the time.”

“Oh, I see. She didn’t tell me she was friends with you.”

He shrugs and smiles over at you, the salty breeze catching his slicked back sandy curls. “Known her for a while now. She was real adamant about gettin’ this tour booked. Persistent little thing, ain’t she? The girl’s been houndin’ me about it nonstop for weeks now. Couldn’t get the girl to shut up. Didn’t know what all the fuss was about until she told me she was tryin’ to book it for her pretty marine biologist friend that happened to be single.”

“Uhhh, oh.” Fucking Jenna. “Shit, Joel. I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” you apology hurriedly. He puts a large palm out to silence the rest.

“Ain’t gotta be sorry, darlin’. Consider it a favor that doesn’t need repayin’.”

“But… are you sure? She just asked you for a lot, giving your Sunday up for me. I…”

“Hey, it’s fine. Really. She didn’t tell me jus’ how smart and attractive you’d be. My, you’re even more gorgeous than she said. Words don’t do you justice, sweetheart. Absolutely breathtakin’.”

You stand there speechless, your mouth slightly parted open as you inhale the salty sea air. “Oh. That’s… well… thank you,” you gulp. “She didn’t tell me how handsome my diving guide would be,” you blush.

He cocks an eyebrow up and a crooked grin spreads wide across his mouth. “Oh, stop. Darlin’, you’re gonna make me blush,” he laughs.

You shift your weight and cross your arms across your damp low cut bikini top. “So, what do I owe you? I know you missed out on extra business today. Let me repay the favor.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Consider the favor paid. I got to take out a pretty girl on the waves. Your company is enough for me.”

Your wide-eyed stare doesn’t falter when those words rush out of his mouth. God, Jenna really did you a huge favor. “You’re sweet, Joel. At least let me buy you a drink?”

One eyebrow cocks up, and he crosses his large arms over his broad chest, tanned skin shimmering in the sunlight. “I mean, I could take you out for a drink,” he smirks.

“Joel!” you giggle.

“Cleo!” He mocks you, playfully jutting his bottom lip out at you as you give him large puppy eyes.

“I’m being serious here,” you laugh, shaking your head back and forth. “Please, let me buy you a drink. You’ve been so kind and had to put up with Jenna. I owe you,” you say adamantly, not going to take no for an answer.

He smiles a wide grin and nods your way. “Alright. Sure, sweetheart. I’d love that.”

“Then it’s settled.” You smile at him, watching the way his eyes flick over your bikini clad body, a bit of a deep blush coloring his cheeks while he gets back to work putting away the diving equipment.

When he finishes up, he turns back to you before disappearing into the cabin of the boat. “You know that bar called Waves on the Rocks right by the boat docks?”

“Yeah, what about it?” you ask, wrapping your teal towel around your shoulders to block out the chill of the sea.

“How ‘bout we go for that drink when we get back? That is, if you’re not busy after this,” he says with hope threaded in his warm caramel eyes, his thick fingers hooked behind the back of a metal pole.

“Let’s do it,” you smile, making yourself stay still to keep from showing just how excited you are. You’re going on a date with Joel Miller, the hottest diver you’ve seen. You’d have to thank Jenna later.

“Great, it’s a date,” he muses, turning back into the inner cabin before you can get your own words out.

“It’s a date,” you whisper to yourself, smiling like an idiot the rest of the ride back as you glide across the dark blue ocean with the wind blowing through your long locks.

You didn’t just get to see a great white today, but you just might’ve also caught the hottest diver around. You were ready to see where this would go.

#joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #Joel Miller #joel the last of us #no outbreak au #diver! Joel #jamie's ocean challenge

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whatsnewalycat · 8 months

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 17

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 17: I'll Be Your Mirror

Chapter Summary: Fin.

Word Count: 6.0k+

Content / Warnings: listen if you made it this far you know what it is

Notes: Chapter title from “I'll Be Your Mirror" by Nico and The Velvet Underground. Ok I know I said there would be an Epilogue, but I decided... I really love it as is. This story is my baby and the feeling of finishing it is so bittersweet. Thank you to everyone who has ever given me the encouragement to feel this story is special. There are so many of you, I don't even know where to start. You know who you are.

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“Dee?”

He looks up from the notebook in his hand and goes still.

To say that your heart skips a beat when he meets your gaze is an understatement.

It freezes, along with everything else in the universe. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You’re almost certain the Earth stops turning.

Is he angry? Relieved? Shocked?

You can’t tell.

But then his tensed muscles go slack. His hunched shoulders drop from his ears. Glossy, pained eyes melting wide into wonderment.

“Lua?”

Hearing your name on his lips makes your stomach flip into free fall. Your pulse jumps. A sound escapes your chest that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh.

He drops the notebook and strides towards you.

You can only take one step forward before he’s pushing your back to the door, lips pressed against yours. His hands slip around your waist and pull your body flush to his while you comb your fingers through his hair. He groans into your mouth, tongue rolling soft on yours as you whine at how fucking perfect it feels.

Unzipping your jacket, Dieter pulls back and rasps hot against your cheek, “I’m so glad you’re ok, I thought I fucking lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your foreheads together as he strips off your jacket, “It was stupid, I shouldn’t have left like that—”

“Later,” he murmurs, shrugging off his fuzzy coat, then brings his mouth to your pulse and sucks the thin skin so hard you gasp, gripping his broad shoulders to bring him closer.

His hands slip under your shirt—his shirt, actually, you stole it from a laundry basket before leaving his house—and he slides his heated palms against your bare skin. With a chuckle, he looks down at the garment and says, “You little thief.”

You bite your lip and shrug, flicking your eyes around his face.

“God, I missed you,” he grins, dimples and all.

“I missed you, too.”

Both your faces fade from amusement to something heavier as you study each other. Heat flickers at the middle of you when he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. Your gaze dips to his mouth when he murmurs, “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

“I won’t—”

“Please.”

“I promise I won’t.”

You meet his eyes so he can see how much you mean it, stroking the soft whiskers on his jawline with your thumb, “I love you, Dieter. I love you so fucking much.”

His warm gaze flicks all over your face, “I love you, too.”

Your throat thickens. You try to swallow down the discomfort before asking, “Are you mad?”

“Mad?”

You nod.

“No,” he scoffs, gently taking your hand to kiss each of your fingertips.

It’s reverent, the way he does this. Worshipful. Like he’s thanking every piece of you for existing.

He clears his throat. Pain creases his forehead, making his dark eyes go all gooey soft when he whispers, “I was so scared. I didn’t know if I’d find you dead or alive.”

It hits you hard. Right in the heart.

You let out a guilty squeak. Your face crumbles. Tears cloud your vision, distorting him. You draw a shattered breath before responding.

“I was going to do it. I was going to, umm,” you avert your eyes and shake your head, “I was gonna drown myself, Dee. I had everything ready, but… I couldn’t.”

A sob bursts from your belly.

His body tenses and he pulls back ever so slightly, as if he were seconds away from calling off the conversation. But you stay firmly planted. You link your hands behind his neck and meet his tear-brimmed eyes with your own. When you speak, your voice trembles with honesty.

“I thought that I was supposed to die. That my being here was a mistake, or like I was cursed or something. Destined to destroy your life if I stayed in it. I didn’t want to do that to you. But also,” you swallow hard and search his face, “I didn’t know if I could trust you not to break me like he did. I didn’t know if I could trust myself not to break you, either. I was so afraid… of everything. Of all the possibilities. Of not knowing what would happen.”

The way he looks at you—shoulders slumped, jaw set, eyes all dewy with sorrow—it’s fucking torture. But you continue.

“I was so afraid of everything… except dying. Dying felt like the best option.”

Dieter sobs. It crushes your ribcage to dust. You have to keep going, though. You need him to understand that you mean this.

“But I realized—just now, before you got here, like,” you laugh with bemusement and shake your head, “Immediately before you got here, your timing is truly blowing my fucking mind right now—”

He chuckles and wipes at his damp face. You smile, tilting your head at him.

“I realized that… I was being a fucking coward. You’re not Ethan and I’m not Anika, and you and I… we’re something different. Dee, our love feels big the way the universe feels big. It’s never-ending and always growing and it is fucking forever. To turn my back on something like that would be… well, it would be fucking blasphemy.”

He smiles back at you, grip digging into your waist to bring you closer.

You cup his cheeks and tell him, “There will be good days and bad, but I know that I will never regret choosing to stay.”

He stares at you with so much love and awe your chest aches. You can’t stop yourself from beaming at him.

“No matter what the future has in store for us, I know that it will be worth spending every second I can with you in this beautiful, painful, amazing life.”

His smile widens and he shakes his head, choking out, “Fuck, how do I follow that up?”

You laugh, this soggy, wet laugh and bury your face in his shirt, then mumble against his chest, “You don’t have to, love, I just needed to tell you.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you.

“For what?”

“For staying. For sharing with me, trusting in me—trusting in us. Without you… I don’t know. Everything is fucking stupid and meaningless. You make me a better me. And I need you. So. Thank you.”

Your heart swells.

“You make me a better me, too.”

He pulls back to look at you, the warmth of his gaze sticking all over your face. Heat glints behind his eyes when they drop to your mouth.

