#like we as the reader have no indication as to whether shes nearby or not.

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded psychopath happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 34

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

The night ended more lighthearted. Dr. Miller and I took advantage of the frozen lake and the scenery again, skating around and taking pictures of the winter wonderland. We had a few drinks, went out for dinner, and spent most of the night thereafter in the loft. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have left that little nook in the woods.

“We should rent this place again in the summer,” I said to him. “I bet it’s nice to kayak around.. maybe go fishing.. hike the trails. Oh, and I saw a new, little brewery is supposed to be having its grand opening in May nearby.”

Dr. Miller smiled. “I can book it now for July.”

I loved thinkin about the future, even if it was just a matter of months. For a second I daydreamed images of a tan Dr. Miller by my side, shirtless and glistening in the sun. It made me smirk.

Bidding a temporary farewell to the lakeside cabin was bittersweet, though Dr. Miller already put in a request for the summer before we took off for home.

“The good news is we have another getaway at my sister’s wedding next weekend,” Dr. Miller explained as we hit the highway. “Can you get off work for the rehearsal dinner on Friday? I may cancel Thursday’s class so we can hit the road when you get out of work on Thursday. It’s a pretty good haul up to Vermont.”

I nodded, “Of course. I can’t wait.”

When Tuesday’s class rolled around I decided to confront Trevor on the walk out. His constant stares were starting to bug me and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since the day I’d left Dr. Stevenson’s class to give a sneaky kiss to Dr. Miller in his office. A part of me wanted to ask him what he thought he knew, but I also didn’t want to accidentally rat myself out - or Dr. Miller.

Otherwise, I was very much into the class discussion, and loved how Dr. Miller smiled a certain way when he called on me to answer a question. I loved his class. On a side note, there was a certain level of sneaky amusement I felt from having this secret life with him. No one in the class had even the slightest indication that we lived together, or that we just celebrated Valentine's Day shacked up in a remote, lakeside cabin. There was a part of me that got off on our secret.

“So,” Dr. Miller clapped his hands together. “I'm going to post something for you to read and look over. You'll be able to even discuss points online if you'd like, but Thursday's class will not meet in person. My sister is getting married out of state and I'll be traveling to Vermont on Thursday in preparation for that.”

“Congratulations!” Someone's voice echoed off the walls, making a few others laugh. “To your sister,” the person added, drawing more laughter.

“Thank you,” Dr. Miller responded with a chuckle. “If there are no further questions -”

“Class dismissed,” the group said in unison.

I smiled to myself and stuffed my notebook into my bag. It was always odd to me as I left the classroom. Dr. Miller and I were so affectionate and borderline clingy everywhere else. That's the only part I hated - not being able to be ourselves during that short time frame we had together on campus.

My phone went off and I glanced down, smiling when I saw it was him. 

See you at home.

I glanced toward him and our eyes briefly met as he began packing up his black bag.

And then, as I ducked out into the hallway, Trevor leaned over getting a drink of water. He was one of the only people I ever saw use the water fountain in the building.

I went to call out to him but then decided against it. Why was I about to create a conflict out of nothing? Plus, I reminded myself, he had walked with me to class when I didn't want to walk alone.

I passed by, glancing over at him. Just as he finished getting a drink our eyes met for a brief moment. I looked away and kept walking, using the stairs to get up to the main floor.

Behind me, I heard Trevor clear his throat and then his feet peppered up the stairwell behind me. I yanked open the door to enter the lobby and Trevor’s footsteps came faster.

“Could you hold that, please?” His nasally voice called out.

I sighed to myself but turned around with a half-smile and a nod.

“Thank you.” He hurried to reach for the door and held it so I could go ahead first.

“No problem.” I continued walking and Trevor cleared his throat again as he scurried up beside me.

“Have any plans for the long weekend?” He asked, gripping the straps of his backpack as we wandered toward the main doors.

“Hmm.. I might go visit my parents,” I lied, “But nothing else. You?”

He shrugged. “I may go skiing.”

So am I, I thought, even though I didn't know how. Carol’s wedding. “You ski?”

“Doesn't everyone in the Catskills area?” He snorted a laugh at himself and I smirked.

“Everyone but me.” I smiled back. “I don't know how.”

“I've been skiing since I've been five.”

“Cool.”

“I could always give you lessons. I used to give lessons before I started working for UPS.”

“I didn't know you worked for UPS.”

“For now.” He grinned and followed me out into the parking lot.

I glanced over at him as he continued to trail me out into the parking lot. I felt like he was velcroed to me. He was so close.

“Well, I'll see ya later Trevor.” I reached for the handle on my car as I approached and he cleared his throat again.

What is his deal? I wanted to blurt it out, but I wasn’t the type to be super direct like that. He wasn’t doing anything wrong - just being awkward and slightly annoying.

Trevor raised a hand to wave, almost robotically, as I pulled out of the parking space and edged my way down the rows of cars to exit the campus parking lot. When I was close to a half-a-football field away, I caught a glimpse of him waving his hands wildly in my direction. I wasn’t even sure if he was trying to flag me down, or was summoning someone else. And so, I kept driving. I didn’t see Dr. Miller exit the building.

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Miller approached Trevor when he heard the commotion.

Trevor reached into the pocket of his jacket and stared down at the screen of a cell phone. He eyed the screen, reading a notification as it flashed across.

YOUR STOWE, VT LIFT TICKETS ARE NOW AVAILABLE TO PUT INTO I-WALLET. CLICK THE BANNER TO CONFIRM.

Dr. Miller’s eyes landed on the familiar phone cover. He had the urge to yank it from Trevor’s hand and demand why he had (Y/N)’s phone, but he knew he had to restrain himself.

“Who’s the phone belong to?” Dr. Miller asked, knowing damn well who it belonged to.

“I-I..” Trevor looked down at it again and spoke to himself. “She said she couldn’t ski.” He scratched his head and continued to stare at the screen.

“Trevor.” Dr. Miller closed the gap between the two of them. “Why do you have that phone?”

“One of my friends from class dropped it,” he claimed, “She just drove off. I was trying to flag her down.” Trevor slipped the phone back into his pocket and Dr. Miller extended his hand.

“I’ll turn it in to campus police.”

He kept the phone in his coat. “I can do that.”

“I insist.” Dr. Miller nodded and kept his palm facing up a few inches in front of Trevor. “I’m sticking around here anyway to do a few things.”

Trevor stared up at him, and then looked back down to his hand. He didn’t immediately hand over the phone. “Where did you say your sister’s wedding was?”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[gloomwitchwrites]

Frozen Ground: Part 2 (Din Djarin x Female Reader)

Content & Warnings: Mandalorian culture, romantic fluff, breeding kink / undertones, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (it’s fantasy, wrap it up), creampie, multiple positions, happy ending

Word Count: 5k

Din travels to a farming planet to recruit a reclusive group of Mandalorians to help retake Mandalore. The snowy season is starting, and the locals are preparing for their winter observance. While waiting for the Mandalorian covert to come to a decision, Din spends time with the local population, finding a bit of comfort with a particular someone.

A/N: Part of the Winter 2023 Collection

Part 1

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart ka’rta beskar – iron heart mesh’la – beautiful ner dala – my woman riduur – partner / spouse

That evening, after everyone eats, another meeting is held.

Din does not speak during the entire discussion. Right now, his voice is not wanted. They’ve heard him, and they must decide as a covert whether to follow him to Nevarro.

He leans against a wall at the back of the communal area. Grogu is at Din’s feet and periodically reaches out to him with one arm, indicating he wants another berry. Din fishes out the little fruits and hands them one-by-one to Grogu who eagerly stuffs each round berry into his mouth. His little, three-fingered hand is dripping with juice, and the area around his mouth is stained a deep red.

Crix and Jido are with them, standing off to Din’s left, watching the whole affair just like Din. Even though the two men are only acquaintances, their presence is comforting. Mandalorians are strongest together even if they come from different tribes.

So far, most of the meeting has been spent debating. Whoever wants to speak is allowed to, and everyone else must listen without interrupting. Every voice must be heard, which is difficult for any Mandalorian. It is in their nature to act, not to sit around in philosophical thought.

A male Mandalorian in golden armor sits down. Another stands to take his place, beginning their monologue.

Crix leans toward Din and Din turns his head slightly in acknowledgement. “She’s pretty,” murmurs Crix.

“Who?” asks Din flatly, knowing exactly who Crix is referring to.

“Really?” snorts Crix.

Din runs his tongue along his top teeth. “What about her?”

Crix leans in a bit more, lowering his voice. “You should approach her.”

What would be the point? You are not Mandalorian. There is no future there. Din grits his teeth, his hand forming into a fist as he tries to calm himself. Not having you, knowing that he cannot be with you, is a gut-punch. The Way of the Mand’alor always comes first.

“Why?” Din keeps his tone neutral. “She is not Mandalorian. How would that work?” The words coming out of his mouth feel hollow. Din is almost resentful of them.

Crix laughs softly, and one of the nearby Mandalorians listening turns around abruptly. Crix waits until their attention returns to the middle of the room. “Why should it matter whether she is Mandalorian? Several of our tribe were once members of the very same farming community. To walk the path of a Mandalorian is often a lonely one. Why not make it a bit less so?”

Din shakes his head, not understanding. “This is common for your tribe?”

Crix shrugs. “Yes. Is it not with yours?”

Din steps around Crix’s question by asking one of his own. “But you don’t remove your helmets?” Even with the helmet on, Din can sense the confusion on Crix’s end.

“I’m not sure what life is like for your tribe,” says Crix slowly. “For us, we only remove our helmets in front of immediate family. That includes our riduur and our younglings.” Crix glances down at Grogu and adds, “or foundlings.” He sighs. “This is the Way.”

Jido, who has mostly been quiet this whole time softly repeats it back.

Crix nudges Din’s arm with his elbow. “You don’t need to remove your helmet to make a youngling.”

The very idea of Din doing such a thing with you warms him everywhere and sends blood rushing to his groin. He needs to stop focusing on this and focus on the betterment of all Mandalorians.

The same Mandalorian who turned around minutes ago does it again, glaring behind their helmet.

Din pays them no mind, returning his attention toward the middle of the room. There are plenty of members of the tribe who vehemently disagree with returning and many more who wish to go. Each Mandalorian who stands and speaks has a solid point. They all have a clear and thoughtful response to Din’s message.

And nothing is solved. No one comes to an agreement.

Din will be here longer than expected if this the rate they’re moving. He hasn’t even contacted Bo-Katan to give her an update. What can he tell her? That he has made no progress?

When the covert ends discussions and begins to break apart, Din picks Grogu off the floor, tucking the foundling close to his heart.

“Sleep well, Din Djarin,” says Crix, tipping his helmet in a goodbye. “I’ll come by in the morning.”

Crix stays true to his word, and this time, Din brings Grogu with him. Jido, Ran, and Cerra all tag along as well. They respectfully keep their distance, mostly focusing on walking the streets and keeping an eye on the settlement.

Snow falls in light swells from the sky, and covers the tops of the buildings. Grogu coos, his little hand reaching toward the flakes as he tries to catch them. Every time he does, and he draws his hand to his face for a look, the snowflakes have melted.

Grogu’s ears droop as he presents his hand to Din.

“You run too warm. Melts when it touches you,” replies Din to Grogu’s silent question.

Grogu’s head tilts to the side and then he’s back to watching the falling snow.

Crix draws up to Din side. “Are you going to approach her?”

Din sighs, unsure of how to answer. He wants to, but his obligation to his tribe and his people gives him pause.

Crix nods at Din’s silence, and then tips his helmet toward the right. “Whatever you’re thinking about, decide fast because she’s heading your way.”

Din immediately straightens, his helmet pivoting to locate you. There is a soft, unsure, almost demure smile on your face.

“Is this little one yours?” you ask.

“This is Grogu.”

At the sound of his name, Grogu perks up, his ears flaring slightly.

“Hello, Grogu,” you croon. With delicate movements, you gently clasp Grogu’s small hand and shake it in greeting. Grogu’s coo is a pleased one, and Din carefully wraps this memory up for safekeeping.

You let go of Grogu’s hand and look up into Din’s t-shaped visor. He knows that you cannot see his face, but yet he still feels vulnerable under your stare. Your attention pleases him.

“May I seek your assistance with something?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Anything,” says Din automatically.

Crix and Ran snort. Cerra punches Ran in the arm and shushes them both.

You shrug sheepishly. “I know you’re a Mandalorian and you’re used to more…strenuous work.” Someone snorts after the word strenuous, and then Cerra is shushing the other Mandalorians again. “But most of the women who usually help me are unavailable,” you continue. “They have other matters to attend to, and I could really use the help. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

You sigh, relief spreading across your face. It’s beautiful, and Din has to resist reaching out to brush the curve of your bottom lip.

“I’ll take the young one,” says Crix, stepping up to Din.

For a brief moment, Din doesn’t want to hand Grogu over, but Crix’s reasons for doing so suddenly come flaring to life in Din’s mind. Crix keeps pushing him to be alone with you. Deciding to take the chance, Din slowly removes the strap of the bag from over his shoulder, handing the precious bundle over to Crix.

Grogu makes a little sound and then Crix, Jido, Ran, and Cerra are walking away. Din watches them go. When they disappear around a corner, you lead Din to the small building where you placed the necklace around his neck and kissed his cheeks. As you lead him inside, Din sees that no one else is there.

There are only two illuminated lights along with the uncovered window. Under the window is a heater that pumps in warm air. There are several of those canvas bags stacked in the middle room of the room Din noticed the other day.

“I need help separating the flowers from the nettle. It’s time consuming and the young boys who went out this morning to gather it all didn’t take their time. It’s all jumbled together.” Your hands move in the air as you explain, almost like it’s a nervous habit. It’s cute, and Din doesn’t realize how close he’s actually standing to you until one of your wandering arms knocks into his chest plate.

He steps back as your gaze softens. Separating flowers from nettle seems like a vacation compared to Din’s usual work. “I’m happy to help,” he says, meaning every word.

You gaze drops to a point near his waist. “You still have the one I gave you.”

Din looks down at the Daily Strand attached to his hip. “Yes.”

“We replace a new one each day. I can do that now if you like?”

Din shakes his head. “Afterward.” It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever had to say, because Din wants to say yes. He wants you to put another one around his neck and receive your kisses even if he cannot feel them against his skin.

You guide him to one of the bags, and the two of you kneel next to them. The bags are heavy, nearly overflowing, but Din selects one and begins sorting. He understands what you mean the moment he opens one up. It’s an absolute mess.

The nettle is sharp, even Din can feel it through his gloves, and you’re working without any. He sees the flinch, notices your gentle recoil from the constant poking. You try to hide it, and when your fingers bleed, you attempt to discreetly mask the red that blooms on your fingers.

“Do you have gloves?”

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “And I can’t seem to locate a spare from anyone. It’s not bad. Really.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Din reaches out but you pull back.

He’s having none of it. Din grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, but the momentum is too great. You go tumbling into his lap. Din’s back hits the floor and your hands fly out to steady yourself, landing on his chest.

The two of you hang suspends like this. There is Din flat on his back and you straddling his hips, hands firmly planted on his chest, your face dangerously close to his helmet. Din’s hands float in the air on either side of you.

You and Din linger like this until the reality of the position seeps in. Din doesn’t drop his hands to his sides or try to lift you off his lap. Instead, his hands drift closer, resting on your hips. When you do not pull away, Din’s hand slide lower, squeezing your thighs. The little sound you make goes straight to his groin.

He immediately sits up, but he does not allow you to slide off his lap. Din won’t let you get away. One of his arms slides behind your waist, securing you against him, drawing you closer. Idling in this closeness, every temptation to run away with you scorches in Din’s blood.

Yet it is you that speaks first. “I’m not really in the mood for sorting flowers anymore,” you murmur.

“I’m not either,” answers Din, his voice raspy and low.

You lick your lips, and his gaze follows it. “There’s a backroom.”

By the time the suggestion is leaving your mouth, Din is already up, keeping you against him. “Show me,” he growls, no longer able to contain the fire burning within his blood.

You nod in the direction of the back wall. Din’s helmet turns and he sees the panel. Din strides forward, legs pumping as he keeps you aloft with one hand while smashing the button for the door. It slides open and Din steps in with you.

It’s cramped, more of a storage space than anything. There is a plain table pushed against the wall, and a full shelving unit next to it. Din deposits you on the table, his gloved hands reaching for your hips. Din is eager. He has you alone.

He moves closer, stepping into the space your spread legs create, sliding an arm around your waist. Din’s helmet dips forward, and he breathes in your scent, sighing.

You are not immune. You tuck yourself against his chest, leaning into his touches, and Din is downright prideful. This is your reaction to him. You are warm and comforting, a small source of light that Din wishes to carry with him whenever he is in the dark.

To sink into you, to lose himself entirely, would be a gift.

Din’s hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Slowly, the tips of your fingers trace the edge of his chest plate. Then, they drift up, running along the edge of his helmet.

“Is this okay?” you ask softly. You do not reach out to remove his helmet. Other women have tried to, and Din always has to draw their hands away from him.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and your gentle smile spurs him to action.

Din does not linger on your hips. He explores and touches, running his gloved hands over bare and covered skin. The skirts of your dress are up around your thighs, and Din takes this opportunity to slip his hand underneath the fabric.

The moment he makes contact with your inner thigh, you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his arms where there is no armor. The way you cling to Din pleases a primal part of him. He wants to possess you, to draw you into himself until he alone can call you his.

But the touch is not enough. Din needs closeness. He needs skin against skin.

Tearing his hand away from your thigh, Din pulls on the fingers of his glove until the fabric gives. He tosses it onto the table, and returns his now bare hand to your inner thigh. You both groan, and Din squeezes your flesh, reveling in your warmth.

He wants to be inside you. His body is blazing, calling out for you like oxygen.

Din’s fingers drift closer until his middle finger parts your sex. The tip of his finger catches on your entrance, and it’s very clear to Din just how wet you are.

Something inside him snaps. Burns bright. Neither of you are leaving this room until he’s claimed you properly.

Din draws the wetness up, dragging it over you until he finds the thing he’s seeking. He swirls the tip of his finger around your clit. Your own fingers dig into him deeper, your lips parting slightly as you inhale.

“Mesh’la,” murmurs Din, as he slides his finger inside.

You moan loudly, head tipping backward as he begins to pump his hand between your legs. The hem of your dress is bunched and covering up his view. The desire to rip your clothing from your body roils up unbidden, and it takes every molecule of control for Din not to follow through.

Your legs fall open wider, and the hem of your dress stretches, exposing you to Din’s gaze. Now that he can watch, Din is unable to look away. He is enraptured with the way his finger disappears inside your welcoming body, only to retreat, coated in glossy wetness.

Unable to help himself, Din inserts a second finger, curling them slightly to hit that sweet spot deep inside you. It pleases Din, but it’s not enough. He rotates his wrist and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing in slow circles.

It isn’t until you’re clenching around him, whimpering, that Din realizes you’re falling apart. Your moans are sweet, and Din doesn’t stop moving until your body starts to relax. He holds his fingers inside of you while your chest heaves.

“Can I keep touching you, cyar’ika?” asks Din, his helmet dipping until his forehead almost rests against your own.

You nod frantically. “Please.”

Your desire to continue, the need to keep going also fuels his own. Din strokes his thumb across your clit. It’s the perfect flick, and you tense up, squeezing around him. Din is pleased at how easily you fall apart for him.

Din does not pause. He keeps going until the muscles in your legs tense and involuntarily clamp around his hips. Your hips jerk with aftershocks, and you slip, falling onto your elbows as your eyelids flutter with pleasure.

“You’re teasing me,” you groan.

“Am I?” Din asks innocently, his thumb stroking against your clit yet again. He is a man on a mission. He wants you wet. Dripping. Ready.

The only response you manage to muster is another groan, and this is enough for Din. He continues to pump those two fingers in and out until your wetness coats the top of the table beneath you.

If he weren’t wearing his helmet, Din would taste you. He wants to understand your taste, to put his fingers in his mouth to know your flavor. He wants to imprint it on his memory. He never wants to forget. Whether the two of you can truly be together is irrelevant. This moment—this interaction—is enough for Din if it is all he can have with you.

But Din does not taste you. Instead, he coaxes you toward another orgasm, guiding you toward it until you fall over the edge, smashing into the ground below in a wordless, choked, cry. Your back arches, hips rolling outward, meeting his fingers until the wordlessness leaves you and you’re openly begging.

Din gently removes his fingers and holds them up before his face. The glossy pleasure drips onto his knuckles and the back of his hand. While you cannot see his face, Din is watching yours, and the way you observe him through half-closed eyelids, a beautifully lusty gaze settling over your features.

With exaggerated slowness, Din tugs on the hidden zipper at the front of his flightsuit. Once it’s undone, he guides it open, unsheathing his cock. It’s been aching and hard this entire time, and he uses the wetness on his fingers to coat himself.

Your lips part, form a soft o. Then his hands are on your hips, guiding you to the very edge of the table, lining himself up, the tip pressing but not venturing further.

“May I?” asks Din softly, not understanding this odd feeling in his chest. It’s a fear of rejection, as if you’ll take everything back and push him away.

The smile on your lips tells Din everything he needs to know before you even speak. “Please. I want this. I want you.”

At your gentle plea, Din surrenders. You’re so wet, Din glides right in. You groan, your legs falling wider to accommodate him.

“Ner dala,” murmurs Din, thrusting gently as your warmth stretches to accommodate him.

He rolls his hips until you take more and more of him. It’s only when Din is completely inside of you that he pauses, holding there as your walls flutter and flex. It sends Din’s limbs into coiling tension.

Din’s next thrust hits deep. He impales you, sheathing himself entirely. He holds there for only a moment, one hand moving to your stomach to keep you firmly in place as you fall back against the table.

He stretches forward, resting one hand on your stomach while the other presses into the table next to your head. Din anchors himself, leans forward, and groans at the feeling of your body adapting to accommodate his change in position.

It’s kriffing sinful, and now Din understands why the local covert has absorbed some of the local planet’s citizens. If this were his life, he’d convince you to take the Creed, to join with him, and be by his side.

Then, he has is way with you, setting a pace that has you begging for him. You take him in, pussy stretching around and squeezing him. Din is relentless, hips rolling forward and back until the table creaks and bangs against the wall. Your fingers grab and pull at him, and your desperate need to touch him only fuel’s Din’s desire more.

Din’s brain is buzzing, his body screaming for release. You’ve lost your words, the little pleas falling from your lips now transformed into sharp exhalations. But you are wanton, and Din catches sight of your hand sliding between your bodies, fingers searching for your clit. When you do find it, it only takes a few flicks and then Din feels you clamping down around him, squeezing, drawing him further into your body.

“Kriffing hell,” groans Din, grinding forward, his hand sliding away from your stomach to grab onto your hip. He needs to anchor himself somehow or he’ll be quick to follow.

Your hand slips away, and then Din resumes, knowing that his end will come swiftly.

“Say my name, cyar’ika. Beg for me. Tell me you're mine.”

“Din,” you moan, legs locking around his back. “Please. I’m yours.”

Din rolls his hips a few more times and still, creating a seal as he empties himself inside you. His hand against the table slips, and Din goes down on an elbow, trapping you against the table as his breathing become heavy and labored.

The two of you cling to each other, and Din is reluctant to let go.

One of your legs starts to slip and Din catches it, guiding it softly back to the table. You place your hands on his chest and push slightly, indicating you want to sit up.

Groaning, Din slides out of your body, immediately wanting your warmth again. Before your dress can fall over the mess, Din glimpses the pearly white of his release pooling at your entrance.

The skirts of your dress fall into place, and Din pretends like he wasn’t just gazing on the results of your mating. He discreetly tucks himself back into his flightsuit as you fidget with the sleeves of your dress.

Are you nervous? Embarrassed? Din hopes not. He isn’t ashamed of what the two of you did. With gentle tenderness, Din guides you off the table and onto your feet. You’re a little wobbly and Din is immediately alert.

“Did I harm you?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “No. Of course not.” Your gaze drops to your feet but he catches your flustered lopsided grin.

Din simmers with smugness behind his helmet. He returns his glove to his hand, only to reach out and tug on a strand of your hair in a playful gesture. You immediately step into him, and Din sees this as a victory.

“May I have that Daily Strand you offered.”

“Of course,” you murmur, sliding your hand in his.

“The two of you made a youngling.”

Din turns on Crix. “We did not make a youngling.”

“You sure? I can smell—”

Din holds up a hand. “Be careful of your next words.”

Crix throws his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m happy for you. Really. Us Mandalorians struggle to grow in number.”

Crix isn’t entirely wrong. Once the two of you returned to the main room to keep sorting, it wasn’t long before Din had you pinned beneath him, moaning his name. You make him vulnerable, and while in any other situation Din would despise that, with you, he enjoys it. With you, he doesn’t feel judged or unwanted. It’s a different kind of want Din feels with his tribe. They value his skills, but you value him for everything else.

This meeting is just as unproductive as yesterday’s. There is no progress, but Din is thankful there isn’t a regression. After all this, he doesn’t want to return to Bo-Katan without this tribe in tow. They are a fairly large covert, easily numbering in the hundreds.

The next day, Din is right back with you, sneaking off to your private home on the very edge of the settlement.

“Hold on to me, cyar’ika. Don’t let go.”

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his flightsuit, and your forehead rests against his helmet. Your warm breath fogs the beskar with each exhalation.

Din reclines in a large chair with you straddling him, knees pressed into the cushion of the chair. Din grips your hips, guiding them forward and back, gliding you up and down his cock.

Those delicate fingers of your slide upward, curling around the edge of the flightsuit, pulling until there is a faint sliver of skin. Din does not stop you. Your mouth presses against that flesh. Kissing, sucking, nipping over and over until Din is bouncing you on him, his head falling back to revealing more of that skin to you.

Your mouth opens, comes down on his throat, sucking, and Din groans loudly, slamming your hips down on him as he finishes. When you pull away, Din is quick to lift you out of the chair and into his arms, moving toward the small bed in the corner.

You giggle the whole way, and then shriek in playful surprise when he tosses you down onto the bedding. It isn’t long until Din guides you onto your hands and knees, sliding back inside.

He wants to stay here, to linger with you, but he knows that this will end. That he will have to leave. But for now—for the moment—Din will enjoy the time he does have.

That is how it goes. For almost two weeks, the covert debates, and between their debates, Din goes to you, falling into your arms with eagerness. Then it all comes to a crashing halt. It is a blow that Din knows is coming and yet still takes him by surprise.

“We will join Lady Bo-Katan Kryze’s efforts to reclaim Mandalore.” Vikal stands with the other leaders of the tribe, addressing Din in the early morning light.

“When can we leave?”

“Immediately,” answers Vikal. “Within the next few hours.”

“I will contact Nevarro and tell them to expect us.”

Vikal and the other leaders place their clenched fists over their hearts, bowing slightly. Din does the same. As they depart, Crix steps up beside Din, watching them walk away.

“Would you like to go to her?” asks Crix. “Tell her you’re leaving?”

“Is there time?”

Crix nods. “I’ll see that you get it.”

When Din arrives at the farming settlement, and locates your home, it’s a slash across his heart. As he steps inside and sees you there, standing to greet him, Din’s resolve starts to faulter. He is not immediately walking toward you, and as you realize this, your face falls, concern replacing the joy.

“You have to leave,” you say simply.

“I do.”

“For your tribe?”

“For my people.”

You glide across the floor like a phantom. As you draw close, you lift your hand, and press your palm against the side of Din’s helmet. He leans into it, his own hand cradling yours.

“Then go, with all my love leaving with you.”

Din shakes his head. “You cannot give that to me.”

“My love is for me to share. And I place it with you.” Your other hand gently rises and then rests against the ka’rta beskar, the iron heart in the middle of every Mandalorian’s chest plate.

