#spring boot project

[codeonedigest]

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[happy74827]

Bruised Shadows

[Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: While coming home from another grueling job, Bucky found himself ambushed by the unrelenting warmth of his neighbor’s compassion.

WC: 3002

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Grumpy x Sunshine (fav trope fr)

I decided to post one of my drafts since it has been decades since I’ve posted last… whoops 👀

『••✎••』

Bucky Barnes didn’t notice the blood until it dripped onto the scuffed toe of his boot. A crimson bead, sharp against the black leather, caught the dim hallway light as he trudged toward his apartment. He swiped the back of his flesh hand across the bridge of his nose, smearing the trickle, and grunted. Didn’t hurt. Barely registered. The serum had a way of dulling the sting of split skin and bruised bone—nothing a few hours wouldn’t knit back together. The ache in his knuckles from the job, though? That lingered, a quiet reminder of the fists he’d thrown and the unconscious bodies he’d left sprawled in some warehouse two states over.

The duffel bag slung over his vibranium shoulder thumped rhythmically against his hip, heavy with gear he hadn’t bothered to unpack. Another day, another mess cleaned up with Sam, for which he took most of the credit, but Bucky didn’t care much about the public eye—just the doing. It kept his hands busy and his mind occupied. Kept the nightmares at bay, if only for a night.

He was three steps from his door, key already fished from his pocket, when he heard it—your voice, soft as a damn spring breeze, cutting through the stale air of the hallway.

"James?"

He froze but didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He knew it was you—only you called his name like that like it wasn’t a curse or a weapon. Like it was just… his. He clenched his jaw, the ache in his bruised eye socket pulsing faintly as he willed you to keep walking. You lived two doors down, always too close for comfort, always too you—bright and warm and everything he wasn’t. He’d spent months dodging the way you lingered in his trajectory, all soft smiles and small talk he didn’t deserve.

"James, oh my God, what happened to your face?"

There it was—concern, thick and unfiltered, wrapping around him like a blanket he didn’t ask for. He turned his head just enough to catch you in his peripheral, and Christ, there you were—hair a little messy from whatever late-night project you’d been buried in, eyes wide and shining with that unbearable kindness. You were clutching a mug, steam curling from it, probably tea or something equally gentle. You looked like an angel, and he felt like the devil himself standing there, bloodied and hulking in his tactical gear.

"It’s nothing," he muttered, voice low and rough, turning back to his door. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding." Your footsteps pattered closer, too quick for him to escape, and suddenly you were right there—close enough that he could smell the lavender on you, feel the warmth radiating off your skin. His metal arm twitched, instinct screaming at him to pull away before he tainted you somehow. "Your nose, your eye—James, that’s not nothing."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, wincing when it stung the raw skin. "I’ve had worse. Go back to your tea."

But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. You never listened when he tried to brush you off, and it drove him up the damn wall—how you’d barrel through his gruff exterior like it was tissue paper. You set the mug on the floor—carefully because you were always careful—and grabbed his sleeve, tugging with a strength that surprised him for someone so soft. "No, you’re coming with me. I’m not letting you bleed all over your apartment when I can help."

"You?" He arched a brow, the bruised one, and regretted it when it pulled at the swelling. "What’re you gonna do, stitch me up?"

"If I have to." Your tone was firm and stubborn, and he hated how it made his chest tighten. "Come on."

He could’ve pulled away. He could’ve shrugged you off with a flick of his arm—vibranium or flesh. It didn’t matter; you were no match for him. He was a goddamn super soldier, a walking weapon, and you were… what? A civilian with a bleeding heart and a brain too sharp for your good. He’d seen you solve crossword puzzles in two minutes flat and heard you ramble about obscure history facts when he’d lingered too long in the laundry room. You weren’t an Avenger, weren’t SHIELD—just a woman who’d wormed her way into his life with cookies and quiet conversations, and now here you were, dragging him toward your apartment like he was some stray you needed to fix.

And he let you. God help him, he let you.

Your place smelled like you—lavender and vanilla and something faintly sweet, like the cookies you’d left outside his door last week with a note that said, "Don’t be a grump; eat something." The lights were warm and soft, nothing like the harsh fluorescents in his sparse apartment. You pushed him toward the couch with a gentle shove, and he dropped the duffel by the door, too tired to argue.

"Sit," you ordered, already darting to the kitchen. "And don’t move."

He sat, legs sprawled, metal arm resting heavily on the cushion. His flesh hand rubbed at the back of his neck, where tension coiled tight. He didn’t belong here—didn’t belong in your orbit, period. You were sunlight, and he was a shadow, all sharp edges and dark corners. The Winter Soldier might’ve been gone, scrubbed clean by Wakanda and time, but the nightmares still clawed at him—flashes of blood screams, faces he couldn’t unsee. He woke up some nights with his vibranium fist clenched so hard it creaked, half-expecting to find a body under him. You didn’t know that. You didn’t know him. And he’d kept it that way, only feeding you scraps—his arm, the war, vague mentions of missions—because the full truth would send you running.

You came back with a damp cloth, a bowl of water, and a first-aid kit that looked like it’d seen better days. "Tilt your head back," you said, kneeling in front of him.

You were too close. Way too close.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, reaching for the cloth.

You swatted his hand away—actually swatted it like he wasn’t just pounds of muscle and metal who could snap your wrist without blinking. "Stop it. Let me."

He stared at you, jaw tight, blue eyes narrowing under the bruised lid. You stared back, unflinching, and he saw it—the worry etched into your brow, the way your lips pressed together like you were holding back a lecture. He relented, tipping his head back against the couch because fighting you felt like kicking a puppy.

The cloth was cool against his skin, and your touch—God, your touch—was feather-light, dabbing at the blood on his nose with a care that made his throat close up. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, the way your lashes fluttered as you focused, the little furrow between your brows. You were so gentle it hurt, like a bruise he couldn’t shake off.

"You don’t have to do this," he said, quieter than he meant. "I’m not your problem."

"You’re not a problem at all," you shot back, not missing a beat. "You’re my neighbor. And my friend. And you’re hurt, so I’m helping. Deal with it."

Friend. The word lodged in his chest like a bullet. He didn’t have any friends since Steve—not really. Sam, maybe, on a good day. But you? You’d been chipping away at him for months, ever since he’d moved in—leaving him coffee when you caught him coming back from a run, asking about his arm like it was just another part of him, not a relic of his sins. He’d grumbled, dodged, and kept his distance, but you kept coming back, sunny and relentless, until he couldn’t imagine the hallway without you in it.

"Does it hurt?" you asked, brushing the cloth over the swelling around his eye. Your fingers grazed his cheek, and he tensed, every muscle locking up.

"No," he lied. It didn’t hurt—not the way you meant. No, the pain was deeper, a gnawing thing that came from how soft you were, how close you were, how much he wanted to lean into it and couldn’t.

"You’re a terrible liar!" you said, smiling faintly. “You’re all tense. I’m not gonna break you, you know.”

But I could break you, he thought, and the idea made his stomach twist. His strength wasn’t just in the arm—it was in every fiber of him, honed by decades of violence. He could lift you with one hand and crush your bone without trying. He’d done it before, under Hydra’s leash, and the memory of it—of fragile things shattering under his grip… kept him up at night. You didn’t know that. You saw the arm, sure, but you didn’t know its weight or danger.

You rinsed the cloth, pink water swirling in the bowl, and came back to his eye, your breath fanning over his skin. He could feel the heat of you, the steadiness of your hands, and it undid him—slowly, thread by thread. He wanted to pull away, to growl at you to stop, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because you were looking at him like he was worth something, and he hadn’t felt that in so long, it scared him.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, voice rough, almost accusatory. "I’m fine. I’m always fine."

You paused, cloth hovering over his cheek, and your eyes flicked up to his—big, earnest, piercing. "Because you’re not fine, Bucky. Not always. And even if you were, I’d still care. You don’t have to go through everything alone."

His breath hitched, and he hated it—hated how you saw through the cracks he’d patched up with sarcasm and silence. He shifted, flesh hand curling into a fist on his thigh. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Then tell me," you said, soft but insistent. "I mean… you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… I’m here. You know that, right?"

He didn’t answer. The words were stuck, tangled in the mess of his head. And it seemed as if you knew that because you didn’t push; you just went back to cleaning his face, and the silence stretched thick with everything he wouldn’t say.

When you finished, the blood was gone, the bruising still dark but less angry. You sat back on your heels, studying him like you were checking your work. "There. You look less like you lost a bar fight."

He snorted, a rare sound, and your smile widened—bright, unguarded, like you’d won something. He felt it then, the pull he’d been fighting for months—the way his chest warmed when you looked at him, the way his guard slipped when you laughed. He liked you. More than liked you. And it terrified him.

You stood, gathering the supplies, and he caught your wrist—vibranium fingers light but firm. You froze, eyes darting to his, and he saw the question there, the flicker of surprise.

"You shouldn’t," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your brows furrowed. "Shouldn’t what?"

"Like me. Care about me. Whatever this is." He gestured vaguely between you, his metal hand dropping to hide under his jacket. "I’m not… I’m not good for you."

The silence that followed was heavy and thick with unspoken things. You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned forward again, your hand resting lightly on his knee. He could’ve crushed steel with less effort than it took to stay still under that touch.

"James," you said, voice soft but firm, "you don’t get to decide that for me."

He clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking. "You don’t know me. Not really."

"Then tell me." Your eyes searched his, open and unafraid. "Tell me who you are, what you think I can’t handle. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the guy who’s sat through my terrible movie marathons, who’s fixed my leaky sink without me asking, who’s looked out for me even when you didn’t have to. That’s who I see."

He wanted to argue, to tell you about the bodies he’d left behind, the decades he’d spent as a puppet for killers. But the words wouldn’t come. You were looking at him like he was worth something, and it was unraveling him stitch by stitch.

"You deserve better," he rasped, barely audible. "Someone whole. Someone who’s not… broken."

You shook your head, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. "James, I don’t want 'better.' I want you. Broken pieces and all."

He stared at you, heart hammering, torn between shoving you away and pulling you closer. Your hand was warm against the cool metal, your gaze unflinching, and he felt the dam break—the walls he’d built crumbling under the weight of you. He wanted to believe it, wanted to let himself have this, but the fear lingered, sharp and insistent.

"You’re too good," he murmured, almost to himself. "Too damn good."

You smiled, small and tentative, and leaned in—just enough that he could feel your breath on his lips. "Maybe you’re just enough."

He didn’t know who moved first—maybe him, maybe you—but suddenly, your lips were on his, soft and warm and tasting faintly of tea. It was slow and hesitant, his flesh hand cupping your cheek like you might shatter if he pressed too hard. The kiss was a question, a confession, and when you sighed against him, he answered—deepening it, letting himself feel you, taste you, for the first time.

The kiss didn’t last as long as he’d liked. He missed you the second you had pulled back to rest your forehead against him. Your fingers brushed his jaw, and he felt the tension bleed out of him, replaced by something softer, something he hadn’t let himself name until now.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered.

And for once, he believed it.

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

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[codewithmurad]

Online Banking System Project using Spring Boot, JSP & MySQL | Spring MVC Project

Online Banking System is a dynamic web-based application by using which customer can perform multiple operations like money withdraw, deposit and do the money transfer, check the available balance and can see the transaction history

The project is designed so that students can learn about the project and understand the logic applied in the project based on the requirements, and thereby they can grow their skills.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Fifteen Months

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: You've known and loved Din for Fifteen Months. Here's a glimpse into your life with him. Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v sex , oral (m and f receiving), fingering, voyeurism, fucking on camera, cum eating, lap dance, sex work, din carries you, duck pond emotions, a spray painted mandalorian helmet, goats!, farm life. Words: 8,700

Fifteen Masterlist Masterlist

—-

“Morning,” a rumbly voice says against your forehead with a kiss. “We have two new kids.”

Your eyes open wide, your heart leaping with excitement as you jump out of bed quickly. Din hastily backs away with a grin on his face.

“She had them?!” you ask as you pull on a pair of pants and grab your robe.

“She did. She’s doing good,” he says, smiling at your excitement. “The babies are healthy and happy, already nursing and everything.”

You run down the steps, Grogu at your feet. Boba’s waiting at the front door, standing guard, his tail wagging in greeting when he sees you.

Din leans over and kisses you as you throw your jacket on and step into your boots.

“Oh, good morning, by the way,” you chuckle as you throw the door open and feel the early morning chill of spring in the air.

You wrap your jacket tighter around you, your boots squishing in the dewy grass as you follow Din to the little shelter on the side of the main goat pin.

Dorothy looks up at the sound of the gate creaking. Your favorite goat looks peaceful as her two new babies are cuddled close to her.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you coo, softly stepping towards her before kneeling down to pet her head. “Look at your babies. They’re perfect.”

“Were you up all night with her?” you turn and ask Din.

“Just about,” he yawns.

“You could have come and got me,” you say, rising and dusting the straw off your knees.

“I wanted you to get some sleep,” he replies, his eyes heavy with fatigue but a little brightness, too. “Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”

Din steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you back against him.

“They’re so perfect,” you muse, watching the little kids stand on wobbly legs and find their footing in the new world.

“They are,” he admires, tightening his hold. “Cobb’s on his way. He’s going to take care of everything since I was up all night.” 

—-

As the weeks turned to months together, the long-distance from Din almost became unbearable, it kept getting harder and harder to leave Din and his farm every time you’d visit him.

So, you sold the townhouse you had worked hard to pay for on your own and moved across the country to live with Din. The idea of being separated any longer had become too much to bear, so you left behind all that was familiar to be with him.

That was five months ago. Dorothy, your favorite goat, started showing signs of her pregnancy only a couple of weeks after you moved in.

Wicket the rooster's crow is now your alarm clock, waking you up every morning in Din's arms, his handsome face only inches away. It’s hard to pull yourself away from his warm arms and soft lips, but the farm chores are waiting for both of you.

Together, you tend to the herd, milking the nannies and bottle-feeding the playful kids who frolic in the pasture. Din's gentle patience for you and all of his animals never fails to fill your heart with love.

During the afternoons, while Din takes care of the farm repairs and building projects, you tend to the garden–your hands buried in the rich soil as you plant and nurture fruits and vegetables that will eventually grace your table.

Evenings are spent in cozy domesticity with Din and your dogs, curling up next to him on the porch swing to watch the sunset paint the sky as Din’s fingers caress your skin.

At night, after all the chores are done, you still do your webcam shows, but no longer for private customers–a decision you made on your own once you left Din’s home the first time.

Din always helps you set up the equipment and watches off-camera, his heated gaze watching your every move.

You’ve embraced Din, his farm, and his life—much like he embraced you and your choice of career. You could never imagine your life without him. This life, with its simplicity and authenticity, is everything you never knew you needed, a blissful escape from the hectic pace and superficial trappings of your old life.

And you couldn't be more grateful for it all.

—-

“Din,” you whisper in his ear and leave a kiss against his cheek. “Cobb just left. It’s almost time for my show.”

Big brown eyes blink open, a smile lights his tired face.

“Hey,” he yawns. “Can’t believe I slept that long.” His hand reaches out and grabs your hip, pulling you into bed with him. His stubble scrapes against your skin as he rolls you onto your back and kisses you. His hands run along your body, slipping under your shirt to caress your soft skin. You melt into his touch, fingers tangling in his messy curls, and you sigh against his lips.

He trails kisses along your jaw down to your neck, his tongue tracing lazy patterns on your skin. You can’t resist him, arching into him, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer. His broad body covers you like a warm blanket.

His hand slides lower, hooking into the waistband of your pants. Just as he starts to tug them down, you very reluctantly break the kiss.

“Hold up,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath. “Ugh, the show…”

He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I knooow,” he grumbles.

You laugh softly, soothingly running your fingers through his hair. “Want to help me tonight?”

He lifts his head, an eager and mischievous glint in his eyes. “I do.”

“You want to pick what I wear?”

Without a word, he rolls off you and strides over to the dresser, rifling through your collection of lingerie. After a moment of deliberation with his eyes studying two different bodysuits, he puts them away and grabs the same blush pink lingerie you wore the first night he and you slept together.

“Really?” you arch up an eyebrow. “That one?”

“Call me sentimental,” he smirks. Tossing you the soft, silk outfit. “Put it on pretty girl.”

“Sentimental, huh?” You grin as you shed your clothes, Din’s eyes darkening as he follows your every move.

The silk slides over your skin as you remember the first night you stayed with Din - the nerves, his declaration of love, the tenderness of his touch, and the realization that he meant everything to you.

You smooth your hands over the fabric, straightening the straps and admiring how it fits.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

You heat under his intense gaze. “Come on, we need to set up,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him to your studio.

—-

You’ve noticed a change in Din since you moved in with him. He’s no longer the solitary man—quiet, reserved, and focused solely on his work. As your love blossomed and you grew closer, he began smiling more readily and laughing more freely, his eyes always sparkling at the sight of you.

He used to be guarded—even a bit gruff—but soon, you saw beneath that exterior, sensing a tender heart. Now, you see that tender heart every day. The way he gently cradles a newborn kid in his strong hands. The way he kneels down on the floor to pet and hug his dogs every morning. The way he always makes your tea the exact way you like it every evening.

He’s actually playful, sometimes chasing you across the house before capturing you and ‘attacking you’ with his mouth, or dipping you for a kiss in the middle of the kitchen.

Sometimes he’ll surprise you while you’re outside hanging laundry, sneaking up and wrapping his arms around your waist before gently tackling you onto the grass. His strong arms enveloping you as he pins you beneath him, his eyes twinkling with love.

“Caught you,” he rumbles before pressing his lips to yours.

You love seeing him like this, happy and carefree. He was once your customer in a dark box, just a curious stranger, and now he’s everything to you.

—-

You check the lighting and adjust the camera tripod while Din settles into his usual spot just out of frame, putting on a pair of headphones, close enough to be heard but not seen.

You take your familiar position on the bed, knees bent to your side, with one hand supporting your weight as you lean back. As you pout your lips and adjust the strap on your top, you nod at Din, signaling that you're good to start.

“Ready?” he asks, his finger hovering over the button to start the stream.

Taking a deep breath, you slip into your online persona. “Ready.”

The red light blinks on and you smile at the camera. “Hi everyone, thanks for joining me tonight…”

As you interact with your audience, you can feel Din’s eyes on you. You steal glances at him between poses, noticing how his breathing quickens whenever you arch your back or run your hands along your thighs.

“What should I do next?” Your question is directed at your viewers and yet you know Din can tell you’re asking him.

He grins, lifting his hand into view, his finger curling in a beckoning motion.

“Yeah? You want me closer?” you purr. The chat explodes with messages of excitement.

You lean forward and crawl slowly towards the camera, risking a glance at Din, sitting in his chair shrouded in darkness, his brown eyes turning almost black when you wink at him.

Your hands trail sensually over the silk fabric of your tank top. “What should I take off first?” you ask temptingly.

“The top,” Din’s voice rumbles from off-camera. “Slowly.”

A shiver flows through your body at Din’s voice, this is the first time he’s ever spoken while you’re performing. You reach for the buttons on your shirt, teasingly undoing them one by one. The silk falling open to reveal your bare skin underneath.

The chat goes wild.

“Like this?” you ask, shrugging the garment off your shoulders and letting it fall to the mattress.

“Perfect,” he growls. You can see him palming himself through his sweatpants out of the corner of your eye.

You bite your lip, fighting every urge inside you to look directly at Din. The camera and your customers demand your attention, but you can only feel his eyes on you.

“What next?” you ask breathily.

Din’s voice husks through the air. “Touch yourself,” he commands in a low tone. “Slowly.”

Your hands slide down your body, tracing delicate patterns across your stomach before dipping lower. The silk of your shorts feels smooth against your hand as you tease and rub yourself through the fabric.

“Feels so good, when your hands are all over me,” you moan into the camera. “Feel how wet you make me? I’m so fucking soaked for you baby.”

Din grunts from the darkness as you arch your back and press your breasts together.

“Should I take these off?” you ask, pushing down the waistband of your shorts.

The chat dings with responses, but you wait for Din’s command.

“Yes,” breathes out from his lips.

You slide the shorts down inch by inch and toss them playfully towards Din’s direction before spreading your legs wide, your hand slipping between them, stroking yourself slowly. You moan as you work your fingers in small circles, your hips rocking against your hand.

You hear Din’s breathing grow heavier.

“Mm, it feels so good,” you purr. “But chat… do you think I should have some help?”

He leans forward, his brows rising in surprise. You’ve never asked Din to join in your cam sessions before, but seeing him in the background, watching you every time has become too much. You want him to be a part of it now.

Your audience sends a wave of thumbs ups and enthusiastic messages.

“Baby,” you say breathlessly, “come here.”

He hesitates for a moment before standing up and moving to the side of the bed, just out of frame. His brown eyes are wide with surprise and desire as he reaches his hand out towards you. The chat goes wild as his hand comes into view on camera, trailing up your leg.

His touch is warm and reverent as his fingertips finally brush against your wet folds. “That’s it, touch me,” you moan, relishing in the feel of Din as your customers watch.

His fingers explore you slowly, spreading your wetness and tracing lazy, soft circles around your clit. You lock eyes with him as he slips a finger inside you, momentarily forgetting about the hundreds of viewers on the monitor.

Din nods his head towards the screen, reminding you that you’re at work. You look back at the camera, as Din slowly fucks you with his thick finger.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” you pant for your viewers, losing yourself in Din’s touch. His thumb finds your clit, brushing softly against it. “Just like that.”

He smirks as he watches you unravel beneath his touch. Your back arching as you push your breasts together and tug at your nipples.

“More,” you gasp between moans, your body beginning to tremble as the chat goes crazy watching you lose yourself under Din’s touch.

He responds immediately, adding another finger and stretching you. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, his voice thick with lust.

Your hips lift to meet his hand, seeking more pressure, grinding your pussy against his palm. "Talk to me baby, they want to hear you talk to me,” you beg.

His brows furrow in thought, his thumb brushing circles against your clit while his fingers fuck you deeper. “Let it go baby. You’re gorgeous, you like my fingers?”

“Yes, god yes,” you moan as his hand worships your cunt.

“Cum for me baby, show them how I can make you cum.”

“Oh god,” you cry out, your head falling back onto the mattress as you surrender to his touch, breathing hard as your hips cant against him. “I want you,” you beg, leaving the thoughts of your hundreds of viewers behind.

“I’ll give you what you want soon enough,” he promises. “Keep going for them.”

The pressure is building within you, your heart racing and when Din angles his fingers up, that familiar heat pools in your core, every nerve ending dancing and tingling across you.

“Gonna—” you whimper.

“Just a little longer,” he urges, his voice low. “I want them to see how much I love making you feel this way.”

You nod, breathless, your body set alight. You can hear the distant sound of notifications and gifts pinging from the chat, but all you can focus on is Din and his thick fingers.

"I'm so close," you gasp as his thumb presses firmly against your clit. He quickens his pace, fingers moving faster and deeper until your body can't take it anymore.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Cum. Cum for them.”

Din pilots you closer to your peak. Your thighs quaking around his hand, your cunt clenching his fingers as your body begins its ascent towards bliss.

“Oh god,” you moan.

“Cum for me baby,” he growls. “Let go.”

The world explodes around you, stars floating through your eyes as your entire body convulses. Your breath hitching, the world narrowing to just you and Din as you orgasm, gone are your viewers, gone are the dings from the speakers.

“That’s it baby,” he coos. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are. You’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum.”

Your body trembles in the aftershocks as he brings his soaked fingers to his lips, eagerly tasting you. Only you can see how his eyes close in pleasure as he licks his fingers clean.

“You did so good for me—and them,” he praises, his own breathing ragged as he pulls down his sweatpants.

"Thanks for tuning in chat, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get fucked by my helper,” you say winking before clicking the DISCONNECT button.

Din pounces on you, pinning you to the bed with his muscular body. "Be careful!" you yell. “The equipment!”

Din grins widely as he kisses you. “Don’t worry about the equipment, I’ll set it back up later,” he growls against your lips. “Right now, I’m going to take care of you.”

With one smooth motion, he flips you over onto your stomach. You gasp in surprise as his strong hands grip your hips, pulling you up onto your hands and knees.

He kneels behind you, his hardness pressing against the cleft of your ass. You moan and push back against him, wanting to feel more of him. He chuckles at your eagerness and gives your ass a playful smack that makes you yelp.

“Guess you liked helping me?” you breathily ask.

“I did,” he runs his hand down your spine. “You want my help again?”

“Always,” you breathe, arching your back to present yourself to him.

He groans at the sight of your glistening pussy, swollen with desire for only him. He leans down, placing a tender kiss at the base of your spine. “Look at you, all ready for me, pretty girl.”

His strong thighs brush against yours as he lines himself up with your aching cunt. The broad head of his cock teases your folds as he coats himself in your slick. You moan and push your hips back as you try to take him in.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as your pussy accepts him into your tight heat inch by inch.

He sheathes himself fully inside you, filling and completing you. A low groan rumbles from DIn’s chest as he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your ass. “You feel incredible,” he rasps, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.

“I’m yours."

“Yeah? You’re mine? This tight, wet pussy is all for me?” He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he nuzzles into your neck. His stubble scrapes across the sensitive skin. “Mine,” he hisses possessively. “My beautiful girl.”

He fucks into you faster and harder, the bed you use to touch yourself for your customers now creaking and thudding against the wall from Din’s power. You fist your hands in the sheets, holding on as Din pounds into you. You feel another orgasm in your orbit, the stars beginning to show behind your eyes.

“I’m close,” you whimper. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” Din pants. “I’ll never stop loving you, taking care of you, making you feel this good…”

His words makes your orgasm rocket through you, your pussy clenching rhythmically around Din’s cock as you see a galaxy across your eyelids.

Din keeps thrusting, grunting with exertion as he fucks your soaked cunt, chasing his own release.

“Fill me with your cum,” you urge breathlessly.

“Fuck, I love you. I’m gonna—” his hips stutter and with a deep thrust, he buries himself inside you. A warrior’s moan tears from his throat as his cock pulses, painting your walls with his cum.

Your arms give out, and you collapse onto the bed, Din follows you, lying down next to you. The two of you lay together, panting for air, a tangle of sweaty and sated limbs. Din wraps his arms around you, pulling you close against his heaving chest. You nuzzle into his neck, planting soft kisses along his jaw.

"That was amazing," you murmur. "Having you with me on camera like that. God, it was so hot."

"Mm, it was," he agrees, his voice a low rumble.

"Maybe we should make it a regular thing. I'm sure my viewers would love it."

“As long as I don’t have to show my face, I’d love nothing more. I love watching you, but being able to touch you in front of your audience. I can’t believe I used to be one of your customers.”

You chuckle softly, snuggling closer against him. "And now look at us. I know way more about goats than I ever thought possible and you know way more about live streaming sex shows than you ever thought possible.”

He laughs and tilts his head down to leave a kiss against your forehead. “I never imagined I could be this happy. This farm feels like a real home now, with you here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

—-

As the warm, late spring weather rolls in, your days on the farm become even busier. The goat kids are growing bigger and braver, exploring more of their surroundings each day. Your nights are spent performing shows for your many viewers, the addition of Din’s hands and voice have driven you watcher views up. You both notice more gifts and chat messages from female viewers, it empowers the two of you to put on even more of a show for them. With a bit of ingenuity and a can of silver spray paint, you’ve come up with the perfect solution for him to not show his face.

Din sits in his office, going over invoices and the calendar as you saunter in wearing one of your favorite dresses.

"Din," you catch his attention.

He turns in his chair, an adoring smile lighting slowly spreads across his lips. "Yeah baby?"

“I thought of a solution for you to not show your face,” you say with a small smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, giving you a curious look before he obeys and shuts his eyes.

You quickly open the closet and pull out the surprise, placing it in his hands.

“Okay, open now.”

He opens his eyes to find a silver helmet in his hands.

“So, that one dude you like from that space movie? I ordered one of his helmets…”

He admires it, turning it in his hand.

“The bounty hunter “ he muses quietly. "My favorite."

“I was worried about copyright soooo I painted it silver instead. But this way… you can be on camera with me without anyone seeing your face.”

His dark brown eyes look up at you, a wicked smile spreading across his lips. 

“Put it on Din.”

His handsome face is slowly covered by the silver helmet.

“It even modulates your voice a bit…”

Din sits clad in his black sweat pants and black t shirt now with the silver helmet atop his head, making him look even larger and more intimidating. His shoulders sit higher, giving off an aura of power and dominance.

“How’s it feel?” you ask, staring at your bounty hunter disguised boyfriend.

“Good, just fine” his voice comes out different from the speaker. A little more tinny, crinkling with feedback—just like how you first heard him through your computer speakers. You’re ridiculously turned on by it. 

“You look… good," you admire. “Really good baby.”

His posture shifts as he leans back, resembling a king with the helmet on… like it was made for him.

"Then, come show me how good I look, pretty girl."

You saunter over and kneel down in front of him, placing your hands on his knees slowly sliding them up his strong thighs as you look up at the expressionless helmet. Your heart races, imagining his eyes watching you behind the visor.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, fingertips grazing the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

“You know exactly what I want,” Din’s modulated voice responds, sending goosebumps across your skin.

You lean forward, nuzzling your face and placing a kiss against the softness of his inner thigh. Your hands move to the waistband of his pants. “May I?,” you ask, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, helping you slide them down.

His cock springs free. Your hands wrap around the base before you give it a firm stroke as you look up at the helmet.

“I love how you look in this,” you muse, before leaning into give the tip of it a kiss. “My bounty hunter.”

The sound of Din’s breath hitching is distorted through the helmet’s speaker. Slowly, you take him into your mouth, savoring the familiar taste of him on your tongue.

You hum around his cock at his praise, taking him deeper into your mouth. You know exactly how he looks under the helmet now. No longer your black square mystery. You can picture his eyes squeezed shut, his bottom lip captured in his teeth, the middle of his eyebrows creased in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he grunts. The modulator gives his voice an extra edge, an extra growl.

Your tongue swirls around his sensitive head already leaking for you, imparting the bitter, salty taste of him against your lips.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

Your gaze lifts to meet the dark visor of the helmet, imagining the deep brown eyes behind it.

“That’s my pretty girl,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

Your cheeks hollow as you suck him harder, his hips softly thrusting into your mouth.

“So good,” his voice crackles through the speaker. “Always so good to me.”

You take him deeper, choking on the length of him as you relax your throat. His breathing grows heavier, punctuated by grunts of pleasure and your name.

“Hold on, hold on,” Din says suddenly, gently pulling you off him. “Come here baby.”

He helps you rise to your feet, before pulling you onto his lap, your chest meets his. His strong arms wrap around you.

You straddle his lap, the heft of his hard cock presses against you through the thin fabric of your panties. His hands roam across your body, caressing you with reverence and adoration. The cool metal of his helmet brushes against your cheek as he leans in close to you.

“I want to feel you,” Din’s modulated voice rumbles through you.

You nod, lifting your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down in a swift motion and tossing them aside.

A gasp leaves your lips as you sink down on him. You begin to move on him, rolling your hips in steady waves. Your hands grab his broad shoulders, relishing in the warmth of his body.

His voice comes low and husky through the helmet. “Take what you want pretty girl.”

“You feel so good,” you moan. “So big inside me. Just perfect baby.”

Din’s hips thrust up to meet you, his cock hitting deeper inside you.

“Din,” you moan, resting your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet. The rapid beat of his heart thuds against your hands when you place them on his chest. Pulling back, you look into the helmet, unable to see his face, but knowing the exact intense look of concentration he always has when he’s close.

He slides his hand between your bodies, and finds your clit, swirling it in sweet circles against it. A gasp escapes your lips and you smile at the pleasure coursing through you. Your hips instinctively buck against his hand, craving more of him. The pressure builds as his thick cock and skilled finger make you move more frantic. Your hands move up his neck to grip the base of his helmet.

“I…want to kiss you,” you whimper as you lift the helmet, exposing his handsome face.

The sweat across his dewy skin makes it glow even more golden. His plush lips are slightly parted as he looks at you with his big brown eyes. Leaning in to kiss him, the helmet slips from your hand and lands on the floor with a thud.