Something profound throbs between you. Newborn with shaky legs, taking its first breath. Intentional, fearless certainty.

You kiss him, hard and purposeful, and he responds with fervor, the tips of his fingers digging into the tender skin of your waist. His tongue slides soft and wet and hot against yours, a slick writhing that hypnotizes you. Between the gentle crush of lips and nips from teeth and quiet whimpers that echo back and forth, you get lost in him.

Time and space slip away and this kiss becomes the only thing you long to feel.

Dieter pushes your back flush to the cool door, warm hands exploring the tender skin beneath your shirt. His shirt. His skin.

His his his—

He cups your breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The tedious touch sends a rush of need through your body. Whining into his mouth, you slide your nails down the expanse of his back, beckoning him closer, wordlessly begging for more.

Of course, he gives it to you.

Of course he pinches your nipples so hard you gasp, then tugs even harder.

Of course he activates something primal deep within your brain, making you hiss, “Fuck yes.”

“Does that feel good, baby? Hmm?”

“Yes—”

“Good,” he husks.

One hand unclamps. It slips under the waistband of your pants and slides down between your thighs, down to the hot, slick middle of you, where it rubs all those attention-starved nerves and makes them fucking purr.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Mmmm, how about that?”

“So fucking good, Dee,” you moan, nodding your head in vehement approval as you arch your hips towards him, “Oh my god, yes.”

Pulsing heat creeps up your spine, making your mouth go slack and lids drift closed.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open to meet his. He searches your face with intensity, watching you twist up with pleasure, and drops his gaze to your lips when your panting becomes tainted with whimpers.

“You’re so fucking hot I can’t stand it,” he mutters, shaking his head, “God, I wanna fuck you.”

“Oh my god, please—”

“You want me to fuck you?” He releases his tight grip on your tit to stroke your cheek, his low voice almost a growl, “Hmm? Want me to fill your tight pussy?”

“Yes—”

“Yeah?”

“Yes yes yes please, I wanna feel your cock inside me, Dieter I fucking need it please—”

“I want you to come for me first,” he works you faster, pressing his forehead against yours as he coos, “Can you do that for me, baby? Come all over my fucking hand?”

His request gushes hot down your spine. You gasp and nod frantically, then choke out a throaty moan as heat starts to branch out inside you. Your heart pounds hard and fast in your chest, white-hot need overflowing your veins and pooling thick between your legs, pulsing and growing, stronger, wider, pushing you up up up up—

It overtakes you. Rips you into a million pieces and puts you back together again.

Your legs clamp shut. You twitch and whimper and gasp as his touch softens and slows.

It doesn’t stop entirely, though.

Just a gentle, languid back and forth that persists through ebbing aftershocks, assuring you he’s not done with you yet.

Dieter rests his forehead against yours, breath warm on your parted lips when he says, “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

You let out a dreamy chuckle, hooking your hands behind his neck.

And, fuck, his fingers feel so good. Sliding up and down, spreading your slick in a gentle manner, teasing but patient. So fucking patient.

“I mean it. You are… amazing. I love every single thing about you.”

He dips a thick fingertip in your entrance, sending a heady rush of need through your body, then drags it out to draw slow circles around your clit. His touch prods the glowing embers in your belly. They smolder beneath your skin and make your heart race.

“Oh my god, Dee—”

“Even the parts you don’t think I want. I want it all, Lua. Forever. I never want to wake up without you by my side again.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe, “Forever and ever until I’m nothing, Dee, I’m fucking yours—”

His lips crush into yours. You moan into his mouth, accepting the warm caress of his tongue, urgent against yours. Between your thighs, he rocks his hand against you hard, then slips a digit inside you.

Head rolling back onto your shoulders, you gasp, “Jesus fuck.”

“So fucking ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he laughs, delirious and breathy, then takes a step back, removing himself from your body completely.

The loss sends you reeling. Like a puppy, you glob onto him, not wanting to part from him for a second.

Regarding your desperation with a smirk, he takes your hand, “Come on.”

You follow along behind him, grinning at the way he carries himself with authority, striding through the cabin like this has been his residence for the past few days, not yours.

When you cross the threshold into a bedroom, he turns to ask, “This one ok?”

Nodding, you push him back towards the bed and tug at his clothes, a silent plea he quickly grants. You mirror his actions, stripping down to nothing as he sits down on the edge of the bed and stares up at you, all fuck-me-eyes and parted lips.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you coo, slotting yourself between his knees, combing your nails through his hair, “Looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes. I love it.”

His eyelids flutter and his cock twitches. A little bead of pre-cum sprouts up at the tip.

You lick your lips and smirk, wrapping your hand around his girth, gasping when you smear the swollen droplet with the pad of your thumb.

Dieter groans, grabbing your waist. He twitches again.

You pull back his foreskin, forming an ‘o’ with your mouth when more of the viscous liquid slips against your thumb.

You think about how it might taste, salty and hot on your tongue. You think about his hard, smooth length stretching out your lips, soaking wet with drool as he fucks your face.

“If you keep looking at it like that I’m gonna blow my fucking load,” he mutters, burying his face between your breasts.

When you respond by churning your grip, a moan vibrates against your sternum. As if he can’t help himself, Dieter slides his hands up your body and grabs your tits.

He takes one in his mouth, then the other, sucking and licking and biting your swollen nipples while you work him, slow and meticulous. His muffled whines stoke your desire, flames hot and tingling up your spine.

Looking up at you with big doe eyes, he flattens his tongue against your nipple, then moves his head from side-to-side.

“That feels fucking amazing, Dee, oh my god,” you pant, drawing your brows together as you nod in approval at the heated sensation that clings to your bones.

Arousal urges you to pump him faster, and when you do, he husks, “Fuck, Lua—”

“Hmm?”

“Please.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your waist and he scoots further back onto the bed, ushering you onto his lap, “Wanna feel that sweet pussy wrapped around me, please, baby, please.”

Your knees settle on either side of his hips and you fold forward, smoothing your hands up his broad chest, to his neck, then you cup his cheeks. He searches your face, wild-eyed and desperate.

“I love seeing you like this,” you purr, brushing your thumb against his bottom lip, “So fucking needy.”

He groans and his hips jerk, the tip of him nudging up against your entrance. You tease him with it, letting him feel how hot and wet you are without allowing access.

“Do you want my pussy, baby? Or do you need it?”

“I need it,” he rasps, the tendons in his neck going taut he grips your hips with bruising strength, “I’ll fucking die if I don’t feel it, I swear to god, please—”

You lower yourself down slowly, whimpering at the exquisite stretch that reverberates through you.

His back arches off the mattress and he groans, “Fffffuck yes. Holy fucking shit, Lua—”

“So fucking good, oh my god,” you croak, rolling your hips.

You take him slow at first, savoring the way he fills you so perfectly, how he rubs along every tingling nerve inside you. Beneath you, Dieter pants and writhes, devout hands roaming your humid skin, worshiping you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I love you,” he pants, thrusting up into you so hard and deep you moan. He lets out a gasping chuckle, then drives his hips up again, and again, and again.

You nod in approval. Thick static bubbles at your center. You press your forehead against his, pushing back against his thrusts as they establish a steady rhythm.

“Wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Wanna spend—fuck,” you whimper, nodding again, “Wanna the rest of my life with you.”

“Wanna marry you, make you my wife—”

Still nodding, you choke out, “Yes, oh my fucking god yes—”

“Would you like that? Hmm? Get you a pretty dress and a ring? Show the whole world that I’m yours and you’re mine?”

“I want it, Dee, I do. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—“

He captures your lips and pounds into you, hard and fast, exchanging moans with you like vows, vibrating on your tongue as the tingling heat in your belly stretches wider, climbing up your body, swelling and swelling, pulling your muscles tight, until you find yourself suspended in a moment you both never want to end and don’t think you can stand any longer.

Then, it bursts.

You sob when the wave of pleasure washes over and under you, making this sick wet sucking noise as your whole body convulses around him.

Dieter whines against your mouth, fucking up into your fluttering cunt with crazed, frantic thrusts. He goes rigid and silent for a second, then releases a guttural noise from his chest.

When his breath returns to him and his muscles start to slacken, you meet his eyes with a grin that spreads to his lips.

You kiss him, slow and deep, then go limp on his chest, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The two of you stay here for a while, content and rubber-limbed. His fingertips trace the scar tissue on your shoulder and arm while sand gathers heavy on your eyelids.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” you mumble into the damp crook of his neck, “Not sober, at least. Now you’re here and we have so much to talk about.” You yawn, “And I’m so tired.”

He kisses the crown of your head, then gently persuades you to roll off him onto the mattress. Like a sleepy child, helplessly lethargic and too engrossed in comfort to do it yourself, you let him pull the bedspread out from beneath you and tuck you between the sheets.

The warmth of his skin presses up against yours as he drapes an arm over your belly and tugs you close. When he speaks, his breath is warm on your cheek, voice low and quiet.

“Get some rest, love. We can talk more tomorrow.”

His offer is tempting, but one question nags at the back of your brain and gives you a small burst of energy.

You roll onto towards him, blinking your weighted eyes open to meet his, all gooey and soft as they search your face.