Slowly, Din removes your hand from his helmet, only to press it against the spot where his lips would be if he weren’t wearing it. Din reaches out, draws you against him, the two of you standing in that little room in quiet contemplation.

Din is reluctant to leave, but he pulls away, aching within his heart with every step.

The Great Forge burns bright and hot.

The uncovered faces around Din glow with pride. They are stained with joyful tears. While Din also feels the same, while he also feels victorious and proud of his people, there is one person that lingers in the recesses of his thoughts.

Of the last Daily Strand he received, there is only a single petal left. Din keeps it tucked inside a pocket of his flightsuit, and when no one is watching, he removes it, rubbing the delicate petal softly between his fingers.

The deed is done. Mandalore belongs to the Mandalorians again, but there is still a missing piece within Din. A shape that is simply an empty hole. Bo-Katan told him he is not obligated to stay, but that his presence is a welcome one.

Din watches from the back of the crowd, and decides that he needs to do what is best for him.

The N1 lands on frozen ground.

It is deep winter on Itera, and the snow crunches beneath his boots. The people walking around all greet him like the first time he stepped beyond the wall. Din knows the path. He knows where to go.

When he stands before your door, he hesitates, unsure if he should just go inside. He almost debates turning back, and he does, briefly.

“Din?”

His voice is a question. It is you, asking. Din glances over his shoulder and then turns his upper body in the direction of your voice. There is a momentary pause, a second where everything stands still.

The basket in your hand falls, and then the two of you are falling into the snow together. You are real and warm and wonderful in his arms.

“You came back,” you whisper, your breath turning to steam in the air.

Din tugs you closer, presenting the petal he’s kept all this time. Your lips pull back into a wide grin that stretches toward your ears.

“I need a new one.”

You lean in. Kiss the beskar helmet on the right and then left side. “Is that all you want?”

Din’s gloved hand brushes against the curve of your jaw. “No. It’s not everything.”

Part 1

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[proseover-bros]

FOR THE ONES WE LOVE | CH. 5

FANDOM: The Walking Dead

SERIES: For the Ones We Love

STATUS: Ongoing

ERA: Prison

PAIRING: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Female Reader (No use of “Y/N”)

CHAPTER FIVE: Escape

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

SUMMARY: After rescuing the Dixon brothers and fleeing Woodbury, the group is at odds on whether or not to allow Merle to return to the prison with them.

RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Language and Violence (Typical TWD Content), Merle Being Merle

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long! Hopefully I still have some readers out there after my unexpected hiatus. 

By the time the group made it back to the entrance of Woodbury, the gunfire had completely died down. With Daryl providing cover for a safe exit; you, Rick, Maggie, and Glenn had moved together quickly and quietly through the streets and narrow back alleys, working together to get everyone to safety.

Everyone, except of course, for Daryl.

Crouched near the same car you’d kneeled behind just an hour before, you counted to sixty a total of five times, marking off the minutes since the last bullet was fired. There was no telling if the battle had stopped because Daryl had managed to take out the rest of the Governor’s men, or if he’d gotten away. The alternative was something that you tried not to give much thought to, though you knew his odds of survival were slim if he hadn’t managed to escape.

Nerves ignited in your stomach like a swarm of wildfire as your mind raced through everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. The day had begun normally enough — or rather, what you’d discovered was your new normal — when you’d accompanied Daryl on his hunting trip at Rick’s insistence.

You thought back to how you’d trudged along with him in the woods for what felt like an eternity, cursing the constant scowl on his face and his horrible conversational skills. It was difficult to believe that this was the same man whose safe return you were now concerned for, and almost unimaginable how much things could change in just a day’s time.

“We never should have left him,” You whispered, guilt eating away at every syllable.

You could feel Rick’s eyes on you as he contemplated your words, but your gaze remained cast ahead, foolishly hoping that Daryl would appear if you just wished for it hard enough.

“He’ll be OK,” Rick replied in an assuring tone, one that you thought might be for his benefit as much as it was for yours.

Suddenly, a nearby rustling caught the group’s attention. With your heart in your throat and your teeth clenched tight, you gripped your rifle close, watching as a dark figure ducked out from beneath a train boxcar and stumbled forward.

It was Michonne.

“Where the hell were you?”

Rick rounded on the woman in a flash, aiming his pistol at her as she stood unsteadily. As you moved closer you noticed that her limp appeared much worse, and that she had a fresh cut across her nose and forehead that hadn’t been there before.

“Put your hands up!” Rick demanded as you raised your own rifle, stepping behind her while he sized her up from the front. 

The newcomer lifted her arms and continued to do as Rick instructed, turning to face you as he snatched her katana from its sheath on her back.

“Get what you came for?” Rick hissed, the anger in his voice evident as he lowered his gun to glare at her.

Michonne’s eyes stayed on yours, almost as if she were expecting you to come to her rescue like you had before, but still you held your rifle steady. You’d defended her twice since finding her in the prison yard with Daryl, but she’d crossed a line now. Your loyalty was to Rick, and there was no better time than now to remind her of that.

“Where are the rest of your people?” Michonne finally asked.

“Daryl’s missing,” You spoke up, your concern for him seeming to outweigh any feeling of resentment you may have felt towards her. “Did you see him?”

Michonne held your gaze as she shook her head, her expression indicating that she wished she had a different answer. “No.”

“If anything happens to him—“ Rick began.

“I brought you here to save them,”Michonne reminded him, nodding towards Glenn and Maggie as they huddled off to the side.

Even as you remained wary of Michonne’s intentions, you understood the meaning behind her words: Why would she help rescue two of your people, only to willingly put Daryl in harm’s way?

“Thanks for the help,” Rick replied sarcastically.

“You’ll need help to get them back to the prison,” Michonne reasoned desperately, her eyes going from Rick’s to yours. “Or to go back there for Daryl. Either way, you need me.”

Rick clenched his jaw as he studied the dark-skinned woman closely, clearly at odds with what to do.

She’s right.

You knew that, and could only hope that Rick would be willing to put his pride aside to accept her offer.

What else did you have to go on?

To your relief, he nodded his head and stepped forward.

“You help Glenn back to the car,” Rick gestured towards Michonne.

Next, he looked to you and Maggie. “You two are with me. Let’s go get Daryl.”

---

The last thing that Daryl could remember seeing clearly before he was captured, was the image of your back retreating along with the others. Relief came fast but fleeting, the feeling lasting only a few seconds when he turned in the opposite direction and his face met the stock of a rifle, the harsh impact sending him straight to the ground.

“Stay down!” One of the Governor’s men shouted as he held his gun on him.

The familiar taste of iron touched Daryl’s tongue as blood began to fill his mouth. He held his hands out to show that they were empty, biting back a wince as his head began to pound from colliding with the unforgiving pavement of the street.

“Get his shit!” The same man instructed as another man knelt to pick up his fallen gear.

An overwhelming feeling met Daryl’s conscience as the man took away his weapons. He would’ve much preferred to have them on him while he stayed behind to look for Merle, but he was grateful that the focus remained on him rather than where you and the others had disappeared to.

Where the hell is that bastard?

Before he could spend another second entertaining thoughts of his brother, two more men appeared from the smoke to pull him to his feet.

“Where are they?” The man who’d hit him yelled as he closed in on Daryl.

According to Michonne, Woodbury was a town of over seventy people that was run by a ruthless leader, and they’d taken back Glenn and Maggie with nothing more than a group of four, just as many guns, and some flash bangs. Daryl Dixon had never been cocky, after years of living with Merle and his overconfidence he’d had enough of it to dissuade him from acting similarly, but somehow he couldn’t hide the tiny smirk that appeared on his face when the Governor’s soldier asked him that question.

Enraged, the man threw his fist forward and punched Daryl in his already injured mouth, causing him to slump back against the men holding him up. Sucking in a mouthful of blood from the wound on his lip, Daryl cocked his head forward to hurl a wad of blood and spit straight into the man’s face.

“Mother fucker!” The soldier hissed, wiping furiously at his eyes. “Enough, bag him!”

The walk to wherever it was the Governor’s soldiers were taking him lasted only a few blocks – give or take. He shuffled along between his two captors, coming to a stop as the sound of a booming voice who he could only assume was the Governor, and a crowd reacting to it, filled the air.

“Merle . . . the man I counted on, the man I trusted. He led ‘em here, and he led ‘em in!”

Daryl’s ears perked up at the mention of his brother. With no other choice, he remained standing between the two soldiers, trying to counter the thudding beat of his heart with slow, even breaths. The air coming in smelled like smoke, and he could feel the heat of a fire close by.

“This is one of the terrorists—” Suddenly, the same voice was right by Daryl's ear. “Merle’s own brother!”

Daryl flinched as the Governor ripped the sack from his head, exposing his eyes to the flames of the nearby torches. Surrounding him was a crowd of townspeople that had formed a circle, shouting angrily. He took a few more deep breaths, his gaze going from the people to the man standing just a few feet to his left.

Merle.

His older brother stared across at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and remorse. Daryl had only seen that look on his brother’s face once before. He’d been twelve and Merle had just returned from his first stint in jail to find Daryl’s face swollen and bruised as he tried to hide it behind his comic book. It was the first time their father had beaten him because Merle hadn’t been there to stop it.

“You wanted your brother,” The Governor addressed Merle once more. “Now you got him.”

It had been eight long months since Daryl had last seen Merle, and sometime during all those months, he thought he’d made peace with the fact that his older brother was most likely dead. But he was wrong, he wasn’t dead; and now he was standing right beside him with some metal contraption over the place where his right hand used to be.

As the crowd’s cries grew louder, Daryl realized there was something else in Merle’s eyes; something he hadn’t seen before, maybe ever. Fear.

It must’ve mirrored his own.

“So, what should we do with them, huh?”

“Kill them!”

“What?”

“Kill them!”

“What do you want?”

“Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!”

With his hands still tied behind his back, Daryl remained where he was, breathing heavily as the surrounding crowd continued to cheer and yell for death. His death. The walking dead he could handle, but he’d never been good with the living. They’d always held him in contempt for one reason or another. 

Daryl had been Merle’s brother for nearly forty years. Often, he’d tag along with Merle during his nights out drinking because the alternative meant being alone with their father. The consequences usually resulted in bar fights and even trips to the county jail until Merle got some friend of his to bail them out, but they’d never been deadly. 

Until now.

Looking past Merle, Daryl swallowed, his eyes darting over to a familiar head of blonde hair as the owner struggled in the arms of a man he’d never seen before. Within seconds she broke free, making it a few steps closer before two more of the Governor’s men grabbed her. It was Andrea, another ghost from his past. She looked terrified. Had this reunion been under different circumstances, he would’ve had the decency to at least look surprised to see her.

“Stay out of this!” A Hispanic man toting an AK-47 said.

“He’s my friend! Philip, stop this!” Andrea begged.

“It’s not up to me anymore,” The Governor said simply, his decision made. “The people have chosen.”

“What?” Andrea gasped.

“I asked you where your loyalties lie,” The Governor continued, pointing towards Merle. “You said here. Well, prove it. Prove it to us all. Brother against brother. Fight – to the death!”

The crowd cheered their approval, acting as if the Dixon brothers were the latest line-up in their Friday Night entertainment, and as Daryl looked to the bleachers lined with even more people, he had to wonder how many poor bastards had already fought to the death in this fucked up arena run by the Governor.

The dark-skinned man who had stolen his crossbow moved behind Daryl and released him from his restraints.

“Y’all know me,” Merle cried out, rallying the audience as he raised his arm into the air. “I’m gonna do whatever I gotta do to prove . . . ”

Taking the opportunity to distract Daryl with his words, Merle thrust that same arm out to punch him directly in the gut, causing his little brother to fall to the ground, coughing and sputtering.

“ . . . that my loyalty is to this town!”

The blows kept coming, Daryl rolling with each one until, finally, he received an opening that lasted long enough for him to swing his fist out and land it square in Merle’s face. He didn’t want to believe Glenn when he'd said what Merle had done to him, but now he was starting to believe that his brother’s loyalty was to this depraved town and its Governor. Daryl had certainly done enough changing in the past eight months; more than he’d ever thought possible. What if Merle had done the same?

“Ah!” Merle grunted, rubbing his mouth.

Daryl lunged forward, making to grab his brother when Merle used his momentum to spin him around, pushing Daryl to the ground and holding him down instead.

“You really think this asshole’s gonna let you go?” Daryl grunted, outstretching his hands to grip Merle by either side of his neck.

“Just follow my lead, little brother,” Merle choked out. “We’re getting out of this . . . right. . . now!”

Gripping Daryl by the collar of his shirt, Merle pulled him to his feet just as the Governor’s men released a group of walkers to the crowd’s delight. Sensing the danger, the Dixon brothers spun so they were back-to-back, prepared and ready to fight, just like they always had been.

Daryl moved forward, arching his fist to punch the first approaching walker full in the face. With his false arm raised to shield his face, Merle used his good arm to throw his fist forward into another walker. The Dixon brothers stood poised and ready to take on whatever came at them next, when the sound of gunfire sent the crowd running. Bullets came flying from overhead, but miraculously, none were aimed at either of them.

Glancing over into the direction where the gunfire had come from, Daryl caught sight of you and Maggie aiming your rifles at the crowd, just before Rick sent a flash bang hurtling forward. The smoke exploded, making it difficult to see, but Daryl grabbed Merle by the shoulders and shoved him off in the direction where he’d last seen the group, using a dumpster for cover.

“Merle, c’mon!” He shouted.

The screams were deafening as Daryl kept his eyes on the beam of the flashlight directed his way. Following it through the smoke, he came to a stop behind the man who had taken his crossbow, pausing just long enough for Merle to punch him, giving Daryl the opportunity to take his most prized possession back.

“Let’s go!” Daryl shouted to Merle, pulling the trigger of his crossbow to take out another walker before hurtling towards the dumpster.

“Daryl!” Rick shouted.

At the sound of relief in Rick’s voice, you looked away from where you were perched over the dumpster, just in time to meet Daryl’s eyes. He had a slash across his cheek and dried blood around his mouth, but otherwise looked unharmed. You couldn’t help but smile as he paused just long enough to give you a swift nod.

“Let’s go!” Rick yelled, and you did.

The group fled down the back alley with the sound of bullets ricocheting behind them.

“They’re all at the arena!” Merle shouted, coming to a stop between two buses. “C’mon!”

“You’re not going anywhere with us!” Rick growled.

“You really wanna do this now?” Merle asked as he began to kick a metal panel loose from the front gate.

“C’mon, man!” Daryl pleaded with Rick.

With a few more grunts and kicks, the sound of metal came crashing to the ground, signaling that Merle had successfully made an exit.

“Rick, we have to go!” You yelled.

Rick nodded as he realized the same, taking up the rear. “Go!”

Stepping aside to let you and Maggie pass through the broken gate first, Daryl hurried along once he saw that Rick was right behind him.

“A little help would be nice!” Merle shouted.

Running forward, you threw your rifle out, smacking it straight into an oncoming walker’s face. You were getting good at that. Meeting Merle’s eye, you opened your mouth to reply but saw another walker ambling up to him from behind.

Shit.

“Get down!” Aiming your rifle for its head, you fired a second later, the result of your effort being a success as the walker crashed to the ground.

“Nice to know somebody’s got my back,” Merle nodded appreciatively at you.

Breathing heavily, you shouldered your rifle, but said nothing in return. The glare you shot him before hurrying after Maggie said everything you needed it to.

---

The sun had risen by the time the group reached Glenn and Michonne back at the Hyundai. The two miles it took to get there flew by, no one wanting to stop for fear of the Governor or his men catching up. Merle was convinced that they’d done enough damage to keep the man occupied, needing to keep up appearances and at least pretend that he cared for the well-being of his town, but no one else was leaving it to chance.

“Glenn!” Rick called as the group got closer, the clearing to the road in the distance.

“Rick!” Glenn yelled back. “Oh, thank God.”

With a deep breath, you held your forearm to your face, wiping away the sweat from your brow as your body sagged with relief at the realization that you had been on the right path. Unfortunately, the joy of your reunion lasted only a few seconds when the group made their way towards the road, Rick holding up his hands in defense as Glenn and Michonne caught sight of Merle.

“Now we gotta problem here,” Rick raised his voice. “I need you to back up.”

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Glenn cried, pulling his gun out and pointing it straight at Merle.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Rick huffed.

“Hey, put it down!” Daryl growled as he shielded Merle from Glenn and Michonne.

“He tried to kill me!” Michonne screamed.

“Drop the sword!” Rick demanded.

“If it wasn’t for him—” Glenn started.

“He helped us escape!” You yelled in Merle’s defense, standing in place beside Daryl as Maggie went to do the same by Glenn.

“Yeah, right after he beat the shit outta Daryl!” Rick reminded you.

“Hey, we both took our licks, man.” Merle countered.

“Merle, shut up!” Both you and Daryl yelled at the same time, pausing briefly to look at each other. The situation probably would have been funny if it had been under any other circumstance.

“ENOUGH!” Rick shouted.

“Man, looks like you’ve gone native, brother.” Merle chuckled as he watched Daryl slap Glenn’s gun away from his face.

“No more than you hangin' out with that psycho back there!” Daryl shot back.

“Oh, yeah, man. He is a charmer, I gotta tell you that,” Merle glanced over at Michonne as he leaned against a nearby tree. “Been puttin’ the wood to your girlfriend Andrea, big time baby.”

Rick turned away, glaring at Merle as he lasciviously licked his lips before blowing a mocking kiss Michonne’s away.

Who the hell’s Andrea? You wondered.

“Andrea’s in Woodbury?” Glenn asked.

Daryl nodded. “Right next to the Governor.”

“I told you to drop that!” Rick cried just as Michonne attempted to lunge at Merle, her sword drawn.

“You know Andrea?” Rick asked her.

Michonne lowered her sword but otherwise ignored Rick’s question as she continued to glare at Merle.

“Hey,” Rick said, moving forward to get in her space. “Do you know Andrea?”

“Yep, she does!” Merle confirmed. “Her and Blondie spent all winter cuddling up in the forest. Mm-mmm-mmm. Yeah, my Nubian queen here had two pet walkers. No arms, cut off the jaws, kept ‘em in chains. Kinda ironic, now that I think about it.”

“Shut up, Merle!” Daryl growled, turning to face his brother.

“Hey, man, we snagged ‘em outta the woods,” Merle continued, unfazed. “Andrea was close to dying.”

“Is that why she’s with him?” Maggie spoke up.

“Yeah,” Merle nodded. “Snug as two little bugs.”

The group looked back and forth between Merle and Michonne, waiting for her to either confirm or deny what he was saying, but she kept quiet. Regardless of her silence, the rage radiating from her was unmistakable.

“So what are you gonna do now, Sheriff, huh?” Merle asked Rick. “Surrounded by a bunch of liars, thugs, and cowards.”

“Shut up!” Rick yelled.

“Oh, man, look at this. Pathetic,” Merle laughed. “All these guns and no bullets in them.”

“MERLE, SHUT UP!” Daryl shouted.

“Shut up yourself!” Merle cried. “Buncha pussies—”

But none of you got to hear the end of Merle’s no doubt clever insult, because Rick had raised his pistol and brought the butt down hard on the eldest Dixon brother’s head before he could finish. For a moment you thought that Daryl might unleash on Rick, but instead he looked almost relieved that someone had put an end to Merle’s obnoxious behavior.

Daryl clenched a fist at his side. He’d missed the hell out of his brother, but one thing he hadn’t missed was the loud mouth Merle had that was always getting them into trouble. Still, it wasn’t enough to make him even consider leaving him again. No way.

“Merle’s blood,” Daryl began, locking eyes with Rick. “No him, no me.”

“There’s gotta be another way,” Rick said, shaking his head.

“Don’t ask me to leave him.” Daryl replied, a note of finality in his tone as he hitched his crossbow up over his shoulder.

Clearly at a loss with what to do, Rick walked the twenty or so feet that it took to return to the road, all but Merle migrating after him.

While you certainly couldn’t claim to know Merle well, you’d witnessed enough of his crass attitude and temper over the past hour to sympathize with the others for wanting to keep him away. Having said that, you had also seen the hopeful look in Daryl’s eyes when Glenn mentioned the brother that he’d thought was dead, and now that he had him back, you knew he’d never let him go again.

Glenn leaned against the car, clearly in pain and not wanting to put too much weight on either leg. You studied him closely, knowing he’d been through hell, and that Merle had been a big part of that hell. But you couldn’t ignore your instinct. You’d known many Merle Dixons, growing up in Georgia. He was a racist asshole with absolutely no filter, but he wasn’t dangerous. Not in the same way the Governor was.

What if Merle had only joined the Governor out of desperation? If that car had the keys in it the day you’d met Daryl, you yourself may have ended up at Woodbury. Who could turn away from what seemed like paradise now that the rest of the world had gone to hell?

“Say it,” Rick said, stepping towards you.

“Say what?”

He sighed. “I know you have an opinion on what I should do. Tell me what it is.”

“Okay,” You nodded. “Daryl saved our lives back there — your life. We can’t just abandon him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rick hissed.

“I think you need to be reminded of it.”

The look that Rick gave you then made you wonder if perhaps you’d gone too far. You’d played Rick’s voice of reason over the past several hours, but maybe this was where you got off. Maybe your luck had run out.

Well if it had, might as well go big or go home, you thought.

“We don’t have time for this, and if we leave them now with the Governor at our heels, we’re leaving them for dead!”

Rick stared at you, but still you held your ground, staring right back. Daryl was an asset to this group, and he had saved each and every one of you. There was no way in hell you’d be able to live with yourself if you didn’t do everything in your power to keep Rick from turning his back on him.

After a few seconds, Rick scrubbed a hand down his face before turning and moving back towards the others.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” He began, his eyes going from Glenn, Maggie and Michonne, to Daryl. “Daryl and Merle are coming back with us.”

“There’s no way—” Glenn began, but Rick quickly silenced him.

“Both of them,” Rick continued sharply, narrowing his eyes at Glenn. “Merle will go and live in a different cell block under lock and key. We’ll work out shifts, you’ll never even have to see him.”

Glenn kept his mouth shut long enough for Rick to continue.

“You gotta problem with that?” Rick asked Michonne. “You can go back to Woodbury.”

When Michonne said nothing in return, Rick moved onto Daryl. “You two will ride in the very back — and goddamn it, Daryl — keep him quiet.”

Daryl stood where he was, nodding his understanding. He’d been so sure that Rick was going to say no, he’d probably have done anything the man asked of him now that he knew he had his permission to bring his brother back to the prison.

Rick marched off to the Hyundai with the others following reluctantly behind, but you watched in silence as Daryl remained where he was, looking completely stunned.

“I think you might need this,” You said, pulling a black bandana from your back pocket.

“What for?” Daryl asked, looking up as you approached him.

Glancing over at the ground where Merle had begun to the stir back into consciousness just a few feet away, you paused long enough to watch as he groaned and grumbled a few curse words, no doubt waking up to a killer headache.

“In case you need to gag him,” You replied, placing the bandana into Daryl’s hand.

CHAPTER SIX

---

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[hank-mcdankblade]

The Girl From Hell - Prologue

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Chapter 1: You recently moved to the sleepy town or Hawkins with some business to take care of. You need to keep a low profile but a certain group of kids have focused their attention on you due to the suspicions of Dustin. Will they figure out who you are? Or what you are?

Word Count: 1024 (Just getting started) 

Chapter 2:  Now that the kids have made contact with you, they want to know everything to determine whether or not you pose a threat. Max is the one you’ll have to try the hardest to prove yourself to. 

Word Count: 1,145

Warnings: None...?

Chapter 1 - Newcomer

                “Dustin, can you tell me why we’re here again?” Lucas asked, beginning to regret saying yes to this mission. Gravel and rocks from ground were digging into his knees. They had been here for what felt like forever.

              “We’re investigating a possible black widow killer.” Dustin said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Max rolled her eyes and scoffed. The only reason she was even here was because of her own worries. Somehow the curly haired boy had convinced them to come on this mission. A month ago, you had moved to town and people all around town, and nearby, were going missing. Dustin thought he even saw a body in the back of your car at some point. After everything that went down with Vecna over spring break he couldn’t bring himself to be careless and let it go. He needed to turn over every rock and check every lead, just to make sure that they truly were safe this time. So here the gang was, hiding in the bushes and trees of your lawn covering their clothes in dirt and burs to try and catch something incriminating.

              “And how many people did you see her kill?” Max asked with a skeptical glance. Dustin felt a ping of annoyance. How many times did he have to be right for his friends to just trust him for once? Last time he checked, he was always right so moving forward they should just believe everything he says until he dies. God’s most knowledgeable profit, but his least convincing soldier. 

              “Eddie back me up on this please.” Dustin requested. 

              “Look I didn’t see her do anything, but I did see her leave with someone who went missing soon after.” The metalhead raised his hands in defense and left it at that.

              “That’s cirumstancial,” Mike started.

              “At best.” Max finished.

              “Will you guys shut up and let me focus?” Dustin adjusted his binoculars and scanned over the windows one more time. Only one light was on, in your living room but he didn’t see any sign of a struggle or even your shadow to indicate that you were even home. “I’m not getting anything. We’re gonna have to sneak in.”

              “And how do you plan on doing that?”

                The group jumped back at the intrusive voice that none of them recognized. You stood with a grin on your face leaning up against one of the many trees.

              “I-uh.” Mike stuttered. Shit they had been had. They had to react quickly if they were going to get out of this alive, or without you calling the cops on them 

              “We were coming to-”

              “Welcome you to town!” Lucas finished Dustin’s sentence. The others were nodding their heads agreeing. You blinked twice and gave them a look.

              “No please, I wanna see what your plan to get into my house was gonna be.” You said with a sinister look. The kid’s hearts were sinking. There were five of them and one of you, but they didn’t know if you had any weapons hidden on your person. If you had a knife they could dog pile you, but that still risked one or more of them getting stabbed. Something none of them had on the to do list for today. What was your background? Did you have any previous training? Max was calculating which of the group would be the easiest to trip so she could make a run for it. Her money was on Mike and his stupid long limbs. 

              You took a step forward towards the group, an intimidating aura surrounded you. Things were turning out to be a lot more serious than they were previously expecting. Twigs broke as the group started to back up, more and more as you pursued them.

              “We can leave. And like, never come back.” Max offered. Mike and Lucas vocally agreed.

              “I don’t know….” You stalked closer. “I might have to take one of you to make sure you don’t tell anyone about what I’m up to.” Your eyes narrowed as you looked them over one by one, sizing them up. This was it.

              “We won’t tell anyone!”

              “We promise…”

              Your eyes flitted to Eddie, he shifted his weight on either foot as you looked him up and down. “Maybe I’ll take the long haired one…keep him in my basement as my little pet.” Eddie’s eyes widened. Had he not been so scared in the moment he knew he’d definitely be sporting a blush right now. 

              “Yes you should definitely do that.”

              “EDDIE!” They shouted. He made a pointed look at them, then back at you holding his hands out like he was going to be cuffed.

              “If this is what I have to do to keep you kids safe….then this is what has to happen.” Eddie held his head high and voice never wavered. Plus being the pet for a pretty new girl in town didn’t sound so bad. The sound of them arguing almost made your laughter unheard. They shared looks with each other before turning their attention to you again.

              “I’m not going to kidnap anyone!” You chuckled some more to yourself.

              “So I’m not going to be your pet thing you keep in the basement and makeout with time to time?” Eddie asked suddenly feeling deflated. Dustin smacked him on the shoulder.

              “No! I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you guys anyway come on.” You walked out of the brush and started towards your house when none of them followed. “Well?”

              “How do we know that we can trust you? What happened to Mr. Lin?” Dustin asked. You took a breath and sighed.  