God, you’ve missed seeing him. Your fingers tangle into the soft, dark curls of his hair as you lean forward. “I love you,” you breathe out against his chin, kissing your way down to his neck, licking the slight salt of his sweat and tasting him.

Din's thumb increases its pressure on your clit as he thrusts up harder into you. "I love you, so much," he pants, his voice rumbling against you with desire and adoration.

Your core tightens, the familiar tingle that only Din can give you washes over your body. You trail your tongue up to his mouth and kiss him hungrily.

"Din," you gasp, breaking the kiss as your orgasm lights through your body. Shuddering in his arms, clenching around his thick cock. You lean back, letting him fuck into your slickness as your muscles grow loose.

With a guttural groan, he thrusts his hips against you, his movements stuttering as he follows you over the edge. His thick cock pulsing inside of your walls as he cums. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he buries his face in the crook of it.

For a moment, you both stay still, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and trying to catching your breath. Din's hand runs soothingly up and down your back as you come down from your high.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, voice thick with reverence and awe. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"I'm the lucky one," you whisper back, reaching up to cup his jaw. "You've given me everything I never knew I needed.”

“Maybe I should wear the helmet—for your next show?” he asks, his eyebrow tilting up.

“I think you should,” you smile, guiding his face down to yours, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss. “I’ll let the fans know to expect something different.”

—-

As the weeks pass, you notice Din spending more evenings out in the old barn on the edge of the property. He always kisses you sweetly before heading out, promising he won't be long. But the hours stretch on, and on some nights, he’s out there long past bedtime.

Curiosity gnaws at you, but you respect his wishes to let his trips to the barn remain a mystery.

One night, as you’re sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and splitting corn bread with Grogu, Din returns through the back door with Boba happily trotting behind him.

“Welcome home,” you wink, standing to pour him a cup of tea.

“Mm,” he hums happily.

“Am I ever going to find out what you’re doing out there?”

“You’ll see soon enough, pretty girl,” he assures with a dimple deepening grin.

He steps behind you wrapping his arms around your waist as you pour him a cup. He nuzzles into your neck peppering your skin with soft kisses.

“Be careful,” you order, “the tea is hot.”

“Mm,” he tugs on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “I no longer want the tea.”

He grabs your ass, lifting you up into his hold. Your surprised yelp echoes through the room as you quickly wrap your legs around his waist for support.

“Din! What are you doing?” you giggle breathlessly.

He strides to the kitchen island, carrying you in his arms like a prized bounty and places you atop the cool butcher block.

“I want a taste of you,” he grins roguishly. His large hands skim up your thighs, bunching up the fabric of your dress.

“Oh god,” you roll your eyes. “You’re ridic—”

Your breath hitches as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs.

“No panties, huh? Were you waiting for me, pretty girl?” he asks, his finger tracing lightly along your bare skin, finding you already wet for him.

“Always,” you breathe.

He sinks to his knees before you, spreading your thighs wide and hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs as he nuzzles closer to your core. The cool wood and his warm touch sends a shiver through your body.

You gasp at the first touch of his tongue against your sensitive clit. He works his way around it with slow, deliberate licks and kisses, gently sucking and pulsing his tongue.

You moan loudly, tangling your fingers into his dark hair. He hums with appreciation against your skin as you pull the soft waves, urging him on. He laps at your arousal, drinking down the wetness you spill for him.

You press yourself harder against his eager mouth, he devours you, his thick tongue delving in and out of your eager cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

Your muscles begin to tense, your thighs begin to quake. Din’s tongue works tirelessly again your cunt.

“Close,” you gasp, your hips rolling against his face.

He groans as his tongue journeys up to your clit before flicking it rapidly against you. Two of his fingers slide into you, the stretch of them and the slow drag in which he pulls them in and out of you transports your orgasm higher. The familiar galaxy of stars Din always brings you twinkle behind your eyelids as you pulse against his fingers and tongue.

You fall apart atop the cool wood, with Din’s hot mouth against you working you through your orgasm, lapping up every drop you give him.

Your fingers comb through his soft hair, massaging his scalp with affection as he places soft kisses along your thighs.

“My tea’s probably cold by now.” he says, rising from between your legs and giving you a kiss. “Guess we should just take this to bed, huh?”

You chuckle breathlessly. “It’ll be a hell of a lot softer on my back than the countertop I can vegetables on.”

A wide smile spreads across his face as he lifts you up into his arms and carries you upstairs.

—-

“Ready for this?” You ask, holding the helmet out to him.

“I am,” he nods.

“I love you.”

He leans in, giving you a kiss before raising the helmet up to his head. “I love you too.”

Din sits on the chair, clad in his new helmet and his black sweatpants, his muscular, golden chest on full display for you, and soon, your viewers.

You hit the link to your show’s room. Your mouth drops at the amount of viewers waiting.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. “We have over 2,000 viewers.”

A rumbling hmph leaves the helmet.

“It’s just you and me,” you remind him.

“Hit connect baby,” he says, sitting up straighter and folding his arms across his chest.

You do as he says and hit connect. Hiding your nervousness and shock behind a sultry smile.

“Hi everyone,” you purr. “I see a lot of new faces here tonight. I guess word got around about my new costar.”

You sway your hips slowly and teasingly, the messages of your viewers illuminating the contours of your body as you let the anticipation build. Din watches intently, his helmeted head tilted slightly.

“Tonight,” you say, before glancing back to Din, “you’re going to watch me fuck my boyfriend.”

The chat explodes, gifts and tips fill the sidebar. Turns out, there is a market for this.

You turn away, stepping closer to Din, each movement slow and sensual as you dance across the room. You can see his breath hitch behind the visor as he takes in every inch of your body and each roll of your hips.

His face is totally concealed by his helmet, and yet you feel his eyes stalking you as you dance for him and your viewers.

Bending over, you plant your hands atop his thick thighs, gripping them and staring into the visor as you give him a wink and mouth “I love you.” His body tenses as he keeps his arms folded across his chest.

You turn your back to him, giving him a full view of your ass barely covered in the silver fabric of the thong he picked out specifically for tonight. You begin to move in rhythm with the music softly playing in the background, gliding your hands along the soft skin of your thighs. You turn slightly to look over your shoulder at him as your hands travel up to your silver bra unclasping it and baring your chest to the camera.

The speaker on the headset amplifies his breathing, reminding you of the first night you talked to him. Deep, steady breaths, sometimes a small grunt, maybe a light whimper.

You dance along to the song, dipping low before popping up with a twist of your hips, your hands charting a path across your skin, pinching and pulling your nipples before dipping down to the shiny straps of your thong. The snap of the fabric against your hip stings when you give it a playful tug then let it go.

"I’m soaked for you,” you moan, running your hand across the wet seam of your thong.

Turning to face him, your lips curl into a teasing smirk at the sight of him. The silver helmet may conceal his face, but his body's response to your dance is evident. His chest rises and falls in sync with his deep breaths, his arms now uncrossed and resting on his thighs as his hands grip tightly.

Slowly, you slink over to him and straddle his lap., reveling in the power you holder over him with your movements. Your hands land on his broad shoulders as you grind against the hardness straining against his black sweatpants.

“You like what you see, baby?” you purr, loud enough for the mic to pick up.

“Always,” his modulated voice rumbles.

You rock your hips, rubbing yourself against his bulge. Soft gasps and moans spill from your lips, your head falling back in pleasure. 

“Do you want me to keep dancing for you?” you ask, swirling your hips.

“Yes,” he hisses.

“No touching,” you kiss the cool metal of his helmet. “Okay?”

The helmet tilts when he nods an affirmative.

Sliding off Din's lap, your fingers run along his chest as you rise. With a sultry smirk, you turn and sway your hips as you walk a few steps away from him. The beat of the music pulses through the room as you begin to dance.

Your hands glide over your body, fingers trailing across your skin as you arch your back and roll your hips.

Slowly, you turn to face him, his helmet is tilted as he watches intently.

When you reach him, you place your hands on his wide shoulders and lean in close. "Eyes on me, bounty hunter,” you whisper, your breath fans across the cool metal of his helmet.

Straddling his lap once more, you begin to grind against him in rhythm with the music. Your hips roll and swivel, creating delicious friction between you. Din's hands clench and unclench at his sides, fighting against the urge to touch you.

“Remember," you purr, "no touching."

A groan crackles through the helmet's speaker. You grin, knowing exactly how much he wants to touch you.

Rolling your body on top of him, your breasts graze against his chest before you lean back, your fingers tracing the curve of your breasts and down your stomach to the waistband of your thong.

Din's breathing grows heavier, the sound crackling through the helmet's speaker.

You rise off of him and turn to face the camera, your fingers hooking into the waistband of your thong, teasing at the thin silver fabric. You lock eyes with the camera as you slowly peel the garment down, revealing your soaked cunt to your viewers.

Facing Din again, you lower yourself to all fours and crawl to him. Your hands gliding up his thighs as you rise, nuzzling your face against the tent of his pants before pressing your body against his. You can feel the heat radiating off him and the tension in his muscles as he fights not to touch you. 

Turning around, you lower yourself onto his lap, your back to his chest. Your ass grinds against his hardness, feeling it strain against his sweatpants.

You’re aching and wet for him, each light whimper from his headset pools even more wetness between your legs.

“Go ahead and touch me baby,” you moan.

Din's hands immediately grasp your hips, pulling you firmly against him. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cup your breast while the other dips between your thighs. You gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling it slowly.

“Feel how wet I am for you baby?” you moan.

A muffled groan escapes the helmet's speaker, Din’s fingers exploring your slick.

You roll your hips against his hand seeking more of his touch. 

“You want me to fuck him, chat?”

A splurge of thumbs ups and resounding yeses fill your screen.

You rise off Din's lap and turn to face him, hands gliding down his muscular chest to the waistband of his sweatpants. Slowly, teasingly, you tug them down, freeing his hard cock, his tip thick and glistening with precum. There’s something about sharing Din’s gorgeous cock with thousands of your viewers. One of the first glimpses you ever got of him was his golden toned cock, and now, here in the home you share, you’re sharing it with the world. 

"Look how hard you make him, chat," you purr, wrapping your hand around his length and giving it a slow stroke. Din's hips twitch at your touch, a hiss of breath crackling through the helmet's speaker. You smile at him, proud of his bravery and enthusiasm for your job.

You straddle his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you take all of him in when you settle on his cock. His hands slide around to grip your ass, as you begin to move on top of him.

The stinging stretch of him inside you feels so familiar, and yet everything is different now. Now, thousands of people are watching you take his cock as he stays concealed behind the shiny, silver mask.

You grin down at Din’s exposed chest under the helmet before leaning down and taking his nipple into your mouth, sucking on it hard. If you can’t kiss his lips, you’ll kiss his body.

Din’s hips jerk forward, his cock hitting deeper against your tightness.

You lick your way up his body and kiss the metal of his helmet. "This isn't fair," you breathe out against it, "you look so fucking hot."

Din growls into the speaker, his voice modulated and deep as his hands slide up your sides possessively.

“Face them, show them how you take my cock.”

You moan loudly, at his words, quickly turning in his hold and sinking back down on him, taking all of his thick cock.

Your back presses against his broad chest, his hands wrapping around to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples.

"Ride me just like that, pretty girl," he rumbles. "Take what you need."

Din’s hands roam over your body, strong and calloused against your soft skin. His fingers find your clit, rubbing and flicking it just the way he knows you love it.

Din growls again, his hips snapping up to meet yours with force. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as you reach behind him and grip onto his thick thighs for support as you ride him.

You can see the comments flooding in on your screen, filled with praises.

"I'm close baby, so close," you whimper, arching your back against his broad chest. The cool metal of his helmet presses against your shoulder.

"Cum for me," Din commands. The rumble from his speaker transports you right back to the nights you used to spend together, thousands of miles away from each other. Now, you’re here in the home you both share, taking his cock for your audience.

Everything sends you over the edge. You want to shout Din’s name, but you also wish to respect his anonymity... so you decide on a compromise.

“Mando!” you scream as your orgasm bursts through you. His breathing grows more rapid as your walls clench around his thick cock. Your head thuds against the metal of his helmet, your eyes squeezing tight, your lip capturing between your teeth as you you cum for Din—and your audience.

He lets out a groan that crackles through the speakers as he spills himself deep inside you. You collapse back against him, your bodies slick with sweat and chests heaving.

For a moment, you forget about the camera, the viewers, the chat still going wild as you listen to the cadence of Din’s breathing through the helmet’s speakers.

Slowly, still quivering in the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, you rise up from Din's lap. His softening cock slips out of you as you stand on wobbly legs. Turning to face the camera, you give your viewers a sultry smile.

"Look what he did to me," you purr, reaching down to spread yourself open with two fingers. Din's cum begins to drip out of your well-fucked pussy, glistening on your inner thighs. You trail a finger through the slick mess, bringing it to your lips to taste the mixture of you and Din.

The chat explodes with comments and tips, everyone going wild at the sight before them. You can’t look away from the image of Din on the monitor, sitting back in the chair, his broad chest heaving as he catches his breath. He’s naked, his cock laying heavily between his legs, glistening with a mixture of your collective orgasms.

"Mmm, he always fills me up so good," you moan appreciatively, scooping up more of the creamy fluid leaking out of you. You slip your fingers into your mouth, making a show of licking them clean and savoring the taste of Din's release.

Behind you, Din stands. You watch in the monitor as he stalks forward.

The chat window is full of flames, hearts, and messages. Encouragement for the two of you flowing in by your viewers. You smile at the camera as Din comes up behind you, pulling you close against his body and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hope you enjoyed everybody! We’ll see you next week.” The silver of Din’s helmet glints in the light when he nods as you shut down the show.

“Holy fuck!” you scream when you see the money from tonight’s show in your account, more than you’ve ever dreamed of earning. You turn around in his hold, lifting the helmet up and giving him a kiss. “Din, the audience loves you.”

—-

The wooden bench with its chipping paint and indentations from years of use overlooking the little pond the ducks gather in is your favorite spot on this earth. Better than the clubhouse in the woods behind your childhood home that you used to call yours as a curious child, better than the sanctuary of a townhome you used to call yours with all of your belongings, better than the bedroom you now share with your boyfriend who you love with all of your heart.

The sun has long gone down, the little lantern hanging on the wooden post swings in the night breeze as the moon sits high and full in the sky. 

A warm jacket is placed around your shoulders. It smells of Din. 

“Hi,” you turn and smile at him.

He gives you a shy smile and joins you on the bench, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer. 

You breathe in the familiar smell of him along with the wet dirt and the dew left on the grass. It smells of home. 

He sighs, his fingers against your shoulder tap nervously.

“You alright?” you ask.

He looks at you, deep brown eyes meeting yours and nods with a soft smile.

“I still can’t believe you’re here with me sometimes.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He hums in agreement. 

“I think we were destined to be together, like it was somehow written in the stars,” he says, his voice deep and introspective as he gazes up at the twinkling stars above. “I used to dream of being in space and looking down on earth, like I never belonged down here. But now, with you, I feel like… I belong.”

You lean your head against his shoulder and look up to the dark sky painted with stars.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you smile, tracing a constellation with your finger. “These can be our stars.”

Din’s hand gently covers yours, his thick fingers lingers on your ring finger.

“I like those,” he says with a nervous breath. “They’re ours now.”

He pulls away, turning to look you in your eyes, a shy smile deepening his dimple. “Would you stay here with me forever as… my wife?”

Your eyes widen in surprise and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you breathlessly say.

Your breath hitches in your throat and your heart races as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a beautiful golden ring with delicate stars etched onto it.

“This is what I’ve been working on in the barn all those nights. I made it myself.”

Tears fall down your face as Din takes your left hand and slides the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly, as if it was meant to be there all along.

You stare at the golden band, captivated by how beautiful it looks on your finger. This is where you are meant to be, with him.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” Din replies. “We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all.”

—-

Fifteen Years Later...

Two quiet giggles awaken you from your sleep.

"It's Christmas! Can we go downstairs?" Bo asks excitedly, bouncing on her feet, her face lit with an excited smile. "I think I heard Santa last night!"

“No you didn’t,” Greef responds, rolling his eyes. “The chimney’s on the other side of the house.”

“Greef, ” Din sternly commands as he rises out of bed. “Be nice.”

“Sorry dad,” Greef apologizes.

You smile sleepily at your children's excitement, stretching as you climb out of bed.

“Come on!” Bo yells as she runs out the door.

"Alright, alright, we're coming," you yawn, quickly pulling on your robe and slippers.

Din wraps his arm around your waist as you make your way downstairs, following the pitter-patter of little feet racing ahead of you.

It was around this time ten years ago that Din sat you down and told you about Greef and Bo, the twin foundlings in need of a family. As a former foundling himself, Din couldn't bear the thought of the twins not having a safe and nurturing home. With tears in your eyes and love in your heart, you both made the decision to become the parents of Greef and Bo. The call to Cobb was made, and what used to be your livestream studio, turned into a nursery.

That first Christmas as a family of four, Din had planted Christmas trees on your farm. Now, one of those trees is sitting proudly in the corner of your living room, covered in twinkling lights and handmade ornaments.

"Look! Santa came!" Bo squeals, pointing at the cookie crumbs.

"Can we open presents now? Please?" Greef asks, barely containing his excitement.

“Hold on, let me get the coffee going,” Din chuckles, heading to the kitchen to turn the coffee maker on.

The kids vibrate with wonderment, taking in all of the brightly wrapped presents underneath the tree.

“Okay, have at them,” Din says, settling onto the couch next to you and pulling you close.

The kids don’t hesitate, diving for the presents. Bo chooses a soft, squishy package while Greef grabs a rectangular box, tearing into the wrapping paper.

"A new stuffed animal!" Bo exclaims, hugging a plush bear to her chest. "I'm gonna name her Chewie."

"Awesome, the new flying game I wanted!" Greef grins, examining the box. “Can we play it later, Dad?”

“We can,” Din nods with a warm smile. "I'm a pretty good pilot if I do say so myself."

You spend the next hour watching the kids open gift after gift, their faces lighting up with each reveal. There are new books, art supplies, clothes, and toys scattered across the floor. Fifteen minutes has turned into fifteen years. A black box of mystery has turned into a house full of love.

—-

A/N: Thank you *SO* much for reading. I loved writing Din and his cam girl, and I hope you love the glimpse of their future life together.

[princesssmars]

sweet✰honey✰buckin

a rodeo!abby x reader. | p.ii

its a hot spring in the south and rodeo season is here. your hunt for a new fling leads you to an up-and-coming hotshot bull rider with an aversion to groupies. maybe you can change her mind.

wc : 2.509

contains : fxf relationship. barely attempted country slang. fluff. smut. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). nicknames (baby, darlin', a single bunny).

a/n : yeah guess who just listened to cowboy carter. idk why i posted about this before writing a single word but i didn't procrastinate this time yall clap it up and enjoy.

if you think about it, this was really all dolly partons' fault.

you could still picture the first time you saw her, the grainy recording on your grandmother's television, the gentle melodies from the blonde bombshell wrapping around you like a warm hug. you'd only been exposed to the south for a few weeks, and you already knew who you wanted your role model to be.

and the buckle bunny stuff also wasn't your fault! you were gorgeous, as people so loved to remind you at every twist and turn. and maybe you used your looks to your advantage sometimes. the first time was when you batted your eyelashes to make a boy do your project a day before it was due in junior year. he was... good-looking, you supposed. smart enough to be on the chess team, so he would do.

so you went to a little party with your friends that night. a spacious house, nice music, and good enough booze. everything was normal until you saw her. she was lean and mysterious, and under the lid of her black ridge top hat you could see her eyes tracking your body as you danced

so yes, her eating you in the back seat of her truck until you cried, holding down your hips when you tried to move changed your brain chemistry just a bit.

now a few years later, you're a little taller, a little smarter, and have collected a handful of studs for your belt. sure you've collected a...not so savory reputation in some of the local bars, but it was nothing a smile and a little flirting couldn't help. and its only going to get better; as the air warms and the trees bloom pussy spirit starts buzzing, and you know rodeo season is upon you again.

it was a hot night at the cow belle and the people even hotter as you scoped the scene from the rim of your glass. you and your friends were perched at the bar, daisy dukes heightened and crop tops tied under your busts.

"i heard red devil rosie'd be here tonight," savannah whispers to your group from beside you, her tall dark legs relaxed with her arm resting on the wood behind you. she always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and she'd had her eyes on rosie ever since it got around that she'd broken up with her fiancee.

"jesus, sav, the poor girl just got heartbroken, now you already wanna jump her bones?" charlize laughs, taking a hard swig of the beer in her hand. standing at a solid five feet and four inches tall the little kentuckian was a handful, always the first in line to ride a mechanical bull or jump in the front of a line dance.

"whats that saying men always use? as soon as you lose one hop on a 'nother?"

"you are deplorable."

as the girls banter back and forth your eyes focus on the rising commotion at the front of the bar. with a slight rise on your toes, making sure not to scuff your boots, and you can't help the growing smile on your face when you spot that blonde hair pushed down by her signature brown stetson.

abigail anderson, the rodeo's angel. she'd only been in the circuit for under two years and sponsors were lining up and begging for her to go pro. it was always easy to spot her, frequently trailed by her already professional friends manny alvarez and owen moore, along with a handful of groupies begging her to look their way.

luckily for you, manny had flirted with you a few weeks back and remained friendly after you turned him down, and he was heading straight towards you while his friends headed to a booth.

"oh god, hide your wives and girlfriends, the buckle brood is here!" he laughs, thanking the bartender for his beer and taking a swig.

"whatever manny, you're just upset our darling here didn't give you a chance." savannah winks.

"i think god was doing me a favor. y'know dixie's been trying to call you for about a week? the poor girls even thought about sending a bouquet. dixie. a bouquet."

"i made it clear before we slept together it would be a one-time thing. 's not my fault she wants more." you sigh.

that just makes the man laugh harder. he chats it up with charlize about how the rankings are looking when he notices how your gaze keeps wandering off, following your eye straight to-

"no."

"hm? i didnt say anything!"

"you said it with your eyes. and im gonna tell you with my mouth that you don't stand a chance. abby hates groupies." he shakes his head.

"abby, huh? i like it." manny grows exasperated as his words go in one ear and out the other. "'n and im technically not a groupie. never seen the woman in my life before now."

"well, look don't touch. or maybe don't look at all, before you put a spell on her or somethin."

you pout, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into a hug. you see abby look your way in the corner of your eye and make sure to stretch your torso just a tiny bit until you're able to feel the bottom of your shirt ride up just that much more. when you see her eyes trail down your waist you hide a smile into the side of your arm.

you let the man go with a sweet goodbye, watching as he grabs two more beers and heads over to the booth and twisting your head before you can catch the blondes gaze.

its only a few minutes later when manny comes back with wide eyes and invites you over to sit with them.

sitting across from her, you can see why people are so attracted to her. she’s big, her muscles bulging out from the sleeves in her plaid shirt. despite her size she doesn’t try to take up more space then needed; confident but not cocky.

she clearly notices your glances, and maybe even the smile on your face when one of her past flings with a girl is brought up in conversation.

“so, you’ve had girlfriends before?” you ask, stirring your cocktail with the little colorful umbrella that came with it.

“no no, don’t answer that, you’ll regret it.” owen butts in, meeting your glare. you’d never talked before, but you were pretty sure you had slept with his fiancée a few years ago. last you’d heard they’d had a baby, maybe you’d offer to babysit sometime.

“why not? are you a groupie?” abby asks.

“can’t be a groupie if i barely know who you are. so why don’t we get to know each other better. preferably in private.”

“whatever you say, darlin.”

you hear the sudden sounds of a few hoots and claps and a familiar song that they always play to get people dancing.

“why don’t you show me some of your moves, big girl?”

she rolls her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before following you onto the dance floor.

as much as she’s trying to fight it, you can tell abby is enjoying herself, learning quickly as you show her the moves to the dance. you’re a bit surprised she doesn’t know it already until she tells you she’s originally from utah.

“what, they don’t have country bars out in salt lake.”

“no, not like this. at least i never went to any of them.”

“wellll if you ever need a tour guide i’m available. whenever you want me.”

“god, manny told me about you.”

“really? what’s he say? i can probably guess.”

“so you know everybody thinks you’re a playgirl who sleeps with cowgirls for damn near a living and you don’t care?”

you shrug. “‘m just young and having fun. maybe everyone else, including you, is too uptight.”

“oh really? and what, you're supposed to help me loosen up?” she raises a single eyebrow. you don't answer, deciding to just look at her face for a while.

you like how pretty she is. the soft blue of her big eyes, the freckles dotted across her face that trail down her neck and disappear into her shirt. you feel pride in your chest when you see her cheeks redden.

when the song ends you pull away from her, ready to go over and tell your friends goodbye when a large hand grips your wrist, tugging your body back to its previous position. before you can question her you feel the weight of her hat sitting on your head.

"well? you gonna answer my question?"

you can still remember the looks on your friends face's when abby told them she was heading home, still gripping your hand. manny looked like he had just seen pigs fly.

it was hard to ignore the way she didn't let go of you until she was driving or the looks she was giving you when she was looking at the road, or how desperate she was when you finally got her here, dragging you to her room and attaching her strap like she'd die if she didn't get you in bed.

"i don't see what the big fuss is about, this really isn't that hard." you tease her, admiring the way she whines when you refuse to let her wrists go from your hands, using all your strength to keep her from flipping you over

but maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth because she roughly starts bucking her hips, smiling at the euphoric look on your face before you hide your face in her neck, trying and failing to muffle your moans.

"what? i thought you said this was easy?" she laughs when she hears your muffled groan, failing to ignore when you roughly bite her. you can tell she's getting frustrated at being restrained, her hands clenching into fists and repeatedly trying to get them from under your hands. "fuckin - cmon, baby, lemme help you."

god, she was so cute. you'd never say it out loud but you liked all the little nicknames she gave you, the gentle kisses she would place on your skin when she was warming you up for her. if you didn't have a one-time policy you would have chosen to keep her around. just for a little while.

but you could also see the inner turmoil in her eyes, the battle between dominance and submission. when you first met her you thought she'd be a stone top, so you decide to take advantage and reach one of your hands up to her hair and pull, forcing a loud moan from her as her mouth gaped open.

"not so uptight now, are you?" you laugh, awwing at her when she lets out a small whine.

you didnt realize until it was too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her because she was attaching her hands to your hips, planting her feet on the bed, and thrusting up into you like a wild bull, sucking a mark into your chest like she can't see you struggling to breathe.

"yeah, that's it. not so easy now, is it darlin'?"

and oh how you hate how you can't answer her, only able to muster up a weak glare as the pleasure grows, feeling the burning heat gross in your stomach. you're trying to hold off, not ready for this to end just yet, and hating the satisfied look on her face when your shaky arms wrap around her neck.

"you gettin' close, baby?" she maneuvers your legs to spread wider, hitting that spot inside you at just the right angle. god, everything feels so hot and overwhelming and so damn good-

"that's it, show me how pretty you look cummin around me." once she reaches a hand down and roughly rubs your clit it's over, moaning and gasping her name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. she never stops her movements, in fact, you think she goes harder once she feels your nails dig into her arms.

your head flops onto her shoulder, basking in your post-orgasm bliss as her large hands rub up and down your back. mind hazy, you feel yourself drifting off and giving yourself a mental pat on the back when you're shocked upwards by a fierce thrust from below you, wide eyes darting to abby's.

"what, ya thought we were finished? if you wanna claim me you gotta earn it, bunny."

"oh no, abby i cant-" you try to decline, not sure you can take another before she presses you back into her sheets, manhandling your legs over her shoulders and your arms under your back. she can tell you're about to fight it because she's pushing her strap into you again.

it's embarrassing how close you are already after a few minutes, unable to move as she splits you open in a damn mating press. trying to hide your face in the sheets is futile so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with her, which only brings you closer to the edge because she's looking at you like she wants to fuck you until she physically can't anymore.

she's quieter now but you can hear her mumbling under her breath about how 'you're too damn fine, jesus you're gonna be the death of me,' and the next thing you know you're both cumming, feeling the wet mess grow between your legs.

she sinks into you, boneless on top of you as she gently rubs at your sides as you do the same for her head. after a few minutes she gets up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips at your soft whine at the strap leaving you before heading off to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

it's gentle as you both clean the other, softly trailing the rag down her arms as she observes you. its almost...domestic. which you haven't done in quite a while. it feels nice.

when she gets up to throw it in the hamper you reach for your clothes on the floor before she questions you.

"excuse me, what do you think you're doin?"

"uhh...leaving?"

"nope, bad manners if i let you go home now," she tosses you a shirt from one of her drawers, finding her own pajamas before flopping on her bed. "i don't know what kinda girls in the circuit you've been seein', but I'm not like that."

you're on the fence, rubbing the fabric of her large shirt before putting it on and settling in next to her. it couldn't hurt just to sleep with her, right? "fine. but you should know i don't normally do...this."

"me neither. but there's a first time for everything, right?" she smiles, rubbing your hip from over the shirt before trailing it under. "besides, maybe we can go again in the morning. still need to prove to you I'm not uptight."

thank god for dolly parton.

sorry if this is shorter than expected i feel like death. can we all do rodeo!abby this summer. pretty please.

taglist : @euphternal @jupiter-502 @vqxen @youcallmeconnor @andersonlore i love you guys im giving you kisses rn

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n: 2.3k - boothill finds you digging around in junk and then offers you a gift he hopes you won't refuse... [plsdontflopplsdontflopplsdont-]

the heavy metal clinking of boothill's foot steps clank their way to your shop's door. an all too familiar door he'd always find himself going up to whenever he was in need of repair- big or small. the swiveling security camera you keep at your entrance blinks with red-lit life and moves to start following his movements as soon as he enters it's field of vision.

who knows if you're ever actually paying attention to the camera feed or not though. you can be careless like that. sometimes you're just out- couldn't be bothered or could care less about the remote feed linked directly to your phone. other times, you're so focused on some project you neglect it entirely.

based on the sign hanging on your shop's door he was familiar with- it seemed that this time in particular you were out.

boothill didn't need to know how to write- much less read well- to take a wild gander as to where you had wondered off to. putting his spring loaded and metal jointed hands on his slim waist, his chin dips with an amused chuckle and shake of his head. the cowboy lifts the toe of his mechanical boot and twists his body fully 'round; his spurs scrapping across the ground during his lazy about-face. with one foot in front of the other and thumbs hooked through the hollow crops of his trousers, the galaxy ranger makes his way towards the junk yard.

it would never occur to the standard person to spend their free time digging around a scrap yard filled with junk thrown out for a reason- but you were anything but standard. if you weren't tinkering around in your shop or finishing up a repair or commission, you were scrounging around the grounds for material or 'hidden treasure'... which was key for just slightly more valuable junk.

a typical haul for you would be a few pieces of scrap metal you could use for wielding, the rare unstripped screw or loose gaggle of bolts, and all sorts of wire. if it saved you a few credits by finding material instead of buying them, you weren't one to argue with free trash.

passing under the wire-metal gate leading into the fenced-off territory, his thumbs still tucked into his pant legs, his ears stay sharp. listening for any sound of you digging around in some heap while his head swivels back and forth to try and catch a glimpse of you.

"ey, sugar, you around!" boothill shouts, one of his hands detaching from his hips to cup around his mouth. he wanders further in, gets more ground, before calling out the same sentence a second time. shaking his head in bewilderment on how far in you had gone digging, he goes even further still and tries calling out a third time.

"here!" you finally answer back. your voice echoes around him, bouncing off the scrap metal and spooking the rats and other critters that call the junk yard home. his head turns in the direction of your voice, the way his body leans towards it before his feet start carrying him that way never took notice in his own mind.

eventually, he makes it to you. squat down to the ground, under the rusty remains of some poor saps long eroded escape pod from whatever solar system they crashed in from. he crosses his arms, then his ankles, leaning his metal shoulder on the ruined dome you were digging under.

the ranger had no idea how long you had been out here, but judging by the half full bag you kept on your shoulder and the grease sticking to your neck and exposed skin he could guess it's been a bit. he chuckles when you dig out a rusted, broken pipe of... something, before tossing it over your shoulder with a disappointed click of your tongue and looking up at him. your cheeks had some gunk on it too, probably from you wiping the back of your gloves on it.