“Did you mean it?”

A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “What, that I wanna marry you?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” he grins and grabs your hand to kiss your palm, then holds it to his cheek, “What about you? Did you mean it? Do you wanna marry me?”

For some reason, your cheeks get hot and you laugh. The noise is water-logged, struggling against the tears that burn up your throat and blur your vision.

“Yeah, I really fucking do.”

These aren’t the kinds of tears you’re used to crying. They’re celebratory. Joyous. You find yourself unable to stop smiling through them.

“This is crazy,” you tell him, shaking your head, “I love you so much it’s fucking crazy.”

“I love you,” he smiles and brings your hand to his chest, pressing your palm against the thump-thump of life and light and love, “Do you feel that?”

“Your heart?”

He nods, “That’s yours. ‘Til my last breath, then after. It’s yours.”

—

Dieter listens to the peaceful dozing huffs that blow hot across his chest, cherishing each and every one.

He savors the heat of your body on his, the blood pumping through your veins, and the flutter of REM behind your closed eyelids. Proof that you are here, alive and safe in his arms. An answer to his desperate prayers.

Something like relief but bigger engulfs him.

Warmth tingles through his limbs and tears sting behind his eyes. His throat gets all thick with emotion as he pulls your pliant body closer, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

Careful not to be too loud, he whispers, “Thank you.”

He’s not sure who he’s thanking. You or fate or whatever omnipresent puppeteer pulls the strings behind the scenes. He just knows he means it with his whole heart.

Dieter lays here for some time, live-wired with optimism, thinking up a million ways to convey the intensity of his gratitude. His mind wanders into tomorrow and buzzes with anticipation. He gets to tell you about his impromptu trip to New York, and that your charges are dropped.

Goosebumps prick his skin as a realization dawns on him.

You don’t even know.

When deciding to stay, you factored in the consequences of these charges. Your devotion to him was not because of this resolution, but in spite of it.

You had every single reason to doubt this would work. Probable prison time. Shrapnel from the fame machine. Ongoing recovery. The ugly demise of his marriage. The tragic end to yours.

Fuck, it’s a shit show.

And yet, here you are.

He gazes down at you, far away in dreamland, cheek pressed against the rise and fall of his chest. All angel-faced, but with a little drool at the corner of your mouth. Fucking beautiful.

On one hand, he could stay here watching you sleep like a fucking stalker for hours. On the other, his stomach growls for attention.

When he contemplates whether or not to untangle himself from you and tend to this need, you let out a little grumble, then start wiggling around, rolling away from him. He misses the heat of your body as soon as it’s gone, but lets you go anyway.

He carefully gets out of bed and wanders through the dark cabin into the kitchen.

The cupboards are essentially barren, which is both disappointing and unsurprising, but he finds some bread and drops a couple slices into the toaster. While guzzling down a tall glass of iron-flavored water, he notices piles of towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. This piques his curiosity.

To put it lightly, you are an incredibly neat and tidy person. Normally you wouldn’t allow this kind of disorder in your living space, however temporary. He should know. Last week you pulled the clothes out of his dresser and gave him a tutorial on how to fold “the right way” before organizing the acrylic paints in his studio by hue.

Your need for order only increases when you’re distressed, which you definitely were, so… what the fuck is up with this?

When he rounds the countertop peninsula to investigate, something catches his eye. Big slabs of wood propped up next to a door in the hallway. The door sits ajar, the crack emitting a warm golden glow.

His footsteps creak across the wooden floor as he approaches it. Somehow he knows what he’ll find when he opens the door, and releases an amused chuckle when his suspicions are confirmed.

Dark fabric draping the walls. A dimmed-down lantern propped up behind a makeshift seat. The seat, a makeshift nest of pillows and blankets, faces a mirror.

You built a psychomanteum.

Something tugs at his memory, causing him to turn on his heel and walk towards the couch. He picks up the notebook he discarded when you walked through the door and revealed yourself.

He studies the page in abstract, catching little glimpses here and there. Words like unrecognizable and hopeless and monster. Fragments like swerving around traffic, and crying, begging.

Some sentences stand out so much, he can’t help but snag on them.

It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore.

He called me a bitch. A rat.

It didn’t seem real.

He said we had to do this together.

Far away, the toaster pops. He’s not even hungry anymore. In fact, quite the opposite. He feels fucking sick.

A smattering of circles distort in the paper, black ink bleeding out from your script as if diffused by tiny droplets of moisture. Probably tears.

Grotesque curiosity churns beneath his skin.

He swallows around his thick throat and looks up at the closet. The psychomanteum.

The first time he tried to read the passage, before he knew you were ok, he was in such a state of panic that he didn’t fully understand what it was. But he understands now. He sees the pieces and how they fit together.

His stomach twists when he recognizes the pattern laid out before him. His ribcage shrinks two sizes, pushing his pulse to his ears. He runs a hand through his hair and wrings his tight neck as he realizes with horror that he has been a similar kind of monster.

He knows he had a problem. And it wasn’t as much the drugs or infidelity as it was the emptiness. An infection that set in early and rotted out a cavity in his chest. In his heart.

He knows it made him change in unspeakable ways, altering the very nature of his character. It made him angry and reckless and fucking ravenous. Starving for anything that would fill him up, however fleeting.

He was a fucking beast.

He also knows you love him. Flaws and all, you love him. You had the grace to forgive every unforgivable mistake he made.

Could Dieter do the same?

He tosses the notebook down on the coffee table and walks to the closet, opening the door. As he steps inside, he takes the lantern from behind the seat and turns to face him in the mirror.

He studies the face, recognizing the distinct nose and dark eyes. Mop of messy brown curls atop his head. He looks tired, but hopeful.

Staring at his reflection, Dieter tells himself, “I forgive you.”

—

The first thing you notice when you rouse from sleep is the warmth that surrounds you.

You feel Dieter’s chest flush to your back, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your combined body heat under the covers makes your skin stick together. The steady rhythm of his breathing moves in time with yours.

Before you even open your eyes, you smile.

Your fingertips twitch against his arm and you try to wiggle even closer, intertwining your legs with his.

Behind you, Dieter stirs a little, then mumbles into your neck, “G’morning, doll.”

“Good morning, love.”

He takes a deep breath in, squeezing you tight, and exhales a groan, “You smell so fucking good what the fuck.”

“I haven’t bathed in days,” you giggle, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, “I’m stinky.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re bullshit.”

He laughs this big, boisterous laugh as he rolls onto his back, separating from you save for the arm pinned under your side.

You miss his heat immediately and turn over to face him, scooting close enough to feel it. His gaze holds pure adoration. Your fingertips meet his and play this sort of dance before he laces your hands together.

He asks, “Wanna take a bath then go get some grub?”

—

Dieter lathers up a washcloth, watching the muscles shift beneath your skin as you rinse the remaining conditioner from your hair with a shower head attachment.

When you turn it off, you glance over your shoulder at him and announce, “I’m probably going to prison.”

He sits up and presses the steaming washcloth to your back, working suds up the curve of your spine.

“You’re not going to prison.”

You relax into his touch and snort, “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“I took care of it.”

“Wha—wait,” you sit up, then turn around to face him, water sloshing around with you. You furrow your brow and stare at him, “What does that mean?”

“It means the DA dropped the charges against you.”

Your eyes narrow as you search his face, “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m dead serious.”

“How?”

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he averts his gaze, shrugging, “Let’s just say that, for plausible deniability reasons, it’s best you don’t know anything else.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not!” he laughs, tugging at your waist. You jokingly wrinkle your nose at his affection, but let him pull you into his lap.

“C’man, sweetheart. Look at me.” He waits until your eyes meet his, then tells you, “I swear to god I’m not fucking with you. You’re clear. A free woman.”

Your shoulders fall away from your ears. You clamp down on your huge smile, then it breaks free, “Really?”

The way you light up at this news… It is breathtaking. Jesus fucking Christ. Worth every second of misery.

“Really,” he smiles, cupping your cheek.

You try to blink away tears with a relieved burst of laughter. You stare at him, glossy eyes all ripe with admiration as they flick around his face, “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he murmurs, holding your gaze, “I’d do anything for you, Louella. You know that?”

Your smile gets bigger somehow. You nod, “I do.”

His stomach flips when he imagines you saying those words in front of that ordained minister he saw in his near-death vision. Little details come into focus. He can taste the salt of the ocean and feel heat from the overhead sun. Light filters through a canopy of sheer white fabric.

The crowd of onlookers is small. Of course, he sees Parker and Darlene and Lincoln. He sees Glenn, looking like a fucking dick as usual, but grinning nonetheless. He sees his brother’s family, the small children all wriggling around in their chairs. He sees a couple, a man and woman around retirement age, that he doesn’t quite recognize, but he understands that they’re Ethan’s parents. He sees his mother dab her eyes with a tissue while his father curls an arm around her shoulders, letting the faintest smile creep across his lips as he watches you slide a wedding band on Dieter’s ring finger.

Atop your head sits a band of stars, forged from gold and adorned with dazzling crystals that glimmer in the sunlight. Corona Borealis for his Princess of Crete. Your dress is cream-colored chiffon and lace and fucking perfect. You have on that smile, the one that takes up your whole face. The one you’re wearing now.