              “He’s currently in a rehabilitation center and serving for the murder of three girls from nearby schools.” You explained.

              “He’s a murderer?”

              “Well actually he was a vampire praying on teenage girls but tomato tomatoe ya know?” You ignored their pestering questions and herded them into your house. This was going to be a long night, but it was easier to talk to them this way than form a bond naturally through going to sporting events and school fundraisers. Someone had to keep this town and neighboring ones safe and now it was your job to take care of things.

[inriospocket]

Hi Daisy! If you’re up to it, could I please request on how rio would react to the woman he likes & is talking to/dating (not exclusively yet) going on a date with someone? Like imagine they’re hanging out with Marcus. Time gets away and she’s like “Listen it’s been so fun but I have to go prepare for my hot date” 😂😂😂 and like she was very open & honest in the beginning about dating multiple people before committing to the right one so he can’t really be mad. Lol thank you mama💕

I'm always up to it! Again sorry for taking so long but here ju go. :) ❀

word count ♡ 1,027

summary ♡ Reader is casually dating Rio. They're hanging out with each other along with Marcus and reader loses track of time remembering she has another date and Rio tries to not get super jealous since they're not exclusive yet.

situation ♡ fluffy

-

It was a nice era in your life where you were super comfortable in your career and in yourself that you finally had the time to start dating again. For now, it was casual, just getting to know other guys and seeing what you did and didn’t like in a man.

You had a couple on your list but Rio was your favorite. You weren’t exclusive yet but you enjoyed your short time together. So far, he’s been the only one to take you on a second date and this time he brought his little sidekick along, Marcus.

“We choosing sides now?” Rio laughed at Marcus who clung to you.

Marcus grinned and you adored his little missing front tooth. “She’s winning, Dad!” He giggled.

You shrugged, brushing off the fact that you were winning almost every arcade game you guys played.

“Nah, nah, “Rio shook his head. “Ain’t no way you beating me in laser tag.” He said proudly. You raised your eyebrows as a challenge.

“Oh, is this a bet?” You smirked. Rio glanced at your lips quickly, making a mental memo of how beautiful your smile was.

He was about to say something else until you realized how dark it was outside indicating it was late.

You looked at your watch. “I didn’t realize how late it was,” you said thinking of how much fun you had that you just lost track.

“Listen, it’s been super fun with you guys but I gotta get ready for my hot date tonight.” You said truthfully with a laugh.

Rio tried his best to hide his envy but you could see it until it quickly disappeared. You were upfront in the beginning and told him you were just casually dating so he couldn’t really take it to heart but Rio was persistent so you’d quickly learn he wasn’t letting go of what he wants that easy.

“But about that bet.” He gave you a sly smile. You crossed your arms. “Uh huh.” You said, waiting.

“Look, one last game. I’m sure the dude wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer for someone as beautiful as you,” He started and you felt your cheeks become warm.

“Dad, gross.” Marcus made a face which made you laugh.

Rio kissed his teeth towards him. “Take notes, pup. Anyway, you win laser tag, you go on that date. I win, you cancel and stay with me.” He smirked.

One of the reasons you liked him so much was how spontaneous he was. You loved the games. “It’s a bet.” You agreed, shaking on it.

Rio mentally laughed knowing he already had a leg up in this game. No one could aim better than him.

Once you three were in the darkened room, you helped Marcus with his vest first and Rio loved the sight of it. He only let few of his potential girlfriends around Marcus but something about you, he trusted. You were definitely passing the test.

You were glad that there weren’t any other people but you three. It gave you more room to both hide and to find them.

You hid in a corner out of sight but monitoring the light coming closer letting you know one of them was nearby. You felt like you were standing fast enough to shoot but as soon as you did, Rio already shot you.

“No way!” You huffed. You heard the mischief in his laugh until he disappeared quickly from view.

You always beat your friends in laser tag and you just couldn’t understand how he was so good. It’s like he knew where you’d be, where you’d go and he even got Marcus to do his dirty work. You mentally gave up at this point.

You looked around, not able to see any neon lights except for your own. You looked down briefly at your gun to see how much time was left. As soon as time was almost up, you heard the final shot at your vest and Rio press against the back of you.

He grasped your waist from behind and said lowly close to your ear, “Always watch your back.”

You held your breath, not knowing whether to be turned on or scared. It didn’t even matter because in a matter of seconds, he had you whipped.

You watched him proudly look up at the leaderboard after the game was over. “You need to borrow my phone to cancel?” He reminded you humorously.

You shook your head hiding your smile. You didn’t really want to go on that date anyway.

You carried your end of the bet, cancelling and staying longer with them until Marcus had a sugar crash and fell asleep in Rio’s arms. That was the queue that it was time to go unfortunately. You walked back to his car with him and watched him buckle him in. You were a sucker for men with children.

Rio left the car running as Marcus continued sleeping and you leaned against his car.

You watched him walk towards you, your eyes never breaking contact. You held your breath again as he towered over you. He was so intoxicating; the way he carried himself. You felt your hands lie flat against his chest, your eyes scanning the dark eagle tattoo that complimented his neck.

He lifted your chin to look at his eyes again. He glanced at your lips then your eyes again as if he was asking for permission and you nodded.

He brushed his lips over your lightly to tease you before finally pressing his lips against yours. He kissed you slowly as if he wanted to savor you but also with a sense of urgency. A kiss you knew would lock you in forever.

You pulled away first, looking away to not get lost in those dark eyes again.

“I should go.” You said, already missing the smell of his cologne.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asked, noticing something different. You sighed, knowing you were already going to tell him. You couldn’t help but to be honest and something about him made you want to spill everything.

“...I’m going to fall in love with you.” You told him.

[queenshelby]

The Girlfriend Experience (Part Six)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,567

Warning: Smut, Fluff

Notes: Not based on Cillian’s real life obviously!

After Cillian threw on some clothes, he quickly made his way to the door, letting in whoever he was expecting.

Clearly, he had forgotten about the visit of whoever it was and, with that, he left you behind in the bedroom.

You also were quick to gather your clothes and get dressed but you also remembered that some of your belongings were scattered throughout the living room.

You weren’t sure whether you should emerge from the bedroom to introduce yourself to whoever this was or whether you should hide until they are gone.

Eventually, after about five minutes of pondering on about the issue at hand and knowing that there was plenty of evidence of your presence throughout the apartment, you decided to make an appearance and, when you did, Cillian must have already mentioned that he had company.

‘We are sorry for interrupting’ a man who appeared to be in his forties said before the woman who was with him introduced herself.

‘I am Emily and this is my husband John’ she said with a warm smile but she couldn’t hide the look of surprise on her face and you wondered whether it was the fact that you were there or whether it was because you were quite young.

‘I am Y/N, nice to meet you’ you said, shaking her hand while pondering on about the familiarity of Emily’s and John’s faces.

‘So, how long have you been going out with Cillian? He didn’t mention…’ John began to say before his wife Emily gave him a nudge, indicating for him to be quiet and stop asking questions.

‘I don’t think this is any of our business, is it?’ she then said to him and he was quick to apologise but Cillian responded nonetheless.

‘Not very long actually. A few weeks’ he said before giving you a wink and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘And how did you meet?’ John then asked curiously while his wife rolled her eyes at him and apologised for her husband’s intrusive and nosy questions.

Of course, you couldn’t tell them the truth and, nervously, you looked over towards Cillian with a look of concern on your face.

‘We met at a coffee shop nearby. Y/N used to be there most mornings and I asked her out one day’ Cillian was quick to say and, since you don’t even drink coffee, you thought that this was a rather amusing substory and nodded.

‘A coffee shop huh?’ Emily asked. She was a little surprised by the fact that Cillian would have asked a random and much younger woman on a date in circumstances like this but when you played along with his story, she nodded and let it go.

You then talked for a little while and became to realise who Emily and her husband John were. Just like Cillian, they worked in the movie industry and Emily was a well-known actress. Emily told you that she was playing the wife of the character who Cillian was portraying in his new movie and that they had worked on a movie together in 2019 called A Quiet Place Two.

You had heard about it but, since you struggled with scary movies, you admitted that you had never actually seen it.

‘I will most certainly put it on my list of movies to watch now though’ you promised with a shy smile and, just when you were about to suggest that you would head off and let them spend some time together, Emily invited you to lunch.

‘A friend of ours is having a birthday lunch at his holiday home in Santa Fe at noon, you should come and accompany Cillian. It will be fun’ Emily said and Cillian’s eyes widened immediately.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. We haven’t really been seeing each other for long and…’ you began to stammer, trying to get out of it after seeing the nervous look on Cillian’s face.

‘It’s a private party and if you don’t want to disclose your relationship there that’s fine. Just introduce yourselves as friends’ Emily explained and Cillian nodded reluctantly.

‘I think it’s fine Y/N. The people who are there all work in the movie industry and maintain a certain kind of discretion’ Cillian pointed out before asking you to join him and, with that, you agreed.

The Birthday Lunch

When you arrived at the large mansion at around noon, you were surprised to see so many people and you wondered who this house belonged to.

There was literally no sight of the man whose birthday it was and you simply followed Cillian around until you felt somewhat comfortable.

You recognised several famous actors and felt somewhat out of place at this event which was something Cillian had clearly noticed.

‘I hate these kinds of events too’ he admitted as he handed you a glass of wine and you felt somewhat relieved when he said this.

‘Is this why you asked me to come along? For distraction?’ you chuckled and Cillian’s smile gave it away.

‘Yeah, that and because I wanted to spend the day with you’ he whispered into your ear just when a tall blonde woman came to say hello to Cillian.

She greeted Cillian with a friendly kiss on the cheek before turning around to face you, waiting for an introduction.

‘Anna, that’s Y/N. She is a friend of mine’ Cillian said before introducing Anna as one of the designers on the set of his new movie.

‘Nice to meet you Y/N’ she said while she scanned you from head to toe, knowing very well that you are more than just a friend to Cillian and you could immediately sense her apprehension and a hint of jealousy.

‘Nice to meet you too’ you said before you watched her talk to Cillian about the movie and, as she did, she was trying hard to flirt with him.

Cillian, however, didn’t seem interested in her at all and, after you watched the situation unfold with some amusement, Emily pulled you to the side.

‘She’s getting her flirt on, isn’t she?’ Emily whispered into your ear and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘It seems so’ you giggled shyly, which is when Emily assured you that Cillian wasn’t interested in her.

According to her, Anna had been trying to make a move on him for weeks without avail and it had become rather amusing.

‘Your man is quite popular with the ladies on set. Although, I wouldn’t worry about it. He doesn’t mix work with pleasure’ she explained and you realised that this is why he had you.

***

Eventually, Anna was pulled away by the director of the movie, Christopher Nolan, and you even managed to get a quick introduction to him before this happened.

The truth, however, was that you didn’t know much about movies and, until Cillian explained who Christopher Nolan was, you didn’t have a clue.

‘I don’t fit in, obviously’ you chuckled after you realised that you probably should recognise most of the strangers at this party, but you didn’t.

‘Neither do I, trust me’ Cillian winked before suggesting to you that you both should find a quieter area of the house for a while which is when you nodded and followed him downstairs.

It was obvious to you that Cillian felt a little out of place and quickly became overwhelmed by events like this.

He had been doing this job for over twenty years and had great passion for it, but he hated the publicity. He hated doing interviews and he hated attending galas and events, including events like this.

But, sometimes, he didn’t get a choice and today was one of those days he knew he had to make an appearance even if he didn’t want to.

It was obvious to you that he was stressed and tired and a little on the edge when it came to all of the interactions with people from the industry while, in fact, he was not like any of them.

He was down to earth, reserved and enjoyed his privacy which is what you liked about him the most. He was just like you, a normal person and, with that, you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

‘Do you want me to take the edge off and relieve some of your stress?’ you whispered into his ear as you reached the downstairs area of the large mansion and watched a group of five people play pool.

‘It depends on what you have in mind’ Cillian said with some ignorance to what you were proposing.

‘Common, follow me’ you said before discreetly pulling him down a small hallway which was leading towards a bathroom you had found earlier that day.

‘We can’t possibly…’ Cillian began to stammer as you pulled him in to the bathroom and locked the door behind you.

‘Relax Cills. I found this place earlier, looking for a bathroom that is not already a total mess. This, clearly, is not being used by anyone. No one comes down this way’ you explained as you pushed Cillian back against the vanity while reaching for his crotch.

‘Y/N, fuck. If someone comes in here…’ he began to stammer but, at the same time, you could feel his erection grow.

‘I read your wish-list carefully and you listed public sex as something you enjoy but not participate in for obvious reasons. Now tell me to stop and I will’ you said as you began to unzip Cillian’s jeans which is when he lost all of his willpower.

‘Didn’t think so’ you winked as you pulled down his jeans halfway together with his black Calvin Klein briefs.

‘You are so hard already too’ you then cooed as you stroked him a couple of times before kneeling down in front of him.

‘Jesus Y/N’ Cillian groaned with approval as you began to stroke his hard cock in your hand again before bringing your mouth forward to the tip of his cock.

With one seductive lick, you collected all of his precum with your tongue and Cillian immediately threw his head back and groaned.

You continued to pump his cock, and felt more precum rise through his shaft before it seeped from his hole which caused you to lick it clean once again.

Cillian’s cock was rock hard now and you cupped your other hand on his balls, and caressed them.

‘Do you have a lot of cum in there for me?’ you asked seductively.

‘Probably…’ Cillian replied dreamily as you massaged his balls and stroked his cock as you leaned forward to lick the tip once more.

His cock stood straight up and after you were done teasing the head, you ran your tongue from the base of his cock up to his tip.

Cillian moaned again and you took him into your mouth and sucked it, making wet, slurpy noises.

‘So fucking good’ he cooed as you began to go faster and harder.

Occasionally, you stopped to kiss the head of his cock and then took it into your mouth again and it was this kind of teasing Cillian enjoyed the most.

You made deep sucking sounds and you moaned around Cillian’s cock, sucking it like it was candy.

Eventually, Cillian’s groans and moans became louder and his breathing became more laboured, which is when he began to pump his cock into your mouth. He pushed his cock all the way to the back of your throat and pulled it out, over and over again.

‘Such a good girl, taking my cock so well’ he cooed as you gagged and sucked and moaned, loving it when he became so dominant with you.

‘Anything for you daddy’ you smirked when he gave you a chance to breathe before pushing his cock back into your throat.

He held it now, deep in your throat. I felt like your head was going to explode. Your eyes filled with tears and the wetness in between your legs was building.

‘That’s it fuck’ Cillian groaned as you pushed your face against Cillian as hard as you could.

Finally, Cillian pulled your head from his cock and you gasped for air, and coughed.

‘Oh, fuck. Your cock…’ you gasped as you grabbed it and began to stroke it once more ‘Oh, it's so fucking good’ you finished your sentence.  

‘You suck my cock so well little one’ Cillian told you in between groans.

‘Oh, I love your cock daddy’ you whimpered before stuck out your tongue again and ran it along the underside of Cillian’s big, hard cock.

Then, once more, you took him into your mouth.

You worked him slower this time, tasting his flesh. Skilfully, you sucked on Cillian’s juicy cock to coax the cum from his balls. His cock tasted delicious and you wanted to taste his cum. You sucked and sucked, moaning as you did.

You ran your tongue down his shaft and over his tasty balls, then back up his shaft to suck him into your mouth again.

‘Oh, it feels so good, don’t stop’ Cillian moaned and you once again began to work his cock harder, sucking and moaning as you pumped it with your mouth while squeezing his balls with your left hand.

‘I am…’ was the last thing you heard from Cillian at this point but, before he could finish his sentence, his cock exploded into your mouth.

His sweet cum filled your mouth and coated your tongue and throat. It ran from your lips and you pulled your mouth off his cock and opened wide, allowing him to fill your throat with his cum.

‘That’s it. Make sure you swallow it all’ he groaned and when Cillian’s cock stopped shooting, you showed him how much of it you had collected in your mouth.

‘So sexy’ he confirmed and, with that, you swallowed before collecting the spillage on your chin with your fingers. You then licked his cum from your fingers and Cillian pushed his cock back into your mouth for you to clean it off.

‘Did you like this daddy?’ you eventually asked and Cillian confirmed that, indeed, he did which is when you heard a knock on the bathroom door.

‘You finished in there? I need to pee’ a man said from outside and your face quickly turned red in a blush while Cillian pulled up his pants in a haste.

You were quick to straighten up your clothes and fix up your smudged make-up before, carefully, approaching the door.

You both knew that you had no choice but to face whomever it was on the other side of the door and, with great embarrassment, Cillian opened it.

Unfortunately, when he opened the door, you saw someone you didn’t ever expect to see again.

‘Robert?’ you asked surprised. Your chin dropped and worry filled your mind.

‘Y/N? Holy shit, I didn’t expect to ever see you again Y/N, specially not at my house’ the man grinned.

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[lady-morrigen]

Hey baby!

Congrats on the new job and happy early birthday 💕

Can I request Davey boy with the prompt “We really shouldn’t be doing this” 😏👀

Oh god... alright. I finally finished this. I don't even know anymore lol Dave scares me. I hope you like this!

PAIRING: Dave York x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.8k (because I'm trash)

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY! NO MINORS!)

WARNINGS: mentions of separation, p in v ~sEgGs~, fingering, Dave turns reader into a toaster strudel, and uh... idk maybe don't bang your friend's estranged husband. or do. yolo.

BIG thanks to @acrossthesestars for gently bullying me into working on this every day, being the best beta, and fleshing out ideas with me at 2am. I love you more than "gummies" and vegan crunchwraps.

You’d known him for a couple of years now, having been in Carol’s book club for some time. You’d spent several evenings at the York’s; whether it was a casual dinner or one of the girls’ birthday pool parties, you were there.

You pretended not to notice any time Dave’s intense gaze lingered on you for just a few seconds too long, his expression unreadable. Attention from Dave was inconsistent at best. Sometimes an innocent touch would linger for just a beat too long but when you looked into his eyes, there was nothing there to indicate that it was anything more than a friendly gesture. On book club nights, you’d sometimes find yourself alone with him as you refilled your wine glass, so caught up in conversation with him that you’d forget why you’d even come to the kitchen in the first place.

That month the book club had decided on something that Carol had already read and she loaned you her copy so you didn’t have to buy your own. It had been a few weeks since the two of you had last spoken, and she’d cancelled the club meeting, which was unusual.  So you decided to return the book to her, figuring it a good enough excuse to make sure she was okay. You picked up coffee on the way to keep it casual.

You pulled up to the house, book and two coffees in hand, and knocked twice on the door. Expecting to see Carol, you were taken aback when Dave answered, as he was never home in the middle of the day. The state of his appearance only added to your surprise.

He looked like he hadn’t been feeling well; eyes bloodshot, tee shirt wrinkled from sleep, and rocking a serious 5 o’clock shadow. He had answered the door with a huff, but straightened a little upon seeing it was you that had interrupted his fifth straight episode of The Price is Right.

“Oh hi, Dave. I was looking for Carol. She around?” You peeked your head in the door a bit, no sound indicating that your friend or the girls were present. Dave cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No she’s uh… she took the girls to visit her mother in Virginia for a bit. That for her?” He motioned towards the book and spare coffee, stepping back to invite you in. You turned it over in your hand as you entered the foyer and placed one of the coffee cups on a nearby table.

“Oh! Yeah, she loaned this to me a few weeks ago so that I could get caught up before next week’s meeting. I just wanted to return it.” Rocking back and forth on your heels, you took in the sight of him. There was something so jarring about seeing Dave York in his sock feet, wearing pajama bottoms so thin that you could practically see through them. You did your best to look anywhere else, deciding to focus on his face.

“Well, you could leave it here. I’ll make sure it gets to her.” There was a flash of pain behind his eyes that dissipated quickly, but it was enough. Enough for you to realize that maybe Carol wasn’t just away on a weekend trip.

“Dave?” You stepped forward, trying to catch his gaze, but he deliberately looked away. “Is everything okay?”

He ran a hand through his messy brown hair, roughly exhaling before tilting his head to look at you. He paused for a minute, just taking you in. Your eyes were wide with concern, but there was a tenderness there that would hopefully let him know that it was okay to talk to you about whatever was going on. Tossing his hands up in defeat, he relented.

“Carol left me.”

Despite your best efforts, you let out a gasp. You’d known their relationship had grown strained over the last year, but you didn’t think that it was bad enough for her to leave him. You didn’t know what to say, so you just stared at him open mouthed, head shaking in disbelief.

“I- what happened?”

“Eh she had enough of my shit, I guess…” it was meant to come out as nonchalant, but there was an unmistakable sadness to his tone. He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck again, peering at you with a half-hearted smile. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

You nodded, grabbing the other coffee, and followed him to the kitchen. You set them down on the counter offering Carol’s now-useless drink to him and he accepted with a grateful nod. The two of you leaned against the same side of the kitchen island, facing each other; a pregnant silence hanging in the air.

“So,” you started, sipping your coffee nonchalantly. “What happened?”

Dave’s body tensed, clearly still uncomfortable at the idea of discussing it. He toyed with the plastic lid of the drink in his hand as a distraction. He couldn’t tell you every detail and he knew you’d still have more questions than answers by the time he was done. Regardless, he took a deep breath and began.

It turns out an old threat from Dave’s past had resurfaced and dealing with it caused him to have to leave town for a while. You vaguely remembered hearing about that from Carol. He had begun sneaking around, so she thought he may be having an affair. When he returned and still provided her with half-truths, she had decided that she'd had enough.

You couldn’t blame her, really. The two of you weren’t particularly close, but she had confided in you that their relationship had been strained for years. This seemed to just be the last straw for a woman at her wits end. The man standing in front of you looked to be handling it quite poorly. You stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on top of his.

“I know this can’t be easy, Dave,” you said softly. “I wish there was something I could do.”

His face softened, eyes locking on your hand as your thumb danced cautiously over his knuckles. Your breath hitched when his other hand rested on top of yours, enveloping it in his warmth. He grabbed your hand, slowly bringing it up to his mouth as if he was going to kiss the back of it. He stopped short, closing his eyes and breathing in the lingering scent of perfume on your wrist. The gesture made your heart beat wildly in your chest.

Was this happening?

Dave’s lips pursed gently against the delicate skin of your wrist and it felt as if electricity shot down your outstretched arm and straight to your core. The heat that was pooling in your belly betrayed all logic as you stepped forward and leaned into his touch. You felt certain that your pulse was visible through the thin skin of your neck, eliminating any chance you had of hiding how much his presence excited you.

You ran your fingers through the hair over the curve of his ear, gripping the base of his neck, and leaning your forehead against his. You stood like this for a moment; sharing breaths, your hearts pounding in rhythm as you each willed the other to make the first move. After what felt like a lifetime, Dave’s hands found your waist and he began to gently nudge his nose against yours.

Before your brain had a second to catch up, his lips were on yours, prying a delicate whimper from between them as you allowed yourself to melt into the softness. He moaned, low in his throat and broken; a sound you would replay over and over in your mind, committing it to memory. His fingers were digging into the flesh of your hips with such ferocity that you knew there would be bruises later.

It started slow, a little hesitant and unsure as the two of you found your rhythm. Any self-control that Dave was holding onto flew out the window as your nails raked over the planes of his back through his t-shirt. With his lips still attached to yours, he leaned in, pinning you up against the marble as he reached behind you, sweeping an arm across the counter. A bowl of grapes clattered to the floor along with the coffee you had long since forgotten. He gently tapped your hip and signaled you to push yourself up, seating your ass on the counter as he settled between your legs.

Finding the hem of your tee shirt, he yanked it up and over your head unceremoniously, exposing your chest to the chilled air. Your nipples were pebbled and clearly visible as he reached up to pinch one between his thick fingers. He leaned down, pulling the other into his mouth through the thin fabric of your bra. You tilted your head back in pleasure, exposing your neck to his hot mouth as he trailed his way from your jaw down to your collarbone.

Splaying his large hands against the small of your back, he pulled you in tight. You could feel him, hard and wanting, through the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms and you gave a roll of your hips, testing his reaction. He groaned into the shell of your ear and bit down on the lobe, causing you to wince as the sharp pain melted into pleasure.

"We shouldn’t be doing this,” he husked, his deft fingers betraying his words as they quickly unfastened your jeans. His hand slipped into the front, pushing your underwear to the side and teasing a finger over your slick folds. “But… ahh fuck... you’re so wet for me.”

“Dave, please…” you were begging, having lost all sense of composure the moment his lips met yours. You quickly slipped your jeans and underwear over your hips and down to your ankles, kicking them off, to give him better access. His mouth had resumed it’s attack on your neck, his slick fingers rubbing gently over your clit. Your hands were gripping his forearm as you wiggled your hips, desperate for more friction.

“So needy,” he tutted gently, smiling against your skin.  “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You’ve been waiting for this moment, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Dave, I-” in one swift motion, he pushed a finger inside of you. He swallowed your cry, tongue swirling in tandem with his finger as he continued to pull delicious moans from your throat. When he pushed in a second finger, you gripped the edge of the counter hard as you began to work your hips, creating friction against his palm.

He had one firm hand on the back of your neck, keeping your lips pressed together as he began to move his fingers inside of you; curling to hit the spot that made you weak in the knees. He moaned against your mouth, the sound muffled, as he relished the feeling of your walls clenching around him. When he moved his thumb up to circle your delicate bundle of nerves, you cried out in pleasure; laying yourself back against the cool quartz of the countertop.

He leaned over you, his features dark with desire and a hint of something else; something dangerous. You felt a twist in your gut as you looked up at him; sweat beading on his brow and a lust blown expression on his face. You reached up to cup his chin, the intimacy of the act not missing either of you as you got lost in bliss, tilting your head back and closing your eyes once more. You reached for him, fingertips ghosting over his length, now evident through his thin pants.

"Dave…” you were breathless, panting his name like a prayer, as you practically begged to have him inside of you. You began to palm him gently, heart rate quickening as you felt the sheer size of him. He let out a growl, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and quickening the pace of his fingers as he panted, hot and needy into your skin.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl,” his voice was low and gravelly, shooting straight to your core as he began to lave his tongue over the column of your throat.

Your hands found the dip of his hips, trailing to the dimples at his spine and under his waistband to cup his ass. You dug your nails into the soft flesh, pulling him toward you slightly and rolling your hips as if to answer. Immediately, he pulled away. His hand, now covered in your slick, came to rest by his side and you whined at the empty feeling. He shook his head, tutting under his breath with a glint in his eye.

“No. I asked you to tell me what you want.” His tone was commanding, almost cold. Your eyes snapped to his and you nodded, eager to please. He slowly untied his pants, shifting a little to allow them to fall to the floor. Gripping his length with his slicked hand, he gave himself a few pumps before stepping forward and lining up at your entrance. He pushed forward for a split second, a moment more, and then began to pass the tip through your folds, gently slapping it against your clit.

“I - oh shit - I want you to fuck me.” He did as he was told, pushing himself in slowly and shattering the “please” as it tore from your throat. When he was fully seated inside of you, he paused, allowing you to grow accustomed to the stretch of him.

He tested a roll of his hips, nearly losing control at the feeling of you clenching around him. He tested another, then another; agonizingly slow and deliberate as he relished in the sight of you laid out beneath him, broken and wanting. His hands began to trail their way from your sides, up the length of your arms, as he brought them together above your head. He crossed your wrists, one large hand coming up to pin them in place as the other snaked down to where your bodies met, drawing slow circles over your clit.

“Oh, you look so pretty like this,” he whispered against your jaw as he thrust into you, punctuating your moans with each snap of his hips. He kissed your temple, a gesture so intimate and comforting, in direct contrast to the way he was fucking you into the countertop.