"fancy diggin' around in junk?"

"it's not all junk."

"the fudge it aint," he scoffs. to him, it absolutely was all junk. "this aint called the dang junk yard for nothin, sugar."

"it's a scrap yard."

"stubborn-bottom." you move to stand up, clapping your gloved hands together before taking them off so you could use your hands more freely. "good to see ya took my advice and startin' wearing some forkin' gloves around here." he eyes around at all the rust and sharp metal. "gonna get tetanus or somethin', and we can't have that."

"im liable to get tetanus from you before anything else," you joke so straight-faced it didn't feel like a joke. his crossed arms drop along with his jaw and his stance straightens as he uncrosses his ankles.

"ey', i aint as forkin' filthy as you pretend i am, and you know it." you shrug with a half smirk that was so dismissive he was tempted to keep arguing. you push the goggles you were wearing over your eyes to avoid getting anything in them and possible irritation onto your forehead. seeing the contrast between your sweaty, grease and dirt marked skin and the clean skin that was protected under the goggles had him scoff. "yer filthier than i am, by the look of things."

you roll your eyes and move to climb out of the rusty treasure trove of junk you had deemed no longer having anything of value. reaching out, boothill offers you his hand. you take it easily as he starts pulling you up and out to stand in front of him. your hand drops from his when you stand safely in his bubble, and he isn't sure if you know how close you are or not.

your nose is always so focused in tinkering around or messing with work that you can't always... read the room so to speak. its endearing, until it gets frustrating anyway.

"so, what're you here for this time? need something fixed again- i swear if you already burned through that new servo i replaced a month ago, im going to take off your arm and you won't get it back for a week."

"well, that's awful sweet of you." you knew by his dry tone and sneered lips that exposed his sharp teeth that the word sweet was definitely supposed to be a different five-letter word starting with 's'. one that his broken beacon (which you refuse to fix out of entertainment) wouldn't allow him to say.

"seems like an appropriate consequence to me, considering i don't charge you for repairs."

"i ain't here for not goose-dud repair," he hisses. "i had planned on givin' ya somethin', but based on your sweet attitude i aint so sure about it now."

"you brought me something?" he nods. "from a different solar planet?" he could see the curiosity start to ignite in your eyes. he nods again. you stuff your gloves into a pouch in your pants that he swears you've sewed another pocket into, before you're marching away from him and towards the entrance he had marched from at the beginning of this search. "well come on, let's get a moving!" you shout over your shoulder.

his synthetic voice chuckles at your back. eagerly waltzing after you.

boothill soon finds himself sitting with his knees apart and comfortably lounging with his arms on the back of your worn-down, two-cushioned couch the moment you two got back to the shop. he had taken himself to your quote- reception room, as he waited for you to unload your finds from the junkyard (meaning you just took your bag, flipped it upside and let its content spill out unceremoniously onto your worktable before you would eventually sort through it at a later time).

the tapping of his metal toes against your floor echoed dully against the rug under the sofa as you soon made your way to stand in front of him, hands on your hips and an expectant look in your eyes. flicking the brim of his hat cheekily to get a better look up at you, he lifted his chin.

"my attention is yours," you dramatically sigh, hands flaring to your sides before bouncing back against your legs.

"im flattered, sugar," he jests back. still, he shifts. the small pouch he had strung to his belt that was home to his array of extra fire rounds was soon detached from him. the string of which was used to tie it to him previously, hangs lazily from his metal fingertips. with a raised, semi-skeptical brow, you carefully take it off his hands.

"if this is some sort of prank," you warn. his hands raise in the air with his elbows still resting comfortably on the back of the cushions he was leaning against, gesturing that he meant no harm.

slowly- cautiously- you pull open the bag and remove two different items that had been nestled safely inside.

tossing the now empty bag onto the couch next to boothill's leg, you took each item into one hand and looked between them. one was a small crystal that was no larger than the center of your palm. shining a swirling color of green and blue, you could only imagine that it would look even prettier properly polished and with a light shining behind it. in the other was a small box, one that could be opened with a rusty lid. giving it a small rattle revealed something to be inside. doing so revealed a small robot that had been covered in rust, missing a robotic arm and wires spilling out from under the cracked and broken screen that would most definitely have acted as it's face.

"what's all this?" you ask softly. boothill stands from his lackadaisical lounging on your sofa to come and waltz up to your side. he pointed at the robot sitting sadly in the container he had brought him in first.

"i found this lil fella and thought you'd have a gas fixin' him right up. as for that," he points to the crystal of dual-swirling shades next, "accordin' to my scanners, that there's a pretty dadgum power source." boothill takes the small crystal from your palm and hovers it just above the robot. "it suits him, don't it?" he chuckles.

in truth, the slightly dingy looking crystal shard was too magnificent compared to the busted and rusted robot. but, with a bit of work, repair and love, perhaps the color of the crystal really would look nice against polished sheet metal.

"i figure givin' you somethin' else to tinker with would be more... enriching than just your usual forkin' machines." and it could keep you company, but he didn't say that out loud.

when you would get it working like he knew you could, maybe you'd stop and think about him while he was away chasing his reality out as a galaxy ranger. if you could just spare a single thought towards him every day because of a small robot and shiny rock? he'd be tickled pink.

"he's cute," you whisper gently and boothill wonders if you know you said it out loud at all. he chuckles, bringing his hand up to cup the designed dents atop his cowboy hat. taking it off his head, he gently drops it onto yours, gaining your attention back from the gifts he had given you.

the way you lift your eyes to look at him- filled with something akin to excitement and fondness- and gently cradle the small rusty robot with his hat now shadowing your face, he could almost hear the wires in his chest running on turbo. he'd had to cool down asap before he overheated or crashed.

taking a step back- for his own sake- he leaves his hat on your head before patting your back.

"get to it," he softly tells you. you mutely nod, an excited smile breaking out over your lips as you trot towards a different room. it was a small private work space you retreated to for personal projects. boothill was one that was usually allowed inside since this room was where he would get his tune ups most times.

with boothill following your back, he watches you trot to your work bench. you gently set the robot's box down and remove it from inside. the crystal you submerged in a bowl that you soon fill with polish to let it soak. it took all of ten minutes before you're surrounded by tools and wires and equipment made for digital repairs. all the while boothill remade his comfort in a worn-down rocker you kept in the corner, content on staying put until he was forced to leave. whether it by your or by his next bounty.

he couldn't very well leave you with his hat either, even if it looked better on you than him.

the next time boothill comes into your shop after that gift drop off, it wasn't a visit but a proper repair. running out of cooling agent for his internal hardware was just waiting for a disaster to happen. his synthetic-coded laugh burst into the room jollily as when he sat down on the stool he always planted his ass in for repairs, a small, shiny robot- with the cutest digital expressions and a small blue-green swirling crystal placed in the center of its chest- was waddling across your work bench. a vile of blue cooling agent the near size of his small metal body grasped tightly in its robotic arms.

it chirped happily with a digital reverb when you thank it for bringing the coolant over.

boothill was indeed tickled as pink could get seeing you already attached to the lil fella. he wondered what you named it.

a/n: smol robot go beep-boop (i love the idea of mechanic!reader just having a cute lil guy to follow them around like a puppy :(( [big thanks to @/birinboom and my partner for letting me pick their brain on what gifts boothill ended up giving to the reader bc i had no idea lol smooches <3]

[iheartlargepatheticmen]

Husband Price is sad. The military fucked him over. No comfort, just angst. Sorry gang

----------------

You don't tie your shoelaces right.

The knots are crooked. One shoe is laced up a little wonkily. Not that you notice.

Price noticed, but he's not going to tell you. He can't stop looking, though. He's trying not to let it get to him, but it's one of his bad days.

He joined the military as a directionless seventeen year old. There was no real weight to the decision when he enlisted. He was just sick of filling out job applications.

And that's when his life started. That's what he always said. Johnathan Price's life started on the first day of basic training. In the past, he said it with a tone of pride

Now, it settles in the back of his mind. A sickening pit weighing behind his eyes.

Lacking a sense of self upon retirement was normal. He was in therapy for that. He was working on a renovation project in your home, a suggestion from his therapist to give him something to do with his hands. But as soon as work finished for the day, John felt hollow again.

His therapist said he was healing. But that didn't make sense to John. the effects of his service were the metaphorical wound, but wounds were isolated. A specific area that has been damaged in a specific way. But that's not what it felt like.

The effects of his job were ingrained into every part of his body. Ground into every pore, every string of connective tissue in his body. There was nothing about him, body or mind that wasn't connected to it.

Like the shoelaces.

A normal husband wouldn't even notice how his spouse ties their shoes.

A normal husband's mind doesn't jump to yearly presentations about mangled feet and ankles, to the list of complications that could spring from improperly laced boots.

A normal husband doesn't instinctually open his mouth to bark an order to tie them right.

A normal husband doesn't have to catch himself and hurriedly clamp his mouth shut before he does.

You and price were going out. A Saturday morning farmer's market. Something to get you out of the house together. He felt a wave of guilt.

This was going to be a sweet moment. He was supposed to enjoy it. To be present, with you. But his mind was elsewhere, consumed.

He marches. No. Walks alongside you, gets in the car, starts it, and drives on autopilot. His mind elsewhere.

God. The military affected him even now. The ability to march along, drive, and even make small talk whilst his mind was wrapped six layers deep. Unawares of his real surroundings was a hard earned skill. What did his therapist call it?

Disassociation. Right. Lots of soldiers do it.

You're talking. He's forcing himself to listen. He hums and responds to your small talk. Something about planting pepper bushes. Sure, love. He'll get on that.

You laugh, the unexpected reaction pulls him out of his mind. He glances over at you, confused, before fixing his eyes back on the road.

"What's so funny?"

You giggle, and he could feel your gaze on him

"You have this silly way of talking. You start a sentence practically shouting and quiet down to a normal volume as you talk. It's just a little funny."

Price furrowed his brow. His mind turned inside out again.

He was aware of that. Nobody had ever commented, though. Not even his nitpicky therapist.

He naturally spoke loudly. yet another example of his old job snaking into every part of his life.

For most of his life, he had to shout, loud and clear, to be heard. Whether it be to be heard over the roar of helicopter blades, to come through clearly through radio, or to be heard by his coworkers, whose hearing had degraded over years in the field.

But it's been two years since he's been in the field. He's been living in a quiet neighborhood. The loudest thing he encounters on a daily basis is a barking dog down the street. There's nothing to dampen his speaking voice now.

"John?"

His eyes snap up. He hadn't responded. Whoops.

"Sorry, love. 'Didn't notice I do that. I'll quiet down."

You say something else, maybe telling him it's okay. Maybe telling him you think it's cute. But he's consumed again.

John feels selfish.

He takes a smooth, controlled turn, forcing his face to relax. The GPS says ten minutes until he reaches the farmers market.

It's selfish of him to stay married to you. John didn't know how to be a man. Let alone a husband. He didn't know how to have a friend. Let alone a lover.

If he catches you doing something risky, the protective fear that shoots through him makes it impossible to dampen the urge to shout. He hates that. He hates that his first reaction to anxiety, to fear for your safety, is to bark an order at you. Like a soldier.

He coveted you softness. Your lack of involvement in the military. He hated that he couldn't be soft, too. He wanted to chastise you softly for accidentally pointing his nailgun at your feet. He wanted to laugh and coo at you to get down when he caught you climbing on an old chair to reach a shelf in the laundry room.

But he reacted to every shred of danger like your life was on the line. Like the lit candle dangerously close to your sleeve was going to put your name on a casualty report.

He can never meet your scared gaze after those moments, his voice still ringing in the air. He always takes the cowards way out and turns to walk away instead.

He pops open the center console and pulls out a tissue, handing it to you before he even registered you had sneezed. A moment of warmth graces his cheeks at the sound of you thanking him.

The GPS says five minutes. He tells you you're arriving soon. He placidly tells you to remind him to look for seeds for the pepper bushes you wanted. Already building a shopping list for the materials to build raised garden boxes to put them in.

That pacifies his guilt slightly. He loves you. He loves you like he's starving. He wants what's best for you. And he's terrified that what's best for you, isn't him. He banishes that thought by doing everything he can for you.

Like a barn cat, he dropped offerings at your feet in hopes you'll understand his ornery way of loving you.

Out of the car. Kiss on the cheek. Into the crowd. He never stopped being a soldier.

Those candles are expensive, you're so right.

He doesn't feel human.

Pepper shoots instead of seeds. He'll keep an eye out.

Is he human? He's lived a life so far removed from how humans are meant to act.

That lady was shoving people. Good job keeping your cool darling.

No. He is unrecognizable to his own species.

He kisses you on the cheekbone. He wonders if you know your husband isnt truly human.

You go home. He makes an excuse about a project that needs work before it gets dark.

John feels like a coward.

[trappolia]

── KISS ME ONCE AND KISS ME TWICE AND KISS ME ONCE AGAIN

silver vanrouge. silver dreams of you, always you. it only makes it far more painful to break from the chains of malleus' curse to seek the you that exists beyond his dreamscape.

Silver has always taken his time with you.

He has never been able to tell you why. Lilia says that it is just the way he is, ever since he was a boy; he plays by the rules, he goes by a routine that is, as much as possible, not too affected by his strange sleeping habits.

it is why he goes through the meticulous steps of courting you, offering you flowers and gifting you with thoughtful trinkets and even writing letters for your family while your worlds remain separate. It is why it had to be you to take the first step and kiss him one night during a star-gazing date because gods damn it all, you’re sick of waiting.

( Silver had laughed and laughed that night as you apologised for your callous actions; because you were so cute, because he was so in love, because it had all felt like a dream come true when he allowed himself to ignore tradition to cup your cheeks and pull you into another kiss. )

Silver discovers very early on that even when he takes his time, it's all still overwhelming. Like a dream come true, he used to tell Lilia in bouts of deliriousness when he was still caught between dream and reality and his mind was too muddled with sleep to care about embarrassing himself in front of the fae who had raised him.

Like a dream come true.

But what is his dream, exactly?

A cottage deep in the forest of briar valley, with ivy growing up the walls and over the red-tiled roof. Soft, packed dirt with growing flowers of all kinds, spring blossoms of pink, yellow, blue, red, protected by a low wall. There are no horrors with dripping ink and dragging claws, no glowing emerald eyes or scaled wings. Just grass and flowers and sky and nothing.

No. Not nothing. Because there's you.

"I just cleaned, so remember to take off your boots by the door!" Silver hears you call out from inside the cottage. His chest quakes as he lets out a ragged breath, his bag dropping as he rids himself of the extra weight.

The floor below his dirty boots is clean slate compared to the cluttered kitchen to his left and the living area to his right. Silver sees the same threadbare couch by the stone fireplace, cluttered with throw pillows and blankets and an unfinished knitting project. The couch is old. Used. Loved. There are some closed doors beyond the stairs, but Silver doesn't have to check to know what lies behind them. His old childhood bedroom where Lilia used to tuck him in. A bathroom that has been flooded one or more than a few times when he got too carried away with playtime. The small study where he used to have his lessons on reading and writing.

There's something about the sight of his childhood home that sets Silver off, as if he’s caught in crosswinds, but he fumbles his way inside anyway, toeing his shoes off out of ingrained politeness. His footfalls feel heavy and light all at once against the wooden floors as he walks — almost as if by habit — to the kitchen where he had heard your voice come from.

"There you are," you beam at him, putting a kettle of water on top of the same stove that Silver had watched his father cook his meals so many times. Your brows furrow when you notice the strange expression on his face; the emotions whirling in his aurora irises like a hurricane and the trembling of his bottom lip.

You frown, wiping your hands on a cloth rag. "Silver? what's wrong?"

Silver lets out a ragged breath, his hand shaking as it comes up to cradle your own as you cup his face in your palm. What is wrong? This is all he's ever wanted, isn't it? A life with you in the woods he had grown up in, free of worries and dangers and hurt and anger. He's built a home with no fear, no yelling, no uncertainties. Just like the life lilia always wanted to give him.

It's a dream come true.

"You're a dream," Silver whispers when he realises, his hands coming up to cradle your face in turn. He's shaking, he knows that even with his mind whirling, but he just can't help it— he has to touch you, make sure this isn't— this isn't a nightmare—

No. No, no, no. Malleus wouldn't do that. This is his dream. This is what his heart has always yearned for.

"My dream."

"Well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up in that soft smile that Silver oh so adores to kiss. "What's the occasion?"

"I—" Silver opens his mouth, but no words come out. What can he say? What can he do, knowing that this is all he's ever wanted, but this is a dream. This is a dream and you're not real but gods, does silver want you to be.

A beat passes, and your smile turns sad.

"You know, don't you?"

Silver feels his heart ache. He wants to tell you no. No, please keep this veil over my eyes. Pretend i don’t know this isn’t real. Please. Please.

You reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with such tenderness that he feels like crying. “You’ve always been so smart, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” he allows himself to say, because this is the least he owes you— this perfect imitation of you that his mind, Malleus’s magic, has managed to conjure, because in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve managed to ingrain yourself into every fibre of his being so that even under this spell, all Silver can dream about is you, you, you.

Silver doesn't want to wake up. He doesn't, he really doesn't. There's something in him that pulls at his heartstrings, tugging at every vein and nerve as if begging him to stay, please stay. There must be a reason why you're always falling asleep, why this had to happen. Just stay. This is a dream come true, why would you want to wake up?

“You’re still there,” Silver says in a voice so small, it feels like he’s a little boy again, crying and clinging onto Lilia like the fever that sticks to his skin and reminds him of his mortality.

“You’re still there, and I’m here.”

His childhood home is small, but within the cottage and with your hands cradling his face, the thick walls feels unnaturally closer, like something is breathing on the back of his neck. He’s reminded of you, somewhere in Night Raven College, trapped within your own dream. Do you dream of him, he wonders? Has he become your new dream, just as you have become his?

Will he ever see you again?

Silver can't bear the thought of you somehow waking up from your dream — a matter of when rather than if, because Silver knows that you've always had a knack for getting out of impossible situations like this — and realising that he had left you alone to stay in this eternal sleep, with this dream– this illusion of what could have been.

“I have to go,” Silver whispers, and his heart breaks because this might be a dream, but it’s still you. How can he tell you he’s going to leave? He can’t do that. He can’t break your heart like that, he can’t—

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry— I'm so, so sorry.”

He expects you to stop him. What do the stories say about dreams where you’re supposed to be kept unaware, blissfully oblivious to the fact that this utopia is not your reality? Silver expects this dream version of you to pull some sort of trick to lure him back into your trap—

But instead you just smile softly, reaching out to stroke his face, "How lucky I am to have someone like you love me."

Silver hears something crack, resonating in his soul. Is it the chains of Malleus’s magic breaking its hold on him, or the last pieces of his heart shattering at last? He doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s both.

But whatever it is, Silver knows he doesn’t have much time. His hands cup your cheeks, pulling you close to him with the desperation of a dying man.

He feels you gasp against his mouth, lips parting and allowing his tongue to slip inside. He maps the cavern of your mouth as if immortalising it in his mind, like he’ll never see you again after this— because that is very well a possibility, no matter how he tries to ignore it.

Silver kisses you like it’s his last day in this godforsaken world, because it might as well be, and great seven, he should have done this every time he kissed you. He should have kissed you first. He should have kissed you every moment he could instead of taking his time because now he can hear the sand running in the hourglass, and he’s blind to how much time he has left, and he just wants to see you in the flesh again, please, please, please—

The two of you part an eternity later, but it still feels much too soon. There’s so much love in him, and too little time, and Silver feels like drowning.

"Wait for me," Silver pleads. He'll make this dream come true, he swears. He’ll give you all the love he has in this wretched body of his, and then some. He’ll never sleep again even, if only to make this dream come true.

"I will," you whisper breathlessly—

—and with a bittersweet smile and a final, fleeting kiss to his lips, you let him go.

© trappolia 2024

[s1ut-4-rafe]

ALWAYS BEEN YOU | Drew Starkey

MASTERLIST (One Shot)

Pairing - Drew Starkey x HighSchool Sweetheart! Reader

Summary - Years ago, the reader and Drew Starkey were high school sweethearts, convinced forever was yours. But when he left to chase his dreams as an actor, life pulled you apart. Now, he's back in town to visit family, and the last thing either of you expected was to cross paths again.

Word Count - 3628

Content - Fluff, high school sweethearts, second chance, reunion, soft angst, sfw

It’s was a crisp spring morning in Hickory, North Carolina, the kind of day when the air smells like fresh beginnings and the sun’s warmth dances through the trees. A perfect morning for a walk, and you couldn’t help but smile as you stepped into your favorite local café. 

The scent of roasted beans and cinnamon lingered in the air as you waited for your order, your fingers drumming idly against the countertop. It was a simple routine—one you’d done countless times before.

With your drink in hand, you pushed the door open, stepping back into the crisp morning air. The first sip was perfect, rich and smooth, the warmth seeping through you as you started down the familiar path.

You’d been walking this same path for years now, and it never lost its magic. It felt as though nature itself was waking up from a long, sleepy winter, just like you used to feel every time you walked through these park gates, years ago. 

Spring was always your favorite time of year, when everything felt new again. The birds were chirping, the trees were budding, and the flowers that had laid dormant for so long were now in full bloom. It was the kind of place that made you feel grounded, at peace with everything around you.

As your boots crunched against the gravel path, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to the days when this park was so much more than just a peaceful place to walk. It was your place, where you and Drew used to come together after school, your laughter echoing through the trees and the distant sounds of the creek flowing gently beside you.

You remembered it so clearly: how he’d always walk with you, never wanting to leave your side. How the air between you always felt charged, even back then. Before he had his car, you’d take the bus together every day, sitting side by side, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. The world felt so big and full of possibility back then, but also so small, because you and Drew had each other. It was simple. It was perfect.

The two of you were inseparable in high school, always finding a way to be together. Whether it was lunch in the courtyard or late-night phone calls until you both fell asleep, you never imagined life without him. He lived just a few streets over, and that made it all the easier. You’d talk about your dreams, his dreams, where you’d both go when graduation came. And you were so sure then, so certain that nothing could ever tear you apart.

But of course, life had a different plan.

After graduation, Drew left for Los Angeles to chase his dream of becoming an actor, which was something you both had always talked about. He promised to visit when he could, but it was clear that life was pulling you in different directions. 

While Drew was headed west, you found yourself on the other side of the world, stepping onto a new college campus that felt both thrilling and overwhelming. You had gotten into your dream school, a prestigious marine biology program, and for the first time, you truly felt like you were where you were meant to be. The ocean had always been your love, and now you were diving into it—literally. 

You studied everything from coral reefs to ocean pollution, learning about how the oceans were changing and how humans were affecting the sea life you had always been so passionate about protecting. It wasn’t just about books and classrooms; you worked on real-world projects, traveling to remote areas to help protect endangered sea creatures, and even working with conservation groups to create plans to help restore the oceans. 

Every day felt like an adventure, whether you were diving in the middle of the ocean or figuring out new ways to fight for the world’s waters. It was hard being so far away from home and from Drew, but this was your dream. And it was unfolding in ways you had never imagined.

That summer before you left, you and Drew sat on this very path, beneath the same oak trees, and talked for hours about your relationship. You had no idea when you went to meet him there that it would be the last time you'd sit together, side by side, in that park. The last time you'd have easy, carefree conversations. The goodbye you shared was mutual, but that didn't make it any less painful. Both of you understood what was at stake—chasing your dreams and finding who you were meant to be.

The text messages and occasional calls faded over time, until they eventually stopped altogether. You never expected to lose him, but somewhere along the way, it happened anyway.

And now, here you are, standing in the same park, and life had changed so much since those days, yet the park remained the same, unchanging.

You took another sip of your coffee, smiling softly to yourself, as a breeze danced through the trees. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if things would’ve been different if Drew had stayed. But then again, that’s the funny thing about life is it never really lets you know what would have happened.

With a sigh, you decided it was time to get a few things from the grocery store before heading back home. You tucked your hands into the pockets of your jacket and turned toward the street, making your way toward the small, family-owned store near the edge of town. 

The bell above the grocery store door jingled softly as you stepped inside, a scent of fresh produce and baked goods greeting you. It was the small-town market you’d grown up with, the kind where everyone knew everyone’s name—or at least their face. 

You grabbed a basket, moving through the aisles distractedly, your thoughts still swirling around your walk in the park. You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking around aimlessly when you turned the corner to grab a carton of eggs and saw the last person you’d expect to see standing there.

Drew.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. He was really there, standing just a few feet away, casually browsing through the shelves, his dark hair slightly longer than it had been the last time you saw him. His features were still strikingly familiar, strong jaw, those same blue eyes you’d gotten lost in too many times to count, but now there was a certain air about him, like life had marked him in ways you couldn't quite understand.

He hadn’t seen you yet, and you wondered for a second if you should just turn around and make a quick exit. But the pull was too strong. You couldn’t avoid it forever.

You took a step forward, and that's when he turned, his eyes locking onto yours with the same recognition, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. The world felt a little too small, a little too still, as the moment hung between you.

"Hey," he said, his voice low but warm, as if he were still unsure of how to approach this unexpected encounter.

"Hey," you replied, your voice a little softer than usual, like the weight of so many unspoken things was pressing on your chest.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The noise of the store faded into the background as you both tried to adjust to the reality of seeing each other again after so many years. It was like you were both teenagers again, but now you were adults, with different lives and different paths. Awkwardness lingered in the air, but the chemistry that you two shared hadn’t disappeared. It was still there and as strong as ever.

Drew shifted, scratching the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. "I, uh, didn't expect to run into you here."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I didn't either, to be honest."

There was another beat of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable now. It was just... natural. After all this time, it felt like you were both trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now, who you had been, and how it all fit.

Finally, Drew spoke again, a little more at ease now. "Well, I’m in town visiting my family for a bit," he explained, his cart full of groceries. "I’m actually just picking up some things for them... but, uh, I was wondering—"

He paused for a second, his gaze drifting away from yours for a split second before locking back onto you, searching your face as if asking for permission.

"Would you like to catch up tonight? Maybe grab a drink or just walk around? I mean... I’m sure we both have a lot to talk about."

Your heart skipped. There was a hopeful glint in his eyes, and even though you both knew how much time had passed, how much had changed, it felt like the past was right there between you. The idea of catching up, of talking about everything and nothing, was tempting.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, I’d like that. Where should we meet?"

Drew’s smile widened, and for the briefest moment, everything felt like it used to—easy, comfortable, like no time had passed at all.

"How about our spot?" he suggested. "Our bench at the park. 5 o'clock sound good?"

"Perfect," you said. The words felt light, easy, like a promise.

He gave you one last look, and you could see something in his eyes—something that had always been there, even if it had faded a little over time. You both had been part of each other's lives once, and maybe, just maybe, tonight could help you figure out where you stood now.

"See you then," Drew said with a soft smile before turning to grab a few more things from the shelves, his footsteps fading as you made your way to the checkout.

As you paid for your items, a mix of excitement and nerves swirled in your stomach. This was unexpected, yes, but it also felt like something you didn’t want to miss. Drew was back in town. And maybe, just maybe, this was the chance to figure out what had never quite been finished between the two of you.

After the unexpected encounter at the store, you needed to ground yourself. The afternoon stretched out before you, and nothing was pressing on your schedule. You figured the best thing to do was to take a moment to breathe and ease your mind before meeting Drew later.

Back in your apartment, you slipped off your shoes and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on for some tea. You couldn’t help but smile a little, the warm cup of tea filling your hands as you watched the sunlight peek through the curtains.

It had been such a long time since you’d felt this level of quiet peace, like things were settled for just a moment. It was so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day, in the responsibilities that came with work and adulting, but today felt different. Maybe it was the reminder of simpler times or the unexpectedness of seeing Drew, but everything felt a little... lighter.

You spent the next few hours doing small things around the apartment, organizing old books, folding laundry, and listening to music softly in the background. You didn’t want to dive too deep into thoughts of the past yet. There was enough space in your mind for the present, for this new chapter you had built for yourself, and for today’s unexpected reunion. But it didn’t stop your mind from drifting now and then.

As the day wore on, you started to feel a quiet sense of anticipation, a tinge of excitement that you couldn’t quite place. After a light dinner, you started to get ready to leave. It was still a little before five when you grabbed your jacket and checked the time. There was no rush; just enough time to get to the park and breathe in the fresh air. You didn’t want to overthink this; just enjoy the moment of finally seeing him again. 

The walk to the park was peaceful. The streets were quieter than usual, the soft murmur of the town around you giving way to the sound of your footsteps. The park came into view as you rounded the corner, there was a comforting familiarity to it all—the park, the bench, even the light rustle of the trees overhead.

When you finally reached the bench, you spotted Drew sitting there. He looked the same in many ways, but older too. It was the kind of look that made you realize just how much time had passed, how much had changed. Yet, there was something about him still that was so familiar. You hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of him sitting there, just as he used to.

He looked up as you approached, his eyes lighting up with surprise and recognition. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Hey," he said, standing up as you reached the bench. "I’m glad you came."

You returned the smile, settling onto the bench beside him. "I am, too."

The moment hung between you two, just a little heavy with unspoken words. You shifted slightly, the same old chemistry between you both still there, but also... different. There was an awkwardness, a distance that couldn’t be ignored. You weren’t sure what to say, and neither was he. For a few moments, the quiet of the park surrounded you—soft winds rustling the leaves, birds calling in the distance.

"So," Drew finally broke the silence, his voice lighter now. "Remember that day we went to the beach and I ended up with that ridiculous sunburn?"

You laughed at the memory, the sound of it filling the air between you two. "How could I forget? You were miserable for days. And you wouldn’t let me hear the end of it."

He grinned, clearly amused by the memory. "I deserved it. I was stupid enough to ignore your warnings about sunscreen." His smile faded slightly, like he was lost in thought for a moment. "But, you know, even that day felt... perfect. Everything about it felt right. The whole time, I knew I never wanted it to end."

You nodded, your heart stirring with the memory of those simpler days. The carefree summers, the laughter, the little moments when you and Drew felt like you were the only two people in the world. It almost felt like no time had passed at all, but the truth was undeniable: so much had changed, so much had shifted in the time between then and now.

Drew cleared his throat softly, looking over at you. "Do you ever wonder how things might’ve been if we hadn’t... gone in different directions?"

The question hung there, unspoken for so long, yet now was finally asked aloud. You looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Sometimes," you admitted quietly. "I mean, it’s hard not to. I don’t know if things would’ve worked out, but I guess we’ll never know."

A moment of silence passed between you two before you looked at him again, your gaze a little more searching. You couldn’t stop the question that had been nagging at you since he left—since everything fell apart so suddenly. "Why did you really leave, Drew? You promised you’d visit. The calls, the texts... everything just stopped. Why didn’t you come back like you said you would?"

Drew’s expression shifted, and for a brief moment, his face became a little guarded. But then, his eyes softened, his gaze locking with yours as he took a deep breath. "I didn’t know how to handle it," he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. 

"I thought that it was the right thing to do, for both of us. I thought you deserved more than what I could give you at the time, I was never around. I didn’t want to drag you into my world, into all that uncertainty. But that was the wrong choice. I should’ve kept in touch. I should’ve made the effort. I wasn’t... I wasn’t strong enough to stay."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down for a moment, like he was trying to find the right words. "The truth is, I never got over you. I tried to move on with other people, but it was never the same. No matter who I was with, it didn’t feel right. You were always there. You were always in my head."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. It was everything you’d wanted to hear, but now that it was said, everything felt even more complicated than before. You wanted to say something, but the words felt stuck in your throat. 

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was slow, lingering, like neither of you wanted to rush through it, not now, not after everything that had been said.

When you pulled back, your eyes locked onto Drew’s. The air between you felt heavier now, as though the kiss had opened up something neither of you were sure how to deal with. You could feel the tension, the unspoken words, and the feelings you both had buried deep over the years. There was so much left unsaid, so much left unresolved. But one thing was for sure now, whatever had been between you two, it was still there.