You take the washcloth from him and dunk it under the hot, sudsy water, then bring it to his chest. The smile on your lips lingers as you wash, lathering up his skin with tiny iridescent bubbles.

“What does Darlene think of all this?” you ask, glancing up at him.

Smoothing his hands around to the small of your back, he shrugs and pulls your slick body closer, “In a personal sense, supportive. She helped a lot actually. Held down the fort while I was in New York.”

“While you were—” you scoff, shaking your head with an amused grin, “Dieter, what the fuck have you been up to?”

“Long story, I’ll tell you on the drive home,” he grins.

“Fine,” you snort and roll your eyes, but fold forward against his chest. His eyes drift closed as he relaxes into the heat of your body pressed to his. Fingertips sliding against his collarbone, you ask, “So the blowback to your career has been minimal?”

He gulps when he contemplates how to answer, not wanting to scare you into a spiral that sends you running again. But it is what it is. You’ll find out sooner or later anyway.

“Not… necessarily. It’s been pretty brutal, actually. Mark and Darlene wanted me to throw you under the bus and move on without you, but I refused. So they dropped me.”

You prop yourself up and frown at him, “I thought you said Darlene—”

“She was helping me find you, Lua. She’s supportive of our relationship as my friend, but…”

Your eyebrow quirks, “The optics are shit?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, searching your surprisingly serene face, “It’s ok, though, you know. You were right, I don’t enjoy it anymore. Acting, I mean. I think I’ve been too scared to try anything else, but… I don’t know. I think I’m ready now. I’m ready for the next chapter of my life.”

“You could try writing,” you offer as you trace his jawline, “I could find a job at a bakery or something. It’ll be ok. We’ll figure it out, I know we will.”

He nods, “We will.”

“I love you, Dee,” you say, holding his gaze, “We can do fucking anything together.”

Your certainty hits him square in the chest.

For him, love always cast a dark shadow of fear that warned him to be distant. Not too eager or enthusiastic. Careful not to be fumbled by the wrong hands and wind up broken.

It doesn’t feel like that anymore, he thinks.

Your presence in his life has always been big and blinding. The warmth of your love has blistered his skin more times than he can count. He has dedicated hours upon hours of his life this past year trying to understand your magnitude and longevity, trying to measure the shadow that the fear of losing you cast. The dimensions fluctuated in a non-linear sort of way, waxing and waning with the circumstances surrounding your relationship.

But now?

You are the sun at high noon. No fucking shadow in sight.

—

“All set?”

“I think so,” you zip up your suitcase and look up at Dieter as he leans against the doorframe. Your stomach growls and you groan, “If we don’t get food soon—”

“I found a Denny’s about 30 miles away. Open on Christmas.”

“Thank fucking god.”

Dieter chuckles and buries his hands in his coat pockets, “Oh, by the way…”

He pulls out a small, familiar sketchpad and hands it to you. Nostalgia spreads warm across your chest as you open the cover and flip through Ethan’s artwork. Each page depicts dark and painful images that tug at your heart, reminding you of how much he was suffering.

“How did you—?”

“Part of the long story. Tell you on the way home. But, umm… I figured you should have it.”

You nod, pausing to study a high-contrast illustration that feels different from the previous pages. At first, it just looks like a collection of bold black triangles. The edges and points are crisp. Precise. But as you stare at it, your perspective shifts. The white paper beneath the black ink starts to stand out bright, then rises above the dark hollows.

When it comes into focus, you gasp.

It’s a face.

It’s your face, carved out from negative space.

“That one’s my favorite,” Dieter tells you, “He, umm… he was really talented.”

Through your burgeoning tears, you smile, “Yeah. He was great.”

You tear the portrait from the sketchbook and hand it to Dieter, who asks, “What about the rest?”

Instead of answering, you step past him and take the sketchbook to the living room, where you lower yourself down in front of the fireplace and open the grate. Dieter follows, sitting down beside you as you tear out the first page and feed it to glowing embers in the hearth.

Flames crackle to life, burning the paper to ash.

You give it another.

And another.

When the sketchbook is just an empty shell, you toss it in. Then Dieter hands you something. You glance it over for a moment, recognizing the painful passage you wrote the night before. You give that to the fire, too.

He takes your hand and sits there with you while the flames die and return to smolders.

“How’d that feel?” he asks eventually.

“Fucking perfect.”

You turn to him, searching his face, “Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk and he squeezes your hand, “Anytime, doll.”

When you lean in to kiss him, his lips are soft and warm against yours. A sensation swells in your chest, this glowing kaleidoscope of patterns that shifts and twists into a million brilliant images. It feels like forever in the best way. It feels like heaven.

He pulls back, those big ganache eyes meeting yours, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you nod and smile at him, “I’m ready. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Groaning, Dieter climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to you. You accept it, letting him help you up. Your hands stay firmly locked together as he grabs your ratty old suitcase and leads you to the door, out of the dark room and into the bright midday sun.

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo smut #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #x reader

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dearorpheus · 2 years

Note

Do you have any writings abt sex and death, and how they're connected? Thanks if you decide to answer!

hiiiii yes♡

first and foremost is Bataille’s Erotism: Death and Sensuality which is expressly about this. everywhere you turn while researching this subject, Bataille will be mentioned. inclusive of this is a foray into religious eroticism/divine love/mysticism and elements of dissolution/continuity, violation and violence, aberration, so on... "There is no better way to know death than to link it with some licentious image." (pdf)

also v central are Freud’s theories surrounding our competing Eros/Thanatos drives, in which (as a very reductive summation) “the death instinct pervades sexual activity”; Freud also touches on dissolution, displacement and 'higher order/form'—you can see here one of the many ways Freud influenced Bataille's theories/writings. ultimately we might agree that the drives, rather than competing, are irreparably intertwined. "Life is displaced death, and death is displaced life." -> I like this article about them, but the source material is his Beyond the Pleasure Principle (pdf) +if you're interested in this, you could further research in sexology, sexual ethics and phenomenology as regarding sexualities linked to death, namely necrophilia, lust murder/sexual homicide, asphyxiophilia (sexual arousal by oxygen deprivation/erotic asphyxiation) and autassassinophilia (sexual arousal from the idea/risk of legitimately—imperatively, not in a fantasy-sense—being killed)

speaking of necrophilia (from Howard Barker’s afterword for Eroticism and Death in Theatre and Performance):

the last two sentences accordant with the modern usage of la petite mort in which the sensation of orgasm is likened to death. literature which comes to mind: M.G. Lewis’ The Monk*, Gabrielle Wittkop’s Le Necrophile, Angela Carter’s “The Snow Child” and “The Lady of the House of Love” as published in The Bloody Chamber, Poppy Z. Brite’s Exquisite Corpse, some of Baudelaire’s poetry...

then getting into more periphery stuff, there’s a lot of theory on the corpse and its sexuality (touched on above) + fetishisation. some theories have to do with executions, others with the sexual aspects of ritual sacrifice, as below in Death Comes To The Maiden: Sex and Execution 1431-1933 by Camille Naish:

more on the former in Julia Kristeva’s The Severed Head: Capital Visions and Nicole Loraux’s Tragic Ways of Killing a Woman

also the eroticisation of the medical venus—for this i heartily recommend Joanna Ebenstein’s The Anatomical Venus which is an absolutely fucking stunning artwork of a book to caress and coo over and cradle as you would a baby and which has a chapter dedicated to ‘Ecstasy, Fetishism and Doll Worship’ that delves into this (and religious eroticism, ne'er shall these subjects be pried apart for individual study it seems, not that i’m complaining)

+supplementary readings into our corpse-like beauty standards, with the heroin chic of the 90s (which has perhaps insidiously returned?) but esp in terms of the consumptive beauty ideals of the fin de siècle x, x etc etc. pervasive and perverted when beauty—an engine of evolution/a vehicle for sexual selection—becomes dictated by icons of illness

other haphazard things which come to mind: Camille Paglia’s Sexual Personae (tw for terf rhetoric); Angela Carter’s Sadeian Woman; cause-and-effect death by sex horror trope/generic imperative of post Halloween/‘78 slasher film; death and the maiden trope ofc which is often highly sexualised

*there is a v good essay on this called “Between Life and Death: Representing Necrophilia, Medicine, and the Figure of the Intercessor in M.G. Lewis's The Monk” by Laura Miller

#sex and death are connected in cohesion with the human spirit; the coordination of potentialities #eroticism #asks #bataille

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arcielee · 1 year

Text

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ past trauma mentioned, sexual themes, unprotected sex, grinding, oral (female receiving), fighting and death, holy ground being disturbed? Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 5138 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: I apologize for the delay, irl is being tedious for me, but I very much know how this story will end. We have one more chapter to go! It is still very much a hybrid of the show and the books, with me adding flare as needed to fit the narrative. Anyway, enjoy. 💜 Thank you @theromanticegoist for being my beta reader and offering me a sliver of your insight and talent. Thank you my darling @itbmojojoejo for the gif you took the time to create for me. 💜 Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @sylas-the-grim @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @tssf-imagines @triscy @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @greenowlfactif @larlarmojo @babyblue711 @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurs (bold means I was unable to tag you!)