Dave returned to standing, hooking one of your legs over his hip to get a better angle. His free hand came to rest on your waist, fingertips digging a bruise into the soft skin as he struggled to hold himself back. He slowed his pace, allowing you to feel each and every inch of him before slamming into you with purpose. The coil in your stomach pulled tighter with every thrust until you were sure you were about to snap.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he said, splaying a palm over your stomach. “I always wondered what this would be like. What you would feel like.”

You were keening under his praise; the words working to push you closer and closer to the edge. He reached up, pebbling one of your nipples between his fingers and you nearly tipped over right then. He could tell you were close, so he hiked your leg up higher on his hip, angling himself to hit the perfect spot.

“That’s it, baby. Come on,” his voice was strained from the effort of holding back his own release. He began rubbing frantic circles over your clit and you fell apart, your walls fluttering around him as your hands scrambled for purchase against the countertop. When the last of the aftershocks had coursed through you, he pulled out with a groan; quickly stroking himself as he painted your stomach with his release.

The two of you froze for a moment, the weight of what had just happened settling over you like a blanket. You looked from him down to the mess on your stomach, then back to him and giggled lightly to break the tension. Soon enough, you had both erupted into a fit of shy laughter with Dave using the leg you’d propped on the counter to hide his face. He placed a gentle kiss on the soft skin of your thigh before bending down to pull the thin pants back on.

He busied himself with getting a warm dish towel as you propped up and surveyed your surroundings.

“Damn, Dave… we made a mess,” you laughed, motioning toward the bowl of grapes on the floor as well as the forgotten coffee, now creeping inky black across the tile.

“I’ll get it later,” he said, gently wiping the remains of his release from your skin. He helped you to your feet, handing you your discarded underwear and jeans to redress. When you were finished, he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tenderly kissing your forehead. His lips lingered there as he spoke barely above a whisper.

“I think I owe you another coffee.”

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (II)

Series Masterlist

You, Bucky, and Anastasia pay Bruce Banner a visit. 

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1836. Square filled: “You don’t wanna know.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Sad Child. Needles, fear of. So much overthinking.

A/N: Gosh, I’m so glad I got this chapter edited in time. I hope you like it and I’m sorry for skipping out on y’all last week! To make up for it, there’ll be two updates this weekend, so look out for the next chapter tomorrow! Lmk what you thinkkkk

The Avengers Compound is every bit as spectacular as you could have possibly hoped, and yet you’re unable to fully appreciate it because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Your hand is in the vice-tight grip of the supposed daughter of your neighbor, who happens to be an Avenger.

Said neighbor is pacing back and forth in front of you as you sit in Bruce Banner’s laboratory, with Anastasia beside you while you wait for Bruce to arrive. Ana is remarkably calm, her young features – the round cheeks, still-wet eyes – made mature by her abnormal silence. Something about her makes you think she’s used to this kind of tension. Something about her screams war-child. Perhaps this grip she has on you is the first demand she has made in a long time, the only tantrum she has ever been allowed to throw.

While you aren’t particularly experienced with children, you think you want her to feel safe with you, because it seems she hasn’t been elsewhere. Ana’s eyes flit around the room in the only behavioral indication of her youth – a childlike curiosity, shining in the face of this fancy, new place that gleams like a toy store. Every now and then, her gaze jumps back from the alien appearance of the lab to her father (?) who seems intent on wearing a hole in the tiles with his pacing.

It is beginning to wear on you: both Bucky’s pacing and Ana’s steadily increasing anxiety. He hasn’t said a word to her since he opened the envelope, only asked that you accompany him to the Compound seeing as Ana won’t go alone with him (You would have gone with him even if that hadn’t been so. Though the nature of your relationship is ambiguous at times, the strength of your friendship is not. You’ll figure this out. You won’t leave him alone). Clearly, there is some unspoken memory that has him convinced the claim in the letter is plausible. Neither of you would be here if it wasn’t.

Bucky doesn’t talk too much about his past. He has offered a few of the shattered shards of his past reflection to you in the few night-caped moments you have hammered on his door upon hearing shouts across the hall. Between that, and what you know thanks to Black Widow’s file dump, the big Avengers’ in-fight in Europe last summer, the consequent resolution to the Accords, and Bucky’s publicized pardon, you can guess at the traumas that lurk in the depths of him.

They’re traumas that are closer to the surface of his eyes now, pulled forth by this new life, this little soul that has no business with such dark things, and the implication that this holds. Ana, innocent as she may be, is an insinuation of what else might have been unwillingly torn from Bucky.

You don’t want to think about it, because it hurts to do so, because you care for him, in many, many ways. It seems that Anastasia is also starting to tire of it. With every step Bucky takes, her hand tightens on yours. Fortunately, soon, the door to your left opens, and Bruce Banner enters his lab.

He's appropriately disheveled for this hour in the morning. Under his pristine lab coat, one of his shirt buttons is done into the wrong buttonhole, but his eyes are alert, frantic even, though you get the feeling that this is a man always on the edge of escape.

Bucky lets out a breath he seems to have been holding at the same time as his shoulders tense. “Thanks for coming so early, Doctor Banner. I wouldn’t have called if—”

“You never call, so I know it must have been important. But it looks like I’ve kept you waiting anyways,” Banner says, his eyes widening as they move from Bucky, to you, to the little girl at your side. “What’s the matter? You know I’m not a medical doctor, right?” He asks, putting a work bench between himself and his visitors.

Bucky clears his throat, and doesn’t quite know how to say what he needs to. After a few more seconds of hesitation, in which Banner waits patiently, Bucky extracts the envelope containing the fateful letter from his pocket, and hands it over.

The furrows in Doctor Banner’s brow multiply spontaneously, and when he looks up, Bucky gestures with a subtle nod of his head to Ana. He has yet to explain your presence, but you think Doctor Banner is a smart man. It won’t take more than Anastasia’s tight hold on you for him to put two and two together. Sometimes, a scared child is just that, no matter how unusual.

Most of their ensuing conversation is held at a lowered volume, set by Bucky, probably out of courtesy for Ana. You can hear snatches and phrases, most of them confirmations of things you had expected and some, not so much. Lobby security cam footage… fingerprints… paternity test… serum… blood sample…

By the end of it, some facsimile of a plan seems to have evolved between the two men, because Doctor Banner turns away with a smile and you, taking it as a welcome, stand and approach him. He rounds his desk and shakes your hand, exchange introductions though he hardly needs one, and then, he crouches, the way Bucky had, and offers Ana his hand.

“Hi, I’m Bruce.”

“Ana.”

Bucky steps forward. “Anastasia—” the name is clumsy on his tongue, because he’s scared. You can see it, and you hope he knows you are, too, but you’ll stand with him regardless, “—Bruce is going to check that you aren’t sick.”

“I’m okay.”

“We need to be sure.”

“Okay.”

Banner pulls out a chair, and you’re about to sit Ana down on it, when she pushes you gently into it, and sits on your lap. You can do nothing but wrap your arms gently around her, so she doesn’t fall. The apology in Bucky’s eyes is melted with a sympathetic smile. It’s alright. A child developing an inexplicable affection for you is not the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Ana is warm and a comfortable weight on you, and you hold her as loosely as you can, feel the movement of her chest against your arms with each breath. Her hair is a mix of wool-thick and silk-soft against your chin, smelling faintly of the sugar-sweet strawberry scent found in children’s shampoos. Someone took care of her.

Someone she isn’t asking for. What kind of child doesn’t ask for their mother, past the initial, momentary heartbreak? How has she come to terms with the apparent change in custody, when the new custodian hasn’t?

Whether Bucky is to be the new guardian has yet to be determined. You can see Bruce pulling out a syringe and preparing a vial. You wonder if she’s scared of needles. Bucky flinches at the sight of them, even now. He’s said that his disdain for the cold clinicism of medicine dates back to long before Hydra. Medical equipment reminds him of worrying that his best friend was going to die. It’s the fear he has harbored longest, longer than his fear of war, of gunshots in the dark, of blood on his hands.

Ana shares it. When she sees the needle, she screams, and Bucky lunges forward to help you hold her in place. She’s so, so much stronger than you thought and while you can hold her limbs, her head thrashes about, and so does her torso, making it impossible for Bruce to get to the inside of her elbow.

In the chaos, your eye lands on a trinket on a nearby desk, sitting there like a peace offering, literally beckoning to you. “Hey, Ana,” you whisper-yell, trying not to get hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you like animals? Cats? I have a friend who has lots and lots of cats, and I could take you to see them.” It’s working. You’re out of breath, but she’s quieting. Most little kids love cats. You love cats. “I think Bruce has a toy cat. See, over there?” You dare to lift an arm to point at the maneki-neko on the table. Ana stills. Her eyes follow the hypnotic movement, and the syringe at Ana’s elbow does its job.

When the bandage is put on, you and Bucky let go with twin nervous chuckles of relief and disbelief, and Bruce puts the vial in a machine. Ana hops off to approach the desk, and bats at the paw waving at her like a mirror of it.

“We should have the results soon. I think the others are starting to wake up, if you want to say hi,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the corner of his lab coat.

“Maybe later,” you say, seeing that Bucky is hardly in any position to converse casually with his teammates right now. Not to mention, it’d be a lot of work to explain Ana, especially before having any sort of confirmation of who she is.

Bucky pulls out a chair next to you while Bruce opens a laptop a few counters away, and an x-ray machine lifts its head behind Ana, who has moved on from the lucky cat, and is stroking the leaves of a flowering plant.

“Peace lily,” Bucky says, startling you. You look at him, the bags under his eyes, the way he almost looks his age right now, and fight the urge to hold his hand. “It’s the first flower I bought for my apartment. I put it in a community garden after a nightmare about the war. Didn’t feel right for me to have it.”

He's talking about the Second World War. The war always refers to his first war. You think he’s talking about peace, and not the lily, after what he’s done. After what he was forced to do.

“It’s not your fault,” is an automatic response, and never enough, especially for the war, because at least he was in his own senses, even if he was drafted. It always elicits a self-deprecating laugh, but right now, he’s too tired for even that.

Right now, he can only watch as the x-ray camera follows Ana around the room, from the peace lilies, to an Amazon elephant’s ear, to a strange sculpture made from Coca-Cola cans glued together by what looks like spider-webs.

Too soon, Bruce calls you over to his work station. You follow Bucky, one eye on Ana.

“She’s yours,” Bruce says, and Bucky inhales sharply. Now, you do take his hand, stroke the metal ridges with your calloused thumb. “But she has disproportionately more of your DNA than her mother’s.”

“What does that mean?”

Bruce wrings his hands. “She’s not a complete clone, but nearly a genetic copy. 80% of a clone, if you will.”

Bucky is growing increasingly uncomfortable, shifting next to you. “How’s that possible?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

[hearts-hunger]

suum ca’nara (rest and peace) || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Summary: You and Din take your baby on a picnic, and rest and peace come more easily with the sun on your face and your husband by your side. || Standalone fic in the Jate’kara (Lucky Stars) series

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff | Word Count: 4.6k | Warnings: None!

A/N: So this is quite possibly the fluffiest, sweetest thing I’ve ever written. I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope y’all like it! (Also, this gif is what I imagine Din looking like in this fic - *swoon*, am I right?) (Also also, if you’re interested, the poem I use in this isn’t mine - god, I wish - but it’s called “Do you still remember: falling stars” by Rainer Maria Rilke) ♡

“Ad’ika, I think mama is going to be madder than a razor cat once she sees the mess we’ve made of her kitchen.”

You smiled to yourself at the tone of your husband’s voice, amusement and exasperation coloring it in equal measure. You hadn’t seen the state of the kitchen yet; you were supposed to be sleeping in, but the sounds of laughter and happy baby coos had drawn you from the bunk to see what your husband and toddler were getting up to so early. You guessed they were making breakfast, if Din’s steady, one-sided dialogue was any indication.

“I can never remember how much honey to put in,” he said. “Your ba’buir used to make uj’alayi when I was little, and he never measured anything. Just threw it in the bowl.”

You pictured little Din in the kitchen with his father, hands sticky-sweet as he learned how to make the traditional Mandalorian cake. You imagined your little one was watching Din with the same reverent attention Din had watched his father with, and felt your heart swell with love for your little family.

“That’s probably good enough,” Din said. “Now we need the nuts.”

Your heard your baby give a questioning coo.

“Yeah, those,” Din said. “Hold on, the bag might be a little too - ”

Thunk. The unmistakable sound of Koja nuts rolling across the floor had you bringing your hand up to stifle a laugh. Poor Din.

“That’s ok, buddy,” he said, his voice sweet and patient as he spoke to your most likely distraught baby. Your little one loved to try and help Din whenever he could - whether Din was polishing his armor, tinkering with the Crest’s control panel, or clearing his weapons, your baby could be counted on to be there to “help”. Most of the time, his help consisted of a steady stream of chatter and attempts to do whatever Din was doing, and Din tried to find little ways for him to contribute. That your baby had been trying to help his dad make breakfast and had spilled the nuts everywhere was sure to be upsetting for him.

His little coo of apology was absolutely heartbreaking, and you knew Din would be gentle with him.

“You didn’t mean to,” Din said kindly. “It’s ok. Do you want to help me get these up so we can finish the cake?”

You backed up from the kitchen door while they cleaned up, wanting to stay hidden a little longer. Din loved being a dad, and it came to him so naturally; you cherished the moments you got to enjoy watching or listening to him interact with your son when it was just the two of them.

Your baby started babbling animatedly about something, and Din responded with “oh” and “hmm” at appropriate times, encouraging him to speak and letting him know he was listened to. They finished up the batter and put the cake on to cook, the nanowave oven crackling slightly as it heated up. It was an old model, like everything else on the Crest, and you’d become so accustomed to its finicky nature that it was more familiar than frustrating.

“Osi'kyr,” Din said, dismal. “Your mama needs a new nanowave, huh?”

Your baby chirped his agreement.

“Yeah, we’ll have to see about getting her one,” Din said. “Maybe Peli knows somebody we can ask. But for right now, we have to get this place cleaned up before mama sees.”

“Before mama sees what?”

You came out of your hiding place around the corner and were met with two guilty smiles, both Din and your baby looking like you’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Your little one was sitting up on the counter, an uncracked Koja nut in hand, his ears perking up at the sight of you. Din was covered in flour - little baby-sized handprints covered his black shirt and trousers, and streaks of white appeared in his sleep-mussed curls. The kitchen was a mess, like he’d said, but it was worth it to see the two of them so happy.

“Hi, cyare,” Din said, his smile a little sheepish.

Your baby added his own coo of greeting, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good morning to you too,” you said. You gave your son a kiss on the top of his head. “What are you and daddy making?”

He waved the Koja nut in his claws for you to see. 

“Uj’alayi,” Din clarified.

You smiled. “Cake for breakfast, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s got fruit in it. It’s healthy.”

He leaned close and kissed you, sweet with the taste of honey and ginger from the batter he’d tested before it went in the oven. He held his flour-dusted hands to the side of you so as not to get you messy too.

“Good morning, Mrs. Djarin,” he said sweetly, bumping your noses together.

You beamed. “Good morning, Mr. Djarin.” You gave him another quick kiss. “Do you want some help getting the kitchen cleaned back up?”

He looked a little distressed as he pulled back. “No, I mean - you don’t have to help. You didn’t make the mess.”

You gave an affectionate shake of your head. “Din. I don’t mind.”

He softened. “Well, if you’re offering. It’s very sweet of you, cyare. Sorry it’s such a disaster.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said, waving him off. “Most of the flour ended up on you and not on the counters, anyway.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, we had a hard time getting it in the bowl.” He took a cloth and began wiping down the counters, scooping your baby up while he did.

“But we’re ramikadyc mandos,” he continued. “Determined, tenacious. Not to be bested by cake batter.”

Your baby chimed in to agree with his dad. You laughed as you filled the sink with hot water.

“How did I get the two bravest Mandalorians in the galaxy on my ship?” you teased.

Din considered that. “I think you’ve just got good jate’kara, my love.”

You gave a pleased hum as he kissed you. “My stars are pretty lucky, aren’t they?”

He smiled. “Not as lucky as mine, cyare.”

When the kitchen was back in order, Din excused himself to take a shower while the cake finished baking. You got your little one dressed for the day in a soft, hand-stitched blue tunic Omera had made for him and tidied the bunk before heading back to the kitchen as the timer went off.

“Quiet a view, cyar’ika.”

You blushed at the teasing warmth of your husband’s voice as you took the pan from the oven and straightened, setting it to cool out of your baby’s reach. You turned and saw Din had changed into a soft white shirt and brown pants, his suspenders resting against his hips, his hair dark and curly from his shower.

“I’ve got quite a view, too,” you said, a little bashful as he smiled and crossed to you. You only had a moment to admire the endearing crinkles by his eyes before he kissed you, all tenderness and affection.

Your little one cooed and you both looked down to see him standing on the top of Din’s boot, tugging on his pants leg and giving uppy arms. Din chuckled and scooped him up, cradling him with one arm and drawing you close with the other.

“Let’s go somewhere fun today,” he said. “This system has some beautiful planets. We can have a picnic or something.”

You smiled. “Okay,” you agreed. You were a little surprised, as Din wasn’t usually very spontaneous, but the idea of a day spent just spending time with him and your baby sounded lovely. “Where should we go?”

He kissed your forehead. “I’ll go look and see what we’re closest to.”

He took the baby up to the cockpit with him to scan the nearby planets, giving you a few minutes for your own shower. You took two slices of uj’alayi when you went to join them; you gave one to Din, and he broke off little pieces to share with the baby.

“I think we decided on a planet,” Din said, indicating the display on the instrument panel.

“Baraan-Fa,” you read. “It’s forested, low population... is it safe?”

He shrugged. “Should be, with the place we’re landing. Most of the population density is around the town and the old Rebel base, so we shouldn’t run into anybody.”

You took your seat, happily taking your baby when Din handed him over to you so he could set your course. You were amused to see that your little one had succeeded in charming Din into giving him the silver handle off the gear shift, and he held it up for you to see.

“Your daddy must love you,” you cooed to him.

Din glanced back at you, his expression bemused before he saw what you were talking about. His smile was a little exasperated.

“Maybe we should get him some actual toys.”

You laughed. “He wouldn’t play with them even if we did, honey. He wants to be like you.”

“Yeah.” Din’s expression was soft with affection, and you knew he didn’t really mind that his son had chosen a part of the ship for his plaything. He turned back to focus on bringing the Crest into Baraan-Fa’s atmosphere, and you and your baby looked out the windows in pleasantly surprised wonder at the beauty of the planet. Every inch of it was green, hilly grasslands with blue rivers snaking through the forests. Din expertly landed in a small clearing in the middle of a wooded area, settling the Crest into a glade dappled with sunlight.

No sooner had the ship landed than you were out of your seat and downstairs, impatiently waiting for the ramp to lower as the welcoming breeze flooded into the Crest’s hull. You set your baby down on the soft grass and let him explore a little, tilting your head back to feel the sun on your face, breathing deeply of the clean air.

“You like it?” Din asked. You opened your eyes to see him leaned against the door frame, watching you with a gentle smile. You would have beamed back at him and told him how much you loved it had it not been for the sudden concern you felt at his appearance.

“You’re not wearing your armor,” you said. Checking briefly to make sure the baby hadn’t wandered too far, you stepped up the ramp towards your husband and made to steer him back inside the Crest’s relative privacy.

“Din - ” you protested when he gave a soft laugh and captured your wrists in a gentle grip, just as you had put your hands on his chest to push him back inside. “What if someone sees?”

He held both of your hands close to his heart. “There’s nobody here, cyare. I checked. It’s sweet of you to worry, but you don’t have to.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “You’re going to be out here without a helmet?” That sounded awfully reckless to you.

“I want to be able to kiss you,” he said, giving you a chaste kiss to illustrate his point. “And I want to swim in the river and feel the sun on my face. Can’t do all that with beskar on, now can I?”

You sighed. “No, but...” You met his eyes. “It doesn’t frighten you?”

He softened. “Sure it does,” he admitted. “A little. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been out of the Crest without armor on. But that’s exactly why I want to. And if there’s no danger of anyone seeing me... I think it’ll be alright.”

He tapped the bracelet on your wrist, a modified version of his vambrace with the same remote controls of the Crest programmed in. “Besides, I told the Crest to alert us if there’s anyone nearby. It’ll be alright.”

You reached up to brush your fingers through his hair. “Well, it would be nice to see your face,” you said. “If you’re sure about it.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “I’m sure, cyar’ika. Come on, let’s go get our son before he wanders right into the river.”

You looped your arm through his, feeling like one of the promenading couples you always saw growing up on Naboo. He was a bit scruffier and dressed more casually than any young man on Naboo would be, but you liked him that way. 

As he led you on a leisurely stroll towards the river, minding your little one closely, you took the opportunity to enjoy being outside with him and being able to see his every expression. Din was nothing if not expressive, especially in his brow, and his face was alight with a happiness and peace that made his handsome features all the more alluring.

“Is there a word in Mando’a for ‘very handsome’?” you asked.

He looked over at you with a touch of confusion, either playing coy or just being genuinely oblivious. You suspected the latter, and it was endearing to you.

“No,” he said. “But there’s ‘very beautiful’ - ori mesh’la - and it means the same thing.”

You smiled. “Well then, Din, I think you’re ori mesh’la.”

His cheeks pinked. “Well, thank you, cyare,” he said, endearingly bashful. He smiled. “I think you’re ori mesh’la, too.”

You could have watched his face forever, charmed by his blush and the way his curls looked in the sun, but your baby gave an excited babble and drew you attention. Just in time, too, as he was barrelling full-speed towards the river without a care in the world.

“Oh, ad’ika,” you chided, unwinding yourself from Din and scooping your baby up before he reached the water. His ears drooped as you held him.

 “I know you want to go in, my love,” you cooed. “But you have to be careful.”

You saw why he’d been so eager to get in the water - the riverbed was covered in bright, colorful stones, glinting where they caught the sun through the water. You knelt on the bank and held your baby in your lap, reaching into the pleasantly cool water to scoop up a handful of the stones.

“Look how pretty,” you said, drawing them close so he could take a few. He grabbed the biggest one and turned it over in his claws, mesmerized by the opalescent shimmer.

“Batu,” he said, holding it up for you to see. You smiled. You and Din hadn’t quite figured out what “batu” meant, but it seemed to signal his approval, and you were always pleased to hear it.

“I see,” you said, charmed by his enthusiasm. “Show daddy.”

You stood and turned to face Din, who was watching the two of you with a gentle smile on his face. His brow quirked in excitement when he saw his baby holding the stone out to him.

“Look at that, ad’ika,” he said, coming close to examine it.

“Batu,” your baby said again. Din grinned.

“Yeah, ‘batu’,” he repeated. “You want to go find some more?”

At your little one’s happy coo, you and Din kicked off your shoes to wade into the shallow river. Din rolled the hem of his trousers as well as yours, since your hands were full with the baby, and pressed a kiss to your thigh before he rose.

The water lapped just above your ankles with the gentle current, and you spent a few minutes looking through the clear water to find the stones you thought were prettiest. Your baby wriggled to be put down, but the water was a little too deep for him, and you settled on drawing up handfuls of rocks for him to sort through.

“Hey, cyare, look at this one.”

You turned to see the stone your husband had found and were met with a splash of water.

“Din!” you squeaked, a smile crossing your face. Your baby giggled with delight at having been splashed, and the sound mixed with Din’s warm laughter.

“Sorry, love,” he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. You bent down and splashed him back, getting him more thoroughly than he’d gotten you; he laughed and sputtered as he wiped his face on the shoulder of his shirt.

“That was so much worse than mine,” he said. “You’re awful.”

“Good thing you like me so much,” you said cooly.

He grinned. “Yeah, lucky you.” He kissed you and brushed the water from your face. You’d grown accustomed to the feel of his leather gloves, but you’d always prefer the gentleness of his hands, rough from years of hard work but always touching you in love. 

Pressed between the two of you and impatient to get in the water, your baby patted Din’s chest and babbled up at him.

“Come on, buddy,” Din said, taking him from your arms. “You want to swim a little bit?”

“You’re swimming in your clothes?” you asked.

He gave you a wry smile. “Why not? I’m already half-soaked.”

Your smile was slightly guilty. “I'm sorry about that, actually,” you said. “I didn’t mean to splash you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know. I’m not upset. Besides, it’s warm enough that it won’t take very long to dry off.” He nodded towards the bank where a flat rock jutted out over the water. “I was just going to sit over there and let him play where it’s shallow.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well, in that case, I’ll sit with you.”

You played with them for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Din while he held your baby’s hands and let him splash around in the shallow water. Despite his excitement, your baby was a little hesitant once he was actually in the water, and held tightly to Din’s fingers. As his fear eased and his confidence grew, he was happy to stay within his dad’s reach and only occasionally grabbed onto Din’s trouser leg when he lost his balance. His outfit was thoroughly soaked within minutes of his delighted splashing, but he didn’t seem to mind; he played happily and kept handing rocks to you, and you cooed over every one. 

You might have stayed with them and watched your little one play for hours on end if it hadn’t been for Din’s stomach starting to growl; you realized you were hungry too and playfully nudged your shoulder against his.

“Should I go get us some lunch?” you asked.

His smile was a little sheepish. “If you wouldn't mind,” he said. “I can get it, if you don’t want to.”

You ran a hand over his back. “I don’t mind,” you assured him. “What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever,” he said. “You know me.”

“So, just a whole ori'skraan, then?” you teased. Mandalorians always had big elaborate feasts at their celebrations to make up for the fact that they ate rations more often than not, since they were easier while on a hunt; you’d had the pleasure of attending a few during your marriage, including the one at your wedding.

Your husband grinned. “That’ll be just fine, cyare.”

You kissed his cheek before you stood, waving goodbye to your baby. You heard Din console your little one as you left towards the ship, explaining that you’d be right back.

You found the length of fabric you used for a baby sling and tied it around you like Din had shown you; Mandalorians carried their babies in a birikaad, to keep their hands free for fighting, and this was nearly identical to that style. You filled the sling with food from your pantry, wrapping up a few slices of the uj’alayi cake for dessert, and folded up one of the spare blankets to picnic on.

You heard Din singing as you walked back to the river. You almost didn’t realize it was him, at first - he was usually so shy about his singing voice, and he reserved it for lullabies when your baby was very fussy or drinking songs when he was deep in his cups with friends. He sang to you, occasionally, when you asked him to, and he was always endearingly bashful.

His voice carried over the clearing, mixing with the sound of the river and your baby’s happy laughter, and you drank it in the closer you got to him. It was a beautiful song, full of longing; Din’s warm baritone made it rich and lovely. The lyrics were in Mando’a, and you were too caught up in the sound of your husband’s voice to translate; you let his voice wash over you, warming you from head to toe.

You didn’t know how long he would have kept singing if your baby hadn’t caught sight of you, giving a happy coo of welcome. Din’s voice cut short as he turned, perhaps fearing you were someone else, but his expression softened into a smile as soon as he saw you.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled. “Hi.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stop singing on my account.”

He blushed. “No, I’d been singing that one over and over. I’m sure ad’ika’s tired of hearing it.”

You knew that wasn’t true; your little one calmed faster to Din’s voice than he did to anything else. You didn’t want to embarrass him, though, and carded a hand through your husband’s sun-warmed curls.

“You two hungry?” you asked.

You baby gave an affirmative babble and gave his dad uppy arms; Din obliged him and dried him off a little as you spread out the picnic blanket. Your little one came and sat in your lap as Din helped you set out the food. 

“You missed your mama, didn’t you?” Din said sweetly. You brushed an affectionate hand over your baby’s ears and swapped the bright purple stone he held for a piece of fruit. He watched your hand carefully to make sure you hadn’t really taken his prize away for good; satisfied when you set it next to you on the blanket, he happily ate the bite-sized food you and Din took turns giving to him.