He looked at you, his expression soft but uncertain. "So... what now?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure how to navigate this space between you both.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I don’t know," you said honestly, a slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess... we take this one step at a time?"

Drew gave a small, nervous laugh, the sound of it almost as familiar as the way he used to laugh when he was caught off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unsure but clearly wanting to be near you. "I know I’ve made a mess of things. But... I don’t want to mess this up again." His gaze softened, his voice earnest now. "I’ve missed you, Y/N, more than I ever thought I would."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You could feel it too—the ache of missed opportunities, the gap that had formed between you over the years.

You looked out at the park for a moment, the peaceful surroundings a sharp contrast to the emotions swirling between you two. "I never stopped thinking about you either, Drew," you admitted softly. "I just... I had to keep going. I couldn’t keep waiting for you to come back. But really, I don’t know what happens next."

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look, I’m not asking for everything to be the same as it was before. I just want to be in your life again. Even if it���s a little messy at first. I want the chance to make things right... If you’ll let me."

You took another deep breath, the weight of his words settling in your chest. You didn’t have all the answers, and you couldn’t predict where this would go, but one thing was for certain: this moment felt like the beginning of something new. Something raw. Something real.

You reached out, your hand brushing his. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it felt like enough. It felt like a promise.

"I want to see where this goes," you said, your voice steady but gentle. 

Drew smiled, his whole face lighting up with a quiet relief. "That sounds perfect."

There was a moment of silence between you two, the kind that was full of unspoken understanding. And then, Drew spoke again, his voice firm but filled with determination.

"I’m not leaving anytime soon," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "I came back to visit, but... I think I need more time here. I want to figure things out with you. To make up for all the years we lost." His eyes softened with vulnerability.

The weight of his words settled in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile, a mixture of relief and hope swirling inside you. This wasn’t just about him staying in town for a few extra days—he was making a choice, a commitment, to be present and to see where this could go.

"Are you sure? I mean…can you do that?" you asked, your voice a little breathless, both surprised and touched by his determination.

Drew nodded, his smile widening. "I’m sure, and yes, I can. I’m not ready to walk away from you again, not without giving this everything I’ve got."

The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, a mixture of hope and warmth blooming in your chest. You weren’t sure what the future would hold, but for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could face it.

"Okay," you said, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Let’s see where this goes, then."

Drew grinned, his hand tightening around yours just a little, as if anchoring both of you to this moment. The park, the breeze, the way the evening light bathed everything in a soft glow—it all felt right. Like a new beginning, though neither of you could know what that would look like yet.

But you were willing to find out. Together.

[kirain]

Part seven of my appreciation project.

@yappacadaver A fic based on their wonderful art piece here and here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The world stood still.

The battle was over, the blight vanquished, and Elgar'nan was dead. What remained of his influence was nothing more than hardened tendrils of corruption, now inert, forming a crude staircase down from the empty battlefield. One by one, the wearied heroes descended, each step agonising, their bodies battered but unbroken.

As Mara's boots met solid ground, the air shifted. Silence shattered into a wave of sound—a roar of celebration, clapping hands, shouts of triumph.

Applause.

Mara barely processed it. The cheers, the grateful weeping of the saved, the elation in the voices around her—it all seemed distant, as though she were submerged beneath dark waters. She saw it, knew what it meant, but she didn't feel it.

Her eyes swept over the crowd, their faces blurred and unimportant. She only wanted to see one man, and she found him.

Emmrich.

He stood nearby, his golden bracelets dulled by grime but still gleaming in the sun's rising light. His vest was torn, his shirt sticky with sweat and streaked with blood, his silver hair damp and unruly against his forehead. He was bruised and exhausted, yet he'd never looked more enticing.

As if sensing Mara's gaze, he turned towards her, his large hazel eyes brimming with need. A smile tugged at his lips, weak but fervent, ignoring the soreness in his joints. Before she could think, before she could breathe, he hobbled over to her and cupped her face with calloused, trembling hands.

And then he kissed her.

Mara inhaled greedily as his lips met hers, neither of them caring that hundreds were bearing witness. The way his mouth parted against hers, the heat of him, the way he tasted of steel and the residual drags of mana—it wasn't a dream nor an illusion. It was real.

They were alive.

They won.

As her hand caressed his cheek, her body balancing on her toes to reach him, his fingers curled at the nape of her neck, his other arm wrapping around her waist. Tilting her back, he deepened the kiss—a confession of every unspoken fear, every desperate prayer, every moment spent wondering if they'd survive.

"Darling..." he wheezed, his eyes flitting shut as he enjoyed her.

Simply enjoyed her. He hadn't had many opportunities, even after she escaped from the Fade. The best night of his life—their stolen hours in the Necropolis, the way they talked, touched, and made love—had also been the shortest. Made bittersweet knowing it could have been their last.

But now, it was over. The danger passed.

When they finally parted, their breaths mingled in the space between them, heavy and lustful. Mara wanted more, but as she moved to kiss him again, Emmrich suddenly stumbled back, the colour draining from his face.

"Emmrich?" she asked, following him.

His nose wrinkled, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. "I reek," he gagged. "Like blood and sweat." His eyes drifted to her swollen lips, mortified; surely she had noticed. "Forgive me. I don't know what came over me."

Mara laughed, catching him by the wrist. "You think that bothers me? Did you forget I'm a Crow?"

"It bothers me," he croaked. "Darkspawn, Venatori—who knows what pernicious pathogens they carried? I don't want to get you sick, my love."

Mara grinned, trailing a finger down the front of his tattered vest, her voice dropping to a sinful murmur.

"Then let's go take a bath."

Emmrich flinched, then returned her seductive expression.

The applause raged on, but for Mara, the only thing that mattered was the way the older man laced his fingers with hers, unwilling to let her go.

-----

The spring bath. A marvel to behold, where the heroes of Thedas were welcomed to bask in its luxury. The water lapped at Emmrich's chest, mending aches he'd neglected for days. The fragrant blend of elfroot oil, lavender, and daylilies clung to the steam rising around him, mixing with the fainter scent of the potted plants that lined the walls.

Everything about this place—calm, indulgent, long overdue—was a reward he never even dared to fantasise about.

As he raked wet fingers through his hair, he sighed, letting his head sink into the soft towel behind him. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to relax. He would never claim he'd earned it, but his companions had insisted. None would disturb him—save for one.

Soft footsteps echoed across the jade flooring, and Emmrich lifted his head to greet her.

Mara.

She stood at the edge of the bath, bare and radiant in the sunlight streaming through the high glass windows. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in luscious waves, and her sharp eyes—usually so alert and calculating—now shined with a sense of freedom and serenity.

Emmrich held his breath, drinking her in. "You're so beautiful," he uttered.

"Even with my scar?" she asked, running her finger along the indentation from her left shoulder to her right breast.

"Darling," he said, a bright blush flaring across his cheeks, "every inch of you is perfect."

Mara smiled, then stepped into the tub, sinking gracefully into the water, the ripples distorting her reflection like a splash of paint on a canvas.

"You're perfect," she stressed, aware that he still harboured insecurities about his age.

Emmrich huffed, but before he could argue, she slid onto his lap, straddling him, her thighs caging his hips. Her arms wove around his neck, her skin like silk against his own.

For a long while, neither of them spoke, each one staring at the other with an aura of desire.

Then, their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss—one that spoke of solace and devotion. Emmrich's hands traced up her back, his fingers ghosting over her spine, muscle, and hints of grit left over from battle. He wanted her, needed her, and he refused to wait a second longer, lest some other threat tear her from his grasp. Gods, cultists—all of them be damned. With a hungry moan, he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to the delicate line of her jaw, then lower, to the pulse of her throat.

"Yes..." Mara gasped, tightening her embrace, burying her face into his neck.

"Are you ready, darling?"

He shifted beneath her, his hands finding her waist, preparing to move her into a more comfortable position—but then he froze.

She was shaking.

A light tremor at first, barely noticeable through the heat of the water. Then more pronounced.

Emmrich let out a low chuckle, trying to ease the tension he suddenly felt. "You must be very excited," he teased.

She didn't respond.

His stomach twisted.

"Mara?"

Still, nothing. Just the tightness of her arms around his shoulders, the slight shudder in her breath.

Then, he heard it—a partially suppressed sob. His heart clenched. Immediately, he wrapped her up, one hand sliding to the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

Another shaky breath. Another barely-there sob.

He rubbed her back, panic creeping into his tone. "Darling, please. Talk to me."

Mara inhaled loudly, as if forcing down another cry, then finally—finally—she spoke.

"I'm sorry..." she choked. "I ruined the moment."

"No, no. You didn't, my darling. You didn't." He tried to lean back, to see her face, but she was curled so tightly against him, as if hiding herself out of shame. "Mara, please... tell me what's wrong. You know you can tell me anything, yes? Please, darling, maybe I can help. What is it?"

She sniffed, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong, Emmrich. For the first time in ages, nothing's wrong." She squeezed tighter, her legs hugging his hips, yet careful not to hurt him. "I just..."

Emmrich closed his eyes and rocked her through the water, willing the gentle motion to soothe her. "Go on, darling. I'm listening."

Mara sighed, his support a balm to her weary soul. "I've just been... holding everything in since Varric put me in charge." Her voice was raw, quiet. "I've been so—"

She swallowed her words, unable to say it.

"Scared?" Emmrich offered.

She nodded.

"Oh, Mara..." He held her tighter, giving her a moment to unwind. "Look at me."

Gently, he eased her back, his chest aching at the sight of the tears rolling down her cheeks. He'd never seen her like this—relief, sorrow, ecstasy, and fear overwhelming her all at once. Without hesitation, he cupped her face, brushing his thumbs beneath her lashes.

"I saw how hard this was on you every day, yet I can't even begin to imagine what you were going through," he said, his hazel eyes fixed on hers. "But I need you to hear this: we never would have made it without you."

She whimpered at his praise, her lips trembling. "I was so worried I'd fail everyone."

"You didn't," he said, his voice firm. "You were incredible. I was terrified of losing you, but if anyone could lead us to victory, I knew it was you."

"Emmrich, I didn't—"

"I knew it was you," he averred. "From the moment I met you, you were indomitable. You kept everyone's spirits up. You made the difficult decisions. You suffered a living nightmare in the Fade, but came through it stronger than before." He leaned in, pecking her lips before returning to her gaze. "Darling, it's over, but not despite your efforts—because of them. You're a natural-born leader." He grinned, playfully pinching her chin. "And so damn irresistible."

Mara let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sob. Then she smiled, resting her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry for... the hysterics."

"Hysterics?" He frowned. "How many times have I unloaded my problems onto you?"

"That was different," Mara chuckled. "And I was happy to help."

"It wasn't different," Emmrich tittered. "My love, you have nothing to apologise for, and I'm glad you shared that with me."

"...I'm just so tired."

Emmrich kissed her temple, cradling her close. "Then sleep. I've got you."

She was silent for a moment, soaking him in. Then, with a sudden scoff, she pulled back, mischief flickering through her exhaustion.

"I'm not that tired," she smirked.

Emmrich arched a brow, caught between amusement and adoration. "No?"

Mara shook her head, then kissed him again, her tongue pushing past his lips as the warmth of the bath enveloped them.

"Mmm..." Emmrich melted beneath her, his hands wandering lower as the heat between them intensified. "Not too tired for some 'rigorous activities'?"

"Never," she purred.

The steam thickened, swirling around them in a fog, until their world shrank to nothing but their sensual touch and the heady pounding of their hearts.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 17- No Ifs, Ands, or Butts

Summary: You and Javi are continuing to make progress on building your new house, until a few distractions are thrown your way that you definitely weren't expecting.

Word Count: 12.3K (how bad is it that I'm like, wow! What an average length for a chapter! Well done, me!)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), HELLO, STRAP IN EVERYONE. unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl pls), romantic? ANAL (you guys, I'm sweating), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral (f receiving), rimjob (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, breeding kink, insecurity but Javi being our consent KING and literally taking such good care of you (but would we expect anything less?!), Javi with dogs (hehehehe), everyone say thank you to our favorite village idiots Carter and Miller for helping out Javi and Osita (you'll see!!)

A/N: If there are two words to sum up the plot of this chapter, it is butts and dogs (if you watch Bluey, yes, the puppy is named after Muffin LMAO) 💀 I am so sorry this chapter took FOREVER, 1) Life has been crazy busy (parent teacher conferences sucked the life out of me for like a full week), and 2) I would be lying if I said I was not shakin' in my boots to post this bc I have never written legit butt stuff smut (say that 3 times fast) before and I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, so if you don't wanna read this chapter/skip the smut I will not be offended at all!! Also for my non-American friends, Home Depot is like a giant hardware store (that also sells hot dogs that absolutely slap) Okay, that's all, love y'all more than words, forehead kisses for all of you!! 😙 also please laugh at the name of this chapter I thought it was funny as hell, I'm crackin myself up

Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter

“Okay, we have paint samples, countertop samples, carpet samples, sheets of drywall, toilets that are ordered can come get picked up on Tuesday, and we can let Danny know they finally have those screws he’s been looking for back in stock. That’s everything, right? Please say that’s everything.” You sighed, going over your home project to-do list for what felt like the 47th time before exiting out of Home Depot for what also felt like the 147th time this week. 

What had started as a plot of land and and a head full of ideas was slowly but surely becoming reality as progress on your new home came to fruition- as winter faded into spring, your house began to grow and change with the seasons, bare bones wooden beams and dirt of a few months ago now becoming walls, floors and roofs of the new place you’d spend forever in. While it was exciting to move into the stages of actually deciding what the inside of your home should look like (not just shape and size), it felt like you and Javi had been making a million and one decisions every day related to something to do with the house, and unfortunately, this Sunday night was no exception. 

“No, I think that’s everything.” Javi nodded, scanning over the wrinkled piece of paper in his hands once more. 

“We might as well just start changing our permanent address to this Home Depot. I’m pretty sure the employees are convinced we live here at this point.” You laughed, resting one hand on your hip, the other full of the sample swatches you and Javi needed to look at when you got home. “You sure that’s everything? Honestly, even if it’s not, let’s face it, we’ll be here some point later this week anyways. At least now it’s getting to the fun stuff- Paint and floors is a lot more fun than plumbing and electrical.” 

“I know. We’re almost there, Osita. Danny said 8 to 10 more weeks last time I talked to him.” 

“Over/under on how many more trips we make to Home Depot between now and then. I’m gonna say 56.” 

“You’re such a dork. I fucking hope it’s not 56.”

The two of you made your way out to the parking lot with hands full of goods, the sun slowly beginning to set behind the other buildings of the shopping center- a Chinese restaurant, a laundry mat, a building that had been under construction since your frequent trips to Home Depot began, and a pet store. 

You and Javi had tried the Chinese restaurant once, a few bites in simultaneously agreeing it was 100% the worst food you had ever had, never needed to go to the laundry mat, and god knows what the mystery building was getting turned into. You had, however, always wanted to go into the pet store, knowing it would be fun to walk around and look at the animals since it was something you loved doing as a kid with your brothers. But by the time the two of you were done with your hardware shopping, your brain was too fried to ever ask Javi if he wanted to go in and check things out as an entertaining thing to do. Tonight probably would have been no exception to the rule, but that was before you noticed the big sign posted in front of the store reading “Dog Adoption Event Today!” 

You and Javi had both agreed you had wanted to get a dog- that was something the two of you had easily agreed upon early on in your relationship- but like most things nowadays, you were waiting until the house was finished and you were out of the apartment before looking into getting one. You knew that going to look at dogs before the two of you could really do anything about it was a bad idea, but the longer you stared at that sign, the less and less willpower you began to have to keep yourself from running over there. 

“Jav.” You nudged, the two of you almost to Javi’s truck before stopping in your tracks, gesturing over to the pet store. Javi paused next to you, taking a moment to read the bright bold letters of the sign, letting out a deep sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Baby, you know we can’t get a dog right now. Believe me, I want one too, but we gotta wait until the house is done first.” 

“I know. Can we just go look? Please?” While your puppy dog eyes were no match compared to Javi’s, you pouted your lip just about as far as it could go, batting your lashes at him with a pitiful frown on your face. You had no idea how Javi was ever going to be able to say no to your kids if he was already immediately caving from your silly, overexaggerated begging, let alone his own sweet brown eyes staring back at tiny versions of him. Regardless, right now, Javi’s lack of iron will was working in your favor, letting out another small sigh, contemplating for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. 

“Fine. But just looking, okay?” He muttered, almost as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you. 

“Yes! Thank you! I promise, just looking… Probably.” You grinned, changing directions and speed walking across the parking lot towards the pet shop. Javi laughed to himself, shaking his head as he followed behind you. 

“I heard that.” 

As you walked through the front doors of the pet store, you were greeted with the sounds of high pitched barks and yaps, joining the few people gathered by the pen set up to contain the litter of what looked to be a mix of cattle dogs and something shorter and stumpier, the brown and cream speckled puppies bouncing and playing with the toys, blankets, and other littermates in the cage with them. You audibly let out a gasp as you looked down at the pure adorableness of the sweet little balls of fluff below you, squatting down next to the pen to get a better look at the group of puppies. 

“Oh my god, they’re so cute. Javi, they’re so freaking cute. Hi lil babies, aren’t you the most precious things ever?” You cooed, holding the back of your hand up to the cage for the playful puppies to sniff, their tiny bodies toppling over each other to smell you. 

As much as Javi wanted to be tough and strong willed to try and prove a point, you were right- these puppies were the cutest things he’d seen in a long time. Crouching down next to you, he glanced over, giving you the I told you this was a bad idea look that you knew you were bound to get from him the moment you saw the puppies. 

“They are really fucking cute.” Javi sighed in reluctant agreement, bringing his hand down by yours to try and pet some of the puppies through the cage. 

“Oh hi there! I see you two found the puppies!” An employee, an older woman with curly gray hair, smiled down at the two of you, gesturing towards the pen full of tiny, yapping pups. “Are you interested in adopting one?” You and Javi looked up at her, each of you letting out a deep breath before speaking at the same time, your answers lacking unison. 

“No.” 

“Maybe.” You quietly whispered under Javi’s no, letting out a little shrug, eyes darting away towards Javi to spare yourself from the eye roll you knew he was giving you from your response. “No, we’re not…” You finally agreed, giving another pouty, sad look to Javi. “We really want one, but we’re in an apartment right now and are moving into a house soon. We’re waiting until then to get one. Although these guys are making it very hard to keep it that way.” 

“I can understand that.” The woman laughed, a playful grin spread across her face, clearly sensing your willpower about the situation was much weaker than Javi’s. “Well, even if you’re not interested in adopting one right now, you’re more than welcome to pick them up or play with them! It’s good for them to practice being handled anyways.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Immediately, you stood up, bending over the edge of the pen to pick up one of the puppies closest to you, cuddling it against your chest as it squirmed and wiggled in your grasp. You sat bag down on the floor, cross legged as you cradled the puppy, eyes almost as wide and sweet as the dog you were now holding. “What’s this one’s name?” You asked the woman, carefully setting it down between your legs to let it bounce around. 

“That one is Muffin. He’s a feisty one, but a sweetheart.” She beamed, slowly bending down to pick up one of the stuffed toys in the cage, handing it over to Javi. Before you knew it, Muffin was scooting out of your lap and bolting over to Javi and the plush rabbit he was holding in his hands, making the both of you giggle at his goofy, floppy gallop. Javi held out the toy in front of him, a smile spreading across his face as Muffin bit down into the rabbit, shaking it in his mouth, tugging back at Javi’s grip on the stuffed animal. Any shred of stubbornness Javi was trying to hold out on was long gone, smiling and snickering just as wide as you as Muffin hopped into Javi’s lap, curling up with his toy in his mouth. 

Javi was like a little kid, practically giggling as he grabbed the stuffed rabbit and tossed it along the floor, watching Muffin slip and slide across the linoleum before pouncing on the toy and trotting back to Javi with it in his mouth. 

“Good boy! You’re smart, aren’t you?” Javi grinned, tugging at the toy before looking back at you and your look, screaming, So much for just looking, huh? without having to say a word. “He is really cute.” Javi admitted, trying his best to keep his composure from completely crumbling. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, giving each other the look that made you seriously contemplate if you were going home with a puppy today, until you looked back down at Muffin, now hunched over Javi’s foot, pee dribbling down his shoe. 

“Oh shit!” You grimaced, reaching up to pick up Muffin mid-stream, scooting him over to finish peeing on the floor instead of on Javi. 

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!” The woman gasped, grabbing some towels next to the cage, handing them off to Javi for him to wipe the pee off his shoe. “That is the thing with puppies, the potty training does take a while.” 

You were trying your best not to burst out into laughter as you picked Muffin back up, putting him back in the pen with the rest of his brothers and sisters, giving Javi and apologetic shrug at his current circumstances, knowing it was not helping your in any way shape or form to bring a puppy back to your apartment. “No it’s all good, no worries.” Javi smiled, wiping off his shoe with the towel and giving it a quick shake with a reluctant sigh, grounding him back in reality. 

“Can’t be any worse than stepping in a pile of cow poop.” You teased as Javi looked down in disappointment at his shoe, finally beginning to shake his head and laugh along with you. “Alright, you win, Mr. Reasonable. Muffin has made a very good case for no puppies at the apartment.” 

“Eventually baby, I promise.” Javi smirked, giving you a little nudge, the two of you waving goodbye to the cuteness corralled in the kennel behind you, finally making your way back to the car after your detour. 

Well… So much for that plan.  

“What about this one?” 

“Baby, I don’t know, at this point, they all just look like the same color.” You sighed, slumping your hand in your face, resting your elbow on the kitchen table where you and Javi sat, paint swatches spread across the wooden surface, among scattered samples of carpet, countertops and backsplash tiles. “I don’t think my brain can make any more house decisions tonight.”  

“Me either.” Javi huffed, reaching across the table to organize the paint sample cards into a pile next to the stack of other house things that now seemed to have a permanent home with you during dinner time. “I had no fucking idea there were so many goddamn shades of beige.” 

“It definitely doesn’t help that we’re trying to just pick through different shades of brown instead of fun colors.” You laughed, gathering the samples in front of you and stacking them in Javi’s pile as he stood up, pushing in his chair and making his way to the other side of the table where you sat, coming behind you to drape his arms over your shoulders, pressing a soft kiss into your hair as you leaned your head back into his chest, wrapping your arms around his to pull him closer. 

“Fun colors? What, you wanna paint the house purple, Hermosa?” Javi smiled, giving you a little shake in your chair making you giggle. 

“No, you dork. I was actually thinking more hot pink or neon green.” You retorted, giving Javi a nudge back tiling your head up towards him. “No, I don’t know, I know we want something neutral through the house but like, it’ll be fun to pick cute paint colors when we have kids and stuff.” 

Javi squeezed you a little tighter, his heart warming at the thought of when they’d get to do this again when there were actually kids in the picture to fill the empty rooms of their house. No matter how many times you and Javi talked about it, he was sure he’d never get over the fact that you wanted to have a family with him. It was a dream that had come and gone for him all those years ago, resigning himself to a life of simply surviving, even after he had returned home to Laredo. But now, the fact that dream was in reach, and undoubtedly in the near future had him beaming, knowing there was no one else in the world he wanted to spend the rest of his life and build a family with beside you, and that for some reason he still couldn’t quite comprehend, you felt the same way. 

While you had agreed that you would wait until you were married and your house was completely finished before you started trying and your birth control made its permanent home in the trash, with every day that he got closer to marrying you, finalizing your house and starting the newest chapter of your lives together, Javi couldn’t help but feel a want, no, a need, to start a family with you- to fulfill a purpose he so desperately craved to be a father. 

“Well…” Javi grinned, leaning back down to kiss your neck, his pecks becoming much more tender and slow with each press of his lips, “you could let me put a baby in you right now, and we could pick out fun paint colors along with the borning brown ones. Got a lot of rooms we need to fill and paint, Osita.”

“Javier Peña! You are a menace! You have to stop with the baby talk, or I swear, you’re about to make me cave in and crumble. You are testing every ounce of willpower I have.” You sighed, shaking your head as you looked up, entranced by Javi’s sweet brown  eyes and their powerful effects. 

While you and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever ever since you had gotten engaged, there was something about knowing you were about to have your own house with 4 extra rooms, solely built for the purpose of being filled with your kids that drove you, and even worse, Javi, absolutely crazy. In the past few weeks, the house had taken shape enough to finally have rooms that actually looked like rooms, Javi making it a point every time the two of you went over to check on progress, to point out just how good the spare bedrooms looked, like he was the most proud of those 4 extra rooms more than any other space in the house.   

The irrational part of you would have given him a baby yesterday, but the rational part of you knew you wanted to be married and have every last inch of that house finished before you brought a baby there. But every time Javi saw those bedrooms, looking at you with that big, goofy grin on his face for his children that didn’t even exist yet, oh god, did it make you want to say fuck it to every ounce of rationality you had left. 

“I think you have baby fever worse than I do, Jav. And that’s saying something.” You teased, reaching up to scrunch his cheeks. With another little giggle and content sigh, you pushed yourself up out of your chair, coming around the back of it to get the slightest running start to jump on him, full koala style, wrapping your arms and legs around his broad back, making the two of you burst out in laughter as he spun you around while you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, covering him with little kisses. “I love you so much. You’re gonna be such a good dad, you know that?” 

“I love you too, Osita. I hope I am. I want to be.” Javi sighed, a hopeful half smile pursed between his lips, causing you to cup both your hands around his face, forcing him to look at you. 

“You will be. I promise.” Tilting your head in, you pressed a soft, tender kiss onto his lips, lingering just a little longer than normal for your added reassurance. “Alright, I gotta get down now though, we have dishes we have to put away, and I have to shower tonight since I have a staff meeting tomorrow morning before school and I don’t wanna have to get up earlier than I need to.” 

“Un beso más (One more kiss).” Javi smiled, gripping a little tighter on your thighs wrapped around his legs, refusing to let go until you fulfilled his request. 

“Solamente un beso más? Por qué no dos? Tres? (Only one more? Why not 2? 3?)” You giggled, one of your hands running through the thick curls of his hair, while the other traced soft circles along his jawline. 

“Me gustaría darte todos los besos, Osita. Te daría cualquier cosa. (I’d give you all the kisses, Osita. I’d give you anything.)” Leaning in, your mouths met again in a soft and sweet moment, a kiss that felt like he meant it- He would give you the world if you asked for it, and then some. 

“God, I could kiss you forever. Alright, Romeo, put me down, we got things to do, and if you don’t, I know for a fact none of those things are getting done.” 

“Fine.” He sighed overdramatically, letting your legs fall to the floor as he released his grasp. “I’ll clean up dinner and you can go take a shower.” 

“I can help with cleaning up, Jav. You made dinner, the least I can do is-” 

“Go get your ass in the shower. I’ll clean it up.” He smiled, planting a kiss on the top of your head before gesturing towards the bathroom, making you cross your arms over your chest with an unseriously stern look on your face. 

“Are you trying to tell me that I smell? Rude. Sure you’re not the one who needs to shower after your foot got covered in piss?” You raised an eyebrow at him, trying your best not to laugh. 

“Go shower, you dork.” Javi chuckled, giving your ass a playful slap as you parted ways, sticking your tongue out at him as you disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom.

After a long, and even hotter shower than usual (considering you didn’t have to account for Javi’s temperature complaints), you wrapped yourself up in your towel and headed back to your room, where you found Javi laying in bed, reading one of the books you had been teasing him about for the past few weeks as it sat on his nightstand, unopened, even though he insisted he really was going to read it soon. As if the fact that him finally opening up and reading the book wasn’t enough to taunt him about, the way his face scrunched as he squinted at the pages certainly was. 

“You doin’ alright over there, Grandpa? Jav, you just have to give in and get glasses, you know you can’t see anything, stop trying to fight it.” You giggled, your appearance in the bedroom catching Javi’s attention, making him rest his open book over his stomach. 

“I don’t need glasses. I can see just fine. I’d look stupid in them, anyways.” He grumbled, refusing to admit that you were right even though he knew just as well as you that his eyesight was definitely not what it once was. He let out another sigh, dogearring the page of his book and setting it on his nightstand, his grumpy demeanor quickly shifting as you gave him that playful smirk you always did when you wanted to rub something in to prove your point. You let out another laugh as Javi rolled his eyes at you, shifting himself on the bed to lay on his side, face resting in his palm with those sweet puppy dog eyes that never left your sight any time he watched you get ready, even if all it meant was putting on one of his oversized shirts and sleep shorts to go to sleep in. 

“Yeah, okay.” You replied, your voice oozing with sarcasm. “And you wouldn’t look stupid in glasses, you look hot in anything, and I’m sure you would look extra hot with 20/20 vision.” 

“Pendejo…” 

“You love me.” 

The two of you laughed as you shuffled through the drawers of your dresser, pulling out one of Javi’s t shirts to wear to bed along with a pair of underwear and cotton shorts, piling the clothes next to you as you unwrapped your towel drying yourself off once more before letting it drop to the floor so you could change. You could see Javi’s reflection staring back at you, more specifically, your ass in the mirror, an awestruck and lustful look growing in his eyes as you reached over to pick up your shirt. 

“I can literally feel your eyes burning a hole through my ass, Jav.” You sassed, smirking back at him through the mirror as you watched him bite down on his lip. 

“Fuck, I love your ass so much, you know that?” Javi rasped, his tongue gently darting between his lips, eyes still locked on your behind. 

“Yes, Javi, you are very adamant about letting me know how much you love it.” You snickered, slipping his shirt over your head, followed pair your pair of underwear, opting to completely forgo your shorts to play into his comment. You crawled up into bed next to him, nudging him over so his back laid on the mattress and you laid on top of him, pressing a soft, slow kiss against his lips as his hands roamed down your back, sneaking under the hem of your shirt to knead the soft flesh of your ass, letting out a low groan as your mouths met. 

“Because it’s fucking perfect.” He hummed, gripping his fingertips even deeper into your skin after sliding them under the thin, cotton fabric covering it. 

“Wow, someone’s in a mood about my butt tonight. Didn’t know your giant t-shirt and my plain ass underwear was really doin’ it for ya.” You joked, a little grin spread across your face as you ran your hands through Javi’s hair before sliding them down his face to cup his jaw. It didn’t take long for you to realize that the look on Javi’s face had quickly turned from one of lust to deep thought, his brow scrunched and nostrils flared, making you tilt your head in confusion. “What’s wrong?” You asked, immediately noticing the shift in his demeanor. “You only get that look when you’re really thinking hard about something, or you have to fart and you’re trying to hold it in, and I’m really hoping it’s not the second one.” 

Your comment was enough to snap him out of his own thoughts, making him shake his head as the two of you laughed, Javi still holding back slightly as his eyes shifted down towards the mattress, practically hearing the gears in his brain turning, when all of a sudden, it clicked with you. 

Oh shit. 

The combination of his stare down and silence told you everything you needed to know. 

You tilted his chin back up towards your face, a curious smirk stretched between your lips as you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You wanna fuck my ass, don’t you?” 

Your voice was sweet and sultry, immediately making Javi’s face go blank in shock that you had connected the dots before he had even said anything. You could hear your heart pounding in your chest almost as loudly as Javi’s, a nervous swarm of butterflies filling your stomach as you waited for him to respond. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. There had been plenty of times that Javi had put a thumb or fingers in your ass when he fucked you from behind, and holy shit, did it feel good whenever he did it. You’d honestly debated bringing it up before, but there was a part of you that could never bring yourself to do it because you never had, and you couldn’t help but feel nervous about it. 

It wasn’t that you didn't trust Javi- You’d trust him with your whole life without a second thought. There had never been a time since the moment you first had sex that your comfort wasn’t always his first priority. But with how full Javi felt inside you with just a thumb or a finger, couldn’t help but make you feel a little worried with how big he’d feel with his whole dick inside your ass. 

You also couldn’t help but feel a preemptive guilt if it ended up being too much and you had to ask him to stop, not that he would ever make you feel bad about it, but still, you couldn’t help but play out worse case scenarios in your head. But something about that look in his face as he stared you down in the mirror and head turning deep in thought was enough to spark that little flame of confidence you had brewing and beat him to the punch. 