Chapter 6

Keavy awoke to the morning light streaming through the cloth that was pinned over the window, allowing a muted, dawning glow to fill the room. She wiped the haze from her eyes and realized the intimate tangle of bare limbs beneath the furs; her gaze moved from the nightstand, from the candle that burnt to its wick and its wax spill onto the wood, and drifted to Osferth, who was curled at her side.

Her slight movement stirred him and he gave a sleepy groan, his arm reaching to wrap around her waist and pulling her against his torso. Soft laughter spilled from her lips with the tickle of his chest hair, his lips soft against her hairline. “Good morning,” she whispered, craning her neck with a phantom kiss to his jawline.

Osferth hummed, tilting his chin downwards to find her lips. “Good morning, beautiful,” his voice was drowsy and each word punctuated with a gentle kiss.

She burned from his touch, from his words–no man before had called her beautiful, especially not a Saxon man. “Do not tease me, Osferth,” her breath fanned his cheeks and she saw his dimples peeked with his smile.

“I would never,” and he kissed her again.

Keavy smiled against the press of his lips, shifting to spread her legs as he moved closer, cradled against her hips; he hummed his pleasure, careful to place his weight on his arms that were propped on both sides, with a slow rhythm of his hips. She sighed as his hardness pressed between her thighs, the genial rub against the flush of her arousal.

“Osferth,” she gasped, arching against him. “I shall never grow tired of this.”

“Do not tempt me,” his mouth moved along the column of her neck, placing kisses until he came to the junction of her shoulder and nipping softly; she sighed again, her skin raising in response. “I may never allow you to leave.”

But inevitably they would, the begrudging pull from the sex soaked linen and allowing the cool air to nip at their skin. Keavy poured the chilled water from the ewer into the porcelain basin and they were quick to clean and dress; she fetched a small vial and her pecten to comb through her dark locks.

She palmed the rose oil gifted from Gisela, working it into her curls, which allowed the polished bone to glide through to style. Osferth came up behind her, his hands gentle to touch and his fingers threaded through to finish braiding her hair. “A man of many talents,” she teased him, her cheeks crimson with his gesture.

“Of course,” his voice low, his attention focused as he knotted the end. “How else do you believe Sihtric manages his hair?”

Her laughter was lyrical, and he smiled; she reached for his hand, her fingers interlacing with his own, and he pulled her outside. The fallen fresh snow glittered with the sun’s light and their breath was white clouds that rose above them; their hands knitted with a soft swing that synchronized with their slow steps as they made their way towards the great hall.

The doors groaned open and the attention shifted towards them; it was the Irishman who began his cheer, with the rest following. “It’s about fucking time,” and Finan’s smile was bright against his dark beard, while a rose color dusted their features as they took their seats at the table to join them.

Winter settled over, which kept the men in Coccham; Keavy did not mind and enjoyed the new comfort with the new routine. She slowly created space for Osferth within her room, enjoying how his scent lingered over the shared space, especially in the furs and blankets from when they curled beneath them, sharing an intimate warmth as they talked about their days.

Outside of Coccham, the snow billowed high against the walls and isolated the village from the rest of Wessex. The inside thrummed still, with pathways that weaved within, the spirits high from the rich harvest despite the cold. An occasional traveler would wander through, taking a moment by the fire and delivering any letters, one which was addressed to Osferth from Lady Æthelflæd.

That night the great hall was alive with liquored cheer, but her focus remained on Osferth as he stepped away a moment to break the seal. To the untrained eye, it could be considered an eager want to read the letter from his kin, but Keavy saw the brief press of his lips into a thin line and the flicker of worry that knitted between his brows as his eyes flitted over the parchment in hand.

Keavy did not wish to draw any attention, but waited as the night waned away, when they began to file out into the night to find their beds. She reached for his hand and they returned to the privacy of the room they now shared, which was dark with a slight chill. Once the door was closed and candles lit, she felt Osferth press up against her, a pillar of warmth on her backside; she sighed as his arms wrapped around her waist, his face nuzzling beneath her scarf and the soft press of his lips to her skin.

“What news did your sister have for you?” Her hand reached back, her fingers combing through his golden locks towards the back of his head.

Osferth hummed and she felt the curl of his lips into a smile. “You read me as well as her words written.”

She turned in his arms to face him, pressing to her tiptoes for a chaste kiss in response. “With the time I have invested, Osferth, I should hope so,” her brow raised to hint the teasing of her tone. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her own for a moment, slow breaths to intake her fragrance of lavender and thyme, her hint of rose oil in her tresses. Osferth pulled back, taking her hand and moving to sink into the straw mattress.

Keavy followed him, but remained standing between his legs, quiet and watchful as his long, slender fingers that played with her own, his forehead lined as he struggled to find the words. “My father,” he began but it was said as if there was a bitter taste to his tongue. Osferth swallowed and began again. “The king’s health has been failing.”

In the last few years, King Alfred had the reputation for being perpetually ill but without actually dying; Lady Æthelflæd wrote her worry that their father’s luck, or perhaps the favor with his God, was finally coming to an end, or so she believed. “I know he will reach out to Uhtred when winter ends,” and he finally met with her eyes, a glassy shine to his brilliant blue. “Perhaps to ask that Uhtred swear his fealty to Edward.”

She nodded, aware that Æthelflæd was his sister but that Edward was always referred to by his name. “He would never agree to it,” Keavy whispered, one hand coming to touch his jaw. “To swear fealty to a boy would last until the end of his life.”

Osferth nodded and his lashes fluttered closed, leaning into her touch and releasing the hold of her hand; she moved to touch the other side of his face and he reopened his eyes, looking up at her once again.

Before their intimacy finally bloomed between them, she had first become his confidant and, in return, he was her haven embodied. Right now she saw the solemn severity that lined his features, she saw the uncertainty, the weight of the future of Wessex, a burden not belonging and, at the same time, imbedded into his blood.

Her thumb trailed the sharp edge of his jawline. “Let the king call for Uhtred when the snow melts, he will handle him,” and her tone grew coy, “but right now the snow piles high and we must stay warm to survive.”

She leaned forward, another chaste kiss to tease his lips, and his hands moved in response, grabbing her waist and pulling her closer. Keavy grabbed fistfuls of her skirt, rutting the fabric up to straddle him, the soft plush of her thighs caging him to the bed.

His hold moved to cradle her lower back, pulling her against his chest, his head tilting back and pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw. “We must stay warm,” his hot whisper tickled and she tried to pull back with a smile, a giggle, but his grip held and brought her back, capturing her lips with his own.

Keavy moaned and his clever tongue deepen the kiss, as if he was drawing the very breath from her lungs; she wrapped her arms around his neck, leveraging for a slow grind forward against the hardness that pressed through the crotch of his trousers, pulsating from the pressure of her clothed cunt.

Osferth groaned into her mouth and the vibration sent a trickling desire down the length of her spine; his tongue tasted her, his dexterous fingers loosening the ribbons that laced her backside. Their clothing fell to the floor, quick with the cold that seeped in, and he pulled her beneath the layers of their bed, a kiss to the inside of her knee and a trail of open mouth kisses that led to her core.

She sighed with the familiarity of his touch, his lips, and the beginning glints of pleasure sparked before her eyes, leading towards the precipice of her release. A warmth coiled in her lower abdomen as his fingers curled within, one after the other, and she moaned with his ministrations that pushed her over the edge, her blossomed release that spread and pressed the very seams of her being.

Osferth followed through its completion with the sinful squelch of her cunt pulsating around his fingers, almost to that brink of overstimulation, before he withdrew and carefully climbed on top of her. She was breathless and beautifully flushed from her climax, a soft mewl spilled when she felt his length press against, heavy and warm and wanting.

Keavy combed her fingers through his hair, pulling him close for a kiss and savoring her taste on his tongue, while her thighs wrapped around his slender waist. She sighed sweetly as he molded to her curves, the weight of him and the tickle of his chest hair against her bare skin.

His arm reached between, lining himself with her entrance; Keavy moaned when he pushed in, his head dipping into the curve of her neck with his own low groan from how her velvet walls clenched in response. Osferth waited a moment, allowing her the time still needed to adjust to his size, and he only moved when she found his mouth with a hungry kiss to urge him.

The gentle thrusts of his hips began to rekindle the flames licking her bones, the curtails of her prior release still tingling throughout; the crushing closeness, the tickle of his hot breath against her skin and his pace quickened with the flutter of her walls; there is a tandem of their release, the sounds of her sighs and his guttural groan that reverberates through them both.

Every moment spared would be this entanglement of limbs, curling into one another flushed from their climax and until their breaths were an exchange. Eventually, the snow began to thaw and the spring greenery struggled through the cold mush left behind. The earth warmed still and Osferth’s prediction of a letter from the king did not come until the midsummer months.

They packed to travel to Wintanceaster as commanded or as asked, depending if you spoke with the Lord or Lady of Coccham.

Gisela complained with good nature and grace, swollen with the life that grew within her. She sighed her complaints of her size as Uhtred took her hand, careful to guide her steps towards the cart. “It will not be able to hold me,” she smiled with her words.