Din took your baby back to the river as you tidied up after lunch, and you were happy to watch and listen to them play as you stretched out on the blanket and read the book you’d taken from the shelf in the bunk. It was a collection of poems that Din had gotten you for your birthday, and even though you’d been excited to read it, you hadn’t had much spare time lately. You were quickly absorbed in the poetry as you read; the sun was warm on your back, and the sounds of your husband and baby playing created a comforting backdrop.

They came back from the river after a while, their hands full of brightly colored stones, their clothes half-soaked, and their expressions as tired as they were happy. Din set your baby down and let him toddle over to you; your little one added his stones to the collection you’d made, his ears perking up as he sorted through them.

“All done?” you asked, giving Din a gentle smile as he dropped his handful of stones into the pile. 

He hummed in agreement. “For now, anyways. He probably needs a rest.”

Your husband gave a soft groan as he lay beside you, tired and comfortable in the warm sun. “Your baby is a pretty good swimmer, mama.”

You closed your book and looked over at your little one; his smile was wide at his dad’s praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“I saw,” you said, tapping his nose and earning a giggle in response. “Did you like swimming with daddy?”

Your little one gave an affirmative coo as he abandoned the rocks and climbed up onto Din; with a great big yawn for such a little thing, he lay on Din’s chest and snuggled close when Din laid a hand over his back.

“Tired you out, didn’t it, ad’ika?” you said gently, brushing a finger over his ear. You looked to Din’s face and saw he was already dozing too.

You smiled. “Wore your daddy out too, I see.” His hair was light in the sun, almost golden in some places; his cheeks were rosy and sunkissed under his scruff, his expression peaceful and soft.

You kissed his cheek. “Did you know I love you?”

He gave a soft smile. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.” He turned his face towards you, your noses bumping together, his kisses tender and drowsy. You brushed your fingers through his hair.

“You’re gonna take a nap?” you asked, keeping your voice soft for your baby’s sake. He was already asleep, curled snugly under his dad’s hand, rocked by the gentle rise and fall of Din’s chest.

Din gave a content sigh. “Maybe. Lay here with me, cyare.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, honey.” You kissed the bridge of his nose. “You want me to read to you?”

He nodded, moving his free hand to rest on the curve of your lower back. “What book is it?”

“The one you gave me for my birthday,” you said, flipping through the pages until you found where you’d left off. “Ancient Keltrian Poets, remember?”

He hummed in agreement. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely. “Here - I was in the middle of this one, but I’ll start it from the beginning.”

You read to him for a while, pausing to underline or make notes when you found a line you really liked; his fingers drew circles on your lower back as he listened and made a few comments here and there.

“For stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere,” you read. “Almost every gaze upwards became welded to the swift hazard of their play, and our heart felt like a single thing beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance.”

You traced your fingers over that stanza. “That’s kind of like our vows, don’t you think? ‘We are one when together, we are one when parted.’ Our heart feels like a single thing.”

When you didn’t get an answer, you looked over at your husband. “Din?”

He shifted a little, and you realized he’d fallen asleep. 

“Alright, cyare?” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He ran his hand over your back. “That’s ok, love.” Even mostly asleep, he still comforted you with intentional gentleness. “What did you say?”

You smiled. “Nothing. Just that I love you.”

He tilted his chin up just a little, asking for a kiss; you obliged him, gently pressing your mouth to his.

“Keep reading,” he said. “I love the sound of your voice.”

You softened. “I love the sound of your voice, too.” You brushed a wayward curl from his forehead. “What was that song you were singing earlier?”

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Naasad'guur mhi,” he said. “It’s a drinking song.”

“It’s pretty,” you said.

He hummed in agreement.

“What’s it about?” you asked.

“It says, ‘nobody likes us, we don’t care, we are the elite Mando boys from Mandalore.’”

You laughed. “That’s really what it says?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It sounds really nice when you have a bunch of people singing it all together.”

You gently ran your knuckles over his scruff. “Will you sing it for me later?”

“Sure, cyare. If you want me to.”

You settled closer to him and flipped the page to the next poem, reading it aloud a bit more quietly than you would have usually. Din’s breathing evened out until he was snoring softly; you smiled when you saw the way your baby had a fistful of Din’s shirt held tightly in his hand. The sound of the river kept you company as you read about stars and rainstorms and fields of aura blossoms; Din’s warmth beside you was comforting and steady. Days of rest and peace were few and far between for your little family, but they were sweeter for it; you held tightly to them when they came, and always thanked the jate’kara for days like these.

series taglist: @kyjoraven​​​​​, @sarahjkl82-blog​​​​​, @remmysbounty​​​​​, @bitchin-beskar​​​​​, @cosmicbreathe​​​​​, @prettyboyskywalker​​​​​, @happyxdayxbitch​​​​​, @radiowallet​​​​​​, @marvelous-glims​​ ♡

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid​​​​​, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​​​​​, @stardust-galaxies​​​​​, @theorganasolo​​​​​, @qhbr2013​​​​​, @willowtheewisp​​​​​​, @lori-tovar​​, @sarybennett​​ ♡

please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

[august-bleeds-red]

Texas Heat

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

~

The Texas sun beats mercilessly down on the back of your neck, the air thick and slow as dark molasses. You tied your sweater around your waist, but even that was too much for your sweating skin, so now it just hangs limply from your fingers.

 You manage to hitch a lift from a family of three on a cross-state road trip – the parents were both betas, the little girl in the back unpresented. You tell them you’re heading back to college from visiting your family, that your car packed up some three miles back. You also tell them you’re a beta. Two truths and a lie.

 They pull into a small gas station in Travis County called Cele Community Centre to fill up, while you step inside the sore to ask to use the phone. A middle-aged woman with cats-eye spectacles stands behind the counter, a couple of leather-clad bikers sitting at a table littered with beer bottles.

 The phone’s busted, but when you explain about your car, she offers a different option. Her brother’s got a tow truck – he could go pick up your car and bring it back for repair. It’s too good an offer to refuse, so you wave goodbye to the beta family and take a seat in the diner. The woman – Luda May Hewitt, she introduces herself – gives you a soda on the house and asks you about yourself. You tell her about your parents, your brother in the army, your little sister about to graduate high school. By the time her brother arrives – a unkempt, bespectacled man she calls Monty – you feel as though you’ve been talking to a matronly aunt for the past hour. She’s kind, with good old-fashioned Southern values, and so when she asks if you’d like to join them for supper, you accept. Monty says your car needs a new valve or something, which he has back at the homestead, so you hop in the cab of his truck next to Luda May.

 The Hewitt family home is a large farmhouse, with sprawling fields surrounding and a dilapidated garage. Monty parks up in the front yard and disappears, presumably to find the missing piece for your car. You shoulder your bag and follow Luda May inside the house. It’s not particularly clean, but your mother raised you to be polite, so you accept some sweet tea and some homemade biscuits.

 Shortly, another man appears in the kitchen – this one younger and more well-presented than Monty - who introduces himself as Sheriff Hoyt. A rough, brutish scent of alpha pheromones follows him through the door, but you know by instinct its not from him.

 “Tommy,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at a hulking figure beyond the doorway. “Come say hello to our guest.”

 The person who steps into the room has to be the largest man you’ve never seen. Not only is he tall – at least six and a half feet – but he’s also broad; wide shoulders, muscular arms, and a chest like a barrel. Despite the suppressants you’ve been careful to keep concealed in your bag, your glands tingle pleasantly as his scent washes over you. Your nose recognises earth, leather and sweat, but your finer-tuned olfactory senses catch hints of sandalwood, charcoal, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. You contribute this to the butcher’s apron he’s wearing tied around his thick waist – the dark brown stains a clear indication of animal slaughter. While this doesn’t exactly strike you as comforting, you can’t deny his scent is . . . appealing.

 You focus on his face for just a moment, not wanting to stare. His dark hair is long and wavy, most of his face concealed beneath a crude leather mask, revealing only his eyes, forehead and a small glimpse of chapped lips. The space where his nose would be beneath the mask is strangely flat, leading you to suspect some kind of physical deformity. His shadowed eyes catch yours and you look away in embarrassment.

 “This here’s Thomas, my boy,” Luda May says. “Tommy, meet Y/N.”

 “Hey,” you rise to your feet and hold out a hand. Even at your full height, you barely come up to his chest. “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

 He doesn’t speak or move to shake your hand, but his right-hand fingers flex at his side, so you can tell he wants to. Moreover, you can smell it on him. The pheromones he’s giving off betray his interest, and your face flushes at the thought that such an impressive alpha’s attention is directed at you. Eventually, you lower your hand and return to your seat, taking a sip of tea to hide your awkwardness.

 “So,” Hoyt says, sitting down opposite you and placing his hat on the table. “Y/N, what are you?”

 You know what he’s trying to say, even if the question comes across as a little rude.

 “I’m a beta, sir,” you say.

 “Seems the whole dang state’s beta these days,” he says, leaning back and accepting a glass of tea from Luda May. “Tommy’s pretty much the only alpha ‘round these parts, and as for omegas, forget it.”

 Praying that your suppressants are doing their job, you nod along with his words and try not to focus on Thomas, who’s still standing like a full-door draft excluder in the corridor. You wonder if his senses are strong enough to tell that you’re lying. Surely if they were, he’d say something, wouldn’t he? Such a big strong alpha like him, wouldn’t be able to help himself.

 Big strong alpha . . .

 The thought makes you shiver slightly, and you notice Thomas shift where he stands. Covering your neck as casually as you can with one hand, you pretend to be intently interested in what Hoyt is saying. As he’s illustrating the hardships of being the county’s only sheriff, Monty appears, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

 “Well, hope you didn’t have nowhere to be anytime soon, ‘cause that tin can sure ain’t going without a new carburetor.”

 Your heart sinks – the car was a gift from your parents when you got into UT, and you’d taken good care of it since. How had it sustained so much damage without you realising?

 “D’you know where I can get a new one?”

 He blows his cheeks out. “Nowhere ‘round here. Next town, maybe; ‘bout twenty miles north.”

 You mentally count the small handful of notes folded in your wallet – your mom had given you $50 to get back to college, enough for fuel and food along the way, plus extra to stay in a motel. Certainly not enough for such a hefty repair.

 “Course,” Hoyt says, a strange smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Uncle Monty’d be more’n happy to drive through for one tomorrow, wouldn’t ya, Monty?”

 Monty nods slowly. “Be my pleasure.”

 A strange tension has fallen over the small room, setting the hairs on the back of your neck a-prickle. Hoyt’s eyes are burning into you with a fierce intensity, almost . . . hunger, Monty bearing a smile, too leery to be comforting. You’re wondering if you’ve made a mistake in coming here, when Thomas moves from the shadows, his scent passing over you. Your shoulders drop a little, his presence proving an inexplicable reassurance to you. You know it’s your hormones talking; with such an alpha nearby, you’re safe. It takes a nudge from the logical side of your brain to remind you that biology is not fact, and you could be very, very far from safe with these people.

 You clear your throat, mouth suddenly dry.

 “Well, that’s awful kind of you. Is there, um . . . a motel or something I could stay at tonight?”

 “Motel?” Luda May laughs. “Don’t be so silly, honey – you’ll stay here.”

 You turn to look at her, her warm, motherly gaze refilling some of the certainly draining from you. Maybe you’re just being paranoid. After all, you’re a young woman – an omega, no less – so it’s no wonder that Hoyt and Monty might act strangely around you, whether they realise it or not. As for Thomas, well . . .

 “I don’t want to be a bother, ma’am.”

 “Oh hush, you’re no bother at all, and call me Luda.” She takes an old apron from a hook on the wall and nods towards the door. “Tommy’ll show you to the spare room and then you can help me start dinner.”

 Thomas looks as surprised by the idea of being alone with you as you are, his gargantuan posture stiffening. His eyes flit from Luda May to you, unsure of what to do.  

 “Go on, boy, m’sure she don’t bite,” Hoyt chuckles.

 But does he? Your mind races as you lift your bag and follow Thomas from the kitchen. His heavy footsteps make the floorboards shake as he ascends the stairs, decidedly not looking anywhere in your direction. The room he takes you to is small, barely more than a box room, with a narrow cot bed, a chest of drawers, and a dirty sink built into the wall. The white ceramic has been long since hidden beneath a layer of brown grime, and the light from the window is filtered through what looks like years of dirt.

 You turn your head to thank Thomas, but the words die on your tongue when you see how close he is. His chest is heaving, and you suspect he’s . . . smelling you. Shit. You remember the mace your mom forced you to take with you, stowed safely away at the bottom of your pack. There’s no way you could get to it before he could grab you. He’s so big – his hands could easily encompass your entire head – you’re sure he could do irreparable damage without breaking so much as a sweat. His eyes – how had you not noticed how blue they are? – are fixed on you, all trace of shyness gone. You raise a hand – to do what, you’ve no idea – and stifle a shriek when he takes hold of your arm with surprising agility. Your blood stills as he lifts your wrist to his face, the air whistling through his nostrils beneath the mask as he breathes in your scent. He must know – there’s no way he can’t. He must either be the strongest alpha you’ve ever encountered, or on the brink of his rut, to detect your omega scent through your suppressants. Or both.

 Part of you wants to run, to scream for help, but you can’t; your legs won’t move.

 “Please . . .” you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re pleading for. Your eyes meet for one long, electrifying moment.

 “Tommy, get down here! We got trespassers!”

 Thomas drops your hand like it’s scalding hot, disappearing from the room and down the stairs after Hoyt’s harsh commands. You stand rooted to the spot, your heart beating a brand against your ribcage, and the bed creaks ominously beneath you as you drop down onto it. Fishing in your bag, you pull out the thin blister pack of pills, swallowing one dry. You have enough to get you safely back to Austin – you’ll just have to hope your stay here is a short one.

~

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.

[taetaespeaches]

“It’s everything to lose.”

taehyung x reader/oc  (but also jimin x platonic reader/oc) genre: angst word count: 6K

a/n: well, this was a process to write lol. Basically, Peaches/reader and Tae are experiencing a mix of feelings due to their best friends’ (Jimin and Dear) break up. Fears of a possible relationship with each other are worsened, plus, Tae and Peaches are just sad because their closest friends are sad. Also, Peaches finally talks to Jimin for the first time after he broke up with Dear, so that’s a big part of this as well. And we get a brief moment between Peaches and Dear, our ride or die duo. Ok, that’s really it. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

Grasping the back of your neck, you massaged your muscles as you yawned, your eyes set on the coffee percolating into the pot. You loved your best friend, and of course you wanted to be there for her, but her post-break up antics were beginning to wear on you as you failed to get accustomed to running on five or less hours of sleep night after night.

Leaning over the countertop, you looked through your most recent texts with your other best friend, Taehyung. The conversation, which started with him bragging about an amazing waffle he had just eaten, had turned a bit sour as you both defended opposing friends in their recent breakup.

It was hard to find common ground with the man these days, as he was on tour with the antagonist of your friends’ little drama, and you were in a constant state of being the shoulder to cry on for the dear protagonist. A sigh slipped from your lips as you scanned through the messages, the grumbling of the coffee pot sounding in the otherwise silent apartment.

You: He dumped her through text while he was away on tour. That’s fucking ridiculous and it’s cowardly.

Tae: You don’t know what’s going through his mind though.

You: There’s obviously not much going through his mind.

Tae: He’s your friend too.

You: And he broke my best friend’s heart.

Tae: I know that. I’m sorry, I hate this whole situation.

You: Me too. I’m sorry and I hate it too.

Tae: Is she at your place again?

You: No, I’m sure she will be but right now she’s out drinking with those stupid friends she has.

Tae: Oh….

You: Yeah. I’m anxious as fuck. I wanted to keep her from going out but you know, I can’t do that. She has to do what she’s gonna do.

Tae: I’m sorry to add to your stress.

Tae: She’ll be ok, Peaches.

You: No, it’s ok, you could never truly add to my stress. You’re my comfort, Tae, you know that.

Tae: I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle like this.

You: I’m sorry you are too. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, have a good night, Dearest.

Tae: Sweet dreams, Peaches.

Craving for two seconds away from the ongoing story of your friends’ turbulent romance, you scrolled up on your text conversation with Tae, a faint smile appearing on your lips at the photo of a waffle the size of the plate it sat upon, followed by a photo of Taehyung shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

Tae: It’s definitely big enough for the both of us but since you’re not here I guess I’ll have to manage it alone.

Tae: I miss sharing breakfast foods with you.

Tae: Never mind, this is so good, I’m glad you’re not here to eat it all.

Your brief moment of relief was broken when your screen changed to display a caller you were not prepared to speak to. Guilt and anxiety settled into your stomach as your breathing hitched slightly at the image of his name and photo. The contact ID reminded you of simpler times, the man pulling a silly expression with his chin tucked into his neck to give himself two of them. He had called you a few times the past couple days, but you’d consistently ignored them, trying to avoid hearing the voice of the man you considered one of your closest friends.

You almost didn’t answer again. Looking to the room your best friend slept in, a serious hangover awaiting her on the other side of slumber, your thumb pressed on the green circular button on the right side of the screen.  

Pausing a moment, you shook your head before raising the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice hushed as to not wake up the girl a few rooms away. A rush of air sounded through the phone, as if the man was sighing in relief, but that was the only response you received. “Jimin,” you sighed.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, defeat coating his tone. He must not have had the strength to pretend to be ok.  

Another awkward pause ensued, both of you waiting for the other to break the silence first. With another sigh, you stood up straight, turning your back to the counter as you leaned against it. “Can you say something?” You asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted lamely, you licking your lips which became quite dry suddenly.  

“You called me,” you pointed out, annoyance in your words that wasn’t intentional but was true to your current mood. “You’ve been calling me for days, but you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he said shakily, and you were sure there were tears bubbling up in his eyes.

Hearing the sadness in his tone, you chewed on your bottom lip, trying to conceal your own emotions in response to his tone. You weren’t sure your feelings even mattered right then. “Well I answered,” you told him, in a sort of assurance. Assurance of what, neither of you were sure, but it allowed Jimin a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the man whispered, causing you to clench your teeth to hold back your pity and consideration for him as you turned back around to the coffee machine.

“Don’t thank me,” you told him, a slight anger behind your tone. “What do you want to say? I have errands I need to run.”  

As Jimin prepared his words, going through his mind to figure out exactly why he was calling you, you patiently waited, halting your movements as your hand sat on the handle of the coffee pot. You knew he needed time to gather his thoughts, and though you were angry with him, you cared for him enough to give him that. “I just miss you,” he admitted, a crack in his voice indicating the earnest admission.

Taking in a shaky breath, you let it out in a wobbly exhale. “Of course I miss you too,” you said honestly. You refused to lie to him about that. “But I don’t want to talk to you, Jimin.”

His words tumbled out of him bitterly, but it was shrouded in frustration, which you believed to be with himself. “You were my friend first,” he said, uncertain whether he regretted the comment or not.

“I’m still your friend,” you told him adamantly, though your voice was still quiet.  

“Then please talk to me,” he begged, almost desperate for the affection you normally showed him. Well, that you showed him before he broke your best friend’s heart.

“I can’t,” you told him trying to sound stern, but your exhausted state ruining your feeble attempt to put up a front.

A sniffle sounded through the phone, adding to the heaviness in your heart. “Why not?”

Holding the phone to your ear with one hand, you moved your other from the coffee pot to the top of your head as you scratched your roots in frustration and distress. “I can’t risk saying something awful to you,” you confessed through an unsteady voice. And that was it. You were angry with him, but you didn’t want to hurt him. “I love you, you’re one of my favorite people on this entire planet, Jimin,” you cried, your sniffling giving away your emotion to the man on the other side of the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he told you in a rush as you wiped away a tear.

“I see her every day,” you told Jimin in a whisper, ensuring your voice was too low for your friend to hear you if she suddenly awoke. However, you were sure the quietness of your voice was giving away that the woman he still loved was just feet away from you; just feet away from the conversation currently taking place, asleep in your spare bedroom. “I’m so mad at you, Jimin, god I’m mad at you,” your voice suddenly broke, no longer able to hold back the pent-up emotions. If Jimin’s thoughts had strayed to the girl nearby, the sound of your distressed voice surely brought him back to the present conversation; the present state of your friendship. “I need to process all of this before I talk to you because I love you and I can’t say something I’ll regret or something I don’t mean,” you explained as tears spilled over your lash line.

“I understand,” he said roughly, clearing his voice right after as if he was trying to pull himself together for your sake.

“I just-” You paused, holding your breath as you attempted to swallow more tears. “I need time so I can forgive you,” you told him sadly, clenching your fist together as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’m sorry,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper.

“Please don’t apologize,” he begged, choking back a sob. “I get it, take your time,” he assured you. “I’m really sorry for doing this,” he admitted sadly. The man sounded regretful and broken, your pity for him swirling around in the whirlwind of emotions you were currently experiencing. “All of it.”

You knew that was true. You knew he still loved her. And you knew he felt immense guilt for what he did to her, you, Taehyung, your whole friend unit, but mostly her. That much was obvious.  

“I do miss you,” you assured him through a small whimper, choosing to give him the reassurance rather than responding to his apology. “I won’t be mad forever.”

“I miss you too,” he told you sorrowfully. “I’ll be here whenever your feelings change.”

With that, you ended the call, leaving Jimin alone in his hotel room. Setting the phone to the counter, you wiped your face once more before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot, pouring some into the mug you had taken out earlier.

Thinking upon your conversation with Jimin, you wanted nothing more than to scream at him; tell him what an idiot he was. But you also wanted to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that he would be ok. You were my friend first. You scoffed, thinking of his remark, though a tear slid down your cheek. You wanted to be there for your friend, but how could you be when your other friend was just down the hallway, passed out after a night of trying to numb her heartache through the use of alcohol? He caused that pain. You were right to be mad at him… weren’t you?

It was almost astonishing how things, seemingly meant to be, could fall apart right before your eyes. Things weren’t always easy for Jimin and your friend, but they loved each other. One would think that love would be enough to get them through. But maybe love isn’t enough. Maybe fate isn’t enough.

Fate. Soulmates. They’re interesting concepts. Souls destined to find each other. But the rhetoric surrounding these notions don’t suggest that you’ll end up together.

But maybe if Jimin and your friend could see past everything that went wrong, they would find something worth fighting for still. It wasn’t simple, but it could be simpler for them.  

Something also simple but not simple at all was you and Taehyung. More and more recently, you had been realizing how much you love him. Maybe you both were meant to be together too. Tied together by the fate of your souls. But seeing how things can fall apart, perhaps it’s more risk than it’s worth. Wasn’t it better to have Tae in your life in the role of your best friend than it was to complicate things and lose him? You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t let yourself.

You sniveled as you brought the coffee to your lips, making an attempt at a deep breath before taking a sip. Your emotions needed to be locked down by the time your friend awoke. However, that concern came too late as two arms wrapped around your middle, the surprise affection causing you to jump in start.

The presence of her limbs were tentative as he she carefully rested the side of her face against your back. Breathing out in a huff, you relaxed a bit. “Jesus,” you spoke softly, but your friend gave you no response. Alarm bells went off in your head as her body trembled just slightly against yours. “You ok?” You asked, setting the mug down carefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against you, and as your mind went into high alert, your heart plummeted into your gut. Immediately, you turned in her arms, wrapping your own around the back of her head, holding her impossibly close to you. Sorry?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you assured her, leaving a kiss to the side of her head on the top of her hair. “Absolutely nothing.”

“My behavior last night could use an apology,” she admitted, causing you to smile slightly though she couldn’t see it with her face buried against your neck.

“Well, maybe that,” you teasingly agreed, thinking back to the few hours earlier in which you had to drive to the club she was at because she had broken down on the dance floor. All anger, if there was any to begin with, however, had completely dissolved when you pulled up outside the establishment to find her sitting against the wall in the cold, mascara stains down her cheeks as she sobbed about how much her heart hurt. “But are you even apologizing for that?” You asked her, realizing she must have heard you on the phone with her ex.

“Partially,” she cried harder. She knew the strain the breakup had put on all four of you, and though it wasn’t her fault, she still felt guilty. You knew she did. Her heart was too soft for her to not take some sort of blame.

Allowing her to cry in your arms, you moved your hand to the back of her head as you tried to make her feel safe. “You’re gonna be ok,” you whispered to her repeatedly in a gentle tone.

After a few moments, she pulled away to look at you, your thumbs moving to her cheeks to wipe the tears away, though more continued to fall, quickly replacing them.

“How is he?” She suddenly asked you, her lip trembling as she held back a sob.

Scanning her features carefully, you debated your answer. If you told her he was ok, it would make her feel pitiful for not being ok, plus it would be a lie. If you told her he wasn’t ok, it could possibly hurt her even more. Locking your eyes on her pleading ones, you sighed. “About as good as you,” you told her simply, holding back your own tears as she broke down, your arms wrapping around her shoulders to bring her close once again.

Placing a hand back against her head, you held her to you tightly. “Why does that make me feel worse?” She asked against your shoulder, her voice muffled from your sweatshirt.

“Oh babe,” you spoke softly near her ear, a tear slipping from the inner corner of your eye. “Because you still love him.”

You weren’t sure if you should have said that, but it was true. And maybe if she heard it from you, she would face those feelings. As she cried against you, your mind raced over everything that had happened that morning already. Everyone was so broken, and suddenly your mind found its way to Taehyung. Because he was the only one you wanted to talk to in that moment. He was your comfort.

But what if you didn’t have him anymore? Two people as meant to be as Jimin and the girl in your arms couldn’t even make it work. Add in your fickleness in love, and where did that leave your odds at success with Tae? You refused to break him, and you couldn’t lose him. You just couldn’t.

Hauling your groceries through your apartment, your phone started ringing in your pocket. Rushing to the kitchen, you set the bags on the floor before grabbing the device, finding Tae on the other side of the video call.

Accepting it, you waited for his face to appear on the screen before greeting him. “Hi,” you answered in a huff, Tae immediately chuckling at your hectic state.

“Hey,” he greeted, “Are you busy?”

“No,” you shook your head, dropping the phone to the counter just after speaking the word, causing the man to giggle further. “Just got home from grocery shopping,” you told him as you discarded your bag off your shoulder and onto the countertop. Taehyung hummed in response just as you propped the phone up against the side of your bag, situating it so he could see you as you stood in your kitchen.

“Did you get anything fun?” He asked, as you scanned the bags on the floor.

“Um,” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I got those cookies you like,” you spoke through your exhale, looking at him through the screen to take in his appearance. “You look handsome,” you told him, the man smiling slightly at you as you stared at his still damp hair atop his head, giving away that he had showered recently.

“You tired?” He asked suddenly, being met with your groan as you stared down at the groceries without moving. “What happened last night?”

“Well, she went out with those friends and of course it was too soon for her to be out partying and I had to pick her up at 2 am outside of the club because she had a break down,” you ranted to him as you knelt down to begin taking items out of the grocery bags.

“Jesus,” he sighed, your eyebrows raising at his response.

“What?” You questioned defensively, piling items onto the floor as you emptied all the bags.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tried to evade your anger. “I’m assuming she’s not there right now?”

“No, she went back to her place for a bit,” you told him. “What was with the judgmental tone just now?” You pressed.

Looking up at the phone, you watched as shook his hair out with his hand. “It’s just, that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

Scoffing at him, you stood, not bothering to look at the phone as you brought some juice and a few other items to the refrigerator.

“I just mean, you deserve some rest,” he added. “A break maybe.”  

“Well I don’t get a break because your best friend broke up with mine and she’s devastated,” you said coldly, shutting the fridge door and turning back to face the device.

“He’s your friend too,” he reminded you, his eyebrows raised, causing you roll your eyes.