“Hermosa…” He paused, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing as he gulped, taking an anxious deep breath. “Baby, I-” 

“Do you?” 

The tightened grip of his fingers in your ass, gentle nod of his head and the low groan releasing from his chest was all you needed to know to figure out the answer to your question without even needing Javi to say a single word. His free hand mirrored yours, cupping your cheek as the two of you locked hungry gazes with each other, Javi now finally working up enough confidence to respond. 

“I want to so fucking bad.” Javi rasped, his dark brown eyes filled with a mix of desperation and need for reassurance. “But if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to make you do something you’re not comfortable with. I promise, I won’t be upset about it at all.” The confident facade you had been fronting quickly began to crumble, your body flooding with a combination of nerves and excitement. 

“I do, I just- I- I’ve never done it before.” You weren’t sure how your voice had gotten so small and meek- maybe it was the reality of what you were about to do setting in at a rapid pace. Something about the sweet, soft innocence of your voice already had Javi hard as a rock, using every ounce of willpower to keep his composure, considering how even just the thought of even getting to put his dick in your ass already had him on edge. 

“That’s okay. Like I said, it’s only if you want to, baby. We can take it slow and if it’s too much, I’ll stop, no questions asked.” 

You could feel your head beginning to gently nod in agreement as Javi’s thumb rubbed soft circles on your jaw, a little smirk forming between your cheeks while your heart raced at a million miles per hour, almost feeling as worked up and nervous as the very first time the two of you had sex all that time ago. 

“I want to.” You whispered, letting your lips meet his in a tender and ferocious passion, muted moans escaping from each of your parted mouths. 

“You’re sure? I don’t want you to say yes just because I want to.” And fuck, could you feel how badly he wanted to, his fully hard dick straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, heavy against your thigh. You were no better despite your nerves, the cotton fabric of your underwear absolutely drenched already without Javi even touching you. 

“I’m sure. I promise.” 

A low groan rumbled deep in Javi’s chest as your mouths met again, Javi flipping you over so your back was flat against the mattress, letting his hands roam along your body while his lips traveled down your neck and collarbone. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweet girl. Gonna take my time with you, okay? I promise I’ll make sure you’re ready.” 

“Well I appreciate you just not going straight to shoving your dick into my ass, very gentlemanly of you.” You joked, trying to calm your nerves with your sarcastic wit, Javi practically snorting at your comment. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Javi whispered to himself through his laughter, resting his head on your chest as he looked up at you in amusement. 

“Sorry, I’ll stop and let you get back to business.” Javi lay frozen, still staring up at you with his head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised. 

“Osita, you know I love you very much, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“And that since we’ve been together, I’ve learned a lot of things about you? 

“Also yes.” 

“So you know I can tell when you’re nervous about something, right?” 

You let out a defeated sigh, crossing your arms in stubborn defiance, not wanting to admit that you knew Javi’s suspicions were correct. You waited a moment, and with a little frown pursed between your lips, you finally gave in. 

“...Yeah.” 

Javi rolled over next to you, draping one arm over your waist, the other holding his chin in his hand with his elbow propped up against the mattress, his tender gaze locking with yours, filling you with a sense of calm and reassurance you were convinced nothing else in the world could. “Osita, talk to me baby. What are you nervous about?” 

You flapped your arms up before planting them over your face, burying your head in your hands in embarrassment, your words muffled from underneath your palms. “What am I nervous about? Not to stroke your ego any more than it needs to be, but you have a huge dick, Jav. I’m also guessing this isn’t your first time, and it is for me, and you being the first giant dick to ever enter my ass has me a little nervous.” You rambled, your thoughts spilling out of your mouth faster than your brain could process them. “I really want to, I just don’t want it to not be good for you or for you to be upset if we stop or- I don’t know. I don’t want you to be mad about it if I’m the reason for- I- I’m probably overthinking it, I’m sorry.” You let out another deep exhale, averting your gaze from Javi’s staring down at the bed. 

This time, it was Javi’s turn to connect the dots, taking a moment to wonder why you were so worried about making him upset before putting the pieces together, his prediction making him clench his jaw in frustration. “Paul wanted to do it and you said no and he was a fucking asshole to you about it, wasn’t he?” 

Your head instantly shot up, swiveling around towards Javi’s agitated grimace, your face almost as shocked as Javi’s was when you had asked him if he had wanted to do this in the first place. “How… Javi, how did you-” 

“That motherfucker… he didn’t hurt you did he? I swear to God if he did, I’ll fucking fly up to Chicago right now and I’ll-” 

“Jav, Jav, cool your jets, killer.” You laughed softly, pressing your hand to his cheek to try and ground him before he really was on the next flight to Illinois. “No, he never did anything. He said that he wanted to and it kinda came out of the blue- I didn’t really want to at the time, especially not with him. He kept asking and asking and I would tell him no and he got so mad about it. Turns out that was around the time he started cheating on me anyways, and became an even bigger dickhead than he already was. But I always felt so guilty, and that it was my fault he was upset because I didn’t want to. I don’t know- I- I guess maybe this has stuck with me way more than it probably should have.” You could feel your voice shrinking, your eyes darting away once again, mortified by the fact that you completely ruined the moment by bringing up your shitty ex and his blatant lack of respect. “Sorry, I don’t know why we’re talking about this I-“ 

Before you could finish the rest of your sentence, Javi’s lips were on yours, swallowing the rest of your words as your mouths met with a passionate intensity, letting his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer, caging his chest against yours. “Hermosa, you know I would never be mad at you about something like that, right? I love you, Osita, you have nothing to apologize for. All I ever want is to make you feel good, baby. Fuck, that gets me off more than anything else. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” 

“I trust you, Javi.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, lips grazing over his, giving him a gentle nod of reassurance. “I want you to.” 

You could audibly hear the gulp Javi had let out, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he let out a low groan, tightening the grip he had around your waist. “Want me to what, sweet girl? I wanna hear you say it, baby.” His lips began to travel down your jawline towards your neck, hot and wet presses languidly making their way to your collarbone as he tugged at the end of your shirt, snaking his hands up the soft skin of your stomach. You could feel the heat building in your core, letting out a soft moan as his hands palmed at your breasts, rolling your pebbled nipples between the tips of his fingers. 

“I want you to fuck my ass, Javi.” 

With that, his hands were shuffling your shirt over your head, tossing it over the side of the bed before letting his kisses make their way down your newly exposed skin, letting his tongue flick along each nipple before letting his gaze lock with yours, a small smirk spreading across his face. “I promise I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, Hermosa. Gonna take good care of you, baby, I swear.” 

“I know.” You nodded, staring back at the hunger pooling in the dark brown of his eyes, practically squirming in the sheets of your bed from the throbbing between your legs, feeling the slick almost dripping down your thighs from just how turned on you were. The grin on Javi’s face had become devilish, biting down on his bottom lip as he snaked his hand down your front, tugging at the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs before running a finger through your slit, already drenching him with your arousal. 

“Turn around, baby. Hands and knees, okay?” You could hear the subtle smugness in his tone, giving you a playful squeeze as he grabbed your hips, flipping you over face down on the mattress, making you squeal. You did Javi one better, laying your chest flat against the sheets, lifting your ass up in the air and giving it a little shake, Javi’s hands instantly kneading at the soft flesh in front of him, digging his fingertips deeper into your skin, feeling his hot breath hovering over your cunt. 

Suddenly, you felt a long, wide strip of his tongue through your folds, pressing hard and intensely along your clit before diving in like a man starved, lapping you up as he began to eat you out from behind. Each stroke of his tongue was more persistent than the last, the grip of his hands on your hips pulling your heat closer to his face as he licked and sucked at your throbbing bundle of nerves, the mix of your slick and his saliva coating your inner thighs. His feverish pace already had you fisting at the bedsheets, whimpering and moaning as his mouth worked along your dripping core, making you gasp even further when you felt his tongue begin to travel up towards your tight ring of muscle. 

“Oh holy fuck- Javi, oh my god, baby. Fuck me, oh shit.” You whimpered as Javi’s tongue swirled along your puckered hole, dancing around the edges before dipping inside, the sensation making you shudder in pleasure, feeling Javi’s low hum of approval deep in the back of his throat. If that wasn’t enough, one of the hands that had a tight grip on your ass was now collecting the slick dripping from your entrance, his fingers tracing through your folds before pressing firmly on your clit, the added stimulation immediately making the tingle begin to build at the base of your spine. As he worked at your hole, the pads of his fingers circling your sensitive bundle of nerves you could feel your breath becoming ragged, letting out a few more shaky exhales before your orgasm crashed through you, crying out into the soft fabric of the sheets, pleasure and euphoria flooding your body. 

As you came down from your high, Javi let his hands slide gently up and down your sides, pressing soft kisses along your back until he had made his way up your shoulder blades and neck, whispering tenderly into your ear. “Such a good girl for me, Osita. Came so hard letting me eat out that pretty little ass of yours. You want me to keep going?” 

“Fuck yes, oh my god Javi, please.” You whimpered, shaking your head frantically as you looked back at Javi, already sitting back on his knees to lift his shirt over his head before sitting up to kick off his sweatpants and boxers, letting his cock spring free, precum glistening and weeping from his tip, considering how painfully hard he had been since even the thought of getting to fuck your ass. 

You could feel his body hovering over yours, hands sliding up and down your sides before grabbing at your ass again, placing tender kisses on each cheek before leaning over to the nightstand on his side of the bed, pulling out the bottle of lube and setting it next to him. His hands roamed to your core once again, two fingers dipping into your cunt, curling to hit the soft, spongy spot inside you that already had you moaning again. 

It wasn’t long until his fingers were substituted for his cock, running his tip through your folds, collecting your arousal along his length before slowly pushing inside your pussy, already so wet and worked up, that even with sweet sting of his stretch, he still slid in with ease, setting a steady, even pace as one hand dug into your hip, the other reaching over to grab the bottle of lube, popping open the cap with a click and letting the cool liquid drip over your tight hole, making you gasp. You could feel the pads of his fingers pressing at the entrance to your ass, gently teasing you open with one finger, breeching up to his knuckle, the combination of both his finger and cock inside you making you whimper in pleasure. 

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Fuck, you’re already so fucking tight around my finger. You want another one in there, baby?” Javi mewled, prodding his finger deeper into your hole as he continued to thrust into you, his strokes slow and steady, but still punching deep into your g-spot with each thrust of his hips against the back of your thighs. 

“Yes- oh fuck- yes, oh my god.” You weren’t really quite sure how your brain was still even managing to form words at this point, the warm feeling that had been growing inside you spreading to every inch of your body. The pad of Javi’s second finger teased at your tight hole, collecting ample amounts of you slick and lube before pushing in to join the first, the thickness of both of his fingers making you clench even tighter around his cock and digits as you cried out in delight. 

“Shhhhhh, I know, sweet girl. Relájate (relax) baby, I’ve got you.”  

You could already feel your second orgasm starting to build again, heat beginning to bloom in your belly from the rhythmic pounding of Javi’s dick punching against your g-spot and his fingers prodding at the nerve endings of your ring of muscle, already feeling so full from the stretch of both holes. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck- oh fuck- Javi, I’m gonna cum again, fuckahhhhhhh-” You cried out, letting your second orgasm hit you even harder than your first, clenching down around Javi’s cock and fingers as you grabbed at handfuls of your bedsheets, trying to ground yourself as the intensity of your pleasure ripped through you. 

“There you go, Hermosa. That’s it, baby. Such a good girl. Did so good for me.” He cooed, gently pulling out both his cock and fingers, the emptiness making you shutter as Javi pressed tender, soft kisses down your back before making his way up your neck and nipping at your ear. “You think you’re ready for me, Osita? If not, it’s okay, I only wanna do what you want, mi amor (my love).” 

You took another few ragged breaths to compose yourself, unsure how your brain was even managing to function at this point as you came down from your high, trembling in delight. You nodded before you could speak, Javi letting out a low groan as he sucked at your pulse point, his words hot and heavy against your skin. 

“Need to hear you say it, pretty girl. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” 

“Fuck my ass, Javi. I want you to fuck my ass, please baby.” You whined, whimpering your words against the soft fabric of your sheets, desperate for more, needing to feel all of him inside you in a way you hadn’t before. 

Javi let out an audible groan as he pulled back, letting his hands roam up your body and back to the lube resting on the bed, once again, popping open the cap and squirting some of the liquid into his palm as he fisted his dick, stroking himself a few times before lining himself up with your tight hole. “You promise you’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” 

You shook your head rapidly, fingers already gripping into the pillow in front of you as you braced yourself for Javi to enter, feeling his tip press against your tight ring of muscle. Suddenly, you could feel the sensation of Javi breeching your entrance, making you gasp at just how full you already felt as he had barely made his way inside you. Javi pushed further in, leaving you practically breathless from the stinging stretch of his cock filling you as he paused halfway, leaning over to check on you. 

“Oh fuck me- You okay, sweet girl?” 

“Mhhmmmmmm. Fuck Javi, you feel so big. Holy shit, baby. Oh fuck.” You gulped, squeezing around Javi’s length as he inched deeper and deeper inside of you, your clit and cunt throbbing as he filled you, the newfound sensation making you see stars. You were so focused on how you were feeling, you had barely noticed how tightly Javis fingertips were gripping into the soft flesh of your ass, like he was bracing himself for dear life as he sunk further and further into your tight hole. 

While Javi had found himself in this position with other women a handful of times before, he had never come close to feeling the same way about anyone the way he did about you- He had been dreaming about the day that you agreed to let him fuck your ass, and now finding himself inside you, knowing he would be the first and the last to ever have you like he was right now, had him on the brink of busting any second if he wasn’t careful. Javi had never been more thankful that you couldn’t see his face, because he knew he looked absolutely wrecked and was struggling to keep the ounce of composure he had left as you gripped around his cock like a vice. 

“Javi, oh shit- Javi, you can move baby.” You moaned, adjusting to his fullness, the initial pain quickly transforming to burning hot pleasure as you gave Javi the green light to keep going. After a few seconds, when Javi had said nothing and hadn’t moved at all, you spoke again, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard you. “Javi, I’m good, you can-” 

“I know, I know, fuck- sorry, baby. Jesus Christ- you’re so fucking tight, Hermosa, fuck me. Give me a second or I’m gonna fuckin’ bust right now.” Javi replied, halfway between a whimper and a moan as he firmly grasped your hips, carefully setting a slow pace as he began to thrust in and out of your ring of muscle, shocked to feel how quickly heat was beginning to bloom in your belly once again, his length languidly sliding in and out of your asshole, filling you and striking new nerve endings you had never felt before making you quickly begin to come undone. 

Your legs began to tremble, grasping at the mattress to brace yourself as you felt your clit throb and cunt clench as the coil in your belly tightened further and further, the lewd noises of your moans and grunts filling the room. 

“Javi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, baby I’m so close again, holy fuck.” You cried out, as even just the slightest pick up of Javi’s pace had you reeling closer and closer to the edge of your release. Javi freed one of his hands, snaking it between your legs to rub at your sensitive bundle of nerves, already swollen and pulsing from your first two orgasms, and now even more responsive as the pads of his fingers circled against it. 

Javi wanted desperately to hold out for you and make you cum as many times as you wanted to just like this, but he knew damn well the moment you came and clamped down even harder around his cock than you already were, he was a fucking goner and going right along with you. He needed to give you one more before he also came embarrassingly fast, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Fuck Osita, fuck- I’m not gonna last much longer either, baby. Need you- oh shit- need you to give me one more, pretty girl. Cum for me, Hermosa, I’ve got you.” 

With only a few more strokes and circles around your clit, you were cumming so hard, you were honestly convinced you had blacked out. Your whole body shook as you wailed in delight, squeezing around Javi’s dick so hard it was only seconds before he was following suit, letting a ragged groan escape through his gritted teeth as you milked him of every last drop, Javi bracing himself for dear life with the grasp he had around your hips as he finished. 

Javi slumped over you, the two of you breathing so heavily it sounded more like you had just finished a triathlon more than anything else. He let out a deep hiss as he pulled out, taking a moment to admire his work as he watched his spend drip out your tight hole as your body collapsed onto the mattress. 

You weren’t sure how long you had been laying there before you were finally able to wrangle the brain power to speak again, and even then, the only words that you were able to manage were a quiet “holy fucking shit…” 

Javi flopped down, laying on his back next to you as you rolled over, both of your faces bright and blissed as you stared at one another, almost unsure of what to say. 

“Are you okay?” Javi asked, gently cupping your flushed cheek in his palm. 

“Am I okay? Javi… Holy fuck. I don’t think I have ever cum so hard in my entire life. I honestly thought I blacked out there for a second. Baby… That was, fuck, that was insane.” You half laughed to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fucking great. Holy shit. Sorry I couldn’t last longer, I didn’t think I was gonna go that fast but you felt so fucking good. Thank you, Osita.” 

“Thank you? For what?” You giggled, giving Javi a playful poke on the chest as you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“For this. For trusting me.” 

“Javier Jesús Peña…” You smirked, propping yourself up on your arm to get a better look at him, “I trust you with my life. More than anyone I’ve ever met. I should be the one thanking you for so graciously taking my butt virginity. Wouldn’t want anyone else in there besides you.” 

The two of you burst into laughter, Javi practically letting out a snort as he rolled his eyes at your ridiculous comment. “God, you’re fucking ridiculous. I love you, Osita.” 

“I love you too, Javi. C’mon, let's go shower before your cum sits in my asshole any longer and I get pregnant with your butt baby.” You snickered as you rolled off the bed, making your way to the bathroom. 

“Jesus fucking Christ… Butt baby? Seriously?” He snorted, following behind you, giving you a playful smack on your ass, scooping you up to hike you over his shoulder and fireman carry you to the shower, making you squeal. “You’re so fucking weird.” 

“Weirdo you love enough to put your dick in my ass and make your wife, so that’s on you, Jav.” You giggled as Javi set you down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, giving him a little shrug before reaching into the shower to turn on the water. 

“And what a fucking lucky man I am.” 

Ever since starting his job at the Laredo Sheriff's Department, Javi had been able to count on a few things every morning when he got into work. Sheryl at the front desk would greet him with a half hearted “Good morning, Javier” , the smell of shitty work coffee would be brewing in the break room, and Agent Carter and Miller already arguing about something stupid at their desks instead of working on anything that actually needed to get done. That’s why when Javi made his way into work on Monday morning and was not greeted by any of those things, he knew his day was getting thrown for a loop- he just wasn’t quite sure how yet. 

“It was their idea, not mine, believe me.” Sheryl grumbled, rolling her eyes as she nodded towards the path to Javi’s office, holding her hands up in defense as if to prove she had nothing to do with whatever was going on beyond her desk. Javi paused, tilting his head and scrunching his brow in confusion at Sheryl before letting out a sigh, and hesitantly making his way back to find out what in the world she was talking about. 

He was surprised by the lack of Miller and Carter’s presence in their desk chairs, and the unusual silence filling the office as Javi turned his head, wondering where everyone was. He peered over the cubicles, looking for any sign of life, until a strange sound caught his attention from behind the door of his office. 

Woof, woof, woof! 

Javi shook his head, convinced he must be hearing things until the low bark repeated, followed by a hush of anxious voices whispering around the corner. 

“Oh no, shhhhhh! Shit, I didn’t think he was gonna bark.” 

“Well it’s a fucking dog, Carter, what the hell did you think it was gonna, do, meow?”

“Maybe he didn’t hear it.” 

“I highly doubt that, dumbass. God, he’s gonna be fucking pissed.” 

“Your idea, not mine.” 

Even though he couldn’t see them, Miller and Carter’s worried whispers were enough to let Javi know he wasn’t imagining the barking coming from behind his office door. Letting out a deep sigh, which sounded a lot more like a groan, Javi carefully twisted open the doorknob to his workspace, only to be greeted by a large, shaggy and very dirty Golden Retriever staring back at him with big brown eyes, happily wagging its tail and shaking excitedly at Javi’s presence. Although Javi had heard the bark from behind his door, it didn’t stop him from doing a double take from the dog now residing in his office, running his hand over his face in a confused frustration as to how and why Miller and Carter had already managed to make his Monday morning a pain in his ass. 

“Why the fuck is there a dog in my office?” Javi half shouted, making Carter and Miller sheepishly appear from around the corner with guilty looks on their faces, avoiding eye contact with Javi as he glared through the two of them, wondering how the hell they were going to try and talk themselves out of this one. 

“Hey Peña, uh, I uh… Listen Miller was the one who brought him in, and he was so cute that I wasn’t not gonna do anything about it and-” 

“Oh, way to throw me under the fucking bus, Carter!” Agent Miller huffed, cutting Carter off in attempts to let the blame completely fall on him. “You agreed we should keep him here so that we could-” 

“Okay, that still doesn’t explain why the fuck there’s a dog in my office.” Javi groaned, cutting off Carter and Miller before they found themselves in a pointless arguing match about how and why there was now a dog happily leaning itself against Javi’s leg, his tail shaking back and forth, completely enamored by Javi. 

It was taking everything in Javi not to reach down and pet him to try and prove a point to Carter and Miller that they had astronomically fucked up the rest of his plans for the morning, but the dog was sure as hell adorable and sweet as could be. 

“Okay, well, I was driving into work this morning, and as I was making my way down that back road past the cattle ranch a few blocks down from here, this guy ran out in the road. Thank God I saw him when I did. I stopped, got out, and he came right up to me, but there was obviously no one with him. He looked relieved that he’d found me. Poor guy is dirty and skinny as hell. He hopped right into my car and ate the rest of my McGriddle which I was kinda pissed about, but I can’t blame ‘em.” Miller sighed, now crouching down to give the dog some scratches on the head before continuing on with his story. “So I went to some of the houses on the street and no one had ever seen this dog before. I called Webb County Animal Control to see if anyone had reported  a missing dog that looked like him, but no one had. I asked if I should take him to the shelter to see if anyone would come for him, but the lady on the phone said if no one’s reported him missing, they probably wouldn’t come for them.” 

“Well tell him what else, Miller.” Carter encouraged, trying to aid in Miller’s defense as he rose back up, standing next to his partner. 

“When I called the animal shelter to ask them what to do, the woman I talked to said the shelter is so full, that if we brought him in and no one claimed him within the next two weeks, that they’d…” Miller trailed off, him and Carter both grimacing, unable to finish the rest of his sentence as he looked down at the gleeful, furry face staring back up at him. “Well, let’s just say that things weren’t gonna look so good for him. I couldn’t bring myself to drop him off, and I wasn’t just gonna fucking leave him, so, I uh- I brought him here.” 

Javi let out a deep sigh, burying his hands in his face for a moment before rubbing his temples, understanding why Miller had done what he did, but nonetheless, still frustrated that now he had become wrapped up in solving a missing dog case. 

“So what? Are you gonna keep him?” Javi questioned, finally giving in to bend down and give the dog a few pats on his side, feeling just how skinny and boney he was as his hand met his belly. 

“Oh no, I can’t keep him. Apartment doesn’t allow dogs. I would if I could.” Miller admitted, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, feeling guilty for his lack of helpful response. 

“What about you? You keeping the dog?” Javi asked, looking over at Carter, giving him a little shrug, hoping he was the solution to his temporary canine problem. 

“Um, no. Sorry. I’m allergic. He’s cute as hell but my eyes have been itching ever since he got here.” 

“So what, he’s just gonna live here? C’mon you guys, really?” Javi grumbled, now crouching down next to the dog, getting a better look at his begging eyes and goofy grin under his panting tongue, giving Javi a few licks on the face in excitement as his tail began to wag rapidly from Javi’s closeness. 

Javi couldn’t help but let out a little laugh as the dog lapped against his face, wrapping his hands around the dog’s head and giving it a playful rub to get the dog to stop before staring back at the sweet, sad eyes staring back at him. He scratched under the dog’s chin before it was snuggling up next to him, comfortably plopping himself down over Javi’s feet and letting out a content little grumble as his tail continued to thump against the floor in joy. 

Javi closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. A deep sigh. Not because he didn’t like this dog. Hell, not even because he was really that mad at the two office idiots for bringing the dog here this morning. Javi let out a long, exasperated sigh, because he could feel the willpower he had preached to you about holding out on a dog until the new house- a conversation he had just had with you last night- was absolutely crumbling. 

He couldn’t come home with a dog, right? He had just spent all of last night convincing you that the apartment wouldn’t be a good place for a dog. But… that was for a puppy. This was a full grown dog. A calm one, at that. A fucking cute one at that. God, it had been 5 minutes and this dog was already attached at the hip to him, and it was probably fair to say that Javi had gotten just as attached, if not more. Carter and Miller were right, with the shape the dog was in, it really did look like no one had been taking care of him, or had any plans to come and find him, and Javi couldn’t bear the thought of sending the dog off to the shelter, knowing his inevitable fate. 

Fuck.

“Okay, well, do you know anything else about him? Are you sure that there’s no one looking for him?” Javi grunted as he pushed himself back up to stand, trying to keep his cool as he looked over at Carter and Miller, their eyes still peeled to the ground in hopes the lack of direct eye contact would lessen their chances of a complete reaming from Javi. 

“No, boss. Only other thing we could find about him was the little tag on his collar, which wasn’t helpful at all, because it only had his name.” Carter shrugged, peeking up at Javi, surprised by the even keel of his tone. Javi bent back down, the dog immediately rolling over on his back and exposing his belly for Javi to pet as he reached towards the dog’s neck, gently tugging at the tethered collar under his tangled fur to read the poorly engraved tag attached, letting out an even bigger sigh and shaking his head in disbelief at the name. 

Bear. 

Of fucking course. As if the universe needed to send him another sign. Of fucking course the dog’s name was the same as his nickname for you, Osita- little bear. 

Javi couldn’t help but laugh to himself, running his hand over his face once again. “Shit. You sure no one’s looking for him?” 

Both Carter and Miller shook their heads, crossing their arms over their chests in sad disappointment at Bear, laying sprawled across Javi’s feet. Letting out one last reluctant exhale, Javi looked back at the pair, nervously awaiting his response before he spoke. 

“If… If no one calls looking for him by the end of the day… I’ll take him home with me.” 

Carter and Miller’s faces lit up in shock and delight, staring at Javi, dumbfounded by what they had just heard. “I mean… Fuck, well… that was way easier than I thought it was gonna be.” Miller half grumbled to himself, glancing over at Carter, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I obviously don’t have any dog shit at home so I’m gonna have to leave early today to get some, so you two idiots are gonna have to finish up the rest of the paperwork I needed to do this afternoon, we clear?” 

“Yeah, yup- Absolutely. Will do.” The two nodded in agreement, still in shock that the worst they had gotten from their boss from dropping a stray dog off in his office was the rest of his paperwork for the day. 

“Fuck me. Alright, c’mon Bear.” Javi sighed, pushing open his office door, Bear, happily trotting along behind him, tail wagging in delight as Carter and Miller stared back at each other, frozen in shock that they, with very little convincing, had gotten their boss to happily take their furry problem into his own hands. 

If the fact that Bear wasn’t cute as can be was enough to win over Javi, he was also the sweetest, most relaxed dog he’d had ever met. Bear was perfectly content to lay down next to Javi’s desk, letting out content grumbles and sighs as he slept and Javi worked, sprawled out across the floor. Bear also seemed to love everyone he met, joyfully making his rounds around the station with Javi after a failed attempt at leaving him behind in his office, immediately caving to Bear’s sad, lonely whines and big brown eyes from behind the glass of his office window. Around 2:00 PM, after Javi had given Bear the better half of his turkey sandwich for lunch, he found himself just as hungry as that poor dog probably was this morning, deciding to cut his day short to get himself some food, and gather whatever else he needed before bringing Bear back to the apartment. 

Javi thanked whatever higher power that the woman working at the pet store this afternoon was not the same woman he had adamantly convinced last night that he was not coming with a dog, because in the back seat of his truck, sat a dog he was now bringing home. The woman working at the store had helped Javi to find everything he needed for Bear and probably then some, Javi more than thankful for her patience and advice, feeling overwhelmed by what to get for a dog that had landed in his care only a few short hours ago.  

After 2 trips up your apartment stairs to drop off the bed, food, treats and toys Javi had gotten, he made one final trip back for Bear, who had glady hopped out of the truck and followed Javi back to your place after a quick pee on the bush in the parking lot, leaving Javi very thankful the dog had found a spot to relieve himself that wasn’t on his shoe. 

“Well, welcome home, I guess.” Javi chuckled as Bear busted through the apartment door, tail wagging at a propeller like speed as he meandered through the space, sniffing and exploring around the kitchen and living room, before wandering back to the bags from the pet store Javi had set on the ground, giving them a little prod with his snout before sitting next to them, looking up at Javi as if to ask if he could have the food and treats that were inside. “Well… I guess a little more food couldn’t hurt, right?” 

There were very few times where Javi was home from work before you, and when he did, he normally told you before he left, or called you at work to let you know- so when you pulled into the parking lot to see Javi’s truck next to your empty parking space, it was safe to say you were a bit perplexed. You quickly unpacked your bags from your car, making your way up to the apartment, trying to rationalize with your confusion and nerves as to why Javi had beaten you home. As you unlocked your door, you gently pushed it open, now even more confused by the muffled grunts and swearing coming from down the hallway. Dropping your things at the entryway, you quickly began working your way through the apartment to figure out what was going on before you almost tripped and fell over a large dog bed now in the middle of your living room. 

“What the hell…” You murmured to yourself, your brow scrunching in bewilderment as you caught your step over the soft, plushy surface, doing a double take to realize that what had almost taken you to the ground was a dog bed. Looking over, you then noticed the several bags from the local pet store, now even more puzzled as your attention shifted back to the end of the hallway, hearing Javi’s voice as well as the sound of running water and frantic splashing. 

“Goddamnit, will you just stay still please? We’re almost done, bud.” 

Almost sprinting to the bathroom, you pushed open the door to find a pile of towels spread across the floor, Javi kneeling over the side of the tub, shirt absolutely soaked as he held the shower handle towards a goofy, wet, golden retriever dancing around in the other end of the tub as he saw you. 

“Uhhhhhh, Javi… Why is there a dog in our bathtub?” You stood stunned in the doorway, your presence startling Javi as he spun around, dropping the shower handle, making it spray over the walls, leading the dog to playfully bark and shake as it hopped over the ledge of the tub to greet you. 

“No, Bear! Come back here! Fuck. I uh- I can explain, I-” Javi stammered, scrambling to grab the flailing shower head before reaching for the dog to try and wrangle him back into the shower, the rest of his thought cut off by Bear taking one more step towards you before bracing himself for a giant shake, absolutely drenching you as you burst into laughter, wiping your now soaking face with the palms of your hands before reaching down to pet the cheerful dog, wagging his wet tail as he leaned up against your leg. 

You couldn’t help but let the smuggest grin spread across your face, now putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “Bear, huh? You come up with that one?” You giggled, crouching down to greet who you now were presuming to be the newest resident of your household, rubbing his hands over his drenched, furry body, squealing as he licked all over your face. “I thought we couldn’t have a dog in the apartment, Jav, and I hate to break it to you, this is definitely a dog… very much in our apartment.” 

Javi let out a snort, rolling his eyes at you as he reached over to shut off the water, resting his back against the edge of the tub, propping his arms up over the sides as he braced himself to try and explain his current situation to you. “Well…” he grinned sheepishly as Bear paced back and forth between the two of you, his tail swaying side to side as he dripped puddles across the bathroom floor, “I got into work this morning and the first thing I saw was a fucking dog that Carter and Miller had dropped in my office after Miller found him on his drive in.” 

“Which I am assuming is this dog?” You laughed, gesturing towards the giddy Golden Retriever jaunting around the bathroom. 

“Yeah, this one. Miller said that he found him on a dirt road. Called animal control and no one had been looking for a dog that looked like him, and that when he called the shelter, they were so full, that if someone didn’t either come to get him or adopt him in the next couple weeks, that, well… they probably would have to… Fuck, Cater is allergic and Miller can’t have dogs at his place, and I- he’s so sweet, and I couldn’t just let him go so-” 

“So you bought out the better part of the pet store so he could live here with us?” You grinned, raising an eyebrow at Javi as Bear happily sat himself down in his lap, making Javi grunt at the weight of the dog plopping himself down across his legs. 