Uhtred kissed her hand, his other arm wrapping around to lift her inside. “If the wheels split, I will carry you myself,” and his eyes glittered as he teased her, pressing forward to steal another kiss before moving back towards his horse.

Gisela shook her head, her lips pursed into another smile, and her gaze fell to both Keavy and Osferth, with him helping her to mount her horse. “This will be your fate one day,” she called to them, smiling still and raising one brow. “And I will be the one on horseback!”

Keavy flushed from her words, unable to look at Osferth, unable to stop the curl of her lips into a smile from Gisela’s teasing.

Their time together in the last few months had been everything she always hoped for, but she could not help the flutter of apprehension that it would never be more. The thought knotted in her chest late at night when Osferth would curl against her backside, the warmth of his palm on her stomach, but she found it was the one thing she could not say outloud to him.

She confided in the great hall where Hild began to speak scriptures and Gisela waved her off, seated with her swollen ankles propped up. “Away with your Ephesians, Hild. Do not listen to that nun,” she said to Keavy and her dark eyes glittered. “Is he good to you?”

Osferth was and so much more. He showed consideration for her in his every action, something that was without effort and just seemed natural for him: from how he filled his plate to share with her, how he took her hand to lead their steps together, with how his eyes brightened, alert, always aware of their surroundings as if he would do anything to keep her safe. She loved their time together, at the end of the day when he would curl into her, the soft trail of his fingers along the length of her spine and back, or how they would comb through her dark curls with gentle kisses along her hairline.

She was crimson when she finally answered. “He is very good to me.”

“Then that is enough,” and her tone clipped with a sense of finality, and Keavy tried her best to tuck the thought away.

But it still lingered; she was aware of his bloodline, of the royalty that ran through his veins that was stronger than the sins of King Alfred. Keavy assumed the day would come when he would want a wife of his equal, a true Saxon lady of reputation and not some marred, cursed cailín from across the Irish sea.

“Marriage is only a title, a status, an exchange of goods when had,” Gisela argued. “I see how he is with you and it is the actions of a man that speaks of his character.”

This was now the thought that she clung to.

It was then that Finan barked to the caravan prepared, reclaiming her attention, and they made their way towards Wintanceaster.

+ + + +

They had barely arrived when the king called Uhtred away, leaving the rest to settle into the home of the priest and his wife, Thyra; she held the same fierceness as her kin, Uhtred, but had a softer deliverance with it, instilled with the bold blue of her eyes.

Their home was comfortable with a rich fragrance from the supper prepared over the open flame; the children played amongst themselves, with Sihtric’s son alongside Oswald and Stiorra, and the men made their round trips to the alehouse to refill their cups, their spirits high. They crowded around the table to eat and with the shortage of seats, only then did Osferth pull Keavy into his lap, relishing in the sight of color that tinged her cheeks.

Uhtred returned, soured with the news they were to sunder tomorrow, heading towards the Burh of Aescengum on his advice that the king sought from him. “Unfortunate this is the one time he listens to you, lord,” Finan teased him, but he could only manage a grim smile in return.

The following morning, the stables were cluttered as the wives came to bid their farewells, with Keavy among them. Osferth curled his finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back, pressing his lips against her own with his promise, “I will return to you.”

Her smile was forced, but her eyes were bright from the kiss.

The sun shone overhead and moved behind them as they went eastwards, the city of Wintanceaster shrinking away. A comfortable silence settled over with the ambling gait of their horses, until Uhtred decided to break it. “I believe it is time you take a wife,” he began, his lips curling as if he was aware of something already. “It is time that you got married.”

There was a low chorus of chuckles from Sihtric and Finan behind them. “I have thought of it,” Osferth admitted.

This was a thought that reverberated within him, something that rattled his bones whenever he was in proximity of Keavy, something ignited with her touch, with her lilt. It followed him, heavy in the air that surrounded them and it mixed with the sickly sweet scent of sex and sweat above their bed shared; his throat was thick with his want to whisper the words: my sweet wife.

But also was the thought that he was a bastard and the curse bond with it. The holy book of Dueteronomy taught how this curse would follow for ten generations because of his illegitimacy. As a boy, he did not mind it, but as he matured, he now found that it clawed at his heart from the moment he had kissed Keavy.

Osferth knew then that he loved her, and that perhaps he always had, as it gradually blossomed more over the years. He enjoyed the sharpness of her emerald eyes, how well she fit into his embrace and he would bury his face into her dark curls. Most of all, he admired her strength and her resilience; Keavy had been shy and hesitant to share the cruelty that destiny littered her path on the way to him; the thought that his curse could possibly add more suffering to it pained him, especially when she already survived so much.

Uhtred raised his brow. “Just thought?”

“Usque ad decimam generationem,” the Latin spilled from his lips and he continued, “I could not… my children would be cursed, their children too, and every child for ten generations.”

Osferth tried to avoid this pending biblical curse that clung overhead, but too often he would be cuntdrunk, with the taste of her lips too enticing and the sinfully sweet clutch of her velvet walls all too consuming. It was only when the post-coital haze wore off that the thought would return: bastard begot bastard, his curse continuing.

“So every bastard is doomed?”

Osferth hummed, his eyes forward. “I do not see the king taking ownership for his… mistakes.”

There was another chortle of laughter and Osferth only hummed again. Ahead of them was the low smoldering glow of the ruined village of Alton, the remains of a guarded church coming to view when Uhtred called to him. “Let us ask your God what else can be done.”

But God had seemed to abandon the parish and instead they found a woman of many names: a seer, a witch, the devil reincarnate. Sihtric moaned of the curse that followed with her capture, voicing his concerns until it was palpable and heavy overhead. Only Finan was bold enough to say, “Do not speak of it, it only gives it strength,” and it was left alone, but lingered on the edge of their minds.

The Battle of Farnham, as it would be remembered, was a slaughter of Danes and their victory was sung throughout Wessex, following their return to the city. It was surreal with the echo of bells off of the Roman structures that were still rooted throughout the city, the swarm of the crowd and their cheers for King Alfred and his men, for their victory and safe return.

Osferth peered through, his eyes sharp for Keavy, or even Gisela, but instead he spotted the nun Hild; he saw how her face was drawn with grief and the nursemaid in her shadow, holding a bundle to her chest. Before he could say a word, Uhtred quickly dismounted and pushed through towards her; Osferth instead swung his leg over, following after Beocca back to his home, relief washing over when he saw Keavy seated inside with Stiorra and Oswald.

The priest moved to kiss his wife and Keavy pushed to her feet, enveloping in Osferth’s arms; he pulled back to kiss her, finding her cheeks stained with tears that confirmed the news plainly written in Hild’s expression outside.

Gisela was gone. “I could not save her,” she whispered hoarsely and he pulled her close again, a soft kiss on her hairline.

With the summer months waning away, the night came with its chill and its sorrow. Osferth took Keavy’s hand and they moved outside the city walls, towards the holy ground where Gisela had been buried; Hild breathed a quick prayer and the men grabbed their shovels, upturning the fresh grave.

Uhtred watched as the flames licked up the sides of the lumber stacked, the poignant smell of death masked by the smoke that curled up into the silver light of the moon. “It is beautiful,” and Hild wet her lips, her voice a reverent whisper amongst the splintered pops of wood. “It is as though she is drifting away from the earth and upwards towards the heavens.”

The amber glow of the funeral pyre cast its golden dysphoria over him, his cheeks shone with his tears and he wilted with wracking sobs that echoed emptily against the trees. Osferth moved to his side and Finan quickly to the other, a strong hold of their lord, with their whispered words of comfort offered to him.

“Death is unavoidable, it is a part of life,” he rasped, his palmed gripped Osferth and his glassy eyes locked onto him. “It is inevitable, but love is not and you must always take the moment when it is offered.”

As their attention returned to the blaze, Osferth dared peer back to see Keavy. She held onto the hand offered by Hild, pale in the moonlight and her features tight with her grief aflare, reflecting her tear streaked cheeks, and he had the intrusive thought.

She is lovely still.

Uhtred’s words was something repeated in his mind as they retreated back inside the city, returning to their beds; it was a soft echo still in his mind as he pulled her flush against his chest, something that resonated when he felt the gentle press of her lips to the underside of his jaw, nestling into his embrace. Osferth held her close throughout the night, his fingers tangled in her dark curls and his other hand rested on her hip, the soft expansion with her every breath eventually lulling him to sleep.

The lamenting lessened in the days that followed. Though the grief remained, there was room for a sense of clarity, for Uhtred to announce they were leaving Wintanceaster at once. Osferth saw how he was haunted with Gisela, how the city now served a reminder of his love that was lost.

He knew this would follow them back to Coccham and he thought back to that summer day years before, when he first came to swear his sword to Uhtred and what he promised, his words–“You may never see Wessex again,”–but still they remained, tethered by the oath to the king.

Osferth only truly understood his sister’s words when he saw their father at Aescengum; he almost did not recognize the cadaverous man had it not been for his crown, his regalia that hung from his thin frame. The dark force that escorted him from Wintanceaster was now grey in his complexion, with silver streaks in his hair and beard, a brittle man that a strong gust could have swept away.