“I know that,” you said in annoyance. “But you don’t see what she’s going through every day,” you pointed out, feeling protective over your friend and her broken heart.

Reaching to grab a box of crackers off the floor, you headed toward the cupboard as Taehyung told you, “You really should talk to him.”

Letting out a dry laugh, you nodded to yourself. “Tae, she’s my best friend,” you reminded him once more.

“I get that, but he’s your friend too,” he repeated, causing you to sigh. “He’s going through stuff too,” he added. You wanted to scoff, but if you were being honest with yourself, your anger towards Jimin had diminished significantly since speaking to him briefly that morning.

“Well,” you thought out loud, facing the man once more. Folding your arms over your ribcage, you shrugged. “I’m sure he is but he did this,” you said, trying to remain firm in your coldness.

You were met with the sound of Taehyung breathing out slowly as his eyes stayed locked on you. “That’s not really fair, he’s hurting too,” Taehyung defended his friend.

“I love Jimin,” you clarified. “But I don’t have time to think about him when she’s at my place all the time because she can’t handle being alone in her own apartment for a single night,” you told him, staring at him as you waited for him to respond. Taehyung ran his tongue over his bottom lip as you sighed. “I know Jimin is hurting, but she is too. And it’s bad, Tae,” you told him sadly.

Taehyung sighed as you stared at him through the phone, waiting for his next words. “I know, I don’t mean to be insensitive to her. I know he hurt her, I get that. I’m just here with him and he’s a fucking mess,” Tae huffed. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted sadly, giving you a defeated shrug.

Stepping closer to the phone, you shook your head slowly. “I don’t either,” you admitted. You both sat in silence for a moment, watching each other through opposite sides of the phone, your remaining groceries still waiting on the floor.

Taehyung was the first to break the silence, asking, “What are you thinking?”

Sighing, you ran your hands over your face. “I don’t even know, I’m just-” you stopped yourself, not sure if you should speak your next words; because of the implication to you and Tae.

“What is it?” He pressed, resituating himself on the bed as he sat laid across a pillow, his head supported by his hand. “Peaches,” he said gently, causing you to relent.

“Maybe they shouldn’t have ever gone from friends to more,” you thought aloud, Tae’s silence feeling heavy on your heart as he tried his best to keep his face from giving away any emotion.

“You think?” He asked simply, his feigned indifference covering up the hurt you knew was there.

“It’s just a hard leap to make,” you explained, leaning against the counter on your elbows, holding your chin in your hands. “If it doesn’t work, this is where it leaves you.” Your eyes were glued to the phone as you watched him carefully. Suddenly, you felt angry at these fucking phone companies who couldn’t make a better camera or give you a better connection to be able to read the emotions flashing through his eyes and features more closely.

“Sometimes it works though,” he told you quietly, his voice nearly shaking, almost as if he was meekly defending himself.

A lump formed in your throat that you didn’t believe you’d be able to ever swallow, knowing you were the cause of the sadness he was feeling. “But if it doesn’t, that’s a lot to lose,” you argued, your voice faint as the emotions sat in your vocal chords.

“But it can work,” he said a bit louder than his last comment, his voice more assured as he licked his lips.

“Tae,” you sighed, cocking your head to the side just slightly. You both knew you were no longer talking about your friends’ experience with moving from friends to lovers. There had never been any confirmation from either you or Taehyung, but sometimes it seemed as though there was an unspoken understanding of how you both thought of each other.

“Look at Jin,” Taehyung countered, pointing to the fact that Jin and his old friend had successfully added romance to their relationship over a year earlier. “They’re doing really well, they’re happy.”

“Tae,” you called out to him gently, attempting to swallow as your eyes shined with emotion. When he responded with his silence, his sad eyes scanning over your features carefully, you chewed on your bottom lip as you attempted to hold in your emotion. “It’s a lot to lose,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “It’s everything to lose,” you added, blinking a few times as Taehyung looked down to the bed and began picking at the comforter. A few seconds of silence went by and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you suddenly exhaled, feeling breathless and tired. “Dearest,” you addressed him softly.

“No, you’re right,” he said half-heartedly, keeping his eyes directed downward. “It is everything to lose,” he agreed with a small nod, looking up to you.

“Everything, Tae,” you emphasized, hoping he would recognize that he was everything to you.

“You really should talk to Jimin,” he changed the topic, his tone stronger as he seemed to easily move on from your unspoken confessions. Inhaling deeply, you nodded slowly, standing up straight before moving back to the groceries. Trying to shake yourself out of the conversation that just took place, you spotted the cookies sitting on the floor.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied before reaching for the package. “I’m not gonna save you any of these,” you teased, holding them up for him to see as his lips spread into a mildly amused grin.

“Well I didn’t save you any of the waffle so it’s only fair,” he played along, both of you pushing aside the tension between you both once more.

You would think about talking to Jimin, you meant that. But it would be hard to think of anything but Taehyung.  

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you sighed deeply as you tried to muster up some courage. Lowering your digit to the phone screen before you could change your mind, you nervously raised the device to your ear.

The rings were deafeningly loud as you awaited the answer, running your hand through your hair and chewing on your bottom lip; nervous gestures.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted suddenly, his voice appearing breathless as if he rushed to the phone.

“Why’d you do it?” You asked him, skipping greetings and pleasantries. A moment of silence encased the phone call before Jimin sighed.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore,” he said, a sob following the words as if he had been sitting on the edge of a break down for days; weeks. The confusion and heartbreak in his tone shattered your heart, filling you with guilt for evading his calls and texts for so long. “I don’t know if there was even a valid reason and I regret it so much.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” you admitted, thinking back upon their relationship and what they had revealed to you.

“Me either,” he barely spoke through his cracked voice. “I don’t know, it’s like, as secure as we made each other feel, it was like we could never fully rid ourselves of our own insecurities,” he explained through his cries. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” He asked as he held back tears.

“Oh Jimin,” you sighed, realizing what drove them apart. And suddenly, you had the urge to wrap them both up in hugs because in an instant, there was nowhere to place the blame you were previously placing on Jimin. It was both their faults, and also no one’s fault. Jimin had made the wrong move, your best friend didn’t make enough moves, and yet they were both just victims to their own intrusive perceptions of themselves.

“Our own shit just got in the way and-” he let out a harsh breath. “When I sent the text I immediately regretted it and I was just trying to convince myself that it was for the best,” he sniffled. “And I was about to take it all back and beg for forgiveness, fuck, I was thinking about leaving tour and coming back to her so we could fix whatever the fuck was causing all of this shit between us,” he paused as his cries took over.

“Why didn’t you take it all back?” You asked him.

You collected up the patience as you gave him time the time to think back on the breakup. “All of a sudden, she just stopped fighting,” he said sadly. “We were always fighting for each other, and she finally stopped. And I don’t know, I think it kind of cemented the idea that I did the right thing. It hurt, and it felt wrong, but she accepted the breakup and gave up.”

“Fuck, Jimin,” you held back your tears at the defeat in his voice. “She didn’t stop fighting for you, she just didn’t have enough fight left in her to take on your insecurities any longer,” you told him.  

“What’s even the difference?” He asked. “Whether she stopped fighting willfully, or whether I took the fight out of her,” he scoffed, “I became too much for her.”

“I don’t think you could ever be too much for her,” you assured him. “Look, do you want me to speak to you compassionately or truthfully?” You asked, the question being met with a dry laugh.

“You’re always compassionate, but I want the truth,” he told you, you nodding though he couldn’t see it.

“You fucked up,” you told him, “but also I don’t think this is entirely your fault,” you quickly added. With a sigh, you thought out loud. “How do I word this?” you pondered. “You two are two of the most incredible people I’ve ever known and yet, you guys can’t fucking see it.”

Jimin scoffed, making you roll your eyes. “I said I was speaking truthfully, so just listen to me and try to actually hear what I’m saying for once,” you told him, the man agreeing to listen by giving you his silence. “You see how incredible she is and that makes you insecure because you don’t see yourself living up to what she deserves. And it’s the same for her, she doesn’t think she can be what you need and what you want, despite you assuring her constantly that she’s everything to you. And that holds you both back from being exactly what the other person wants,” you paused for a moment, letting the words permeate Jimin’s brain. “If you two could just be who you are and give each other that version of yourselves, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” you explained to him. “She fell in love with you, she just wants you.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the pained understanding echoing in his single expression. “But I fucked it up, I hurt her and I don’t think we can fix it this time.”

“I truly do not understand how you can be so wrong about this all the fucking time,” you groaned. “She is in love with you,” you told him, enunciating the words carefully. “You hurt her, and you hurt her bad, but she hasn’t given up on you,” you told him. “Whether she admits it or not, she’s waiting for you to fix it,” you informed the man. “So fucking fix it. Stop holding yourself back and just be happy, Jimin.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Be happy,” you interrupted him. “Stop being so idiotic and just fight for your happiness. Fight for hers,” you begged him, frustration over both of your friends’ moronic actions getting the best of your patience. “You both deserve each other because you’re both the best,” you went on, trying to convey to the man how strongly you felt he and the girl you both adored belonged with each other.

“She still loves me?” He asked, being met with another one of your groans. “Sorry, I just, she does?”

“Do you still love her?” You asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to speak it out loud so maybe he could truly hear it.

“With all of me,” he admitted sadly, a sniffle following the words, allowing you to visualize the tears running down his cheeks in that moment.  

“Do you really think that’s one sided?” You asked him.  

“I really don’t know,” he admitted, a small sigh leaving your lips.  

“It’s so simple but you guys make it so complicated,” you complained, the man giving you the slightest chuckle in the form of a single exhale. “You both lost the fight, but you didn’t lose the fight for each other, you lost it to yourselves. Does that make sense?” You asked.

“I think so?” He said, thought it came out as a question.

“You guys were defeated by your own insecurities. It’s not like you chose to give up on her, just like she didn’t choose to give up on you. You both just feel hopeless right now, that’s-”

“It’s not hopeless?” He asked, and despite the negative comment, there was a renewed optimism in his tone that lifted your lips into a faint smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s not hopeless.” You both sat in silence, nothing but your breaths sounding into the phone receivers. “I’ll talk to her,” you assured him. “If I get any sense that she doesn’t want you anymore, I’ll let you know and I’ll be full of apologies and you can hate me forever,” you told him.

“I could never hate you,” he scoffed.

“But if I’m right, which I know I am, Jimin, I know it,” you assured him, “then you need to find that hope and bring it back to her.”

With a sigh, Jimin agreed with a simple, “ok.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Fix it.”

“I hope I can,” he spoke softly, his voice still sad, but much less defeated than the start of the conversation.

“Hope is enough right now,” you told him.

“Thank you for finally talking to me,” he said, a hint of a smile evident in his voice.

“Thank Tae,” you corrected. “He talked me into it.”

“He really is the only one who can cut through your stubbornness, huh?” He asked teasingly, you chuckling lightly in response.

“I guess he is,” you agreed.

“Speaking of simple but making it complicated though,” Jimin noted, drawing upon your earlier words, and reflecting them back on you and your relationship with Taehyung.

“Tae and I aren’t complicated,” you negated Jimin’s observation, only to be met with a disbelieving laugh. “We aren’t,” you remained firm. “I know it seems complicated but, when it comes down to it, it’s the simplest thing ever.”

“Ok, break it down for me then,” Jimin asked for your elaboration. “How is it simple?”

“Because at the end of the day, we just love each other. So much so, that we’ll do anything to keep one another in each other’s lives,” you explained. “And that makes my relationship the simplest, easiest relationship I’ve ever had.”

Jimin hummed in return, thinking over your words. “That does sound simple, I guess,” he agreed. “But are you happy?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the question. Were you? Were you fulfilled with Tae’s role in your life as you went and dated other people, finishing each escapade craving for more, anxious for the night to be over so you could call Taehyung and hear his voice as he expressed whatever was on his mind? The truth was, no one was or ever would be Taehyung. No matter how great they were, no matter how smart, kind, funny, genuine they were, they would never be him. But Taehyung was in your life, and maybe that was enough. So, were you happy? Turns out that’s the most complicated question you could have been asked.

“This isn’t about me,” you told Jimin with a small smile.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you happy?”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said assuredly. That was true, for sure.

“But is that happy?” Jimin pressed, causing you to sigh in annoyance.

“It’s happy enough,” you told him. “But one of us has to be happy, right?” You turned it back on him.

Jimin breathed out your name, but you dismissed him. “This is about you right now,” you told him. “If you fix things on your end, then we can entertain a discussion about my happiness, ok?” You asked him, though it wasn’t really a topic up for debate which he understood.

“Deal,” he agreed with a light chuckle.

Happiness, you thought. What was it? You were sure it was different for everyone. Just as you were sure it comes from many different sources. For you, though, your main source of happiness was seeing Taehyung smile. His happiness mattered most in terms of your relationship. And if he was happy being your friend and having you as his, then you were happy. Happy enough.

If he wasn’t happy… well, something would have to be done about that.

[retrievablememories]

U.N.I. | doyoung (m)

title: college love pairing: doyoung x black!reader genre: fluff, smut, college!au request: There’s suddenly a foreigner in his class (University of course). He teases her and always seems to stick to her side. The kick is, is that she finds out he likes her by eavesdropping [I wanted to give you room to flex that brain of yours bc your writing is like magic] word count: 6.3k warnings: emetophobia warning, alcohol use, sub!doyoung, handjob, oral (female receiving...and a little bit male receiving?), thigh riding a/n: shout out to anon for the new title idea cuz i be struggling lmaoo

Doyoung is curious. 

You are new to his class, having joined a couple weeks after the semester had already begun. You’re certainly not the first foreigner he’s seen, considering that the university is an international school that sees a wealth of students from other countries every year.

But still. He’s curious.

You both sit in the same row, with you a few seats down from him. That makes it harder for him to sneak glances over at you without being too obvious or receiving weird looks from the other students who think he’s staring at them. Mostly, he contents himself with hearing your voice when you answer questions or occasionally talk to your other classmates.

Doyoung tries to think about how he might also get to talk to you without seeming weird or too random, which makes him feel even sillier because he usually doesn’t have this much anxiety over talking to new people. However, he doesn’t have to ponder over it for much longer when the professor decides to split each row into groups for an in-class assignment.

You and him and three other people from your row gather together in a circle, and there are a few awkward introductions—as is the norm with classmates who haven’t truly interacted with each other before.

“I’m Y/N,”  you introduce yourself, glancing at the others sitting across from you.

They nod in acknowledgement, and Doyoung responds with, “It’s nice to meet you.” He makes sure to give his best welcoming smile, which you return.

Despite all five of you being in the same group, it soon becomes apparent that Doyoung is the best ally to have on your team. The other three students couldn’t be less motivated about the assignment if they tried, mostly gleaning answers off the two of you.

By the time the period ends, you are more than ready to get the hell out and go to your next class. You can only roll your eyes at knowing they’ll get credit for work they barely even helped with. However, your bad mood is momentarily interrupted by your only other partner who bothered to help—Doyoung.

“Thanks for that,” he says as you pass by his desk. You stop and turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You know, for...that.” Doyoung shoots an icy look towards the other people in your row. Only one of them meets his eyes, though they pointedly try to pretend like they never saw him as they gather their things and leave.

You watch the awkward exchange and can’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, no problem. It’s nice to have someone who actually cares enough to help.”

Doyoung instantly thinks your laugh is pretty, and he decides he wants to hear more of it.

“You know, if you ever want to work together again, I’m here,” he suggests. “I mean...you’re new here, right? So if you need any help with anything...just ask.”

You smile, grateful for the offer. “Oh really? That’s nice of you. I might just have to take you up on it...because I really don’t know a soul here.” You check your phone. “Shit, I should be getting to my next class. See you later. Thanks again!”

Doyoung waves as you leave the classroom, wanting to say more but knowing you’re busy, and he hopes that you really do consider his offer.

The next class doesn’t involve groups this time, much to your relief—and Doyoung’s as well. Doyoung still finds a way to talk to you without having to do group work, though; and the best part about it is that he doesn’t even have to do anything.

“Hey Doyoung,” you say, coming to stand by his desk at the end of class. He perks up in his seat at your presence, giving you an amiable smile.

“Hey Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m fine, though I do feel a little lost at the moment.”

Doyoung’s eyebrows draw together. “What’s the matter?”

You laugh and shake your head, a little embarrassed to tell him. “Okay, like, I have a map of the campus and everything, but I keep getting lost trying to go to classes and it’s kind of annoying...plus I don’t need a bunch of tardies in my first month here.”

“Your professors still care about that kind of stuff?”

“Yep. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any of the cool ones who don’t give a fuck about someone coming in late—for a class I’m paying for. Amazing.”

Doyoung smirks. “So you need a tour guide, is that it?”

You shrug. “If you’re up for it. I don’t wanna take up too much of your time, you know, if you’re busy. This campus is unnecessarily huge.”

Doyoung gathers his bag and stands to his feet. “Of course I can help the damsel in distress.”

“Damsel, huh?” You snort. “What’re you then, a knight in shining armor?”

“I can be if you want me to be.”

“You a comedian or something?” You give him a look between incredulity and amusement, a bit surprised at him being so brazen. “Let’s go then, brave knight. Help me find out where the Student Affairs office is before I completely lose my mind.”

Just as you asked, Doyoung leads you right to the Student Affairs office—and to a bunch of other places on campus, which you’re not entirely sure you’re going to remember. At least you have him to walk you through it until you memorize everything. 

Finally, you both stop in a grassy area of campus with a few benches nearby, standing under the shade of a tree. Doyoung turns to you. “I’ve dragged you all over this campus now, so I guess the least I could do is buy you a coffee or something.”

“You did it because I asked! But...if you’re determined to pay, I won’t stop you.” You laugh.

“Do you remember where the coffee shop is?” Doyoung asks, like he’s a professor giving you a pop quiz. You sweat because you’ve already forgotten, and you screw your face up in mock concentration.

“Umm...that way?” You point in a random direction and he chuckles when it’s wrong. He grabs your arm and guides it to the right direction, which is behind you—right in the area you just came from.

“No, it’s here! Let’s go. We’re gonna need to spend some more time out here later.”

By the end of the day, you’re surprised by how comfortable you already feel around Doyoung despite only talking to him for the first time in your group assignment the other day. He appears to think the same of you, if him sliding you his number is any indication.

“I know we have a class together, but if you want to talk outside of that…you know where to reach me now.” He taps his fingers against the table you’re both sitting at. “I think you’ll definitely be needing another tour soon.”

“I tried my best.” You sigh dramatically, placing your chin in your hand. “But thanks. I’ve got your number now, so don’t feel a way if you see me bothering you more often.” You flash him a teasing grin.

Doyoung shakes his head goodnaturedly at your statement, taking another sip of his coffee. “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll mind.”

Though you do call on Doyoung to help you get around campus a few more times, he ends up hanging around you a lot more often outside the guise of being your personal tour guide.

Whether it’s to go to the library, visit a fast food place off campus, or even see some sports game, he’s never far away. During your first month of being at school, he’d simply explained it as wanting you to get familiar with the sights in and around campus so you wouldn’t get lost again. However, it quickly culminates in him randomly asking you to go places just because he can—and because he wants to.

You’re glad for his company—much more than you’d let him know, not wanting to come off as too clingy. Though Doyoung seems like the type to be all about his studies—which he mostly is, and it’s not a bad thing—he also knows how to have fun and how to make you laugh, even explaining jokes in Korean that go over your head. 

He makes you feel remarkably less alone while adjusting to living in another country, far away from home. It also doesn’t take you long to find out that he’s good for teasing you to no end, which often makes you want to roll your eyes or flick him in the forehead, but even his banter reminds you of your friends back home. You’re incredibly grateful for that small piece of familiarity.

After a couple months of finally settling into the campus life, you, Doyoung, and a few of his friends decide to go to a frat house party, along with Seulgi—a girl you’re becoming close to in another one of your classes. You’re not entirely sure what to anticipate, but the experience is quite similar to what you’d expect to see back in your home country—the same drunk dancing, endless shots of alcohol, loud music, and men who are far too grabby for their own good.

Speaking of that last point…

You and Seulgi dance together amongst a flood of bodies, which is fun for a while until random men keep trying to drag you away from each other to dance with them instead; some of them are more agitated than others about being rejected.

“College guys are dangerously horny.” Seulgi laughs, though she also cuts her eyes at a small group of men nearby who’re giving you both ravenous looks.

“Kinda wish they’d go be horny somewhere else,” you say, and then you roll your eyes when yet another hand brushes against your waist. You turn to see who the culprit is this time, but it’s only Doyoung, and you’re palpably relieved to see him. “You’re back! Seems like you’d disappeared forever.”

“Yes, I am. Someone’s excited. Did you miss me that bad?” He smirks.

“Oh, please. I’m just happy you’re here so the creeps will go away.”

When you say this, his expression instantly morphs into one of recognizable concern. “Is someone bothering you two?”

“Not really, these dudes are just weirdly pushy.” Seulgi giggles, trying to wave it off. The last thing you all need is to start an argument or a full-out fight with one of these frat guys.

“Forreal. Therefore, you should act like you’re my boyfriend until the night is over.” You declare this unabashedly, linking your arm with Doyoung’s. For a second, he seems flustered at your suggestion, and then his face settles back into the same cool countenance as before.

“Fine, since you want to be next to me so much.” You elbow him at that. “That’s a good save for you, but what about Seulgi?” Doyoung asks, looking at the other girl. She is unbothered, though, and casually grabs his other arm.

“Poly relationship. Ever heard of it?” Now he really is flustered, and you laugh out loud at his expression.

You spend a good portion of the night like that, all three of you linked together as the perfect “throuple,” with some people at the party giving you interesting looks. When Johnny sees you all, he throws you and Doyoung an expression reminiscent of a grin—but somehow more devious—and Doyoung only twists his mouth up in a sneer. You don’t know what any of that interaction means, though it makes you wonder.

Seulgi eventually decides she prefers Johnny to be her fake boyfriend instead of Doyoung and goes off with him to do...whatever it is they went to do. You’re sure you can take a guess, though.

After the other two take their leave, you and Doyoung eventually end up on the back porch. It’s a little cooler out here than it is inside, though still a bit crowded with lingering couples and groups. You’re both bunched up in a small corner against the side of the house, leaning over the railing to look out at the backyard—which is mostly just trees and bushes.

“Well, how are you enjoying your first college party?” he asks, casting a questioning glance your way.

“It’s fun. I think I could see why some people end up spending all their time on this instead of studying, ha.”

“Hey, don’t become a party girl ‘cause I’m not gonna do all your homework for you.” Doyoung snickers.

“Oh, Doyoung. I wouldn’t expect you to, you’re not even good at science.”

He sucks his teeth and tucks his chin into his arms to hide the grin playing across his face. It’s quiet again for a little while, or as quiet as it can be with the others on the porch talking and laughing.

Doyoung peeks at you from underneath his fringe and thinks about what he should say next. Something like...not that, but…well, what if he did? Would it be terrible if he said it now, right here at a crowded frat party on some rickety back porch? Maybe, but…

Doyoung pushes himself off the railing and looks at you, tracing your profile with his eyes. Maybe the alcohol has taken more effect on him than he initially thought. “Y/N…” he starts, and you glance at him.

Just then, a red-faced dude who’s obviously incredibly smashed stumbles over to where you two are and promptly throws up on the floor. Some of it gets on Doyoung’s shoes, which causes him to jump back and curse loudly.

“Are you a fucking idiot?!”

“That’s disgusting,” you groan, turning your face away from the mess. You’d probably laugh if it weren’t so gross—and wasn’t right next to where you were standing. The guy doesn’t pay either of you much attention, though, because he’s too busy slumping against the railing like he’s going to pass out. Maybe somebody should worry about that, but it won’t be either of you.

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake...come on.” Doyoung takes your hand and carefully steers you around the mess, heading back indoors and maneuvering through the thick of the party. You’re not sure where he’s going at first until you both end up in some cramped bathroom, with him pulling his shoes off and running them under the tub faucet. You lean against the door, feeling like you need to stand guard so no drunken couples will burst in, even though it’s already locked. You’re not quite sure why he brought you along for this little ride, but you’re not complaining; it’s better than being left outside.

You look at him sitting on the edge of the tub and angrily wiping his shoes as best he can with toilet paper, and you giggle, though you try to keep it quiet. However, you can’t stop more giggles from pouring out at his comically pissed-off expression. Doyoung looks up at you with his eyebrows creased, a confused and irritated look coloring his features. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head, unable to speak for a few moments. Doyoung tilts his head to the side and looks at you impatiently while you try to catch your breath, though his upset face only makes you want to laugh more. “I’m sorry, but from where I’m standing...th—this is pretty hilarious.” You burst out into laughter again. “I’m locked in a bathroom with you at a college party while you scrub vomit off your shoes. If this doesn’t make us friends for life, nothing will.”

To your surprise, he actually cracks a cynical grin after a few moments, shaking his head and sighing. His shoulders heave with the gesture. “I hate university sometimes.”

Doyoung tries not to think too deeply about that “friends for life” comment, though to his irritation, it stays in his head for days after the party. Even after he’s nearly forgotten about the shoe incident.

You go to the library one night to find an academic journal for an upcoming paper. You’re not happy about having to make the trek, especially in this digital era when everything imaginable is usually readily accessible online, but it is what it is.

At night, the library becomes more of a hangout spot rather than a place for studying, and you don’t entirely expect to get much reading done in there. You’re hoping there’s an empty room or something you can duck into to take some quick notes on the information you need.

Finding the journal takes a bit of searching, but you finally locate it on a shelf near the back of the library. You’re about to leave the aisle and find somewhere to read it when a couple of people walk into the aisle in front of yours. By their voices, you know it’s Doyoung and Johnny.

You decide to peek over and say hi, but before you can get to the end of the aisle, you hear their heated conversation. You stop in your tracks and listen, which you probably shouldn’t be doing; but you’re not sure if you want to interrupt this talk they’re having once you hear what they’re saying, either.

“You’re being ridiculous. Just tell her!” Johnny hisses under his breath like he wants to talk louder but doesn’t want to be too distracting in the library. Ever so courteous of him, but you doubt anyone else really cares at the moment.

“Hyung, not everybody is like you. It’s not easy to just go up to someone and say you like them.”

“You act as if you’re gonna be talking to a stranger. She knows you and you know her, you hang out all the time. It’s more likely that she does like you than she doesn’t.”

“...You really think that?”

“She lets you tell all your unfunny jokes without much complaint, so yeah, I’d say she must be head over heels for you.”

“Shut the hell up. Unfunny jokes? You’re one to talk!”

You listen to the conversation intently, wondering who this mystery girl Doyoung apparently likes could be. He’s never told you about having a crush on anyone, nor has he made it obvious that he likes someone else. Although you know he has other friends—Johnny’s obviously one of them—you’re not sure what girl he hangs out with all the time besides you.

Johnny chuckles. “Don’t be mad that Y/N laughs at my jokes more than yours.”

Your eyebrows raise at this. Wait. What does this conversation have to do with you? Unless.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to laugh at a clown,” Doyoung retorts.

“Whatever, Doyoung. You just do what I told you. It’s seriously so sad watching you pine over Y/N like there isn’t an easy solution for this.”

You’re reeling with shock by now, but their voices are also getting closer to the end of the aisle like they’re about to walk into the very one you’re hiding out in. You run away before they can spot you, though you do end up drawing a few peculiar glances from some other library goers.

You eventually find a quiet, uncrowded space to sit down and take notes in, though you can hardly concentrate on the work at hand with this new information in your mind. Doyoung likes you? Doyoung likes you. Then that must be why he always messes with you, and why he’s practically been glued to your side since you got there.

Your hand tightens and loosens around your pen repeatedly as you mull over this knowledge. The longer you think about it, though, a smirk grows on your face.