“I mean… I uh… I-” Javi mumbled, sheepishly looking down at Bear before looking back at you, doing your best to contain your laughter and giggles. “What, Hermosa?” Javi phrased it as a question, even though he already knew the answer- You were never going to let him live this down for the rest of his life. 

“And you thought you needed to be worried about me bringing a dog home without asking.  Does this mean we have a new member of the Peña family?” You smirked, making your way over to Javi and Bear, squatting down on the soaking bathroom floor next to them, pressing a playful peck onto Javi’s cheek as you gave Bear a big scratch. 

“If that’s okay with you.” 

“You’re lucky he’s cute, and you’re lucky you’re cute, too. Yes, of course it’s okay with me. Welcome to the family, Bear Peña.” 

The two of you smiled at each other as you sat on the bathroom floor, a damp and soggy Bear spread across your laps with the happiest and goofiest grin spread over his face, too. While coming home to find Javi wrestling a stray dog in your tub wasn’t exactly how you pictured welcoming the newest member of your family into your lives, in some strange way, it couldn’t have felt more perfect. Getting to grow and share your life together with Javi was all you could ever really ask for, even if that meant a Monday night, soaking wet from a dog bath gone wrong. 

“Okay, well, we should probably dry this goofball off and get his stuff all situated. Poor guy is probably exhausted after all of his adventures today, aren’t ya bud? Do you think we should put the dog bed in our room? I don’t want him to get scared during the night, but I’m not really sure if we should have him up on our bed, ya know?” 

As you pushed yourself up to stand, you waited for Javi’s response, only to be greeted by double the amount of big, brown puppy dog eyes now staring back at you as you turned around. Javi still said nothing, a guilty look growing across his and the dog’s, as you let out a deep sigh, wondering how in the world you were going to build up your immunity to another sweet face that made you crumble. 

“You already let him on the bed, didn’t you, Jav?” 

“.... Maybe.” 

“Like I said, the two of you are very lucky you’re cute.” 

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse

[suguwu]

christmas countdown

Your company is taking on a new project and desperately wants the backing and expertise of retired CEO Jing Yuan. Dispatched out into the countryside to bring him on board, you find it won't be as easy as you think.

Jing Yuan strikes a bargain with you: spend the upcoming days with him, until Christmas Eve, and he'll tell you exactly what it will take for him to come back if you don't figure it out yourself.

Let the Christmas countdown begin.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

pairing: jing yuan x gn!reader

word count: 16k (whoops)

notes: this came about through dms with my beloveds @petrichorium and @lorelune! they both were invaluable, and lore also was kind enough to beta for me, along with another friend. this fic feels like it possessed me; i wrote it in just over a week.

fic notes: hallmark au, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), jing yuan is taller than the reader, age gap (jing yuan is in his early 50s, reader is in their late 30s), this is mostly just fluff.

divider by @/cafekitsune.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“This is the third Christmas you’re missing,” she says, voice thickening, and you can almost see the way her eyes are going glassy with tears, shining beautifully in the light.

“I know. But this project is huge and I’m so close to the promotion—”

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“This is different. The CEO herself asked for me,” you say with a sigh.

“When would you leave?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“That’s almost a week until Christmas! Maybe you’ll get back in time! Or maybe it can wait until the new year?”

“No, Mom. The project is waiting on getting this person on board, it can’t wait that much longer. It’s just Christmas, I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

“It’s time with your family,” she snaps, the words shattering at the edges, honed keen with hurt. 

“I’m sorry. Next year, okay?”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Mom.”

“Fine. But think about it, please. We miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you guys too.”

The conversation continues on from there; she tells you that your father has taken up gardening, renting out a space in a greenhouse nearby, coaxing it into a full lushness that has him coming home flecked with flower petals. He’s already plotting out a vegetable garden come spring. 

You listen as she chatters away, throwing in the occasional “uh-huh” as you scroll through your emails, typing as quietly as you can. You pause as she goes silent.

“Mom?”

“Are you working right now?” 

You wince. “I just had a few emails—”

The line goes so quiet that you reach for your phone to see if your earbuds have disconnected. They haven't. Your stomach roils.

“Mom?”

“We’ll talk later, then,” your mother says, and the pit in your stomach grows at the sorrow threading through her voice. “Good night.”

You hesitate. Then your email pings again.

“Night, Mom.” 

She hangs up, and the click of the line sounds like a dour bell, but it’s chased from your mind by the bright chirp of your email. You settle back down with your laptop, digging into work once more. 

When you finally glance up from your laptop screen hours later, your eyes stinging, you realize it’s snowing. 

In the orange glow of the streetlights, the flakes look like embers flickering through the sky, like the sparks of a bonfire on a summer’s eve. It’ll be stomped into slush tomorrow, trodden under so many boots, but for now the snow dances through the air, a ballet all its own.

It muffles the world, blanketing your apartment in oppressive quiet, and not for the first time you feel small in your own home. You shiver. The high ceilings of your apartment feel like a gaping maw, arching and empty. 

You shift uneasily and turn on a soft lofi playlist despite the headache that’s settled in at your temples. It fills the air, creeps all the way to the empty corners of your apartment and softens them with sound. 

You let out a gentle breath. Still, something cold uncurls behind your ribs, sinks its teeth into bone until it hits marrow. You pick up your phone, swiping up to your messages with your best friend, and you’re halfway through typing out a message before you catch yourself. A quick glance at the clock makes you wince. Your phone thunks against the table as you toss it down. 

It’s late and she has a new baby—she needs as much sleep as she can get. You can’t disturb her, not for something as silly as this. You scrub a hand over your face and get to your feet.

It’s quiet as you get ready for bed, even the soft music doing little to soothe you. You turn on every lamp in your bedroom, flood the room with light, until it’s as if the sun has risen and is cradling you in its warmth. You keep them on until the last moment, flicking them off only when you’re tucked in bed. 

That cold thing stays with its fangs sunk in until you fall asleep. 

***

The airport is nearly deserted by the time you land.

It’s late, night blanketing the terminal, held at bay only by the light pollution of the airport. Your shoes click against the linoleum as you hurry through the empty hallways, eager to be done with your exhausting day of travel. 

The taxi driver that heaves your suitcase into the trunk is talkative, but you’re too busy checking your phone, flicking through the emails that poured in while you were in the air. The car rumbles to life beneath you as you pull up an attachment, scanning over the analysis quickly, scratching out a few notes on a scrap piece of paper you’ve pulled from your bag. The countryside rolls by as you work, pitch black except for a few lit windows from passing houses, little lighthouses in the deep sea of the night. 

“Here we are,” the taxi driver says cheerfully, killing the engine in front of the inn. 

It’s clearly old but well-maintained, a piece of the past caught in the resin of time. There are fake candles guttering in each window. The wreath on the door is almost as big as the door itself, dotted with lights that twinkle like little silver stars and topped off with a perfect crimson bow. 

“Thanks,” you say to the driver, trading a tip for your suitcase before heading up the steps of the inn. The scent of pine wafts around you; you step inside before it can stick to your clothes. 

“Hi,” you say to the receptionist, who puts down her magazine. “I’m here to check in.”

“Name?”

You tell her. She nods and you check your phone again as she checks you in. Luckily, it doesn’t take long, because the long day is beginning to weigh on you, an ache deep in your bones. 

“Let us know if there’s anything you need,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks.”

You pay little attention to the room, simply stowing your suitcase before pulling your laptop from your carry-on bag. There’s a small desk that you settle at; your laptop screen glows brightly as you open it. The world blurs, smears like a watercolor. You blink the fuzziness away to answer a few more emails. 

A few turns into many, catching up on all of your current projects now that you have another project to take care of. The headache that slowly blooms is familiar; it lingers behind your left eye, throbbing like a wound. It’s what finally gets you to set down your laptop for the night. It’s late enough that when you peer out the window while getting ready for bed, even the stars seem to have gone cold, twinkling faintly. 

By the time you crawl into bed, you don’t even want to look at the clock. Still, you see it when you set your alarm, and you wince. You only have a few hours before it goes off. You curse yourself and roll over to finally, finally go to sleep. 

Tomorrow comes too quickly. You wake with the sun, before your alarm, watery light pouring into your room, pooling in soft gold puddles on the floor. It catches on the prism dangling from the window, throwing rainbows against the walls, a whirling ballet of color. 

You make a mental note to close the curtains tonight. You hadn’t even realized they were open, with how dark the countryside is around the inn, far too used to the ambient light of the city. When you peer out the window, all you see is woods framing a large, clear space still dusted with snow. 

In daylight the inn is even more quaint, brimming with Christmas decor: with thick garlands draped over the doorway arches, weighted down with golden ornaments that catch the light, sending it flickering like the flames roaring in the fireplace. Sprigs of holly are tucked among the garlands too, little fireworks of color. Add in the mounds of fake snow lining a sprawling ceramic village and it’s a picture-perfect display. You trace a finger over the tiny wreath on the village bakery’s door. 

“Mornin’,” someone says behind you, a deep rumble of a voice, shaking through you like thunder splitting the sky. You turn around and find a man beaming at you.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Looking for breakfast? It’s in the dining room, right through there.” 

“I was really just looking for coffee.”

“That’s in the dining room too,” he says. “I’m Lee. I own the inn with my husband.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s nice. It’s lovely. I’m sorry, though, I really have to get to work.”

He raises a brow. There’s a whole conversation in that brow, you think. One you’re not interested in having. 

You give him a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you say. “That coffee is calling me.”

“Sure,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

You trade nods with a few other guests as you get your coffee, but you’re in and out of the loud dining room in a matter of minutes. Your room, foreign as it is to you still, is a welcome respite from the chatter that fills the inn. 

The coffee is good. It’s rich and nutty, the warmth of it warding off the slight chill that lingers in the room from the large windows. You try to peer out one of them but it’s whorled with frost, ice spun over the glass like embroidery, just opaque enough to let in the light.  

You settle back down at the little desk and boot up your laptop. Your inbox has slowly filled up again, and you’re starting to work through it when your boss slacks you. 

Qingzu: You’re off your regular projects for now.

Me: ??? I’m almost done with the analysis.

Qingzu: Fu Xuan wants you to concentrate on bringing Jing Yuan on board. I’ll delegate your usual tasks. 

You wince. Your coworkers are going to hate you.

Me: I can still do the analysis at least.

Qingzu: What the CEO says goes. Focus on the job she gave you. 

Qingzu: Also it looks like the address we have on file for Jing Yuan is outdated.

Qingzu: You might need to do a little searching. 

Me: Okay.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face before exiting out of your email. Not for the first time, you wonder why Fu Xuan didn’t reach out to Jing Yuan herself, considering she’d succeeded him at Luofu Corp. You’re not sure how negotiation from a stranger is the better option. And it would certainly have made your life easier. 

At least she’s given you a profile on him. The picture is unnecessary considering how many magazine covers the man has graced, but it’s there, and you won’t say no to looking at a pretty face. Even in his official picture, there’s a small, lazy smile on his face. He looks half-asleep, but his golden eyes are knife-sharp.

A tactician's mind, Fu Xuan said, and you believe it. 

You read through the profile carefully, taking in details large and small, trying to get a sense of the man you’re supposed to lure out of retirement. He’d retired early, barely into his fifties, and he’d only picked up a handful of projects in the last two years since, mostly charity work. You sigh, deeply jealous, and read on. 

The profile isn’t particularly helpful; to be honest, you hadn’t expected it to be. You’ll need to meet him and gauge him for yourself to see what the best avenue is.

You shrug on your coat before leaving the room, slipping past a ragtag group of children. They’re led by a little girl in a hat bigger than her head, the fuzzy flaps of it bouncing as she scuttles down the hallway, her face shining triumphantly, a mug of hot cocoa carefully balanced in her hands.

You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, glancing between the door and the front desk. You sigh and head towards the front desk. Lee smiles at you.

“Whatcha need?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone in town,” you say. “I was hoping you could direct me to them.”

“Sure. Who is it?”

“Jing Yuan.”

His smile shatters at the edges, a slowly spreading crack. He leans back on his heels and eyes you up and down.

“You a reporter?”

“No.”

He nods to himself. “Should have known. You look a little too corporate for that.”

You smooth down your coat self-consciously. Maybe you should have brought some more casual clothing for this trip. 

“Can you tell me where he is?” you ask.

“He’s not interested.”

“What?”

Lee shrugs, rocking back on his heels again. You think of a great pine tree swaying in the wind, bending, never breaking. “Whatever you want him for, he’s not interested.”

“How about he tells me that himself?”

“I’m sure he will,” he says. “If you can find him.”

“Which I assume you aren’t going to help with.”

“Sorry.”

You roll your eyes and stalk towards the door, wrenching it open and fleeing into the outdoors. The sun is shining but the air is frigid, the type of cold that sinks right through clothing and into your marrow. You shudder and pull up the collar of your coat to try and block the worst of the chill as you walk towards downtown. 

It’s an easy walk; you find yourself in the heart of downtown in just a few minutes. It’s just as quaint as the inn, the lampposts lining the street decorated with wreaths faintly dusted with pristine snow. You glance up at the lights strung between buildings, shimmering like the icicles they’re mimicking. 

It’s pretty, you suppose. You think people would flock here if they knew about it. Still, despite how small the town is, the streets are filled with people, some of them shouting greetings back and forth.  

You duck into the crowds and weave your way through them carefully, pausing just before a cafe. A thought occurs to you as you take a quick peek through the frosted window. You peel off your gloves, holding them in your hand as you step into Auntie’s. 

“Excuse me,” you say as one of the waitresses comes over to you, a tray balanced against her hip. “A man dropped these a block back and I thought I saw him come in here. I was hoping to return them. He was tall and had long white hair that he was wearing tied back. I think it was with a red ribbon.”

“Sounds like Jing Yuan,” she says. “You sure paid close attention to him.”

You cough, fidgeting with the leather gloves and she laughs. “Most people do,” she reassures you. You flash her a small, embarrassed smile. “He’s hard to miss, handsome as he is. I can give them to him next time I see him.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “If you know where he is, I don’t mind bringing them to him. I’m just enjoying wandering around town.”

Her eyes narrow; ice seeps into them, the slow creep of the first frost. Her grip tightens on the tray. 

You blink at her guilelessly, trying not to hold your breath. 

Her shoulders uncoil. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just—nevermind. I haven’t seen him today. I’d check along Aurum. That’s the main street. If you don’t find him, you can come back here and I’ll give ‘em to him.”

“I’ll just check a few more shops,” you tell her. “I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents, anyway.” 

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?”

“I know, I know,” you say. “I’m so bad about it. Thank you!”

“Bye.”

You hurry out the door, flexing your fingers against the cold as you keep your gloves in your hands. The second and third store yield the same results; the fourth shop is a bust too. The locals are more protective of Jing Yuan than you’d thought. You get a suspicious look every time you describe him, and that’s without even mentioning his name. 

You step outside the fourth shop with a huff. At this point, you’re worried that someone is going to insist on keeping the gloves. There’s only so many times you can spin the same story before it bites you in the ass. Plus, your hands are freezing; the sunlight is doing little to warm the day despite the rays bathing half the street gold. 

One more store, you think. Just one more.

You groan when you see the next store is a bustling toy shop. Children tug at their parents’ hands and smudge their noses up against the windows with gap-toothed grins. They spill out of the entrance like little ants, almost tripping over themselves as they babble excitedly to their companions. They part around you like flowing water as you make your way inside.

“Excuse me,” you say to the first person wearing a nametag that you see, holding out the gloves. “A man dropped these a few blocks back. I tried to catch up but couldn’t, but I thought I saw him duck in here. Have you seen a tall man with white hair tied up with a red ribbon?” 

“Funny,” a rich voice says from behind you. “I don’t think those would fit me.” 

You freeze. 

The man peers down over your shoulder; a few strands of fluffy white hair brush against you as he examines the gloves you’re holding. He tugs one free of your slackened grip and holds it up against his hand, which dwarfs the glove. His low hum resonates through you, a honeyed drip of sound, soft and warm.

“A little small, don’t you think?” he asks.

You turn around.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it. There’s a wicked amusement tucked up secret in the corner of his full lips; you try not to scowl. 

You see why Fu Xuan called him a scoundrel. 

Still, there’s no way out of this. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you say with a shrug. “And I did find you, so.” 

He chuckles. “That you did.”

“I—”

“Uncle!”

You blink as a blond blur zips past you and almost crashes into Jing Yuan. The blur turns out to be a young boy—no older than twelve—carrying a sizable sword. It’s almost as big as he is. 

“Uncle,” he says again, tugging at Jing Yuan’s sleeve. “Look what I found!”

“It’s a very nice sword, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, his smile softening. “But let’s wait and see what Christmas brings, hmm?”

Yanqing pouts for a moment before he glances at you. You realize he shares his uncle’s eyes, as golden as the sun. He blinks. “Are you another reporter?”

Jing Yuan leans down to be closer to his height. “Worse,” he whispers. “They’re corporate.”

The boy wrinkles his nose. 

Jing Yuan’s smile threatens to turn into a grin. “Go put the sword back, please,” he tells Yanqing, and you watch him dart off again. 

“Could I—”

“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Jing Yuan says. “And you may have heard that I retired.”

“I know, but—”

“Business has no place in a toy shop, you know.”

“That’s not what the toy seller would say.”

He tilts his head, a sliver of a smile unfurling on his lips. “I suppose so,” he says thoughtfully. “Either way, I am busy.”

“Fu Xuan sent me,” you try.

He sighs. “Yes, I had assumed.” 

“If I could just get a bit of your time—”

“Not now,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m with my family.”

“But at some point?”

“You’re at the inn, yes?”

“I am.”

“I’ll come find you tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Really?” you say and cough as he smiles, golden eyes twinkling like the ornaments decorating the toy shop. “I mean, that works. Here, here’s my card.”

He takes it; it looks tiny in his hand. He says your name, rolling it over his tongue like he’s tasting it, like it’s something to be savored. Your cheeks heat. A small smile plays across his lips. 

“Tomorrow, then,” you say.

He nods, his white hair swaying with it, like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. “Tomorrow. Come on, Yanqing.”

You start as the boy goes past you like a little darting fish, settling at his uncle’s side and tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go to the smithy?” he asks as the two of them turn to leave. “Please?”

Jing Yuan laughs, the sound rich, spilling over you like smooth chocolate. “Just to look,” he says, and they’re almost out the door when you realize—

“Wait!” you call out. “You still have my glove!”

Jing Yuan pauses and glances back, one golden eye rising like the sun over the mountain range of his shoulders. “Oh?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought you said it was mine?”

Behind you, the employee stifles a laugh. Your cheeks burn. “I—”

He chuckles. “Here,” he says, handing it back. “I’d hate for you to be cold.” 

Then he and Yanging are out the door, leaving you standing in the middle of the bustling toy shop. You clutch at your glove; it’s still warm from his hand, like the soft heat that lingers in the hearth stones long after the fire has gone out. 

It occurs to you that you may be in over your head.

***

The feeling doesn’t go away the next day. 

“Where exactly are we going?”

Jing Yuan flashes you a smile; the edges of it curl into something smug. He’d called early and met you at the inn, coaxing you into putting your coffee in a to-go cup before shuffling you out the door with no real explanation. “Christmas tree shopping.”

“Christmas tr—I thought we were going to talk about the project!”

“We are,” he says easily, pulling into a gravel parking lot surrounded by towering, barren oaks. In the distance, you can see a grid of pines, laid out like an embroidery pattern. “But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s five days away.”

“That’s basically Christmas,” he says cheerfully. He slides from the pickup with feline grace, the flex of his thighs obvious even under the thick denim of his jeans. You stay put in the passenger seat. He raises a brow. “You don’t want to talk?”

That sends you scrambling for the passenger door. 

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother to hide the little smile that blooms on his lips, an unfurling flower. You scowl at him as you join him next to the pickup; it has no effect.

“Shall we?” he asks. 

You huff and follow him onto the tree lot. He clearly knows where he’s going, weaving through the pines with a dancer’s ease despite his size. You stop at a row of sizable trees, their blue-green needles rustling in the wind. They’re dusted in the lightest layer of snow, like frosting sugar has been sifted over them. 

You’re searching for the words to start your pitch when he hums. 

“What do you think of this one?” he asks, testing the thick branches of a plush pine, watching critically as needles scatter everywhere. It releases a waft of the sharp tang of pine. 

“It’s a tree.”

“Noted,” Jing Yuan says dryly. “Thank you for your input.” 

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” you tell him as he moves on to the next tree. “I thought we would go to your office.”

“I don’t have an office,” he says. “And the rec center needs a Christmas tree.” 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

He glances at you. His eyes are the color of amber shot through with sunlight, a deep, rich gold. His gaze is knife-edged, a flaying thing, and it sinks beneath your skin to open you on its blade. You fidget with your sleeve.

When he smiles, it’s soft and maybe a little sad. He doesn’t say anything; he just hums again and moves to the next tree.

“Jing Yuan!”

“Keep moving,” he says. “We have to deliver the tree too, you know.” 

“We have to what?”

He laughs, loud and bright. “You heard me,” he says cheerfully. “Now come on.” 

You follow him through the rows, giving him clipped answers when he asks your opinion about a tree. Finally, after several more trees—that all looked the same to you, tall and full of pine needles—he finds one that he’s pleased with. 

He tells you to wait with the tree and disappears down the row.

When he comes back, he has an ax.

“Um,” you say. 

“Hm? Oh. It’s fine,” he says, resting the ax nearby as he ties his hair up into a high ponytail.

“Is it?”

He hefts the ax up and motions you back before swinging. He strikes true, the trunk starting to splinter under the hit, and the next one is in the exact same spot. The tree groans in protest, but Jing Yuan doesn’t pause. His powerful shoulders bunch and flex as he keeps the ax in motion with ease, though he’s beginning to pant a bit by the time he’s halfway through the trunk. Sweat glints on his brow; it dampens the edges of his hair, darkening it to the silver of the moon. 

He swings the ax again, his biceps bulging, and a crack splits the air. The tree starts to topple, falling into its neighbor, which keeps it mostly upright. Jing Yuan wipes his brow, chest heaving, and belatedly, you realize you’re staring. 

Behind you, there’s the crunch of pine needles under boots. Two men wearing name tags stride by you and clap Jing Yuan on the shoulder. They confer with him for a moment before they pick up the tree and start carrying it back towards the parking lot.  

“There,” Jing Yuan says, sounding satisfied. “We can go now.” 

“Do you often just…cut down trees?”

“Only at Christmas.”

You snort. He chuckles before gesturing you back to the parking lot. You head back and come up to the pickup just as the two men finish tying off the tree in the bed of the truck. Jing Yuan gives them firm handshakes; you pretend not to notice just how much cash is transferred between their palms. 

The two of you climb back into the truck. You have to move your briefcase in order to sit comfortably and the sight of it sets you back on track.

“You said we’d talk about the project,” you accuse.

“You didn’t say anything,” he says, putting the truck into gear. “So there wasn’t anything to talk about.”

You scowl at him. He pulls out of the parking lot; the truck trundles down the road. 

“Insufferable,” you mutter, but from the way the corner of his lips lift, he’s heard it. 

Quiet falls. The radio is crooning a soft Christmas song, but it’s faint, like an echo of the past. The heater is on, and the truck’s cab is soft with warmth, like sinking into bathwater after a long day. You lean against the window. Your breath fogs over the glass, a marine layer, and you resist the urge to draw something in the mist. 

The rec center isn’t far; you pull up to it just a few minutes later. Your phone rings just as Jing Yuan hops out of the truck.

“I need to take this,” you tell him. “It’s work.” 

He hums, something flashing across his face. It’s gone quickly, rolling by like a summer storm, and you’re already picking up the phone, your coworker’s harried voice filling your ears. 

The phone call takes a while. At one point, the truck rattles around you—a quick glance in the rearview shows a group of teen boys pulling the tree free from the truck bed, leaving a sea of needles in their wake, a forest floor brought home. Their laughter fills the air, audible even through your earbuds. You turn up the volume.

Jing Yuan shows back up just as you’re finishing your call. There’s silvery tinsel woven into his hair, barely visible except when it catches the sunlight, a lightning strike gleam. “You must be cold,” he tells you. “Come inside.”

You shake your head. “I need to go back to the inn,” you say. “I have a project that just went sideways.”

He sighs. “As you wish,” he says, and climbs back into the truck. 

You flick through your phone as he drives back to the inn, answering emails and trying your best to put out the embers of the fire that had sprung up on your project. When you reach the last one, you click your phone off and glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye.

The cold wind has nipped at his cheeks until roses bloom on his pale skin. The tinsel in his white hair shines, the full moon draped in ribbons of silvery shooting stars, and he’s beautiful in an untouchable way, a statue come to life.

Except—there’s a small, lopsided smile tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. It sweetens his mouth and adds a puckish curve; it makes him real again. It’s a contentment that you didn’t know existed, a quiet happiness that radiates from him. 

Something in your chest goes tight.

You clear your throat. He glances over at you, that tiny smile fading into something more polished. 

“Something to share?”

“The project.”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

“Yes, that.”

“I suppose you have me trapped, don’t you.”

“For as long as the car ride,” you agree.

“Go on, then.”

You give him a basic overview, sweeping over the vast lay of the project, upselling things you’ll think he’ll care about while cutting out a few of the things you think he won’t. It’s hard to tell how it’s landing; you’re slowly realizing that Jing Yuan is a hard man to read. You suppose it makes sense, considering his years at the highest level in corporate, but it feels odd.

“I can see why Fu Xuan wants me on board,” he says as he pulls into the inn’s driveway. “And it is the type of project that appeals to me, which she knows.”

You let out a soft breath. “I don’t suppose that means you’ll come on board?”

He parks. “No,” he says.

You sigh. “I thought not. What would it take for you to come on board?”

“Don’t you think it’d be more fun to find that out yourself?”

You scowl at him, ignoring the way the corners of his lips lift. 

“No.”

Jing Yuan glances at you, his eyes gleaming, the sun come down to earth.“I'll tell you what,” he says. “Spend up until Christmas Eve with me. You can talk to me about the project until then. And if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll tell you exactly what will get me onto the project.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Deal,” you say, sticking out your hand. He shakes it, his grip firm. You can feel the heat of him even through your gloves. It’s soft like the early spring sun, a gentle warmth that blooms through you. 

“Not that I mind, but I will need my hand back.”

You let go immediately, snatching your hand back like you’ve been burned.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, eyes crinkling. 

“I have to go,” you say, scrambling for your briefcase. You think you hear him chuckle under his breath as you pop the door open. You don’t even say goodbye; you slam the door shut before striding off towards the inn, pretending your dignity isn’t lying in pieces. 

At the inn’s door, you can’t help yourself. You glance back.

Jing Yuan smiles and gives you a little wave.

Your cheeks go hot, a supernova burn. You retreat into the inn quickly. 

Lee calls out a greeting, but you ignore him and rush to your room. You curse Jing Yuan’s name as you boot your laptop up. Your cheeks are still warm. You scrub your hands over them as if that will help. 

Your email pings. With a sigh, you scrub at your heated cheeks one more time before you delve into your inbox. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails; by the time you look up, stomach grumbling, the sun has set, leaving behind only its reflection in the moon to lead the way. You push back from the desk and rub at your stinging eyes.

When you go downstairs to grab something to eat, the inn’s lounge is full of people. You balk, unsure, but your stomach rumbles again. You make yourself a plate and sit down at the edge of one of the crowded tables, picking away at the food as laughter fills the air around you. 

There’s a couple at the other end of your table, hands intertwined as they talk, pressing close to hear each other over the noise. The shorter woman smiles at her partner, quick and bright, a shooting star burning through the night sky, and you look away. 

Across the room, a group of teens are laughing among themselves, draped over each other casually. You watch them for a moment. They vie for the handheld console they’re playing with, passing it back and forth as they chatter excitedly.

Something cold slithers behind your ribs. It winds around the bones like ivy, sending roots down into your marrow.

You take the rest of your meal upstairs. 

***

The morning light streams through the frost on your windows, the feathered whorls of ice glittering as they cast dancing shadows on the walls. Beyond your window, the inn’s yard is full of bundled up families swooping down the slight hill in brightly colored sleighs, their whoops barely audible. 

You watch a little boy tug his father up the hill. He’s so wrapped up in layers that he’s waddling. He throws his hands up in the air as they coast down the hill, snow kicking up behind the sleigh, his father wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. 

Someone says your name.

“Sorry,” you say, coming back to yourself and the conference call you’re on. “Could you repeat that?”

They do and you refocus, tapping away at your keyboard as you sip at your coffee. You’ve stepped back into some of your usual projects now that you’re at Jing Yuan’s whim. He’s clearly a late riser, based on the time. 

He calls when you’re on your third cup of coffee. He tells you only to meet him in front of the inn in fifteen minutes. You’re out the door in ten, stamping your feet on the inn’s porch to keep warm, tucking your chin into your coat’s collar in hopes of keeping warm. 

Jing Yuan pulls up a few minutes later. He slides from the car gracefully, looking cozy in a fleece-lined bomber jacket. You tuck your chin further into your coat collar as the wind gusts. He eyes you for a moment.

“Do you have anything warmer?”

“I brought clothes for business meetings, not whatever you have planned,” you say irritably. 

He chuckles. “Fair,” he says. “Hold on.” 

He disappears to the trunk of the car. When he comes back, he’s got a thick scarf and hat with him, the knit of them full of lumps, clearly handmade. There’s a neon bright pom-pom on the top of the hat. 

“No,” you say flatly.

He chuckles. “Alright.” 

The wind chooses that moment to gust heavily, biting through every layer to kiss frigid against your skin. “Shit,” you bite out, and when Jing Yuan holds out the hat and scarf again, you take them.

You jam the hat on your head and wind the scarf around your neck before burying your chin in it, pulling it up over your mouth and nose. When you breathe in, the air is tinged with what can only be traces of Jing Yuan’s cologne, a faint hint of warm cedar and bergamot, woodsy and bright. Beneath that, there’s a hint of smoke, of woodfire. It drapes over you like a soft, warm blanket. You resist the urge to close your eyes to breathe it in again.

“Cute,” Jing Yuan teases. You glare at him, but from the smile he gives you, it’s not very effective. You glare harder. 

“Let’s go,” he says, urging you towards the car with a gentle hand at the small of your back. You can feel the weight of it even through the thick material of your coat. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. He chuckles as you glance away. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip into the passenger seat.

He flashes you a coy little smile. “You’ll see.”

You huff; he just smiles.

It doesn’t take you long to get back to the rec center, but you make the most of it, chattering to him about the project, trying to figure out what to highlight based on his reaction. He responds amiably, even asks a few questions, but it’s not enough. You know it’s not enough. 

When you arrive at the rec center, Jing Yuan pulls around the back of the building. Before you can even ask, the answer comes into view.

“Oh,” you breathe, cutting yourself off mid-sentence about the marketing strategy, taking in the massive skating rink. The bleachers are covered with twinkling lights and pine garlands, massive red bows dotted along them like flowers. There are lights overhead, too, dripping down like icicles. A Christmas tree sparkles in the far corner of the rink, weighed down with ornaments and topped with a shining star. 

Jing Yuan parks and you balk.

“We’re not—”

“We are,” he says cheerfully, the corners of his lips curling up into a lazy smile. 

“What does this have to do with the project?” you ask desperately. 

“Ah ah, that would be telling.”

You gape at him. He chuckles and gets out of the car; you follow him after a moment. He guides you to the skate shoe rental hut and before you realize it, you have a pair of skates on and are at the edge of the rink. You’re not even sure how he convinced you. 

Jing Yuan is already on the ice. He moves like a dancer despite his bulk, swaying over the ice like kelp in a current, rippling and beautiful. There’s something utilitarian to it too, not a single move wasted. An athlete’s precision. 

He comes close to the edge and holds out a hand to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“I know how to skate,” you snap at him. 

“Okay,” he says, skating backwards to give you enough room to kick out onto the ice. 