He also thought of what else she wrote, how she encouraged him to come to her estate, to come to Mercia; her letters tempted him to go, to take Keavy and to travel North.

But instead he stayed, now spurred with the unspoken exigency to ready the horses, to leave the city at once, and it was interrupted when Beocca called for Uhtred, stating the king called for him again. They watched him leave before continuing, with an unease that lingered behind.

Later, Osferth first spotted his return, his grief partnered with a fervor as he called to him, to Finan and Sihtric. The city thrummed, holy ground has been disturbed, and soon the king’s guard arrived, but the men of Coccham were already standing guard, with a palpable choler that solidified their stance.

In that moment, his sister’s words returned. “We need to get them out,” his voice was low, whispered to Sihtric; Finan continued to needle Steapa and his men, bold as always. The Dane quirked his brow at Osferth. “The children, your wife and son,” he continued, before adding, “and Keavy.”

Sihtric steeled his jaw, a sharp nod to acknowledge his words. “You have a plan, baby monk,” but it was not a question, more a statement.

Osferth hummed, his eyes locking onto Hild as she pressed through the men, a beacon for peace and her tongue chastising them all.

“You were goading him,” she hissed to Finan as she moved past him.

The Irishman raised his brows in response. “I was, Hild. And enjoying it.”

“So the abbess may enter, but I may not?” Steapa sounded incredulous and Osferth took the moment, a quick nod to Sihtric, before falling behind in her steps.

Finan squared off, just as bold. “We’re afraid of the abbess.”

Osferth slipped behind Hild, leaving the nun to have her scathing exchange with the kept witch while he moved towards Keavy. She was seated by the bed, the children tucked away as she ushered soft tones to soothe them.

He thought back to their days together in Coccham, their rosy-cheek smiles now hallowed with the somber undertone that clung to their small frames. Osferth felt the loss of Gisela, as she was kind to him, but understood that the children felt it tenfold.

“We need to leave the city,” he murmured low enough for her to hear; Keavy looked to him, her lips parted to ask but his low timbre continued, cutting through the tension of the room. “Lord, we need to get the children and women out of the city.”

The focus turned towards them. “I cannot have them return to Coccham,” Uhtred began, his tone wry. “That land belongs to the king and I am not in his favor.”

“I am aware,” and he paused, a look stolen to take in Keavy, his gaze trailing the severity that lined her face and spilled into the scar along her jaw. Osferth then looked back at Uhtred. “We should send them to Saltwic, lord.” From the corner of his vision he saw Keavy stiffen, how her green eyes darkened and pinned him where he stood, but he did not look away from Uhtred. “My sister will never forget what you have done for her and I know she will be the sanctuary needed,” his tongue wet his lips, “I agree with Hild. You should call for Beocca and hear the demands of the king to serve as a distraction.”

Uhtred nodded, his focus returning to Hild. “I am willing, but in exchange for the safety of our children, for our women,” and she watched him, her eyes flitting back and forth his face. “I worry about getting them out of the city.”

Osferth now looked to Keavy, but her attention was rapt, her grip tightened on the handle of the seax that hung at her side. “I will protect them, lord,” Keavy stepped forward, a slight tremor to her tone. “I swear it on Lady Gisela.”

“I will also go with them, Uhtred,” Hild sighed. “I will first tell Beocca that you are ready to listen and then I will see that they are escorted to Saltwic.”

Uhtred offered a small smile and Hild was gone; Beocca was quick to arrive with the demands of the king, which called for silver and his vow to the aetheling. Uhtred pushed to stand, following Beocca out into the night, pausing to hand his sword, Serpent-Breath, to Finan and his eyes landed onto Osferth.

“You know what to do.”

Time slipped through their fingers with this newfound urgency, licking their heels to quick their steps to the stables the moment the guard shifted to follow Uhtred and Steapa. The sleepy haze was wiped from the children’s eyes by the hem of Hild’s sleeve, the hushed tears and kisses exchanged between Sihtric and his wife, Sigdeflaed, while Finan saddled the last mare.

Osferth felt the slight tremble of her hold and looked down at Keavy, her eyes watchful, almost doleful. “You will be safe in Saltwic,” he whispered in the shell of her ear as he pulled her close. “This is for the best, this will keep you safe.”

She pulled back, her brow furrowed with her sharp nod, her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed the threat of tears. “I know this, I understand this is the logical thing to do and yet…” and she took a deep breath, her hands moving to untie her necklace. “Osferth, I want you to take this and for you to bring it back to me.”

He leaned forward and his skin prickled with her touch as she knotted it behind the nape of his neck; the silver cross gleamed in the little light offered. “Return to me, Osferth,” her voice was small.

He pressed closer and captured her lips, her honeyed kiss a balm for his resolve. Osferth moved to help her onto the backside, then he picked up Stiorra who nestled in front–one child for each rider. His hand then fell to touch Keavy’s ankle, sliding up beneath her skirts and he gently squeezed her calf; she looked down at him. “I will return to you,” he promised.

Her response was a pained smile, another quick nod, and she brought her heels against to trot behind Hild and Sigdeflaed. Osferth followed behind until they passed through the gates, and remained until they were silhouettes in the night.

Finan clasped his hand onto his shoulder and Osferth looked at the Irishman. “We will see them again. Soon, baby monk,” he promised. “Now help with the gate.”

previous | Chapter 7 | masterlist

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x ofc #we need more osferth fanfic #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

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booksbabes · 8 months

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I need some opinions on a Thorin x ofc fin im writing

I want to attempt to get the whole thing written before I post it. I feel like I loose interest if I post as I go.

It’s set pre quest to Erebor. Everyone is about 7 years younger than the quest age. Should Thorin and OC fall in love in this fic before quest? Should the quest even happen? I like to read hobbit fics other than the whole quest itself it tends to get predictable. And I feel there are a lot of post-quest. Everyone lives. But not many pre-quest. (Everyone will live bc I cannot take unhappy endings) let me know what you think or any ideas!

#thorin oakenshield x reader #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin oakenshield smut #thorin x reader #thorin fic #thorin fanfic #thorin imagine #thorin x oc

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nerdieforpedro · 1 month

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A Sweet Night for All

Chapter Five of This is the Neighborhood Din Series

Din Djarin x Sierra Harris (plus size OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, borrowed or plagiarized.

Word Count: about 2.5k

Warnings:

Summary: Nosy friends show up and get a surprise from a Jedi. Din and Sierra come to an understanding. There's cuteness from Johnnie Mae and Luke because I wanted it. ☺️

Notes: This chapter is very fluffy. I dunno what happened but I like it. 🤗

Main Masterlist/Din Djarin Masterlist/ AO3 Link

The two of them entered Djarin's home unaware they were being watched.

“I just want you two fools to know that despite this being a horrible idea to spy on him you two each owe me fifty dollars.” Finn displays all his pearly whites with the shit-eating grin he has from the back seat of Poe’s 4Runner - ‘the most conspicuous SUV known to man’ as Finn calls it not because of the make or model, but because Poe insisted on painting it orange and white. It is his BB-8. Finn held his hands out as both Rey and Poe slipped money on his palms. “Who’s the woman though?”

“Her name’s Sierra. She texted him during work today. I thought he only checked his phone for emails about his son Grogu.” Rey shrugged, she was mad she was out fifty bucks, but this was entertaining and something to tease their team leader about tomorrow. So far, they’d only been able to sort of make fun of Din's lunches, but sometimes they smelled really good.

“I mean other than when you set him up with those DILF hunters, we haven’t seen him with anyone. She seems nice and he even did like a Romeo type thing on the porch there. Didn’t know he had any game.” Poe nods and Fin flicks the back of his head, the pilot rubs it and laughs.

A metal knock startled the three in the car. A man with an overgrown beard and a green beam stuck out of the top of it. “Hey. Your truck stands out way too much and I’ve never seen it here. What are you doing out in front of this house? Count of three numbnuts.” Poe looked closer at him and noted that one of his hands was metal, what kind of weird ass neighbor was this man.

The trio looked at each other and waved their hands, “No! No!” Poe decided to speak for the group. “Look we know Din okay! We’re gonna go, we had a bet that Sierra was a parent from his kid’s school or a team leader from another department. Clearly not.” Luke squinted his eyes.

“Drive now.”

“Yup, don’t have to tell us!” Poe started BB-8 and drove off. Watching as Luke’s eyes appeared to meet his in the rear view mirror. “How does he live near someone so creepy?!”

“And how does he know Din or Sierra?”

“I’m not finding out.” Rey huffed, this trip was a bust. She didn’t win any money and she was threatened by an old Jedi. This sucks.

Luke stood in the middle of the street, putting away his lightsaber as he scratched his beard. “What kind of strange people does the new kid work with? I know Mae said he seems alright, but…eh. Scared them off. I'll check in with Mae and the little one. I'm curious what they had for dinner.” The Jedi saunters up to Johnnie Mae's door and knocks. She doesn't answer at first so he knocks again and she appears wearing a white cotton nightgown with a black silk nightgown. Her finger is over her lips as she steps back from the door and curls it to beckon him inside. A kiss is shared between the two and she takes his hand to lead him to the couch. They sit and she speaks softly.