The week after, you and Doyoung have one of your regular study sessions together. You’ve dressed up for it more than you normally would—the same thing you’ve been doing throughout the week, too. Even if Doyoung doesn’t know what you know, you get a bit of fun out of dressing up to catch his eye. And it definitely works.

He always steals glances at you when he thinks you aren’t paying any attention, and you get infinite amusement out of whipping your head around to try to catch him in the act. The light blush on the tips of his ears and his startled bunny look is worth it every time.

“You got so dressed up just to study? You’ve really been going all out this week,” Doyoung comments as you sit down at your usual table in the library. He gives a small smirk as he scans your new outfit for today. He does this as if he’s only teasing and evaluating your clothes, puckering his lips in concentration, though it’s also an excuse to check you out.

“You could just say ‘you look so fucking fine this week, Y/N.’ I know you want to say it, anyway.” Doyoung’s cheeks flush a little, and he shakes his head.

“You’re something else. Okay, you look pretty. Does that satisfy you?”

“Well. You forgot the ‘fucking,’ but I’ll let it slide.”

You both get into your work and a calm quiet settles between you, punctuated with you occasionally asking each other questions about the assignment. At some point, you grow a little bored with staring at the text for so long, and you stop and simply look at Doyoung sitting across from you in one of his favorite hoodies and his glasses. Something tender rises in your chest, a sensation you hadn’t quite given a name to until now, and you put your cheek in your hand, grinning slightly.

“I wonder why someone like you doesn’t have a girlfriend yet.”

Doyoung looks up as if he’s not sure if you’re talking to him, then furrows his eyebrows. “Someone like me?”

“Aw, you know, you’re handsome and caring and smart, and you can even be a little bit funny—even though you get on my nerves sometimes.” Doyoung rolls his eyes at the last part, though you know he’s preening at your compliments.

“I don’t know, I’m busy with studies.”

“But isn’t there even one person you might like? Or might be interested in?” Doyoung’s not looking at you anymore, his eyes dropping back down to instead focus on his book, but you notice how his fingers tighten around the textbook’s edges.

“Um—well, I haven’t really thought about that…”

“Really? No one in your dorm or your classes has caught your eye?”

Doyoung shifts a little and clears his throat. He shakes his head in response to your question, though the movement is hesitant. “What about you?”

“Changing the subject, huh? Excellent method of evasion…” You flip a page in your notebook, pointedly avoiding Doyoung’s gaze even though he’s peering up at you again. You wait with your lips clamped together, trying not to laugh as his expression grows more impatient.

“Well?! Aren’t you going to answer, after forcing me to?”

“I will when you tell the truth.” You slap the notebook closed, which causes him to jump, and this time a laugh does slip out. Doyoung’s eyes dart around your small section of the library like there might be someone else listening, or like he’s searching for a prank camera.

“The truth about what? I already told you!”

“Then what about what you told Johnny?”

Doyoung freezes for a moment, and various emotions flit across his face. He finally settles firmly on embarrassment and disappointment. “...He told you? I’m going to kill him.” His voice is softer now, like he would disappear completely if he could.

“No, I—okay, don’t get mad at me, it’s not like I did it on purpose, but I heard you two talking in here a week ago…”

“Oh...shit. You—you were there? And you didn’t say anything?!”

“Yeah. Not very discreet, huh? Maybe you want to do that in your dorm room next time.” You’re still smiling. Doyoung shifts nervously again, as if he just wants to get up and run the hell out.

“So, um…you know, then.”

“Yep.”

“If you don’t like me, you can just say so,” Doyoung blurts out. “I...it’s fine. I don’t expect anything of you, so we can really just forget all about this. I promise I won’t make things weird, Y/N. I just...I just found myself really liking you as we got to know each other.”

“You can’t make things weird when you’re already weird.” You giggle and place your hand over Doyoung’s, grasping his fingers. “So...let’s date, then.”

He looks at you questioningly, surprise taking over. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“I’m serious.” And now you’re a little embarrassed yourself, but you continue, “Doyoung...I like you too. I guess I don’t totally hate all your teasing. But don’t get cocky about it.”

Doyoung rearranges your hands so your fingers are now laced together. A relieved smile makes a home on his lips. “Well, too late. Now you’re never going to hear the end of it.”

“Oh, I can’t wait.” Your response is sarcastic, but the smile on your face is totally genuine.

That weekend, Johnny leaves the dorm to go visit some of his other friends in town, which means Doyoung will have the room all to himself for those few days. Normally his plans would consist of studying, trying to catch up on sleep, or seeing what his other friends are up to, but with you as his new girlfriend, he wants to spend that time together.

“So, this is your dorm,” you say, holding Doyoung’s hand as he leads you into his shared dorm with Johnny.

“Home away from home, I guess,” he says, leading you over to his bed so you can sit down. Before he can let go of your hand, you tug him to you and gesture for him to bring his face closer to yours, like you’re going to whisper something to him.

“What is it?” he asks. He’s quickly silenced by you pushing your lips against his in a kiss. When you both separate, it’s reluctant, and Doyoung pecks your mouth once more before straightening up again. You laugh at the slightly goofy grin on his face.

“What should we do?” you ask, getting more comfortable on his bed and leaning against the wall.

“I had movies in mind, but we can do anything you want.”

“Movies are fine! Hurry and start it up, I’m gonna get cold without you beside me.”

Doyoung gives an overexaggerated cringe, and you hide your face. “And you complain about me being cheesy?!”

You both make it through two and a half movies before you start getting antsy with sitting in the same spot for so long. Doyoung is still lying calmly beside you, his arm around your shoulder and the other behind his head as he continues watching the movie. Deciding to act on a whim, you abandon all pretenses of watching any more of the movie and swing your legs over his own so you’re sitting in his lap. When you situate yourself in his lap, he seems a bit starstruck, as if he wasn’t expecting this to happen—like, ever.

“Y/N…” Doyoung’s voice is surprisingly soft, like the day you revealed your feelings for each other. It’s a noticeable departure from his usual demeanor. He blinks at you for a couple moments.

“What?” you say innocently, copying his actions and blinking back at him.

Doyoung swipes his tongue across his lips, though it’s more of a nervous gesture than anything else. “You’re...you know.”

You chuckle. “‘You know’? Let’s use our words.”

“You’re, uh...s-soft,” is what he stammers out, like it was the only thing he could think of at the last minute.

“And you should be hard, but you’re not yet. So let’s fix that. If you want to?” You quickly tack the last sentence on, trying to give him an out if he really doesn’t want this. However, the hands that suddenly go to your hips make you think otherwise.

“Do it, then.” He provokes you, trying to regain his usual confidence, though it still comes out less forceful than intended.

You bring your hand to his crotch and palm him over his pants, and Doyoung takes a deep breath. You bring your lips to his, kissing him deeply and adding to the pleasant feeling. He kisses you back eagerly, flexing his hands on your hips and gripping you more tightly. You end up making out like that for a little while, and he grows underneath your palm as you tease him.

Eventually, you want more than simply feeling him over his sweatpants and pull them down, exposing his bulge. You don’t touch him for real, not just yet; instead, you trace your finger along the shape of his dick underneath the material of his boxers. Doyoung whimpers against your lips at that touch, very quietly, but audible enough for you to hear it over the TV in the background.

“Don’t get all sensitive on me now.” You pull away from his mouth and laugh. “What happened to all that teasing you love to torture me with?” You drag his underwear down so you can release his member, which is still growing underneath your caresses. Precum is already beading at the tip, flushed with need. Doyoung looks down at your hand holding his dick and worries his lip as you begin stroking him earnestly now.

He leans his head back against the wall, and you watch his throat work as he swallows and tries to keep his sounds quiet. The soundproofing in these dorms certainly isn’t the best; the people on the other side of the wall have kept him awake enough nights to know that. The few moans he does let go are low and pretty and soft, and they fit him perfectly.

Though you are stroking him mostly for his own pleasure, you do take the time to explore his dick while you have it in your hand—running your finger over a vein that stands out against the hot skin, sliding his precum between your fingers and using it to get the rest of his shaft slick. You take your time with him, but he doesn’t seem to mind the leisurely pace.

“Do you wanna come in my hand?” you ask him, and his body tenses as you reach further down to tease his balls. Another bead of precum runs down his shaft.

“That would be a waste,” Doyoung huffs, and he shifts his leg a little so his thigh is tucked between your legs now, your heat pressing right down on him. He moves his thigh back and forth slowly across you, and you let out a long, shaky breath at the way the muscles of his leg flex and release against your clit.

“Then where do you wanna do it?” You still your movements on him for a few seconds but keep your thumb on his tip so you can tease the sensitive slit there, and another choked groan comes from him.

“T-take a guess,” he says, and pulls on your hips again so he can drag your pussy over his thigh more firmly. The friction makes you whine.

“Maybe I should just make you cum like this, since you seem more interested in making me ride your leg.” You go back to steadily stroking his cock, tightening your grip on him. His mouth drops open a little at your actions.

“Y/N,” he whispers breathlessly, and lifts one hand to pull at your sweater. “Take this off.”

“Then take yours off.” Doyoung strips his sweater off as soon as you say it and waits for you to do the same. His mouth goes to your breasts once they’re free. You grin at the pleasurable sensation and run your hand through his hair, pushing him closer to your chest. Your other hand goes back to his dick, and it twitches when you make contact. “I really think you could cum just like this, with you sucking my tits and me jerking you off. Wouldn’t you like that, Doie?”

Doyoung’s face flushes at that claim, though he doesn’t deny it. He simply keeps sucking at your nipples and leaving marks across your chest, flexing his thigh against you for added stimulation.

You want him to come first, so you spit in your hand for more lube and stroke him faster, the slick sound of your hand on his cock filling your ears. His moans are more frequent now, though he still tries to hide them; all the while, you try to pull more out of him. If the people next door know what’s going on, they’ll just have to enjoy the free entertainment.

“Y/N,” he pants against your skin, and his body tenses up more underneath you. You pull his head away from your chest so you can tuck your face into his neck, placing your lips over his beating pulse and feeling the way his muscles jump under the slight touch of your mouth.

“You don’t wanna come in my hand, right? Where do you want it, then?” You keep your lips close to his ear and slow your pace to make sure he doesn’t come too soon.

“I…um—”

“Don’t be shy now, you’re about to come, aren’t you?” You twist your hand over his tip and he groans low in his throat; the sound vibrates across your lips.

“I...in your mouth.”

You sit back to look at him, grinning devilishly. “So that’s what you like? Fine then, baby boy.” You remove yourself from his thigh, which is noticeably damp now, and position yourself between his legs with the tip of his cock pointed towards your mouth. You lean forward a bit to take the head between your lips, rubbing your tongue against the sensitive underside of it, and Doyoung comes quick with a soft cry. His cum floods over your tongue in thick, salty waves, and you keep sucking the tip until he has no more to give.

You get back onto the bed after you’ve swallowed everything, and before you know what’s happening, Doyoung has turned you on your stomach and is pulling your panties and sweatpants down in one fell swoop. “Doyoung—” Your sentence breaks when he lifts your hips up and his tongue parts your lower lips, sliding through the slickness and pushing into your hole. Your words melt into a moan as you arch your hips more to get closer to his face.

“Doyoung, y-yes, please—” You curl your fingers in the fabric of his comforter, panting harshly against the material as Doyoung dips his fingers and tongue into you like he’s starving. His tongue on your clit is maddening, circling back and forth and making your legs shake as you try to balance yourself in this position he’s tugged you into.

His fingers find what they’re looking for quickly and he teases your g-spot, thrusting into it only sometimes and leaving you wanting all the other times. In the very back of your mind, you wonder if what he said about being too studious for relationships is true, because how else would he have learned to do all this? God.

When you get close to coming, Doyoung takes some mercy on you and crooks his fingers into that soft spot more consistently now, and you cry out as you tighten around his fingers. It’s beautifully, wonderfully satisfying. The soft sounds he releases while he eats you out make you even weaker, as if he can’t hide just how turned on he is from tasting you.

Your climax hits you suddenly, and by the end of it you are laughing softly with the intoxication of how good you feel, how good he’s made you feel. When he finally pulls back from you, you let your body fully collapse against the small mattress, and Doyoung rests his head against your thigh momentarily, as if he himself is exhausted.

“I...wanted to do that for a while,” he says, and you can’t see his face but you think he must be blushing, with how sheepishly he admitted it.

It takes a bit of shuffling but you eventually end up lying side by side, stripped bare and looking up at the ceiling. The movie has long gone off, and there’s nothing but Netflix’s slideshow of new shows and movies playing on the screen now.

After a few more moments of nothing but the sound of heavy breaths, you say, “We are having round two, like right now.” 

“You’re already addicted to me, huh?” Doyoung chuckles, dragging his knuckles over your side and making your skin tingle. You smirk and throw your leg over him, and he groans at how your pussy slides over his hardening length.

“By the end of the night, you won’t be able to get enough of me.”

[potterandpreferences]

The Way To A Man's Heart

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader

Setting: Half-Blood Prince; For the purposes of this one-shot, Ron dated Lavender in OotP

When you and Ron had started dating, a lot of people were convinced it would not last. Apparently, the school cohort was under the impression that he and Hermione were going to be the Hogwarts power couple. You could kind of see where they were coming from; there had been a lot of petty jealousy on both sides and there had been a sense that it was playground pigtail pulling. And yet, you couldn't help but think that those people were also selectively blind to how toxic that sort of relationship could be. Honestly if it wasn't for Harry, you didn't believe Ron and Hermione would still be friends six years down the line.

As it was, you had come to be somewhat of a secret friend to Ron Weasley. When he was at odds with his two best mates, he could find some solace in your company. Whether it was playing exploding snap, hanging out on the quidditch pitch (even if your feet stayed firmly on the ground some of the time), or - despite what others would believe - doing homework together in the library.

As a consequence of spending so much time with him one to one, it didn't take long to learn some of Ron's tells. When he was really, truly upset, he went off his food. When he was irritated, he preferred something like a pumpkin pasty or a sandwich, something he could tear into. When he was happy, he'd try some of everything, content with a little of lots until he went in for seconds. When he was feeling a bit down or worried, his preference of choice was a hearty stew followed by a warm apple pie with ice cream, something that reminded him of home.

This particular day it was sunny and one of the warmest thus far. Spring was slowly transitioning into summer, and with it exam season was upon the students of Hogwarts. Sixth year didn't count in the same way that seventh year would, but your continued presence in all your chosen subjects depended on passing all of their exams. And so, along with the sunshine, fifth years and up were also being subjected to the heat fueled by their ever increasing panic, which made sitting outside with a nice cool breeze all the more tempting.

You had been attempting to study in the library, but the librarian had all the windows firmly shut and it got a bit too stuffy for your liking. You checked out the books you required for your first exam, and ambled down the corridors in search of an empty courtyard. It was as you were descending the stairs to the first floor that you noticed a certain redhead stomping towards the doors that led outside, with the proverbial storm cloud raging above his head.

Concerned, you followed. He didn't slow his pace or give any indication that he knew he was being followed, something which raised even more alarm bells. Ron, as a by-product of living with the twins, was usually very aware of someone being on his tail. Ron's long legs carried him to the shore of the Black Lake. He followed the edge around to a little outcrop coated in pebbles and stones. These he grabbed at roughly, before launching them out towards the water with a growl.

"Ron? Are you okay? What's happened?" You approached cautiously, making plenty of noise as you walked closer so that your voice didn't startle Ron into accidentally throwing any remaining stones at you.

"Hermione bloody Granger is what happened!" He yelled.

You made a soft sound of understanding at his near shout. "Want to tell me what she did this time?"

Ron sighed, tossing the last stone into the water as he stared at the horizon for a long moment. Then, he sat down on the roots of a nearby tree and started to explain.

"I was revising for transfiguration. Had one of my old essays out for vanishing vertebrates, you know? Figured looking at where I went wrong on something that's bound to come up on the exam would be a good idea."

"I take it Hermione had different views on the matter?" It really had become something of a thing that your entire year and to an extent the years below knew. Never, ever do anything to get Granger started on how you should be studying, and Ron's mirthless chuckle did nothing to change your previous notion.

"She freaked the hell out. Started having a go at me for having got a P on an essay in the first place, told me it was useless trying to learn from rubbish like that, and then told me if I'd followed her revision schedule I'd have already covered the topic and at this point should be onto the practical wand work," Ron spat venemously.

"You know she's wrong, don't you?" It wasn't uncommon for Hermione to tell Ron that he was doing something wrong, and you knew that being told something repeatedly would make the thought that much harder to shake. How many more times would Ron be able to take unproductive, callous criticism from a snobby know-it-all before the thoughts became a fundamental part of his psyche?

"I know but... she just makes me feel like an idiot! I don't get the theory behind magic at a drop of a hat like she does! Hell, most of us don't. But you make one little mistake in your homework and she gets so bloody condescending," Ron sighed. Many thought he was lazy when he tried to get Hermione to do his homework. In truth, it was so he knew what she was expecting in the essay to avoid a rant - her, not the teacher!

"It sounds like it's gotten worse than normal. Actually it sounds like how she behaved when you dated Lavender last year," you commented. To be fair, dating was a very loose term for what Ron and Lavender got up to. It was too public to be just friends with benefits, but there weren't really any romantic feelings. The PDA was a bit much at times, but it was rarely ever Ron that initiated those instances.

"Ugh, don't remind me. I still have the scars from them birds! Mental, she is," he exclaimed. And yet, as you looked closely, you can't help but notice the tips of his ears were getting very red.

"Wait a minute - you're not dating Lavender again are you?!" His eyes widen in shock and he shakes his head, waving his hands in adamant protest.

"Merlin, no! I don't even - " He pulled a face of disgust. "I mean, I dunno, can't believe I dated her in the first place I suppose. Seems like a lifetime ago."

He was lying (you could tell from the way he fumbled for an explanation), but that was okay. You knew the sentiment was true even if he was sidestepping what he was honestly thinking about. You were curious, but you weren't going to push it. This wasn't the time for an interrogation by any means. Thus, you decided to change the topic entirely.

"Do you still feel up to studying some transfiguration? I have some books from the library and all my notes. I even have some cauldron cakes." When he refused both the studying and the food, you smiled sadly at him. "Okay. Well how about we go down to the quidditch pitch?"

And that was exactly what the pair of you did. You didn't feel like flying, so you sat in the stands and watched as Ron flew for a couple hours. He zoomed around the pitch in patterns you recognised from quidditch practice drills, before enchanting the practice quaffle so that he could work on his keeper skills. You called Dobby when you were sure Ron wasn't looking, and when Ron eventually joined you in stands, it was to find a delicious bowl filled with a generous helping or rhubarb and apple crumble waiting for him.

"I thought you might have worked up a bit of an appetite. Some of those drills looked tough," you admitted when he stared silently in surprise, mouth gaping.

"It's like you read my mind!" was all Ron managed to say before he was practically inhaling the food, shovel sized spoonfuls disappearing with complete gratitude no matter how swift.

"I just know you, Ron," you laughed. It should gross you out how much he ate so quickly, but his only fault at foodtime was talking with his mouth full. None ever spilled on his clothes, and his chin was remarkably clean.

When the pudding was half gone, Ron slowed down enough to process what you had said. "How d'you mean, you know me?"

"Well, when you're really upset, you don't want to eat, but flying makes you happy. When you've had a fight with Hermione, you usually tend to prefer something filling and pies and crumbles are your go to when you're feeling a bit down still."

He stared at you like he'd never seen you before. No one else had ever noticed - or at least mentioned - knowing what he liked to eat and when. Oh sure, lots of people had commented on his appetite and knew him not having much of one was a sign something was wrong, but the nuances? What food went with what situation? That was all you.

And, he realised as he ate in companionable silence next to you, this wasn't the first time you knew what he wanted to eat after having a falling out with his friends or stressed out about exams. The cauldron cakes you had in your bag, he liked to eat them when he was feeling nervous about school work. He rarely saw you eat them though so... did you keep some in your bag just for him? And there were all those other times too, when you just seemed to know when he was actually hungry and when he was just bored.

There was a plethora of things unique about his relationship with you that he adored, and he had sort of had thoughts that weren't strictly platonic about you, but this little insight into how much you knew about the things that went unsaid was what made what he was about to do next feel so incredibly right.

"Er, Y/N, I was wondering... would you like to go on a date some time?"

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 4

Masterlist

Thank you as always to my best friend and Beta reader @acollectionofficsandshit​ for putting up with me and my ramblings ♥

Word Count: 3.8k

Recommended song: "ily (I love you baby)" by Surf Mesa and Emilee

You'd never been more thankful that you kept a change of clothes in your car than you were after the race at Silverstone. You'd showered again, changing back into the sweaty tee and leggings. The clean emergency hoodie and jeans were a blessing, and casual enough for a night on the town.

Most of the crew had left, only a few poor souls pouring over race data or packing up essentials. James let you into the trailer yard this time without hesitation. "We really should just get you a key," He teases, "Sure would make my life easier."

Rolling your eyes, you give the tower of muscle a pitiful shove. He doesn't move an inch. "Thanks James. I'll ask Pierre to look into it."

A sudden wave of tiredness washes over you when you make it back to the trailer. You flip through the channels on the tiny television, settling on an analysis of the day’s race.

“And a brilliant drive from young Pierre Gasly, wasn’t it John?”

“I completely agree Martin. Gasly took advantage of every slip up by Mercedes and Red Bull and he has to be commended for that. Max made some rare mistakes and…”

You smile to yourself, their praise washing over you. Yawning, you curl up on Pierre's bed, the familiar smell of cedar lulling you into a light sleep in minutes.

**********

A gentle touch to your cheek wakes you some hours later. You crack your eyes open, greeted by a smile brighter than the stars in the night sky. You taste eternal sunshine on his lips when you kiss him, your soul sparking in response to his light.

"Good morning," He murmurs, thumb rubbing along your jaw. "Sleep well?"

You snuggle closer to him, eyes closing once more as you soak up the warmth. "Is it time to go out already?"

"It is. But we can stay here if you want to." He brushes a stray hair off your face. The gesture is so tender, if you didn’t know any better you’d never guess he could turn into the seasoned, take-no-shit racer you’d seen hours before. 

You shake your head. You couldn't let him miss out on celebrating his victory with his closest friends. Besides, you hadn't seen any of them for a span of time longer than a few minutes in months, and truth be told, you missed them all. 

Those boys had a knack for turning the simplest of outings into unforgettable adventures. You had been sworn to secrecy on numerous occasions after Pierre recounted drunken escapades that usually ended with Max sleeping somewhere preposterous, like a claw-footed bathtub in a fancy suite.

“Where are we going?” You ask sleepily. “Somewhere nearby?”

Pierre tugs you up until you’re sitting. He pulls you back against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he sets his chin on your shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe ten minutes away.”

You lean your full weight against him, admiring how perfectly your bodies slot together. “Can I leave my car here?”

“As long as you’re okay with it staying here until tomorrow, that’s fine.” He coaxes you to stand and presses a kiss to your temple as a reward. Your limbs are still heavy and uncooperative. Pierre winds an arm around your waist, supporting you and assuming the position of your rock as he always did.

"You don't sleep here," You state simply, looking at him for confirmation. He shakes his head.

"Wouldn't be enough room for two anyway." He gestures to the tiny twin sized bed and shrugs.

Your brow furrows. “Am I staying with you tonight?” You honestly had not considered it. The jet usually left early and you had assumed he would want to get as much rest as possible. But now that you had experienced waking up next to him, you realize how much you want his face to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes each morning.

“Of course you’re staying with me. I’m taking every second of your time that I can get.”

You bite your lip and lay your head on his shoulder. The idea of falling asleep in his arms was enough to shake any lingering sleepiness. “Okay.” Confident that you could hold yourself up, you step out of his grasp. “Ready.”

The few mechanics roaming about the grounds are enough to keep you cautious. You walk through the paddock a hair's breadth apart, although every nerve screams for you to touch him. Every time your arm grazes his, electricity ripples across your skin. All you want to do is hold his hand, but there’s enough prying eyes that you restrain the impulse.

You can tell he feels it too by the way his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides. And he's biting his cheek, you notice. A nervous habit of his and a clear indicator that he'd retreated inside his own head, likely contemplating if he'd truly deserved to win today or not.

Every few months his doubts crept in, the devil on his shoulder reminding him that Horner hadn't deemed him good enough to keep his seat at Red Bull after only a handful of races.

You'll never be as talented as them, is what you'd imagined it whispered. They're only here because they pity you. What makes you think you deserve a seat?

It couldn't be farther from the truth. Deep down, Pierre knew that. Driving in Formula 1 meant being under constant scrutiny from the public and sportscasters. Making an error meant debates about whether you were good enough and rumors about seat security.

There were no such errors today. You'd heard the commentary after the race; everyone was raving about his performance. Not one person had dared say he didn't deserve it.

Not wanting him to suffer alone, you subtly wrap your pinky finger around his. "You're okay," You say softly, his head whipping to you. "You deserved that trophy today. It was some of the best driving I've ever seen, everyone agrees. You deserve a trophy every time you get in that car. You'll always be my champion, even if the world tells you otherwise."

It takes a moment for it to sink in, but he nods and releases your pinkie. "You're my grounding rod," He says, lips curling in a knowing smile, and you can't hold back your laugh.

"Leave it to you to turn a romantic moment into a cheesy one." Instead of saying you're my rock like any normal person, he had to bring up the time you'd embarrassed yourself at the bar a year or so ago. He'd let you prattle on to poor Dan about building grounding rods of all things, and how you'd thought your professor's way of designing such a system was flawed. Pierre would never let you live that down, it seemed.

Max spots the two of you first, waving from where the boys had gathered outside Red Bull. “About time you showed up! We’ve been waiting for ten minutes!”

“She fell asleep,” Pierre says simply, his confidence back. “Takes her awhile to wake up.”

“Whatever, I’m just glad you’re here,” Daniel says, throwing an arm around your shoulders and tucking you tight to his side. You couldn’t help the broad smile creeping onto your face, twin to the aussie’s as you hug him back. 

“We missed you,” Charles says, falling into step beside you. “I never hear from you anymore!”

You grimace. It was true, while the three boys had texted you quite frequently the past few months, you had barely responded to them. You felt guilty about it, knowing they were taking time out of their packed schedules to catch up. But uni had been kicking your ass and the only one you’d found time for was Pierre. Looking back, you were glad he had been the exception.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say. “Lots of projects.”

“And that new internship,” Max points out. Your eyebrows flick up, gaze flicking to Pierre. You had been awarded an internship a month or so ago at a local engineering firm in London. It was only part time work, a few hours a week, but it was enough. The only one you had told was Pierre.

Pierre grins, the gesture a silent apology. “I may have spilled the beans.” 

You cut him a glare, the others laughing at your attempt at being intimidating. But you couldn’t turn away from him, not when he was looking at you with the same pride you had felt when he’d won earlier that day. 

“Uber’s here,” Charles announces, checking his phone.

“Where?” Daniel asks, and Charles indicates a black SUV parked at the curb. Daniel and Max exchange a look, shouting “Shotgun!” at the same time. Both boys break into a full sprint, feet pounding on the pavement. Daniel wins - barely, leaving Max and Charles to squeeze into the back seat.

Pierre follows you into the third row of seats, his hand immediately engulfing yours. Your stomach flips, glancing up to find a reassuring smile on his face. You could barely focus on what was said for the first half of the ride, hyperaware of the callouses rubbing your skin. The world around you erupts into color at the touch, completing the part of you that you’d never realized was missing. 

The remainder of the drive is filled with laughter, jokes, and plenty of selfies with the driver. It wasn’t every day one could brag about having four world class drivers in your car; you couldn’t blame the man for being excited.