It takes you a minute to find your feet, skates almost skittering out from under you, but you find your balance quickly and start to skate through the rink. The ice is smooth beneath you, perfectly slick, and you pick up speed. When you glance to your right, Jing Yuan is there, keeping up with you effortlessly, a small smile unfurling across his lips.

His hair is streaming out behind him, barely tamed by the thin red ribbon holding part of it back. You think of the pelting snow of a blizzard, beautiful and dangerous, and look away just as he turns to you.

“So shy,” he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest, and you consider how much it might hurt the potential of the project if you hit him. 

“I’m hardly shy,” you tell him.

“That’s true,” he says. “I don’t think anyone shy would have claimed their gloves as mine.”

The tips of your ears go hot. “I needed to find you.”

“I’ve heard that you can ask people things.” 

“I tried. They’re protective of you, you know.” 

His smile softens, goes tender at the edges. “More protective than I deserve,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the whipping wind. 

You bite at your lip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye; his smile is distant now, like the sun dipping just below the horizon.

“Jing Yuan?” you say tentatively. 

He blinks. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry.” 

You hum. “You skate well,” you say instead of the question that’s lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“So do you.”

“My mom was a skater,” you say, looping around a tottering child. “She taught me when I was little. I haven’t gone in forever, though.”

“How come?”

“Too busy.”

“Too busy working,” he says, and it’s not a question.

You think of the Instagram photos from a few weeks ago, all of your friends at a nearby rink, glowing under the lights as they pile into the frame, caught eternally in joy. The pictures of the food afterwards, of the drinks they used to warm themselves up, each one dotted with a little sprig of holly. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Too busy working.” 

He hums. 

You push yourself to skate faster. He keeps up with you smoothly, his footwork impeccable. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You glance at him; he meets your gaze steadily, his eyes the color of sunlit whisky, deep and rich. “I’m not upset,” you say. 

“Alright.” 

The two of you skate quietly for a long while, keeping an easy pace around the rink, avoiding the wobbling tots being coaxed by their steady parents. Teens spin around in circles until they’re dizzy, falling to the ice with a laugh. There’s a girl holding hands with another girl as she scrambles across the ice like a baby deer. You watch them bobble along, a little smile blossoming on your lips.

“Careful,” you hear Jing Yuan warn, and you look up just in time to see a teen boy windmilling his arms as he comes straight at you. Before you can even blink, there’s an arm around your waist, tugging you out of the way. The momentum sends you directly into Jing Yuan; he turns the two of you quickly and grunts as he hits the rink’s edge, taking the brunt of the impact. 

You end up pressed together. His arm is still slung low around your waist, holding you to him, the tips of your skates just barely touching the ground; you’ve fisted your hands in his coat to keep from falling. You can’t help but lean into the warmth of him. This close, you can smell his cologne more clearly. It’s different on his skin, the woodfire scent all but gone, while the cedar and the bright flash of citrus from the bergamot still lingers.

“You okay?” he asks, setting you down. His big hands are gentle as he steadies you, touching you as if you’re something fragile, something to be protected. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You still have your hands fisted in his jacket. You let go one finger at a time before stepping back. 

“I’m fine,” he says, straightening up. “Doubt it will even bruise.”

“Thanks,” you say. “For the save.” 

“You’re welcome. Think I’m done with skating for the day, though.”

“Me too.”

The two of you skate to the edge of the rink; Jing Yuan holds out a hand to help you from the ice. By the time you’re done returning the skates, the sun is setting, the fiery orange horizon giving way to the encroaching teeth of night. 

“I should get back,” you say. “I still have some work to do.”

Jing Yuan glances at you. His gaze is assessing, golden eyes keen, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be under his scrutiny when he was still a CEO. If other people felt his gaze like an autopsy cut, opening you for his perusal. 

“Sure,” he says easily. “If you have to.”

“I do.”

He takes you back to the inn. Your goodbye is quiet, though he takes one last jab at how you look wearing the hat and scarf as he insists you keep them for now. 

You watch him drive off, unable to shake the feeling that somehow, you’ve disappointed him. 

You work for a while, your room quiet, before you give up in the middle of an email. You shut down your laptop and get ready for bed. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

***

“Do you really get up this late?” you ask, checking your watch as Jing Yuan climbs out of his car. 

“No,” he says, sounding amused. “Do I give that impression?”

“They literally called you the Dozing CEO.” 

“There are worse things to be.”

“That’s true,” you say thoughtfully. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about the second stage of the pro—”

“Later,” Jing Yuan says. “Right now it’s time for coffee. Let’s go to Auntie’s.” 

The snow crunches under your boots as the two of you walk into town. The crowd is even bigger today, filling the streets. There’s a band at one end of Aurum, the musicians bundled up as they play lively Christmas music. They take a request from a passing child and they clap in delight as the band starts to play. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask.

Jing Yuan nods. “The holidays are a big deal around here,” he says, holding the door to Auntie’s open for you. “It’s a close-knit community.”

He greets the hostess by name and asks about her family; she chatters familiarly with him as she leads the two of you to a booth.

“I can tell,” you say once she’s left. “Is that why you came here?”

He pauses. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, giving you a little smile. It’s soft, that smile, and sweet at the edges. Your cheeks heat a bit. “But yes, that’s a large part of it. That and I wanted to be out of the city.” 

“Really? I thought you loved the city.”

He tilts his head in question.

You cough. “Most of the profiles I’ve read say you like the city.” 

“When I was younger,” he says. “But now, I find the quiet suits me.”

The waitress comes by with a coffee for him; he thanks her kindly before returning his attention to you. 

“The quiet here has been nice,” you admit.

“Would you ever leave the city?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve been there for almost twenty years now. I moved there when I was eighteen. Besides, that’s where my job is.”

He hums lightly. “So it is.” 

“Speaking of—”

He sighs, cupping his coffee between his big hands to warm them. “Go ahead,” he says. “I said I’d listen.” 

You launch into the second phase of the project, outlining the plans and how they’d be executed, as well as what his backing and involvement might look like. Jing Yuan drinks his coffee as he listens, only pausing you once so he can ask the waitress a question. 

You wind down and he smiles at you. “You’re very convincing,” he tells you. “I can see how you got Feixiao to come on board for the last project that Luofu did.” 

“But—” you say, knowing what’s coming.

“But I’m not sold.” 

“Of course you aren’t,” you grumble under your breath. Jing Yuan breathes out a laugh and your face goes hot. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re very tolerant.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.” 

He chuckles. “I suppose I am,” he says. “Retirement has taken much of the bite out of me, I’m afraid. Though I don’t consider that a bad thing.” 

“It’s not.” 

He rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you from under his long lashes. Only one of his eyes is visible; the other is behind the silver of his hair, a sun hidden by clouds. His eye is heavily lidded, but his gaze is as keen as ever. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” 

“Right,” you say, flustered and unsure why. “Me too.” 

“I find the best part of retirement is the softness,” he says. “It gives you room to be gentle. With yourself. With others.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

“I do meditate quite often,” he says, eyes crinkling with his smile. “I would recommend it.” 

“I don’t have time to meditate.”

“All the more reason to find some time for it,” he says mildly, taking another sip of his coffee. A droplet clings to his lower lip; he catches it with his thumb before licking his thumb clean. You almost choke on air.

���Are you alright?” he asks, a coy smile unfurling on his lips. 

“F-fine.” 

That smile grows larger, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright. Let’s have a late breakfast, shall we?”

“Okay.”

The food comes quickly, filling the air with the scent of crisp bacon and the sharp, woody tang of rosemary. The eggs melt on your tongue, perfectly fluffy, and Jing Yuan smiles when you let out a pleased sigh.

“Good?”

You nod eagerly, taking another bite.

“Good.” 

You’re both quiet as you eat; when it comes time to pay, Jing Yuan doesn’t even let you reach for the bill, simply handing the waitress his card with a flick of his wrist. His playful glare silences you before you can even protest. 

When you stand to leave, he gestures you in front of him. He follows you out the door of Auntie’s and the two of you stop under the awning—hung with crystalline stars that catch the sunlight as they sway in the wind—to stay out of the way of the crowds. 

“Walk with me,” he says, tugging lightly at the end of your (his) scarf. 

“Okay.”

The two of you thread through the crowds; eventually, they thin out and you settle beside each other. You take in the quieter part of town, still Christmas ready, with fake candles flickering in the windows of the offices and thick wreaths adorning the doors. 

“Pretty,” you say absentmindedly, toying with a ribbon as you pass, the material velvety under your fingertips. 

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says, sounding fond, and he’s already looking at you when you glance at him. “Come along, we’re almost there.”

“Where?” you ask, but you round the corner and the answer is there.

The park is beautiful, even barren, with the tree’s empty branches reaching towards the yawning sky. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, though it’s turned to slush on the paths. You and Jing Yuan pick your way around the worst of the melt, until you find a massive gazebo. 

It’s a sight. It’s draped in garlands, each dotted with sprigs of holly and bright little lights that flash like shooting stars. Poinsettias line the gazebo, their stamen golden starfish amid the sea of crimson. 

“Wow,” you say. 

“It’s my favorite place in the park,” Jing Yuan says. “Though it’s normally a bit more subdued.”

“I would hope so.” 

“But it’s not what we’re here for.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he says, resting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you forward. “Let’s keep going.” 

You talk quietly as you wander through the park until you suddenly notice there are a lot more people than there were before. Before you know it, you’re in a line. You look at Jing Yuan, but he simply smiles.

“No,” you say as the horse-pulled sleighs come into view.

“That’s what you said about skating, too.” 

“Why is this town so into Christmas?”

“Why not?”

You sigh and let him guide you forward, abruptly aware that his hand is still at the small of your back. The weight of it prickles along your skin. He gives you a light push towards the front of the line. 

The sleigh that pulls up in front of you is large. It’s decked out in garlands and holly, filled with soft, fuzzy blankets that look like they would keep you warm on even the coldest nights. The mare in front of it nickers, her tail flicking from side to side. 

Jing Yuan slides into the sleigh with feline ease, though he’s broad enough to take up most of it himself. You hesitate.

He chuckles, patting the spot next to him on the bench. “Indulge me,” he says.

You sigh and slide in before sitting down. You immediately regret it. “It’s cold,” you whine, the chill seeping through your pants, but he simply tosses one of the blankets over you and tucks it in at the side, blocking out any chilly air. 

“There,” he says. “Ready?”

“Okay,” you say, and the driver flicks her reins, sending the mare into a trot. The sleigh starts to slide forward and you grab onto Jing Yuan’s arm without thinking, sinking your fingertips into the muscle of his forearm. 

He chuckles again and pats your hand. “You’ll get used to it,” he tells you. 

“And if I don’t?”

“You can always keep holding on to me.” 

You immediately let go. 

He gives you an indolent smile. His eyes crinkle with it, and you want to curse him for being so handsome. Instead, you huff and bury yourself deeper under the blanket, which has slowly been heating.

“I could be working,” you mutter.

“Would you rather be?”

You blink, not having expected Jing Yuan to be listening to you that closely. “I—It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.” 

“I just—it’s what I’m good at,” you say, and it sounds like a question even to your own ears. “I’m a good worker. A hard worker. I don’t really have much else to offer, so it makes sense to work all the time.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

“What?”

“You have much more to offer than just work,” he says gently. 

“I really don’t,” you say miserably. “I barely see my friends and I worry about overwhelming them, and my family is just—”

You pause. “And I also just said all of this to you, basically a stranger and also who I’m supposed to be recruiting, so this is just embarrassing now. Goodbye.” 

He catches you by the wrist as you start to throw the blanket off and try to wiggle away from his side.

“And here I thought we were more than strangers by now. I’m a little hurt.”

“Jing Yuan!”

“Alright, alright,” he says. “But it’s okay. I’m here to listen if you want.” 

“I don’t,” you say, refusing to look at him as he reaches over you to tuck the blanket back in around you. “Just forget I said anything.”

Silence falls, broken only by the steady trot of the mare and the soft jingling of the bells you hadn’t noticed on her bridle. 

“That’s part of why I retired, you know.”

You glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring off into the snowy treeline, his golden eyes hazed over, the sun under morning mist. “I wanted to be good at something other than work. And I wasn’t.” 

“That’s not true,” you say softly. “You and your friends—”

“Fell apart,” he says, and you subside. You know just as much about the group of company heads deemed The Quintet as anyone does, which is to say that you only know of their end. Their exploits, their dreams, all overshadowed. Companies—people—that rose into the sky and then fell, burning up in the atmosphere until they were meteors, destined to crash. 

Jing Yuan, barely out of his twenties, was the only one left standing.

“I put in years of work to try and get everything right again,” he says. “To acquire their companies and do right by them. I did it, too. And then I stayed. Because I was good at it. Because I didn’t know what else to do.” 

You chew on your lip before throwing caution to the wind. You rest your hand on his forearm and don’t move when he jolts. His eyes cut towards you, burnished amber, and the sharp edges of him soften. 

“You’re more than just work,” he says. “I can promise you that.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, because what else is there to say? “Okay.”

The both of you are quiet for a few minutes. You chew on everything that’s been said, careful not to sink your teeth into the meat of it. You’ll leave that for later, preferably in the dark of your own apartment. Next to you, Jing Yuan seems perfectly at ease, and not for the first time, you’re jealous of his composure. 

“Look,” he says suddenly, nudging you gently. He points to where the park meets true forest, where the saplings grow teeth. “Rabbits.”

“Where?” you say, leaning around him to try and see it. “I don’t see anything.” 

“Here,” he says, and suddenly you’re encased in warmth, his arms wrapped around you as he points. You peer down the line of one bulky arm and finally see a family of hares in the underbrush, their downy fur as white as the snow that surrounds them. 

“How did you even see them?” you breathe, watching as one of them noses at another, who shifts back into the brush. “They’re beautiful.” 

“They are,” he says.

The horse nickers and the hares freeze before darting off deeper into the underbrush. You watch until you can’t see them anymore. You settle back before realizing you’re almost in Jing Yuan’s lap, his strong arms still wrapped around you. He’s warm against you, his chest firm despite the slight softness around his middle, and you can feel his voice rumble through you as he asks the driver a question, one you can’t quite make out through the static in your ears. 

You push away quickly, settling on the far side of the sleigh. It doesn’t do much, considering his size, but at least you’re further away from him. Hopefully without alerting him to anything.

From the puckish curl of his lips, that hope is dashed. Still, he says nothing, continuing to talk with the driver as you stare out the side of the sleigh, huddling under the blanket now that you’re bereft of his warmth.

After he’s spoken to the driver, he turns back to you, that same little smile blooming on his lips, an unfurling flower. You brace yourself. 

“If you’re cold, the ride’s almost over,” he says. “And then I assume you need to go back to work?”

You almost say yes. You almost take the out he’s given you, but you look at him instead, at the way his expression crinkles his eyes and the way his aureate gaze has softened. You look at Jing Yuan and something behind your ribcage writhes, battering against the bones.

“No,” you say quietly. “I think I still have more time.”

He smiles.

***

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the park, meandering through the expanse of it and chatting the whole time. You only turn back towards the inn when it starts snowing, a light fall of fat, fluffy flakes. They catch in Jing Yuan’s lashes when he turns his face up to the sky, his white hair cascading behind him, a river of starlight. 

He’s beautiful. You’d known that before, of course—the man was a staple on magazine covers for a reason—but like this, it’s a different type of beauty. You wish you had words for it. Instead, you content yourself with watching him.

He cracks open an eye and sees you looking. “You’re staring,” he says, a small, sly smile blooming on his lips. “Something on my face?”

“Snow,” you say dryly. “You’re going to catch a cold.” 

“Ah, so you do care.”

“Maybe,” you say, and relish the fleeting look of surprise that he can’t quite hide. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced by his usual small smile, but you think there’s a pleased edge to it. “Now hurry up, it’s cold.” 

He lifts his face to the sky for a moment more, letting a few more flakes drift down onto him. You wait for him. You’re cold even with the hat and scarf, but he looks so content that you can’t bear to drag him away. 

Finally, he strides to your side. The two of you head back into town, taking a route that extends the walk. You chat quietly for a majority of the time, though sometimes you lapse into a comfortable silence, simply watching the snow fall. 

He insists on accompanying you all the way to the inn’s doorstep, citing the icy path. You roll your eyes but don’t argue; his smile makes something in your chest twist. 

“Thanks,” you say at the doorstep. 

“For?”

“Everything,” you say, a little bit helpless.

He smiles again, gentle like the spring sun, and then says: “I’d like to take you to the house tomorrow.”

“The house? Whose?” 

“Mine.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” 

“You haven’t murdered me yet.” 

“True,” he says, that same little smile unfurling on his lips. “There’s still time, though.”

“Jing Yuan!”

He laughs, low and rich, more a vibration than a sound, as close together as you are. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” you say. “See you then.”

“Goodnight,” he says. But he stays until you give him a tiny shove. 

You go to sleep with a smile lingering sweet on your lips.

***

It’s still snowing the next morning. The flakes fall delicately, dusting over the trees like icing sugar, coating the inn like a soft blanket. You watch it as you sip your coffee. It’s slow and steady, like a snowglobe settling after a flurry. 

You can tell when Jing Yuan pulls up; your phone vibrates on top of your closed laptop. You gulp down the rest of your coffee before throwing on your coat. The walk from the inn to his car is short but cold. You shiver as you slip into the warmth of the car; he reaches over and tugs your hat down a little more firmly.

“Thanks,” you say. “Definitely couldn’t have done that myself.”

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go.” 

The drive to his house is longer than you thought. It’s on the far outskirts of town, set back into a grove of pine trees, not at all the modern manor you’d thought it would be. It’s still large, but there’s a modesty to it that fits him.

He pulls into the garage and leads you inside, where you immediately hear running footsteps. Jing Yuan smiles as Yanqing rounds the corner, all but throwing himself at his uncle.

“You took forever,” he complains.

“I had to go pick up my friend here,” Jing Yuan says, patting the boy on the head. “We can get started now, though.”

Yanqing peers at you. “Are they helping?”

“Helping with what?” you ask, shrugging out of your jacket at Jing Yuan’s gesture. 

“Gingerbread, duh.” 

“Oh, um—”

“They’re helping,” Jing Yuan says smoothly, ushering you forward into what you quickly realize is the biggest kitchen you’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with sleek kitchenware. There’s already ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter, perfectly arranged.

“I’m afraid to touch anything in your kitchen,” you say. 

He laughs, rolling up the sleeves of his dark red sweater. You watch his forearms flex, the muscle rippling beneath his skin, the tendons in his hands cording. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Now let’s get started before Yanqing eats all the chocolate chips.”

Yanqing pauses with another handful of chocolate chips almost to his mouth. He gazes at his uncle for a moment and then defiantly pops it into his mouth. Jing Yuan sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The boy chatters at the two of you as you measure out the ingredients for gingerbread, though he mostly speaks to Jing Yuan. For his part, Jing Yuan listens intently, paying as much attention to Yanqing as he would to any adult. He nods seriously when Yanqing complains about something that happened at school.

“And then they took away my sword—”

“Wait,” you say, stopping in the middle of mixing. “Sword?”

Yanqing stares at you. “Yeah. My sword.”

You look at Jing Yuan, who laughs. “He’s a fencing champion,” he explains.

“I’m the best in the region,” Yanqing informs you, his chest puffed up. “But one day I’ll beat Uncle.” 

You start mixing again. Jing Yuan is a former champion—that has been detailed in almost every magazine he’s ever interviewed with. With good reason, too. You’ve seen the photos of him in his fencing gear, his face mask by his side, his strong thighs outlined by the uniform. He’d been sweaty and smiling broadly, his senior Jingliu at his side, her lips pressed together sternly but her eyes gleaming. 

“Ah, this old man can’t keep up with you anymore,” Jing Yuan says, ruffling Yanqing’s hair. 

“Liar,” the boy grumbles. 

Jing Yuan laughs again. “That looks ready,” he says to you. “Yanqing, do you want to roll it out?”

“Nope.” He’s already sorting through the candy that’s on the other counter, unwrapping various ones. “I’m picking decorations.” 

“It’s up to you, then,” Jing Yuan says to you with a little smile.

“I don’t see you doing very much work,” you say. He’s leaning against the counter, looking half-asleep. 

“I’m supervising.”

You point your spatula at him. “You dragged me here. Come help.”

“Of course,” he says, pushing off the countertop. He pauses to stretch, reaching high, just enough for his sweater to reveal a slice of his belly and the tiniest hint of silvery hair. You almost drop the spatula. He grabs it before you can, a smug little smirk playing across his lips. 

But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to lightly flour the countertop and dump the gingerbread dough onto it. He flours the rolling pin as well, his big hand easily reaching around the fullest part of the thick pin. When he starts to roll it out, his hands and forearms flex with each motion, the veins protruding slightly from beneath his skin. 

You decide it’s better for you to look at something else. You focus on Yanqing, who is humming happily to himself as he picks out varying decorations. 

“Those would make good pine trees,” you say, pointing to the waffle cones. 

He eyes you. “How?”

“Like this,” you say, flipping them over so the mouth of the cone is against the counter. “And then you pipe on icing to make it look like a tree.”

He deliberates for a moment. “We can try it,” he allows.

“Okay.” 

He slips away to another counter that’s got piping bags and tips laid out all over it, along with several different colors of icing. You glance at Jing Yuan. “You really have everything, don’t you?”

He smiles, cutting out a few shapes from the rolled out dough. “Not everything,” he says. “But I do try to stay stocked for gingerbread house day.” 

“Do you do it every year?”

“Yup,” Yanqing says, sliding in next to you. “Since I was little.” He concentrates on the piping bag for a moment, pressing the tip down until it’s at the bottom of the bag and then grabbing a glass and pulling the edges of the bag over the edges of the glass. It holds it nicely and he starts to pile icing in.

“I can tell,” you say, watching his careful precision. He doesn’t reply, too busy piping on the first bit of icing. 

There’s a blast of heat at your back as Jing Yuan opens the oven to put the gingerbread pieces in. The pan clinks against the rack and then the heat at your back is softer, a gentle warmth instead. Jing Yuan leans over you to see what Yanqing is doing, his long white hair draping over your shoulder, a waterfall of moonlight.

“Clever,” he says. 

“Pretty sure I read it in a magazine.”

He hums. “Still clever.” 

“I guess.”

“Look!” Yanqing says. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” Jing Yuan says, and he’s not lying. Yanqing has an eye for details, swirling the piping to achieve a needle-like texture in the deep green icing. “Now you can put ornaments on it.” 

“Yeah!”

You watch him fish through the varying candies to find a handful of circular red and gold ones, which he starts pushing into place in the icing. He works diligently, setting them into patterns, but you’re distracted by the heat of Jing Yuan against your back. He shifts behind you and your fingers flex.

The timer saves you. Jing Yuan pulls away as it dings; you hear the oven open and close again as he sets the gingerbread on racks to cool.

“Make one,” Yanqing says suddenly, shoving a waffle cone into your hands. “We need more for the forest.” 

“Is there going to be a forest?” Jing Yuan asks mildly. “I thought we were making a house.” 

“We can do both!”

 “I see.” 

The three of you work on trees as the gingerbread cools. Yanqing chatters away, telling you all about his most recent bout and what he asked for for Christmas. It’s cute, really, watching him and Jing Yuan interact, his hero worship obvious even from such a short amount of time.

You’ve just put the finishing touch—a silver gummy star—on top of a tree when the doorbell rings. Jing Yuan pushes to his feet with a groan and goes to answer it.

When you look up from your tree, Yanqing is staring at you.

“Uncle doesn’t usually bring corporate people to the house,” Yanqing says. “So how come you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Yanqing’s gaze isn’t quite as knowing as his uncle’s, but it’s gutting in its own way. “I think it’s because you’re sad,” he tells you. 

“I’m not sad!”

“Okay,” he says in the way that pre-teens do. “Lonely, then.”

He grins in triumph when you can’t refute that. Then his brow furrows. “I think he’s lonely too,” he confesses. “He doesn’t want to say it, though. But he is.” 

Your stomach twists.

“Yanqing—”

He glares at you. “He is!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” you say softly. “I just don’t think you should be talking about it with me.” 

“But you understand!”

You sigh. “Yanqing,” you say. “If Jing Yuan wants me to know something, he’ll tell me himself, okay?”

“No he won’t,” he mutters.

“That’s his choice.”

His brow furrows; his lips twist, a sour lemon kiss. “Fine,” he says.

You bite at your lip but he doesn’t say anything else. “Let’s build the house?” you offer. 

“We have to wait for Uncle.” 

“What’s he doing?”

“Delivery, probably.” 

That certainly explains the scuffing noises that have been coming from the hallway. Before you can go investigate, though, Jing Yuan reappears.

“Did I miss much?” he asks, before looking at the still dismantled house. “Oh, you didn’t start.”

“We were waiting for you,” Yanqing says.

“Oh? So considerate.” 

“Let’s build already!” Yanqing says, practically bouncing in place. “Uncle, c’mon!”

Jing Yuan laughs and joins the two of you at the counter, looking down at the pieces of the gingerbread house. “Yes sir,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”

“Here!” 

It takes several tries to even get two of the walls to stick together. Yanqing makes you and Jing Yuan hold them together as he pipes in royal icing to be the glue; the two of you crowd together on one side of the counter to try and keep them upright. This close, you can feel how thick Jing Yuan’s bicep is as his arm presses against yours, courtesy of his broad shoulders. 

Finally, the icing sets. When you and Jing Yuan pull away, the walls stay standing, earning a cheer from Yanqing. He immediately picks up the next wall, gesturing for Jing Yuan to hold it in place. You take advantage of your moment of respite to pull up one of the kitchen stools, nestling into the plush of it. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Jing Yuan warns. “We’ll be putting you right back to work.” 

“Yeah,” Yanqing says. “You’ve gotta hold the next wall while the other one sets.” 

“Okay, okay,” you say, reaching for the next piece of gingerbread. You set it in place, holding it carefully, bracing the corner of it with your fingertips and the side of it with your other hand. Yanqing ices it quickly, and you wince as he manages to get a good amount of icing onto your fingertips. 

“Oops,” he says, looking abashed but not sounding particularly sorry.

“It’s fine,” you say, lifting your fingers away from the join of the walls, still bracing the wall itself with your other hand. You pop your fingertips into your mouth one-by-one without thinking, the sweetness spreading across your tongue rapidly, the sheer amount of sugar enough to make your teeth ache. 

Jing Yuan coughs. 

When you look at him, he’s already gazing at you, his eyes darkened to topaz, a deep, rich golden brown. For a second, his lazy smile goes knife-edged, something hungry tucked up into the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone when you blink, only a faint amusement remaining. 

“There’s a sink if you would find that more useful,” he says, nodding towards the farmhouse sink just behind you. “Though far be it from me to stop you.”

Your cheeks heat. You wait a moment, letting Yanqing take the brunt of the gingerbread wall before you pull away. You wash your hands as the two of them chat behind you, the water burning hot as you try to compose yourself. 

The little smirk Jing Yuan sends you when you turn around doesn’t help. 

You take in a deep breath before rejoining them, taking the final wall and putting it into place. The three of you continue building, chatting the whole time. Yanqing’s delight is infectious and you find yourself laughing with every mishap and quietly cheering each time a wall stays up. The roof is the most precarious part; it takes the three of you several tries to get it situated. 

“Now it just has to fully dry,” Yanqing announces. “Then we can decorate.”

“And in the meantime?” you ask. 

“I’m going to my room!” he says, taking off down the hallway. You blink and glance at Jing Yuan.

“He means he’s going to snoop under the Christmas tree,” he says. 

“Oh.” 

“He thinks he’s sneakier than he is.”

“Don’t all kids? Besides, didn’t you peek under the tree when you were a kid?” 

“I would never,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Who do you think I am?”

“The type to sneak under the tree. I bet you shook boxes and everything.”

He chuckles. “I stopped after I accidentally broke one of the presents doing that.” 

“You didn’t!”

“I’m afraid so.” 

You laugh, the sound bubbling from you like a spill of champagne. “Oh my god.” 

Jing Yuan smiles, his eyes crinkling with it. “Don’t tell me you never shook the presents.”

“Of course I did. I just never broke anything.”

He hums. “Of course not.”

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You’re so annoying.”

He smiles, popping a candy into his mouth. You watch the way he licks the residue of it off of his lips. “Now, now, be nice.” 

You pick up a candy too. It’s watermelon, the taste bursting over your tongue, stickily artificial. “Are we spending all day on a gingerbread house?” you ask. 

“There’s a Christmas market that I’d intended to go to.” 

You hum. “Alright.”

“No need to sound so excited about it.” 

“Excited about what?” Yanqing says, flouncing into the room. He’s pink-cheeked and looking pleased with himself. You assume the present shaking went well. 

“The Christmas fair.”

The boy’s face lights up. “We’re going, right? Right?”

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says. “After we finish decorating.” 

“Is the icing dry yet?”

You test the gingerbread house carefully, seeing how well the walls and roof hold up. They don’t move under your gentle prodding nor when you apply a bit more pressure.

“I think so,” you say. “Let’s decorate.”

The three of you set to work. You and Jing Yuan mostly follow Yanqing’s direction; you build a chimney out of non-pareils, the uneven sides like trendy stone work. The fir trees are sprinkled around the yard, each one more decorated than the last; the shingles to the roof are made of gingerbread too, carefully cut into a scalloped edge. The very top of the roof is lined with gumdrops, the rainbow of them like Christmas lights. Chocolate stones make the pathway to the house; the path is lined with little licorice lamps. 

Altogether, it’s probably the fanciest gingerbread house you’ve seen. Granted, Jing Yuan had clearly gone all out on different types of candy—so many types that you barely use half of them—but Yanqing’s eye for detail makes it all come together. 

“Wow,” you say, putting a final star-shaped sprinkle in place over one of the windows, where it joins a line of others, a draping of fake Christmas lights. “This is really good, Yanqing.”

The boy puffs up. “I’ve won my school’s decorating contest before,” he says.

“I can see why.” 

He beams and then turns to Jing Yuan. “When are we going to the market?” he asks.

“After we clean up.” 

A pout creases his face for a moment, his lips turning down in an admittedly endearing way. “Fine,” he sighs, looking at the messy counter. You’d tried to keep the mess to a minimum, but between icing and sugar-dusted candies, you hadn’t quite succeeded. As Jing Yuan and Yanqing start to sort the candies and put them away, you start scraping up the dried-on icing. 

For a moment, you think Jing Yuan is going to protest, but when you flash him a little stare that dares him too, he subsides without saying a word. You grin triumphantly and he smiles, soft and sweet. Something in you twinges. 

You push the little flutter aside, wetting a paper towel to scrub off the worst of the icing. The three of you work away, chatting lightly, until the kitchen is almost as pristine as when you got there.

“That’s good enough for now,” Jing Yuan says, taking in the kitchen with a critical eye. “We’ll get the candy in the pantry later.” 

Yanqing perks up. “Christmas market?” he asks.

Jing Yuan nods, a fond little smile unfurling across his lips. “Go change your shirt.” 

Yanqing looks down at his shirt, which is spattered with icing from when he got a little overenthusiastic with the piping bag. “Okay!” he says, running off. 

You head to the sink to wash your hands again; they’re sticky with leftover icing. Jing Yuan meets you there with a dish towel to dry your hands. His fingertips linger over your palm as he hands it to you. You take in a soft breath, but the touch is gone as soon as it comes.

Yanqing returns and the three of you bundle up—apparently the market is an outdoor one. Jing Yuan fixes Yanqing’s hat despite the boy batting his hands away. Then he turns to you and tugs at the end of your scarf. 

“Ready?” 

You nod. The three of you pile into one of Jing Yuan’s cars. The ride is mostly quiet, with Yanqing and Jing Yuan chatting here and there, but you’re busy looking out the window at the rolling countryside. It’s picturesque in a way no painting could ever capture, the trees lit golden by the setting sun, the snow glittering like stars as it sits heavy on their branches. The firs bend under its weight while the bare oaks soar into the sky, as if they’re painted in long, sweet strokes. 

You pull into a stuffed parking lot. You shiver as you get out of the warm car, burying your chin into the scarf as your breath puffs out in a gentle mist. 

The fair is stunning, little stalls lining the closed-off street, each decorated in its own way. Each of them is festooned with lights and garlands, with little stockings hung carefully from the tables. There’s a baker with bread shaped like wreaths, the crust of them perfectly golden-brown, tucked into star-patterned cloth; a weaver with stunning blankets with complex designs; a blacksmith with all sorts of metalwork, each more beautiful than the last. And those are just the first few stalls.

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jing Yuan asks. “I hear it’s grown through the years. It seems to get bigger every year.”

“I’m surprised this place isn’t known as a Christmas destination.”

“It is,” he says. “If you know the right people to ask.”

“How did you find it?”

“A friend,” he says, and there’s something in the set of his mouth that keeps you from asking more. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

“I want to go to the blacksmith!” Yanqing pipes up.

“Go ahead,” Jing Yuan says. “Don’t go far, please.”

“Okay!”

The two of you watch him take off into the crowd, his golden crown of hair bobbing along, dodging adults and other children alike. Jing Yuan sighs, shaking his head, but gestures you along to the first stall. 

You linger over some textiles, including a beautiful tablecloth embroidered heavily with holly, each sprig carefully woven to look as real as possible. You can tell that love was stitched into it, and going by the stall owner’s gnarled fingers, she’s been doing it for a long time. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell her, stroking your finger over a holly leaf. She smiles and starts to tell you about her process; you listen intently, Jing Yuan lingering patiently at your side. 

When you finally move to the next stall, someone calls Jing Yuan’s name. He smiles as they approach. They chat amiably for a few minutes before he excuses himself. 

As you wander through the market, you notice that it’s a pattern. Multiple people come up to Jing Yuan, all full of smiles and good cheer, talking to him like he’s an old friend. Some of them eye you curiously, but just nod your way when you’re introduced, going back to catching up with some news they’ve heard or thanking Jing Yuan for a favor he’s done.

“You’re popular,” you tell him as you both step into another stall, this one filled with ornaments. They shine brightly under the twinkling fairy lights strung over the stall’s top. 

“Am I?”

“Mhm.” 

He hums, picking up a snowglobe ornament and giving it a little shake. You watch the fake snow settle at the bottom, revealing the little girl building a snowman, her figure exquisitely made. “They’ve been very welcoming since I’ve moved here,” he says. “I’ve been lucky.” 

“I think it’s more than luck,” you say quietly. “I think you give as much as you get.”

He flashes you a little smile. “Maybe so.” 

The two of you continue on before someone stops Jing Yuan again, this time near a stall that’s too full for the three of you to step into. You do your best to shift out of the way of the people making their way through the market, but it’s hard to do so with so little room. 

You’ve just been knocked into when Jing Yuan loops an arm around your waist and tugs you into his side. It pulls you out of the line of fire for the crowds filtering by. He’s a line of heat against you and you feel it when he chuckles, the sound rumbling through you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, cheeks hot. 

“Good,” he says, and leaves his big hand high on your hip, keeping you close. He goes back to amiably talking to the other person as if he hasn’t noticed. If you lean into him, just slightly, no one but you needs to know. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. You take him in, from the moonlight spill of his hair to his sunrise eyes, to the little smile on his lips as he chats away.

He belongs, you realize, watching him slot back into his conversation with ease. He’s a part of the town, and based on how many people have come up to him, an important one. You think of the way the locals had eyed you when you’d been asking about him. It makes sense now. The town protects him as one of their own because he is one. And he’s happy, a subtle glow to him, a type you’ve rarely seen and likely never achieved yourself. 

Something in your chest squirms, fluttering against the bones of your ribcage, trying to slip through the gaps. You resist the urge to press a hand to your chest. 

He pulls away from the conversation a few minutes later, the hand on your hip dropping to the small of your back as he guides you forward. He stops to talk to a few more people, his eyes crinkling with his smile each time as they come up to him. It’s mesmerizing to watch. 

And you’re asking him to give it all up.

Not all of it, you remind yourself. It’s a project, not a job, but something in you winces nonetheless. Your chest tightens, like a ribbon wrapped around it is cinching in. 

Jing Yuan glances at you as you step away from his warmth, his hand falling from where it’s been resting on the small of your back. His brow furrows, but it passes quickly, a guttering candle. 

You keep your distance for the rest of the fair. You’re still close enough to almost touch despite the thinning crowds, but the gap feels like a gulf between you, as if you’re oceans away. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, but from the way Jing Yuan eyes you, he doesn’t quite believe you. He opens his mouth, but you’re saved by Yanqing, who runs up with sparkling eyes.

“Uncle!” he says. “The blacksmith says we can go to the forge and watch him!”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Did you badger him into it?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll set up a time with him later, okay?”

Yanqing pouts but nods. You hide your smile behind your scarf. 

“Let’s go home,” Jing Yuan says. Night has fallen, the sky velvety and dotted with stars. He glances at you. “Would you like me to drop you at the inn?”

You nod. He hums. “Alright.”

The three of you pile back into the car. The inn isn’t far—you probably could have walked, but the cold night has only gotten more frigid. Jing Yuan comes up to the inn’s doorstep with you, catching you by the wrist when you’re halfway up the stairs. You turn around and he looks up at you, his golden eyes shining under the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and it takes a moment to gather yourself, too focused on the way his thumb is rubbing small circles on the delicate skin of your inner wrist. You realize you’re leaning towards him, a flower to the sun. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling, and you see it again, that soft glow to him. 

Something clicks into place. 

“Nothing will make you come on board the project, will it?” you ask, sounding too calm even to your own ears. You shake off his hand. “There’s never even been the slightest chance.” 

Jing Yuan lets out a low, slow breath. “No,” he says. “There hasn’t been.” 

“Right,” you say. “Okay. Thank you for everything.”

“What?”

“My job is done,” you say. “If I can’t convince you, there’s no point in me being here.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say. Your chest hurts. Something sinks its teeth into your ribs, chipping away at the bone. “I came here to get you on board.”

“That’s not what the last day or two has been,” he says softly. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reaches for you, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek. “Yes, you do.” 

You pull away. “I’ve been here to get you on board, Jing Yuan. To do my job. That’s all.” 

“You—”

“I’ll catch a flight tomorrow,” you say. “It shouldn’t be hard, since it’s Christmas Eve.” 

He lets out a low, slow breath. He gazes up at you, his golden eyes flickering with something you don’t dare name. 

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“It’s time for me to go,” you say. “It’s been time for me to go since I got here, apparently.” 

He says your name softly. It rolls over you like morning mist, blocks out the world. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Goodbye, Jing Yuan.”

He sighs. “If you change your mind, I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. You’ll always be welcome.” 

You nod sharply, turning on your heel to go inside. Jing Yuan says your name again. You glance over your shoulder. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. And then—

“Travel safe,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say, and then you’re inside the inn, leaving Jing Yuan standing out in the cold behind you. You don’t wait to see if he lingers, ignoring Lee’s cheerful greeting to make your way back up to your room. 

You book the first flight you find. It’s late in the day, but that’s fine—you can catch up with your emails and calls. You’ve barely checked your phone today. You can’t quite bring yourself to do it now.

After your flight is booked, you close your laptop and fold your arms, resting your head on them. The fangs sunk into your rib bones dig deeper, hitting marrow. 

“Fuck,” you say, sitting up and scrubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck.” 

You stare out the window, into the deep bruise of the night. The woods rise beyond the hill, the trees skeletal as they reach for the sky, barely visible in the dark. Stars glitter coldly high above; the moon shines like a lonely mirror. It all feels distant, like a world you’re not part of.

You let out a deep, slow breath. It does nothing to loosen the string wound tight around your chest; if anything, it tightens. 

You get ready for bed slowly, that fanged thing still biting deep, leaving teeth marks that ache deeply. 

When you fall asleep, the last thing you see is Jing Yuan’s eyes.

***

The next day dawns too early. You once again wake with the sunlight, having forgotten to close the curtains as you drifted around the room last night. The watery light pools on the floor, sweetly golden. The wooden floor is warm under your feet as you cross through the puddles of sunlight. 

You get ready for the day quickly. You pack up carefully, rolling your clothes up so they fit better before you tuck your toiletries in. You keep your laptop out to answer emails as they come in. The sun stretches along the floor as you work, barely coming up for air.

You don’t dare give yourself time to think.

You check out in the early afternoon. The receptionist is the one who checked you in. She’s quick and efficient, and you find yourself on the doorstep of the inn waiting for a cab in just a few minutes. 

The taxi driver is quiet;  you find yourself wishing for the same talkative driver as before. At least it would fill the air, give you something to concentrate on beside the noise in your head. 

It’s all mixed together, a slush puddle that you keep stamping through, expecting to not get splashed this time. Jing Yuan, the project, your work, the promotion—it runs through your head non-stop, circling over and over again. Your work, all for nothing. Your possible promotion, just beyond the tips of your fingers. Jing Yuan with his golden eyes and his lips with a smile tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth. Jing Yuan with his laughter and his dedication to the town. 

You check your email but it doesn’t help.

You’ve already told Qingzu that you’ve failed. She had taken it in stride; she made sure you knew that no one was going to blame you. The project is going to go forward with or without Jing Yuan. You knew that, but the failure stings anyway. Fu Xuan had asked for you specifically; she must have believed you could do it. 

You should have been able to. 

Except—you think of the quiet glow that Jing Yuan had yesterday. The way he’d slipped seamlessly into the town’s community, how they treat him as one of their own. He’s happy in a rare way, deeply content with his lot. How you’d felt at his side in the last few days, even as he dragged you around. What it felt like to not be so focused on work all the time; how it felt to live life again. 

Something in your chest warms. It rises through you like sparkling champagne bubbles, fizzing across your nerves.

You think of the way Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

“Sir,” you call out to the taxi driver. “Can you please turn around?”

***

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. There are people coming and going; laughter drifts out the door every time it opens. The path is brightly lit, with Christmas lights lining the side and elegant wreaths hanging from posts, each big red bow perfectly tied. They’re glittering with tinsel, woven expertly in through the pine boughs.

You slip inside quietly. It’s completely different from just yesterday: there are tables set up inside, piled high with an entire array of hors d'oeuvres, from tiny little tarts to a bacchanalian cheeseboard, overflowing with plump, glistening figs, wine-red grapes, and fine cheeses. The decorations have multiplied. There are fairy lights everywhere, twinkling merrily. They’re tucked into vast, lush garlands that drape along the tables; there are candles flickering in their ornate holders, little wisps of smoke dancing from the flames. 

It's easy to find Jing Yuan; he’s holding court by the Christmas tree, perfectly visible from the doorway. He’s chatting away with the small group that’s gathered around him, but there’s something different about him. Something you can’t quite name. 

He looks wilted, almost, like the flowers in the last days of summer, still thriving but sensing their end. He smiles at someone and there’s nothing tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. Your chest aches, something howling between the gaps of your ribs. 

He glances up and your eyes meet. He goes still, and then there’s a brilliant smile spreading across his lips, the sun come down to earth. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over to you. 

“Hi,” you say as he draws near, a little bit breathless.

“Hi,” he says.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words rushing from you like water. “The last few days haven’t been nothing. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sorry that I led you astray.”

“Why did you do it?”

He sighs. “I remember what it was like to work like that. To give up everything for the job. No one should live like that. And you seemed so lonely.” 

You wince.

“Sorry,” he says. “But it’s what I saw.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like you were wrong. And you made me less lonely, Jing Yuan.”

He reaches out and sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You sway into the touch, turning until your cheek is cradled in his palm. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “All I want is for you to be happy.” 

Someone whistles. You balk, starting to step back; Jing Yuan catches you before you can go far, pulling you in close.

“You’re under the mistletoe,” someone calls. 

You look up, and sure enough, there’s mistletoe hanging innocently above you, the tiny flowers white as snow. It’s tied off with a perfect red ribbon.

“We don’t have to—”

“It’s tradition,” you say, and then you’re surging up to kiss him. He meets you halfway and as his lips brush yours, warmth blooms inside your chest, embers stoked to flame. He cups the back of your head to pull you closer. You make a little noise; he swallows it down. 

There’s a certain greed to the kiss; a longing, too. He steals the breath from you; takes in your air and makes it his own. You kiss him harder, as if he might disappear. 

When you break apart, he leans down to press his forehead against yours. You close your eyes. You can hear people murmuring, but they seem far away. Only Jing Yuan feels real. You open your eyes and glance up at him. He smiles at you, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges. Your heart flutters behind your ribs, beating against the cage of them like a bird’s wings.

“Merry Christmas,” you breathe. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says softly.

He kisses you again and this time, it feels like coming home. 

[attapullman]

Stupid White Car | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Pretty trees and cozy fire pit nights are all you expected when Robert mentioned wanting to landscape his backyard. And then the architect in the slutty white Benz shows up.

Word Count: 810

Warnings: none except sorry if your name is Alyssa 😬

A Note From Mo: The world's biggest shoutout to my favourite Bradshaw Baddie @roosterforme for coming up with this delicious idea and beta-ing this sake-written, jealousy-fueled oneshot for the neighbor!Bob anthology. Hope this satisfies everyone's appetite until Part III graces your screens.

The project was supposed to be done a week ago. No more white Mercedes in his driveway, no more lemonade on the back patio, no more mulch deliveries outside business hours. No more her.

When Robert announced he was finally landscaping his boring grass lawn while on leave, you had encouraged him. Dreams of sitting out there with him by a fire pit under some string lights danced before your eyes. But now you’re wishing he had kept his patchy lawn that turned into a mud pit at the slightest chance of rain.

Then she showed up.

You were working in your home office, deep into a spreadsheet, when you heard a female voice in the yard next door. Face pressed into the window, turning just so, a tiny postage stamp of his yard visible from your vantage point. Your sweet boyfriend walking around his desolate lawn, pointing out problems, while the most stunning woman followed him, smiling and nodding and jotting down notes. 

It should be illegal for him to look so good in faded jeans with grass stains. Or for her to pull off work boots so well. 

You missed your three o’clock meeting observing them from your hideout, having moved to the laundry room where you could see his yard better. Watched them sit at the little finicky table he needed to replace and go over pages in her catalog, pointing out the design features he liked and what she recommended. 

You didn’t know words like drip irrigation and concept plan could sound so…intimate.

Now it’s been weeks, and that annoying little car is always in his driveway. When she’s not “supervising” the subcontractor, she’s delivering supplies or needing to go over the plans one last time. The 15th has come and gone, and yet she’s still here. And you’re not sure whether it’s your imagination or not that her blouses suddenly have one less button done.

It’s a beautiful spring day outside, and you wish you were out there instead of holed up trying to make sense of this budget. The window is open to allow a soft breeze, tickling the skin not covered by your thin tshirt. An hour ago you shot Robert a text asking if he wanted to have dinner out tonight, try out that new bistro with the cute patio and enjoy the sunshine and some tiramisu. 

Maybe add in an evening walk along the beach? Ending with a night cap and him wrapped in your overstuffed comforter, enjoying his last night of leave blissfully unaware of the rest of the world.

Checking your quiet phone again, you settle down to your computer. And then you hear a perfect twinkle of a laugh. 

You abandon your computer and race down to the laundry, face pressed against the glass as emerald green jealousy licks along your skin.

No wonder you haven’t heard from Robert, his full attention is on his landscape architect as she has him choose between gravels for the stepping stones they’re finally installing. He’s brought out lemonade. Innocent blue eyes trained on her and laughing good-naturedly as she makes a joke about mortar. A joke a little too sultry for your taste.

You didn’t even hear her car pull in. When you talked to him last night he acted like all decisions had been made, one more full day of work and his backyard would be summer ready. It’s not a surprise she has weaseled herself into another visit.

Their hands accidentally brush as they flip between sample pages. Your entire being is rigid, the world in front of you an ominous red. How dare she touch what’s yours!

Before reasoning can interfere, you’re slipping on sandals and racing to the back fence. Pupils wild, heart racing, the green-eyed monster hot on your heels. 

The latch on his fence, newly installed, nearly pulverized in your jealousy-fueled mission. The gate swings open and there they sit, too close for your liking, her manicured fingers gliding along his forearm as she explains costs. 

Robert stands from his chair, shock and surprise written all over his face. He’s never seen this look in your eyes, this possession written all over your features. The woman raises her eyebrows to you, mildly shocked, mildly irritated you’ve interrupted her meeting with her favorite client.

“Alyssa, this is my, uh, neighbor next door…” he trails off awkwardly, realizing he’s never had to introduce you since that fateful night in your kitchen.

You see her smirk. Her revealing blouse. Her eyes that pity you. And from the corner of your eye, you see that stupid white Mercedes.

Rounding the rickety table, Robert’s eyes are filled with nothing but affection. A gentle reminder that she’s had his time, but you have his heart.

Your shoulders relax, returning her smug smile as you complete his sentence. “Neighbor…and girlfriend.”

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[dearharriet]

Whatever; Steve Harrington 🌓

summary: they say you’ll meet every person in your life twice. the second time you meet steve, you’re in college, and he’s very different from what you remember.

word count: 3.2K

warnings: fem!r, mentions + content of previous bullying, ex-bully!steve, alcohol consumption, some unresolved emotions, angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: i swear im alive i’m just stupidly busy. hope y’all like this one xxx

You circled back to Steve so quickly that a lick of embarrassment flamed at your cheeks, but really, you couldn’t have stopped it. His presence was fascinating, and like a passerby can’t look away from a car accident, you couldn’t resist inspecting Steve.

The house was very dark and humid, crowded with people that went to your university, and people who didn’t. Steve, for example, who had appeared—now for a second time—seemingly out of nowhere. Two weeks ago you’d spotted him at a party across town that a scene band threw, but he’d disappeared before you could talk to him. Tonight, he wasn’t so lucky.

To your relief, he received your sudden presence very gracefully, almost sheepishly. He was bowing his head and his broad shoulders shrunk together carefully. You wanted to say something very bold, something to grab his attention like fancy meeting you here, but the totality of your unfamiliarity made you hesitate.

“Where’ve you been?” you shouted instead, hugging your chest to feign casualness. It sounded, you realized, like you were inquiring as to where he’d been five minutes ago, not indefinitely post-graduation. Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“Hawkins,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “You?”

“Hawkins?” you repeated, ignoring his courtesy. “That’s not like you.” In truth, you probably knew very little about what would be like him and what would not, so you tacked on, “Not to be presumptuous or anything, sorry.”

In school, you and Steve saw very much of each other yet spoke next to never. In the spring of your sophomore year, Tommy Hagan’s father made him walk about the neighborhood and offer to mow lawns for money—something about growing hair on his chest, forming a sense of responsibility—and your mother had just broken her wrist, so she gave him a five dollar bill every Saturday for three months to help out. Tommy was awful at it, and he loathed you, and when you returned to school in September he’d dragged Carol and Steve with him into his loathing.

One day, you couldn’t recall what date—or even what month—but you remembered the three of them had come to find you after classes were done after you’d stayed late. You missed a question on some test, or there was something about a project, whatever. You knew it was late because the halls were empty, and your recollection of that relied heavily on the memory of Carol’s chilling laugh echoing down them, which you never forgot.

“God, Tommy, you’re sadistic.”

They prowled closer, just around the bend. Tommy and Carol were chortling and you could imagine them hanging all over each other the way that they often did. Steve cut in abrasively, something frenetic in his tone.

“I’m telling you, she’s not here, man.”

Steve’s voice bounced down the corridor and sounded back, like radar pinging around and around, detecting movement.

“Relax, Harrington, what’s the rush?”

“Rachel’s waitin’ on me, that’s what,” Steve replied. “And I still gotta drop you two assholes off.”

“Your gal-pal can wait, Steve,” Carol sneered, and you thought her voice was edged with something sharper than exasperation. “Besides, this’ll be fun.”

They turned the corner, and you realized then that it was likely you they were looking for, and it was suddenly too late to turn and hide. You froze, bag heavy on your shoulder and damp starting to form on your brow.

“Ah-ha! Just the girl we wanted to see,” Tommy sang, his voice already lilting meanly. You took a step back, wondering if they’d really chase you if you bolted. Carol had heeled boots on, and you were certain Tommy and Steve wouldn’t hunt down a girl no matter how twisted they were. A guy, sure, but you?

It didn’t matter, because you didn’t run, which you could only blame on yourself and your tendency to petrify under pressure. Anything you chose seemed the worst option, which made the logical solution to do nothing.

“She looks about ready to run,” Carol peered as they came closer, which was very astute for her, all things considered.

“Yeah, maybe.” Tommy grinned. “You wanna play, goodie-two-shoes? Me ‘n Steve’ll give you a head start.”

In retrospect, the roles of Tommy and Carol and Steve, and even you, are played by their fully grown versions. Of course you all looked very young, sounded very young—being fifteen at the time—but it all comes back as if it happened yesterday. It’s warped by everything that happened after.

“Yeah, why don’t you just get it over with, save us all a little time?” Steve picked, his expression almost bored.

You pressed your lips together. Carol stepped behind you, prodding at your bag, and you recoiled, backing closer to the lockers.

“Nah, she’s too chicken-shit,” she hissed, and then ripped your bag from your arms. When you lunged for her, Tommy pushed you back into the metal wall of lockers, and your shoulder blade landed hard on a dial-lock.

“Jesus H Christ, Tommy,” Steve laughed awkwardly, “could you have pushed her any harder?”

“Whatever, man,” Tommy waved him off, watching as Carol dug through your satchel. “You’re soft.”

Steve’s features tightened then, all of a sudden like a switch had been flipped. He took his hand out of his hair and strode over to Carol, taking your bag and emptying its contents onto the linoleum. Notebooks and pens, highlighters and, embarrassingly, a heap of pads, all washed over the floor. Carol had your journal in her hands and Steve took that too, discarding it with everything else.

“I’m fuckin’ tired of this shit,” he muttered, “let’s go.”

“Boo,” Carol complained, “what a wet blanket.”

“Yeah, why don’t you stay here with the teachers’ pet,” Tommy gibed, gesturing at you, “since you both love being L-A-M-E.”

He spelled the word out, holding a backwards L on his forehead that Carol copied.

“Yeah, and who’s gonna drive you home, Tommy?” Steve challenged. Tommy clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes petulantly. Carol’s hip popped as she dropped her hand, lips smacking. “That's what I thought.”

Steve brushed past them then, properly regal and entitled, and they followed him begrudgingly, swapping resentful glances until you couldn’t see them anymore.

In the minutes it took to gather your things back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the cloudy thought that Steve dumping your bag felt like a mercy. In the company of many rabider dogs, his offense was almost magnanimous, and, despite it being your things, felt more targeted at Tommy and Carol than at you. On your way home you decided that that was stupid, and that you were likely feeding into a fantasy that would eventually hurt you.

It wasn’t until after graduation that you realized they were bullying you. At the time it obviously hadn’t felt friendly, but you’d been so fictile then that you assumed most of the blame. When your mind changed, the word bullying alone felt too childish to bear, so you decided it was fine and that you were over it.

Standing before you at the party, Steve was folded in on himself. The memory juxtaposed so coarsely against how he looked now.

“Not like me?” he repeated.

“I just mean,” you continued, “I would’ve thought you’d go to school. Here in Chicago, maybe. I don't know. Indi, at the least.”

He shook his head, cradling his damp beer can closer.

“Yeah, well, I'm not smart like you,” he answered. “I didn’t really get accepted anywhere.”

Steve’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but he didn’t look all that dejected. You were sure that was the nicest thing he’d ever said to you, and the added element of self-depreciation threw you off-kilter.

“You still talk with Carol and Tommy and stuff?” It wasn’t much of a question, but Steve looked profoundly confused.

“What? No, I um—“ He licked his lips, looking down. “They ditched me when Hargrove came into town. You don’t remember?”

“Oh,” you said. “No, I must’ve missed that.”

“Yeah, that’s uh. S’ probably for the best. You shouldn’t have been caught up with us anyways.” It sounded like an apology, though not direct enough for you to accept in any way.

“Well it’s not like I never saw Tommy H. and Carol again,” you said, admittedly sour. “I figured you were off with Nancy or whatever. Where is she anyways?”

“Nancy?” You nodded. Shrugging, Steve said, “I wouldn’t know. We broke up in 1984.”

“Oh,” you jolted , “sorry about that.”

“Nah, don’t be.” He looked very sorry about it himself, like he was still wishing it away.

“Well, I am. I always thought you two would get married or something. She seemed like she knew how to keep you in line.”

Steve smiled softly, vaguely.

“Yeah, Nancy’s like that.”

His sentence ended there and didn’t pick back up, and you felt terribly anxious about what to say next. As often as you denied it, you did want to see people from school again, if only to show them they didn’t win. You wanted to happen upon Steve The Hair Harrington, or Tommy H. or Carol Perkins or anyone at all just to affirm that, yes, you were doing significantly better than they expected you to. You wore shoes with heels and makeup and you were just like them, only you could writhe in shameless glory because you were never a prick.

“So what do you do? No school?”

Steve leaned closer then, apprehensive as he brought his mouth to your ear.

“D’you wanna talk outside?” He asked, and then pulled back to gauge your expression. “I can’t hear very well,” he explained, some level of shame coloring him. You nodded tolerantly, following him out to the porch.

It was clear and cold in the Chicago suburbs, like a freshly opened bottle of coke, and you could see Orion’s Belt. You had on a white leather jacket that kept you just warm enough.

“You seem to like it better here,” Steve observed. Your earlier question stood forgotten from the journey outside.

“In a way,” you agreed.

“People are nicer?”

You pinched your brows thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t say nicer, no.” Fiddling with your jewelry, you looked at the sky. “People have been rude to me here before, but it’s…it isn’t like Hawkins.” You swallowed a freezing breath, wondering if Steve was really standing next to you. “I can leave at any time if it gets to be too much. Or, like, tell them to fuck off if I wanted to. In high school I just had to sit there and take it, and then come back the next day for more.”

Blowing out a stiff laugh, you looked back to Steve. His eyes were downcast, face crumpled, and it looked like he would eat his own mouth before he said a word in response. It was painfully silent, so silent that the wind and your racing heart played a spoilt song together at Steve’s inattentive audience.

Your face felt warm with humiliation. Conversation had grown on you, or so you thought, enough that you wouldn’t become carried away into overzealous speeches to people who didn’t care. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning.

“Do you like Chicago?” You asked Steve, and it turned brittle in the air, like a wisp of ash from a fire.

“I’m so sorry,” his aggrieved response came, and it carved your chest open to hear, in a way. It was something you imagined, a moment you craved, a fantasy you knew would never occur. Now that it had, you felt a million miles away, like he’d said some magic word and hypnotized you, stealing your present mind and leaving you cavernous and vulnerable.

“It’s really okay, Steve,” you said hoarsely. “We were kids, and you were as stuck as I was.”

“I was not,” he sternly denied.

“Sure you were,” you insisted, “it was eat or be eaten. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be picked on.”

“Because I would have died from being unliked,” he retorted sarcastically. You gave him a look as if to say that’s not fair, but you knew he was right. It would have been a different kind of unlike for him. If he’d forfeited his social standing, all of the cruelty and indifference he got would have been directly his decision, and his courage would have been gratifying enough to sustain him.

“Well,” you stammered persistently, “I still think you’re okay. I forgive you.”

“Look, I’m—“ Steve huffed, scrubbing at his hair anxiously. “I’m not trying to fish for compliments. Really. I just have this terrible feeling that you convinced yourself that it’s okay, what all happened in school. But it’s not okay. It’s not.”

He looked into your eyes hotly, a wild turn to his features, and you felt oddly nauseous. You looked at your shoes to avoid his stare, slim heeled boots that all the pretty girls wore in school, and you wondered how you’d feel about those girls if you’d never slipped them on, never had a guy take you home because you looked so good in them.

“What do you want me to do, then?” you asked.

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Whatever you feel,” he replied, “what I want is besides the point.”

“Not to me,” you mumbled, and then regretted it instantly. You pulled your jacket tight around you and shivered, said: “I don’t know what to do.”

A tear tracked hot and shameful down your cheek, dancing with the porch light and the stars and Steve’s eyes. You felt like the whole world was watching you flounder and choke like a fish on a dock. You sucked in, and air stole down your throat in three distinct parts, stuttering and painful.

Steve reached for you then, taking your arm into his grip and crushing you to his chest. Through teary eyes you could spy into the house where the party still thundered. It looked shockingly vibrant and warm inside, a world away from your moment with Steve on the frigid veranda. He was holding your head gently and rubbing at your back, and you could only think of how much you’d been craving this. How you’d yearned over intellectual conversations and counseling sessions for something as real as this moment, here, with Steve. He knew you better than anyone inside, anyone in Chicago, even, and you could not fathom how that had happened.

Pressing into him, you sniffled pitifully and hid your face.

“Sorry for crying,” you said, “I really didn’t want to.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve said, for the second time that night. You liked the way he said it, with a soft sternness that left no room for argument. He even went on further to say: “It’s okay if you want to cry some more.”

You rubbed his sleek jacket between your fingers and looked at him.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

Steve laughed, and you knew then that he wouldn’t, like you knew he wasn’t laughing at your expense.

“Who am I gonna tell?” he asked genuinely. You thought about it.

“Tommy or…” Steve shook his head. “No, right, you said that.”

You pretended to think some more, but you had nothing. You said, “I don’t know,” and then expected Steve to give you a name, like you were playing a guessing game and you’d lost. Instead, he drew his arms tighter around your shoulders, so that your chin was trapped on his chest as you looked up at him.

“I won’t tell a soul if that’s what you want,” he admitted, a shiny frond of his hair escaping the fray to sway between you two. “I think I’d do whatever you asked, actually.”

He seemed very affronted by that fact, as if he was only discovering it as he told you, right then.

“Would you—” You licked your lips. Looked at Steve’s. Asked: “Would you kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “‘course.”

He kissed you then, acerbic ale transferring from his lips to yours. The stray hair caught between your foreheads, doing what your noses could not and flattening. Steve’s hands held you firmly, at the back of your neck and on your upper arm, and it made you shudder. He was kissing you dizzy—not nearly the first you’d ever had, but certainly the first that felt worthwhile, the first that felt good and right and deserved.

As you pulled away shyly, Steve kept his eyes closed, his jaw working and his breath uneven.

“Steve?” you called.

“Hm?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Steve hummed negatively, tapping his forehead back onto yours and finally blinking his eyes open.

“No, sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” You smiled, and Steve grinned knowingly, like he could tell he’d be hearing that a hundred times a week from then on. You asked him what he was thinking and he fiddled with your jacket collar nervously.

“Just about you. In Chicago and everything. Where that puts us.” Steve scrunched his face in a sort of wince like that might upset you. “I mean, not that there has to be an us at all—if that’s not what you want, or if I’m getting ahead of myself.”

He says the last bit like a question, like a request. Like: Please say I’m not getting ahead of myself?

“No, I wouldn’t say you are,” you assured him. “I didn’t even think about the distance. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said without hesitation, but a small abashed smile played on his lips. “But I meant what I said, whatever you say goes. Whatever you want me to do.”

You looked him over, from the tallest strand of his styled hair down to where your chests met, taking in his moles and the fibers of his shirt.

“Do you have anyone at home that you’d miss?” you asked, and Steve’s face said everything, even as he shook his head stubbornly.

“Baby, whatever you want. Ask me to move up and I will.”

Smiling, you kissed him curiously, the feeling so novel and thrilling. His responding squeeze on your arm shot through you to your very center.

“I still have my family in Hawkins,” you told him dazedly. “I go home every holiday. We can visit. And it’s only a year and half before I graduate, and then we can figure something new out.”

Steve smiled dryly, perhaps anticipating a different answer, but ultimately you knew it’d be best not to rush anything. You were content, all of the excitement and adrenaline seeping from your body and making you feel soft around the edges. You shivered a touch, and Steve rocked you both to and fro.

“Do you wanna go back inside,” he asked, his mouth on your hairline. You shook your head, stuffing your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Can we stay here just a little longer?” you pleaded.

“‘Course we can,” Steve granted, soothing his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want.”

+

thank u for reading xx

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