“Don't get in your head that you're having anything other than a hearty meal Skywalker.” Johnnie tugs on his beard. He places his cool hand on her thigh and runs his thumb along her skin. She points to the large chair next to the couch where little Grogu sleeps under a throw blanket. He'd fallen asleep waiting for his father to come get him. Luke nods and pecks Johnnie Mae's cheek.

“Only came to see what you had for dinner. Honest. Also saw some coworkers of the kid's dad outside. Weird bunch. Drove them off.” It's stated matter of factly causing the older woman to shake her head and stand up.

“I'll fix you a plate. It was mainly Sierra cooking for her new friend.” Luke follows her as she heats some food up for him and they sit at the table. They're comfortable, speaking in lowered volumes to not disturb the young boy. The hour has gotten late.

Meanwhile in Din's home:

Her host had put away the leftovers and made her some hot chocolate after giving her a short tour of the first level of the house. Sierra could tell that Din was proud, he mentioned it was his first home and was excited to be able to provide a safe place for Grogu to grow up. “I don't want him looking over his shoulder or wondering if he'll need to move anywhere.” She took this to mean that maybe there was a point where either Grogu or maybe Din had that fear. Pausing as he brought her back to the living room after showing her his office, kitchen, dining room, den, a half bath off of the den and a mud/laundry room. It made her think of how happy she'd been when she left her husband up until a few days ago when he showed up. The feeling that she was safe and could go to sleep without questioning if she'll be physically hurt or insulted. Din took Sierra's hand which made her look up at him, pulling her out of her daze. “I didn't mean to bring up-”

“Please don't apologize. Don't feel you have to dance around things you want to say because you think it reminds me of what happened. Plus now I'm curious what life was like for you and Grogu before moving here. I'll let you know if I'm okay or not Din.” They sit on the couch and continue holding hands as he describes to her the apartments he used to live in, back before he became a team leader with the bump in pay.

They weren't bad in terms of cleanliness or code violations, it was more so the activity in the neighborhood and violence which is why he moved out here to the suburbs. Din explained that it wasn't all the community, it was him too. In his younger days, before Grogu was born, Din ran with the Death Watch and participated in unsavory activities. He'd had a long-term girlfriend who enjoyed the lifestyle and drama. When she became pregnant, he focused on actually going back to school to get his degree in mechanical engineering. A subject that had long interested him but wasn't exactly a part of culture. It was when he was in school that she became distant and even after giving birth, didn't really interact with little Grogu much. At the time, Din thought she was just too wrapped up in what the Death Watch had going on at the time. It was only later, in raising Grogu over the years that he came to know what postpartum depression was. No one either of them knew really talked about any of that. In his exit from the Watch, his back tattoo with their symbol of a mythosaur had three horizontal red lines added through it. They represented tasks the Armorer had him complete before he could sever ties with them on friendly terms. Din was surprised when his former members offered financial help with him getting settled in a new place with Grogu. He still spoke to a few of them occasionally, even Paz, who he was sure the disdain between them was mutual, gave him parenting tips.

Sierra listened intently and wondered what she really knew about her friends and family, especially ones she wasn't particularly close to. Could they have backgrounds with twists and turns similar to his that led them to where they are today? Would they feel comfortable telling her? “You're the first person I've told all that to in a long time. Generally, I don't feel comfortable talking about myself this much.” She didn't mean to, his admission made her scoot closer to him and place her palm on his cheek. Her eyes and smile conveyed the same message her lips did.

“Thank you for trusting me with this Din.”

His larger hand covers hers as he closes his eyes. It’s been even longer since he last heard someone saying that they trusted him. The moment feels intimate and Din allows the corners of his mouth to form a small smile. With his eyes focused on her lips, that’s where he touches with his opposite hand tracing her full lips with his thumb. He knows, just knows that all of her is soft like this. Her brows furrow and with her lips parting, Din wonders if he’s exposed too much, not only through his words but his touch too. “Sierra, you’ve trusted me a great deal as well.” He recalls a few days ago when they met, their hug and conversation in the kitchen of her aunt’s home. She was under no obligation to tell him anything, but she was honest and vulnerable.

“I know. This is something, but can we just sit Din?” Dropping her chin, the science teacher placed her forehead on Djarin’s shoulder, lowering both her hands as he grabbed them. Looking up temporarily, she knows she'll be fine. Contact with Din isn’t to be feared. Sierra finds it welcome, she wants more but her mind is holding her back. Realistically it’s been plenty of time some would say, but they’re not her. She scoots back to ease her spine into the cushions on the couch but Din’s hand braces her back and his other arm gathers the hem of her dress under her knees as he shifts them over his legs and pulls her closer. “Um, are you sure-“

“It’s fine. I’ve got you. Relax and sit.” Sierra might not be resisting so hard if Din didn’t appear to be saying and doing all the right things. His forearm is now supporting her upper back while his palm is at the base of her neck. His fingers are scratching her scalp and he chuckles when she releases a quiet sigh. “Feels good doesn’t it?”

A gentle thump to Din's chest is the answer Sierra gives him, he’s wrong in a sense. It feels perfect and she wants nothing more than to stay like this. “Yes it does.” Finally relenting they remain cuddled together on the couch for at least half an hour, maybe longer. Neither of them were sure. It was serene. Nothing pressing or urgent. No interruptions, the two of them could just exist together.

Din had to wake her up to not only walk her home but to pick up his son who was likely sleeping as well. Watching Sierra walk in front of him with wobbly legs, gave him many ideas, ones that he was unaware that Sierra shared similar ideas.

At Johnnie Mae’s home, they were met with the sight of Luke sipping lemonade as he and Mae were watching ‘Law & Order: The Force Beckons.’

“Hey Sierra. Nice to meet you little G’s dad. I’m Luke from across the street. Old friend of Mae’s here. Kept our girl out late did you?” His graveled voice greets the pair as they step in and remove their shoes. Johnnie Mae is holding hands with Luke as Grogo sleeps opposite them soundly. Din’s taken aback for a moment. It registered that this is the man who lives across the street and is Ms. Harris’ gentleman friend. The same one who’d given his son a gift and them an interesting dinner conversation. Sierra wasn’t phased at seeing them together so it’s clear this isn’t new.

“Did you have a good plate of food Mr. Skywalker?” Sierra asks, her grin says she’s amused because she finds her aunt and her ‘gentleman friend’ for at least ten years cute. Luke stands and pats her shoulder before giving her a hug.

“Yeah. Your aunt always treats me well. You know that. How have you been kiddo?” He asks when he releases her from the embrace and holds her upper arms, careful not to touch below her elbows.

“Life sucked. But now it’s better, took time like many things. I adapted.” The affirmative grunt Luke gives has him leave it alone and turn to Din. Offering his hand, the single father takes it and gives the Jedi a firm handshake.

The two men keep eye contact during their greeting. Ending their stand-off, hands at their sides, they nodded to each other. An understanding was made between them. The unspoken promise had Luke step aside as Din spotted his son asleep in the chair across the room.

“Thanks.” Din gives a small nod to Skywalker before making his way across the room to scoop his son in his arms. Grogo stirs and looks up at his father, his eyes heavy from sleep. He smiles before drifting back off.

“Little G’s a good kid. Might have something to do with his father.” Luke plops back down on the couch next to Johnnie Mae with Din giving the grizzled man a small chuckle.

“I know. He's that best. We're going to head out, it's pretty late. Thank you Ms. Harris for dinner earlier and to you both for keeping an eye on him tonight.” Johnnie Mae waves him off and stands up to give Din a side hug to not disturb Grogu's slumber. The father walked slowly to the door and Sierra opened it for him, he had his hands full of important cargo afterall. Luke and Ms. Harris left the living room, opting to give the two some privacy. “Good night Sierra.”

Din’s eyes are warm as he watches Sierra’s face, “Good night Din. Ah,” Hesitating at first, she allows her fingers to glide up his forearm. He doesn’t pull away and instead remains still, appreciating her touch. “I-I’d like to speak to you tomorrow during lunch when you have time. Nothing important or anything just to-” His lips find her forehead and she pauses with a gasp.

“Just to talk. Trust me, I’ll have time Sierra. Good night and sleep well. I have to get this one home and tucked into bed.” His eyes linger on her as he steps out of the door, Din only looks forward to keep from tripping down the porch or the stairs. He has responsibilities and he can’t stay as much as he would like, looking back a final time before starting across the yard back to his home, she’s standing in the doorway, illuminated and waving at him with a smile.

Djarin feels a pang of languish while he enters his home and puts little Grogu to bed. He’s always been thankful for his son, his adorable menace, but maybe sometimes he would like someone beside him who he didn’t have to sing Spongebob to or Bluey. His large palm pats Grogu’s head and bats his curls a bit, he goes to take a shower and settles into his own bed, already excited about his lunch break tomorrow

Space Buddies 🚀: @readingiskeepingmegoing @604to647 @syd-djarin @yorksgirl @harriedandharassed

@survivingandenduring @katw474 @trulybetty @bitchwitch1981 @soft-persephone

@soft-girl-musings @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse @pedroshotwifey @megamindsecretlair

@littlemisspascal @r0guedr0id

Chapter Four Chapter Six

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal fanfiction #nerdieforpedro #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x OC

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