By the time you arrive at the bar, your sides are already splitting with laughter. “First round is on you, Ricciardo,” Charles says, wagging a finger at him. “Punishment for bringing up the Abu Dhabi incident again!”

“Jokes on you, I was already planning on it!” He glances at you and winks. “Gotta congratulate the winner somehow, right?” Little did the Australian know, you had already congratulated Pierre a few hours ago, and you doubted that a few shots would outshine that performance. You hope the pink tinge that rises to your cheeks with the memory isn't obvious and you duck your head just in case.

A blast of air conditioning hits you as you all stumble into the bar. All eyes fell to you and the ragtag group of drivers when you entered, silence blanketing the patrons. The bartender slams a fist on the wooden bartop, rattling glasses and making you flinch.

“Been wonderin’ when you lot were gonna show your ugly mugs!”

Daniel, Max and Charles erupt into friendly laughter, shaking the man’s hand and making small talk. You look to Pierre for an explanation.

“Tradition,” He murmurs. The noise returned to a normal level around you, though you could feel the glances thrown your way. “We come here every year, but only if one of us wins at Silverstone. Been awhile since that happened.”

"Ah," You say, nodding dramatically. "Yes, very long time." Pierre grins, shaking his head.

"Who won this year?" The man - William, Pierre informs you- asks. He towered over you when you sat on the sticky bar stool, tall and lanky but well muscled and certainly not someone you would expect patrons to try disrespecting. He was already pouring five shots of a fine Irish Whiskey, waving Daniel off when he tried to start a tab. “My treat.”

Max claps a hand on Pierre's shoulder. "This one claimed the crown, for once!"

"Wey hey!" William says, passing out the shots. "Everyone else crash out or what?"

"You should watch the replay," You say, knocking Pierre's shoulder with your own. "It was amazing. The move he used to get past Max-" you bring your pinched fingers to your lips in a chef's kiss. "Gorgeous."

"Much to Max's despair," Charles adds, raising his shot. "To the underdog!"

You all echo the sentiment, the boys knocking back the strong alcohol with practiced ease. It didn't go down as smooth for you, burning your throat and making you wince.

Daniel laughs. "Not used to drinking with us anymore, huh?"

"Must have lost my edge," You say, the woody taste lingering in your mouth. "I'm sure it'll hit me hard in a half hour or so, too."

**********

Well, you weren't wrong about the alcohol hitting you like a punch to the gut. Two shots later and you were swaying like a sailor on his first excursion out to sea, Pierre's shoulder the only thing keeping you from toppling off the bar stool. 

Pierre's eyes were bright as the others poked fun at him, William joining in with a witty remark now and then. His laugh wrapped around you like a warm blanket, keeping you content and grounded.

"Hey Pierre," Daniel says at one point, "Don't look now but that table of girls has been obsessed with you all night."

Pierre, blitzed as he was, pays no attention to Dan's warning and turns around. A loopy grin was plastered on his face, turning back and shaking his head.

You may not have been able to think straight, but your stomach lurches. Instantly sobering slightly, you follow Dan's gaze to the indicated table to your left. Three beautiful women sat there, whispering behind their hands and clearly speaking about Pierre. One bit her lip and caught your eye, giggling. Her looks were universally attractive enough that she would be anyone’s type, Pierre included. The possessiveness in the gaze she raked over his body set your blood boiling. 

This… was not a scenario you wanted to play out. You didn't know if Pierre was ready to tell his friends about your relationship yet. You knew he wouldn't let any of those girls have the light of day, but he might let them fawn over him a little, just to protect your secret. And it would kill you, but you would have no choice but to let it happen.

"I'm good," Pierre says, sipping the beer he had been nursing all night.

"Come on mate," Max pushes, a wicked grin on his flushed face, "That blonde is so your type."

No she isn't.

You’re already staring up at Pierre when he turns to you. You have always worn your emotions on your sleeve for anyone to see, and it only got worse when mixed with alcohol. Pierre smiles softly, taking mercy on you. Slowly, he takes your hand and threads your fingers together before turning back to the boys.

"One of you can tell them I’m not interested. I already have my girl." 

Heart beating wildly, you scan your friends faces. They were all wide eyed and slack jawed, staring at your joined hands. Pierre gives your hand a gentle squeeze, reminding you to breathe. He read you like an open book, offering reassurance when you needed it most.

"It's about fucking time!" Daniel roars, breaking the tense silence. Your shoulders relax, grinning along with the others. Pierre beams at you, knocking your shoulder to say I told you so. 

"Does this mean I get a break from listening to you obsess over her every weekend?" Max asks, giving you a meaningful look. 

"Likely not," Pierre answers. "I'm still just as obsessed as before. Maybe more." Max pretends to gag, earning him a playful punch from Charles. God, it was so freeing for your relationship to be more open, even if it was just between your closest friends. 

"I'd just like to point out that I told you two this would happen years ago," Charles says matter of factly, pointing at Max and Dan. "Should've taken you up on that bet."

Your mouth hung open. "You were going to bet on us being a couple?"

"Oh come on," Max says, rolling his eyes. "We all knew it was coming eventually. We just didn't know when!"

Pink stains your cheeks, but Pierre laughs and leans in to kiss you. Remembering the girls behind you, you press a little closer to him. Under the guise of placing a kiss to his cheek, you meet the blonde's eyes and smile sweetly.

The woman preens, mouth twisting. Good. Pierre was yours, and now that he'd admitted it, you could let those girls know it. His hand slips to your thigh, squeezing hard. A clear warning that you were venturing into dangerous territory. You didn't care.

The alcohol in your veins makes you bold, and you want to drive your point home. They could look all they wanted, but he was coming home with you. You push the boundary farther and bite the soft skin of his neck just hard enough to leave a mark. Pierre's hiss finally makes you pull back and look up at him innocently.

"Get a room," Daniel teases with a wink. You smile at him, mumbling an insincere apology. Your point had been made. The arrogant smirk had been wiped from the woman’s face, replaced with a grimace. 

"I think it is time for us to get going," Pierre says, annoyance flashing across his face. Oh, you had stoked the fire and now you would have to face the consequences. 

"We're just getting started," Charles complains. Pierre slaps a few bills on the counter and gets up without responding. 

"Bye guys!" You call over your shoulder as Pierre drags you towards the door. They all wave back, Max's lower lip jutting out in a pout. Your eyes slid one more time to the blonde, who had her arms crossed over her chest. You give her a wicked, taunting grin and return her earlier wink.

Pierre halts so quickly that you run into him. “Why are we leaving?”

“You know why,” He growls, flagging down a cab. “You didn't like how she was looking at me, so you did something about it. You might not have noticed, but every man in that bar had their eyes on you. So I’m following your example and doing something about it.”

Your brow furrows. Pierre won’t meet your gaze, and your eyes fall to the purple mark on his neck. You didn’t like his tone; it bordered dangerously on anger. “Are you… Are you mad that I did that?”

Tears threaten to spill when he finally looks at you. God, you were a blubbering drunk.  When your lip wobbles, his anger fades and he sighs. “I’m not mad. I just… I didn’t think you’d want me flaunting our relationship yet. When you did this-” He gestures to his neck- “I could barely keep my hands off you. Not when I saw the guy walking up to you.”

You sniff, trying to conjure the image of the bar. “I didn’t notice anyone.”

“Yeah, cause I dragged you out here before he could say anything.” Pierre pulls his hood up and sighs. “Trying to catch a cab here is harder than overtaking Hamilton.”

You laugh harder than you should at the off-hand remark, following after him as he trudges down the sidewalk. “Why are you not drunk? I feel like you should be drunk. You won a race. They were feeding you shots one after another.”

“One of us had to be responsible and make sure we got home okay.” He smiles over his shoulder at you. “And I knew as soon as you had that first shot it would have to be me. Didn’t you notice me handing the shots to the other guys?”

“No,” You say, rubbing your eyes. “What about the boys? How are they gonna get home?” Pierre stops, forcing you to do the same. He tugs your hood up, makes sure his is secure enough to hide his face, and grabs your hand.

“I already told Seb to come round them up in an hour or so. They’ll be fine.”

You don’t respond, too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other and not fall on your face. It doesn’t help that your vision is a tad blurry. Finally you give up and whine, “How much further?”

“It’s right there,” He says, pointing at a towering glass building just across the street. “In five minutes, you can be tucked into a cozy, fluffy suite and you can rest all you want, my love.”

You hum at the words, warmth flooding your veins from more than the liquor. “I like that.”

“What, the building?” He asks, amused. He helps you cross the empty street, making sure you’re paying attention to where you’re going.

“Noooo, what you said,” You clarify, leaning on him as you try to navigate the handful of steps leading to the hotel.

He’s quiet until you reach the elevator. “My love,” He murmurs, and you grin up at him.

“Mon… mon coeur,” You manage to say, somehow pulling the French phrase out of the dregs of your memory. The words are slurred and you know that you absolutely botch the pronunciation, but the intent is clear. You may have lived in France since you were 18, but learning the language wasn’t a requirement when almost everyone knew english as well. But the two of you had spent many hours watching Pierre’s favorite french films over the years; some of it must have unintentionally rubbed off on you.

A disbelieving smile tugs at his lips. “How do you even know what that means?”

You shrug. “Just do.” The elevator doors open and you step out, Pierre following. You halt, not knowing which hall to take. You glance up at your companion for help, only to find him staring back at you. “What?”

He shakes his head and leads you down the corridor to his room. It's a spacious corner suite, with huge windows facing Silverstone that give him a perfect view of the track. You make for the window but Pierre’s hand on your wrist stops you.

“I don’t think so, it’s time for you to sleep.”

“But I just wanna see,” You protest weakly.

“Nice try. I know you. You’ll sit in front of that window for hours if I let you.”

You give in only because he was right. Cityscapes of any kind drew your attention like a moth to a flame. You pouted anyway, but let him take you to the bedroom. Gentle pressure on your shoulders had you sinking into the plush mattress, groaning at the luxurious softness. Pierre laughs as he helps you out of your shoes and jeans, leaving the hoodie.

Eyelids drooping, you climb under the covers Pierre had pulled back for you. He tucks you in and kisses your temple. You grab for him, tugging on his shirt until he stoops down and gives you a proper kiss. When he steps out of your grasp, you panic.

“Stay,” You mumble, fear bubbling in your chest. He had to stay, he couldn’t leave, not when you only had this one night left-

“I’m just taking off my shoes,” He assures you, his weight sliding in behind you to settle against your back. You sigh, moulding yourself to him as best you could. Being in his arms was somehow familiar, even if he’d never held you like this. It felt like home.

“Pierre?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Pillowy soft lips press to the nape of your neck. “I love you too, mon coeur.”

Tagging: @flashcal

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

TRUTH AND LIES ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.5k SUMMARY: You and Loki make a trip to the open market which leads to a flurry of thievery, arrests and an almost death. A/N: Hey hey, I guess I’m just updating this series on no porper day because I’m a bitch for procrastination wohoo! There’s so much going on in this chapter, probably a little too long but I hope you like it <3 gif from this gifset by @hiddleston-daily WARNINGS: Swearing, laser rifles, electrocution, intended execution, Loki being annoying. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

“So, what do you propose?”

Loki questions, walking beside you through the winding pathways of the outskirts of the city of Sakaar. Stalls propped up on stilts, colorful fabric hung overhead as a shield from the blazing sun of the afternoon. He’s dressed like a Sakaarian, drapery of vivid and bright colors, similar to yours—both passing through, hiding in plain sight amongst the crowd of contrasting species.

The place inevitably stinks, living up to the planet’s nature.

Yet, it’s a world of textile mania. Everywhere he looks, there’s a pop of color, radiant and brilliant. Whether it’s the clothes of the locals, the paint that adorns the structure of their faces, or the streaks of blue and red cascading down the walls of the city in the glimmer of the sun.

Your eyes seem to glow in the reflection of the sunlight; the shawl conceals the crimson scar well enough—barely recognizable in your disguise. Your gaze meets his. “Well, I propose we steal one of the Grandmaster’s ships. They're the only ones that are strong enough to enter the Anus.”

Loki flashes you a look, “You have to stop calling it the Anus.”

Your rapid steps come to halt at the foot of a stall, an extensive table with miles of crates filled with an array of vegetables and fruits. Some wiggle their way through the crowd of customers, some rigorously examining every blemish of each fruit while others attempt negotiating the prices with the distraught-looking vendor with a face of sapphire.

It’s a pastiche of a Pieter Bruegel painting. And the two of you are seemingly animate characters at the center of it.

Loki trails closely behind you—much to your dismay— shouldering a two-headed lady by accident, both heads snapping at him with blazing eyes. He mutters an apology as she quickly disappears into the crowd. He turns and nearly loses sight of you, instantly shouldering his way to stand beside your figure as you hum with amusement, brows raised. Your head tilts, eyes on him once more. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would it help if I called it the ‘giant red hole’ instead?”

He blinks. “You have somehow made it sound worse.”

You hum once more, cautiously gazing at the hectic vendor. “It’s one of my many talents.”

With a swift motion, he follows your fingers that delicately pluck one of the odd-looking blue enlarged berries from the stand, sliding it into your stash in a matter of a split second.

He’s almost impressed.

“I suppose thievery is one of your many talents.”

It’s both a question and a statement—Said in a tone of near mockery. Loki is starting to get on your nerves with the unnecessary commentary on every decision you made that led the two of you to this very moment—a routine you’ve repeated for years before his arrival. Oh and he’s well aware of the growing aggravation towards his sheer presence. It’s a feeling he’s no stranger to. It feels like home.

Your once monotony interactions are now turned into a muse for Loki’s own entertainment.

“Look, you really don’t have to announce and narrate every aspect of your silly observations like we’re in a stupid play. Especially, when I’m doing something that’s fairly frowned upon—”

“Fairly frowned upon? Really?”

A groan escapes from the scowl of your lips. You look like you’re about to kill him.

“Just shut up, for God’s sake.”

You snatch him by the wrist, forcing your way through the sea of Sakarriaans. Your grip is surprisingly firm—he scoffs, twisting his arm out of your grasp almost in a child’s manner. “Would you stop that?” he says as you lead him away from the bustling crowd, a corner where two perpendicular buildings meet. You turn to him in a somewhat exaggerated attempt to express your resentment towards him, pulling the shawl away, revealing your face as you hold your pointer finger to him like it’s a weapon. Loki instinctively staggers back in his stance. “No, you stop that!” you hiss, advancing towards him. “I told you not to mess with my shit and what you did there, that’s messing with my shit.”

Again, he finds himself caught in the act of your fury and frustration. He quickly notes that you seem to have an uncontrollable temper, and it’s unpredictable. You’re living in a constant predicament, one slight prod and you’ll burn, spontaneous combustion and you’ll burn right through everything, God or not.

You sigh, caressing your cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I’ve been alone for so long and this,” You gesture between the two of you, “I never thought it’ll be possible to experience this again.”

Loki arches a beckoning brow. “Which is?”

You blink once, then twice, pursing your lips. “Company.” you punctuate it like it leaves an unpleasant taste on your tongue—you’re embarrassed to reveal a side of vulnerability. Like you have been in a constant fight to build the walls around you, to keep your guard up at all times, no matter the circumstance or cost. Whatever happened between you and the Grandmaster, destroyed the remains of your personality, your ability to feel like a human being and coping and living with the knowledge that you will never get off this planet and never return home for years. You deserve a fraction of his reverence, not sympathy.

Forced into the realm of independence with no one to cry out to. Your life oddly and eerily reflects his. He can’t help but feel that maybe it’s fate that hauled him out of the Bifrost, sending him flying into Sakaar and crashing into the very home you reside within.

His mouth runs dry for the first time because there’s nothing to say. You apologize even when you don't need to and the part of you that protrudes is your honesty—a part of you that differs from himself. You’re truthful, even to a stranger. Nevertheless, he nods.

A yell from a distance captures your attention, a man on the other end of the pathway that leads to the markets, dressed in the armor of red—a Sakaarian guard, armed with a laser rifle. The guard, unfortunately, might recognize you, with your face out in the open. Your scar makes you stand out like a sore thumb. It’s every criminal’s nightmare.

You discreetly turn your head towards the wall in a desperate attempt to hide your identity even though you very well know, there’s a significant chance it isn’t going to work. Your figure is now close to his, he can almost feel the erratic beating of your heart. You’re...afraid.

The sentry on patrol nears the two of you, expression unreadable, concealed under the mask of red strokes like warrior paint. His voice is low, authoritative. “Everything alright here?”

He must have noticed the commotion during the heat of your argument, perhaps recognizing the tone of your voice which does not help with the plan the two of you are drafting to get off this planet, or maybe, he is just genuinely concerned. The latter seems improbable by the way the guard stands, hands hovering over the trigger of the rifle.

Loki decides it would be best to negotiate and pretend everything is fine. He would much rather avoid a fight because he would hate for you to end up dying as a prisoner in the arms of the Grandmaster. Well, because you’re on his way out. Nothing more.

He turns to the sentry with his usual charming smile, palms raised to indicate he means no harm. It's an image of vulnerability. The guard seems to relax at this, fingers moving away from the trigger of his weapon although his posture remains sturdy.

He’s alone, no other guards are lurking nearby. If anything were to happen, at least it will be two against one.

How foolish.

“Everything is quite alright, kind sir. It’s just one of our...common little spats, nothing more. The missus says I don’t give her enough attention and well, you would know how that turned out—”

You nearly choke at Loki’s words. Out of all the possible reasons, he chooses a lover's spat as an excuse. An incredibly absurd and petty lover’s spat.

Now, you're his fucking missus.

The armored man is unfazed by Loki’s charm; he doesn’t seem convinced. He turns to you, gesturing to your figure with his rifle. “Show your face, ma’am.”

Loki is quick to step in. “Sir, I believe that would be rather embarrassing for her. You see, she has been crying, and it’s not a pretty sight. Red all over, bloodshot eyes—you know.”

You roll your eyes. Now, all you want to do is send your palm flying across his face. Hard.

Once more, the guard doesn’t completely believe Loki’s explanation.

Loki turns to you discretely, extending his open palm to you. He whispers lowly. “Do you trust me?”

You simply shake your head.

Nevertheless, you take his hand.

Before you know it, you’re being hurled by the arm, head first and now the two of you are in a full-out sprint, spinning, and weaving from every pedestrian. Your shawl is long gone, Loki has magically switched back to his original Asgardian outfit. The sentry tails behind the two of you, close enough to hear him speak through the telecommunication device attached to his armor. “It’s the girl—Scrapper 170!”

The two of you dive down an alley, the sentry starting to gain. Loki turns to you mid-sprint with an exasperated look. “Scrapper 170? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Now is not the time, Loki!” you groan, voice trembling with every land of your quick feet against the ground. The sentry halts and aims. A flash of purple passes you by an inch. You duck instinctively, feet stumbling and your hand leaves Loki’s. The laser beam crashes into a wall, leaving a massive hole in it. You hear a woman shriek from the other side through the hole.

You round the corner, catching the glimpse of not one but three guards running after you. You instantly spin away to see Loki just about a meter ahead. You power through, catching up to his side. The alley breaks into a clearing, leading you back to the open market that teems with the same hectic and rowdy crowd of Sakaarians. Another shot fires at the two of you; it blasts like a hand grenade—the crowd screams. Loki is shoved away from you and with a turn of your head, you completely lose sight of him. Another blast of the rifle, you duck in time as it hits the crate of fruits behind. You kamikaze down the little avenues lined with vendors and shops, careening through the labyrinth. There’s a sentry at every turn, emerging from the crowd, behind the counter, tent flaps, and crates.

Amid the chase, you halt at a dead end. Behind you, the guards are catching up. At the corner of your eye, you spot Loki on the other side of the market, a few stalls away. His eyes are wide, and you’re trying to catch your breath. You step forward, ready to make his way to him when suddenly you hear something tick by your ear, then a wave of excruciating pain burns throughout your body—muscles spasms all over, you could barely control your own body any longer. Then, complete darkness as you felt your knees give out, face hard to the ground. The last thing you heard was your scream.

-

Maybe, you are meant to live your life filled with events of deja vu—a life of full circles and time loops. Maybe, you are meant to live a life of crime with the constant disability to learn from your mistakes, having been caught on numerous occasions because as soon as your brain awakens from its weakening of electrocution torture, there’s a familiar sense of aftermath pain, the sight of colorful grand walls, the feeling your hands cuffed to a rock metal chair and the grinning smile of none other than the Grandmaster.

You are stuck in a cycle, and you’re never breaking free.

The Grandmaster calls out your name with an almost chilling enthusiasm to his tone.

“At last, we meet again, 170! I’ve missed you, you know. You, uh, you really were something, huh? Intelligent. Pretty. Brought me lots of great stuff. Like that guy—What’s his name? Oh! Ares, God of war. He was a brilliant champion. Now, look at you. All dirty, disgusting and that hideous scar, ugh—” The Grandmaster cringes, gesturing to your figure with that melt stick of his. You flinch as he nears you, deciding how much you hate that shimmering golden robe. “Though I’ll have to admit, you are good at hiding. It’s almost annoying...Do you agree, Loki?”

He turns and you follow his gaze. Loki stands by the corner, looking almost sheepish. Your eyes are now immense, face painted with hurt and betrayal albeit you don’t necessarily demonstrate it. Loki averts his gaze to the Grandmaster. “I suppose.”

The silver-haired man laughs with a wagging finger to him. “I like you, Loki. I really do.”

You cringe at his words. He turns to you, smile gone.

“Hey, now you are going to tell me—I mean, really tell me—who exactly you are and where you’re from.”

You spot the furrow of the God's brows. His voice is faint, like the time at the market, asking you to trust him. “Is she not from Earth?”

The Grandmaster seems to be taken aback by Loki’s sudden question, narrow eyes bouncing between the two of you. Then, his mouth curves into an apparent ‘o’. “Oh, I see what’s going on. Wow. You actually believed that little story of hers? That she’s from a planet called Earth and an astronaut? Oh, you poor thing,” He speaks through his chuckles, amused by Loki’s expression of bewilderment.

So much for being truthful.

“You know, I always have the intuition for liars like you. So, there was no way you could have faked it all the way through.” His attention is on you, but you’re too busy looking at your unlikely ally or you dare say your partner's unreadable manner. Blank face. Usual posture. You hope to spot a hint of sympathy or sadness in his eyes. There’s nothing.

You can’t save yourself and neither can he.

You, after all, betrayed him in terms of your unknown identity. It’s expected he wouldn’t do the same. Yet, this is Loki getting a taste of his own medicine. If it weren’t for your imminent death, you would find this situation rather amusing.

“So, are you going to tell us the truth?”

Your gaze returns to the taller man. “No.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that single word being the last word you speak.

The Grandmaster blinks then shrug coyly. “Oh well, that’s quite a pity,” he moves around, gazing at the surrounding guards, hand on his hip. “So, uh, we’re doing this, huh?”

No one in the room moves or speaks.

He sighs, extending the melt stick to you. “Yeah, okay...See ya, then!”

You shut your eyes, ready to succumb to the pain of being liquefied. You wonder if it hurts and that the past victims you have witnessed were being dramatic as they screamed for the end of their lives rather than the pain itself. In all honesty, you’re terrified although you believe you shouldn’t be. Death is inevitable, after all, and you’ve been prepared for many years, living in hiding.

This is it. This is when you finally rest.

You miss home. Wherever that is.

“Wait!”

Your eyes are wide open, they fly to Loki who has his arm stretched out, nearing the Grandmaster. The melt stick is inches away from your face. The Grandmaster spins away from you, attention directed to Loki. “Really, Loki? I was so close to having the pleasure of melting her!”

For an Elder of the Universe, he could erratically act a lot like a child. A child with an obsession with control and murder. Psychopathic child.

You observe the two enter an argument of whispers and dramatic hand movements. Then, the colorful psychopath in that hideous shimmering coat swivels in his stance, gaze at you as a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “Fine. I guess I don’t have to know who exactly you are. On behalf of Loki here who seems very keen on keeping you alive, you are pardoned,” Your mouth flies open in response. “But! I’m putting you on probation. 142 will be keeping a close eye on you. So, yeah. Lie to me again and I’ll have you executed for real.”

The Grandmaster walks away and your wrists are released from the cuffs of the chair.

Loki retains that darn smirk on that charming face of his.

-

The slave quarters seem huge from the last time you were here. In comparison to your unstable shack of a home in the outskirts of the city, anything cleaner and brighter than that shithole was enough to fulfill your heart’s desire for an ideal place of residence. It’s the same room you occupied before you fled and went into hiding. You recognize the markings on the wall, roman numerals, hidden in the corner by your bed, counting the days since you arrived on Sakaar. That was years ago, maybe a decade—you lost count.

There’s a knock on the door; it swishes open to reveal none other than Loki, dressed in a different but relatively similar outfit to his original Asgardian clothing. It’s blue instead of green. You abruptly decide you like the way it brings out the specks of blue in those irises of emerald.

You cross your arms. “So, I assume you got caught, but I want to know how the hell did you not get this thing?” You tap the obedience disk on the curve of your neck. His smile curves into a smirk. “One word: Silvertongue.”

Your snort, nearing him. “That’s two words.”

Loki simply rolls his eyes. “No, it isn’t. It’s two—it doesn’t matter.”

That deafening silence wave over the two of you. You purse your lips.

“Why did you save me back there?”

The God blinks, shoulders squaring. There’s a sudden tension in the air.

“Well,” his head tilts as he clears his throat, trying to form the right words. He wets his lips. “If someone manages to trick the God of trickery himself, maybe that someone is worth saving.”

His response startles a distinct silence from you—the silence of awe and contemplation. He says you're worthy of saving, a sentence you never thought you’ll hear from the man who crashed through your roof and proceeded to be threatened with a dagger. The man who seemed to have some sort of inclination and ambition to annoy the death out of you. It’s bizarre how life works, how two diverging lives end up intertwined with one another in the most unlikely circumstance, and how time truly heals. It mends the wounds of the lonely, the ones who were told they were never enough.

Maybe scarce and scarce turns out to be enough after all.

You see yourself in him, a complex mind and a misunderstood heart. It’s frightening how you somehow understand, and you somehow don’t simultaneously.

People are complex. Life is complex.

He watches you with that same look when he initially heard the vocals of Freddie Mercury.

You’re no Freddie Mercury, you know that.

Your voice cuts through the silence. “Thank you.”

Loki seems to snap out of what felt like forever, responding with a curt nod.

“I’ll see you at dinner then,” he says, backing away into the hallway as he readies himself to leave. “And please, wear something better than that hideous heap of trash.” He gestures to your figure; your clothes are rugged and filled with dust and sand.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“We can resume our plans to getting off this planet after that,”

With a smug look, he spins on his heel and leaves. The door closes with a whirring sound. You feel heavy.

And God, you need a drink.

You quickly locate the drinking glasses, in one of the cabinets above the kitchenette. As you rummage through the rest of the drawers and cabinets in search of a bottle of something, a soft hum from the other side of the room catches your attention.

Your figure spins and you’re met by the sight of a group of materialized armored soldiers, clad in black. You heave a profound sigh of relief, a grin curving upon your lips.

“You guys finally found me! What took y'all so long? I’ve been stuck here for ages—”

“It appears to be a standard sequence violation.” one of the armored men say with an A-50 scrawled vertically on his helmet in orange.

You furrow your brows, feeling your heart stop. “Wait, what—”

“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the Scared Timeline.” Hunter A-50 speaks. There’s a wave of sympathy flashes upon his expression. “I’m sorry.”

The cup falls to the floor, shattering into serrated pieces that surround your feet. Your heart begins to pound. As the other hunters grasp onto your arms, you are hauled through the translucent glowing doorway. Then, you hear the words of A-50 that struck your heart like a dagger.

“Reset the timeline.”

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle