#still one of the most fun seasons i had with the ride. and no its not because i was the TL for the first half. it was because of 2/4 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thesummerpetrichor · 2 months

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𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼: 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

Stepdad!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1979 and it's the summer after graduation. You want to make the most of the vacation, but going to shady dance bars is a lot harder now that your new stepfather works for the DEA.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, cops and raids, stepdad trope and all that comes with, minor DUBCON, big juicy age gap [reader is 18/19 when she meets Javi, Javi is in his mid 40s], reader wears a dress, petnames, mommy issues ™ , alcohol consumption, mean!brat tamer!dom!Javi then soft!Javi, brat!reader, rough sex, “virginity” loss & minor mention of blood, sex in the woods on the hood of Javi’s car, mentions of F masturbation, some reader x oc, Javi gives reader her first orgasm, major size kink [Javi is bigger than the reader, can rough house with her], degradation, dumbification, reader is insanely horny, satanic levels of dirty talk, finger sucking, choking, spanking [with a belt and hand] , a few slaps [as always], fingering, unprotected P in V [be better!!], creampie. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word count: 7.2k

A/N: I am impossibly excited for this stepdad trilogy. This is part 1/3 so it’s only 1/3 the fun and debauchery. Few Easter eggs thrown in.. see if you can spot em 🤭.This is set up after the events of season 2 and before the events of season 3, in a year where Javi is taking a break before Cali, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

Once I had a love and it was divine

Soon found out I was losing my mind

It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

You stood at the entrance, one foot tapping restlessly on the wooden floorboards. In an effort to keep your head down you fiddled aimlessly with the clasp on your watch, knowing full well you weren’t going to be paying attention to anything but the time that flashed on its face. An older, blonde woman came stomping onto the patio, swinging the wooden door behind you so hard on her way the rattle it produced when it slammed shut knocked the flimsy “BAR” sign right off. You jumped, then took another step away from the establishment.

You could almost feel the bass of the engine thrumming in your chest as it got closer. The tires crunched against the gravel as it neared. You still couldn’t see it. You hoped it was her.

It wasn’t long before a red convertible was nearing, the number plate sending a shaky, relieved sigh hurtling past your lips. Agitated, drunk and anxiety ridden, you ran towards and then jumped into Lorrain’s car– hoping and praying the ride would give you a beat to sober up.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to sneak back into your room well past midnight. It was so much of a habit you could sell a course on how to accomplish it with the utmost skill and precision. What was rare, however, was having to perform the task while shaken up so severely. The side of your small, once welcoming home seemed more alien than ever, your bedroom looking far higher off the ground than you remembered.

Nevertheless, a few missteps and about 10 minutes later you stumbled through your open window, quickly stripping to your underwear and shoving your dirty, alcohol laced clothes under your bed. You cursed your “parents” at the fact that you still needed to do this shit like a fucking highschooler.

The sound of feet padding towards your bedroom door startled you, and you jumped to pull on your sleep shorts before what you knew was your stepdad coming up the stairs.

You hoped and prayed he hadn't caught wind of the way you screamed when your foot missed the ledge below your window, or worse, that his partner hadn’t given him a call to inform him of the familiar face he saw at the shack that night.

No matter how many times you liked to imagine he would bend you over his knee and discipline you, how many times you imagined it was him with his hand under your skirt or head between your legs as some clumsy 20 year old rutted against your thigh, you knew full well if Javier actually ever caught your antics, the consequences were going to be a whole lot less ideal than that.

As you jumped under the covers you recalled the way Agent Steve Murphy had cocked his head at you back at the bar. The way your stepfather’s partner had squinted his eyes at you in confusion, doing a double take at your skimpy outfit, short dress and boots, the way the men at the bar had their hands all over you.

You prayed it wasn’t too late before you turned your head away, that it wasn’t too late before you swiftly moved out of that bar, before he could be sure it was you he was seeing.

Because if he was, there would be absolute hell to pay.

—

One summer, when you were maybe eight or nine, you developed an absurd obsession with riding your bike up the slope that led away from your small town. Eventually, the uphill roads veered away, twisting and turning into a thousand different rocky paths that converged at one point only a few hundred metres from the large sign that welcomed people into the town. The singular, welcoming road led straight into the woods. Back then, it seemed endless, providing a warm, hospitable buffer for the hills that loomed over the town with a somewhat protective intimidation. Like the woods were watching over your every move.

Everyday, for three months, you’d bust out your front door at 18:00 on the dot and make the journey uphill. Exhaustively pushing your bike past that sign and into what was nature's much welcome respite from your mothers neglectful cruelty. You collected rocks by the stream that ran through those woods, leaves and flowers to keep in your room. It was like they were magic. Like they wanted to get to know you, be your friend. The trees formed a canopy over you, like they wanted to shield you from the winds and the setting sun, and most importantly from the town below.

One day you remember hearing some rustling coming from up the stream. You didn't think much of it, must have been a deer or something of the sort. You continued foraging for little flowers and rocks, that was until you came across something that didn't really belong. A piece of white lace. It looked new, but dirty, there was cotton under half of it. It seemed like it was part of a dress. Someone must have lost it up there. You didn't investigate. Things were calm and quiet again as usual, but it wasn't long before the rustling from upstream got louder, just slightly, and you heard the clatter of a metal rod to the ground, followed by a heavier, louder thud.

You turned on your heel and away from the stream, it took you four minutes to find the welcome sign to your town again. By 19:00 you were home.

You never went back to the woods again. That August your mother informed you you were going to school in the city.

—

To say you were unhappy to come home from boarding school to the news your mother was marrying a cop would be an understatement, and while you tried not to be too judgy and give him a chance, to say you were surprised when he turned out to be a complete authoritarian would be an even bigger understatement.

You knew of Agent Peña, he was somewhat of a local celebrity. You’d seen him on your summers home since you were sixteen- picking up beers at the convenience store, smoking cigarettes outside the petrol station. You and your friends would often drool over him, wait for him to show up at a neighbourhood barbeque, or catch him taking a walk around the block.

Eventually, you grew up, and outgrew your little hallway crush on the, now, mostly tiresome Agent Peña. Because soon you weren't sixteen. And his holier than thou, saviour complex, and affinity for order only made you roll your eyes. In fact he was quite annoying. He made little effort to contribute to the community, still riding his high from his days in Colombia.

You wondered why those people revered him like he was taking bullets for your town.

You were absolutely flabbergasted when you found out your mother was marrying him. At first, a little bit jealous for the teenager who once fawned over him, but quickly more concerned for the fact that he was actually someone who you’d have to interact with, and not just a piece of eye candy you could appreciate out and about.

Hell, he was becoming family, and your stepfather no less. It was torturous. You did not need another person to worry about in your home.

“So.. What’re you studying?” He crossed his left leg over the right, and asked you. His hand reached out to receive the glass of whiskey your mother poured him. He hadn’t been in your house for ten minutes and you already couldn’t stand his guts. Besides the fact that he was a cop, he had this air about him… what exactly, you weren’t quite sure. A superficial, macho exterior that felt like a bigger slap in the face than the fact that he was sitting on the nice, upholstered, expensive, armchair your father had paid for.

Unsurprisingly, Agent Peña often indulged you in riveting conversation about the dangers of indulging in alcohol and drugs at a young age as he puffed on his cigarette, and lectured you, in what you knew as truly your mothers fashion, about how young people these days didn't know a thing, and that they must always respect and follow the lead of their elders.

Much like mother dear, he paid little attention to you other than to reprimand you for whatever it was you weren’t doing correctly; for when you didn’t do the dishes on time, or were staying out too late, as if it was any of his business to even begin with. He seemed to really enjoy the protective dad role. It fit in well with the rest of his pathetic persona.

No wonder they got along.

You remember almost gagging when he boasted about the college you were set to attend, one arm slung across your shoulder, at the party your aunt threw for your graduation. Like he had absolutely anything to do with it. You excused yourself partly to avoid the embarrassment and partly to roll your eyes. A small part of you enjoyed his proud boasting, but you were not ready to unpack that yet.

In the time the couple weren’t circle jerking about their views, you were lucky enough to be the recipient of snide comments that were so obviously meant for your late father. To his credit Javier Peña didn’t involve himself in the conversation. You couldn’t say the same for a lot of your mother’s previous lovers.

Since you were ten years old you had been making your own decisions, doing what you wanted and living on your terms. To return to your home for the summer after graduation, now 18, and have to abide by someone else’s meaningless regulations, was a rather harsh slap in the face. Not to mention this someone had been in your life all of two months, and really enjoyed acting like he knew anything about you, or your family.

Sometimes, when you’d climb down the stairs of that quaint suburban home, the home that once belonged to your family, in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water or a snack, you’d see him sitting out on the porch, hunched over a whole bunch of shit you couldn’t bother caring about, with his ashtray dangerously close to all that flammable paper.

His shirt stretched deliciously over his back, his hand reaching out to ash his cigarette every once in a while. You were glad he was infuriating, had he not been such a prick it might have revived the little bit of a crush you had on him.

Sometimes you felt a little bit bad for rolling your eyes at him, or shutting down his attempts to initiate group plans. If you were being honest you were surprised when he didn’t blow up at you for talking back or being rude– that was when your mother wasn’t around. When she was, he didn’t have to. She would jump at any chance to start a fight. You were even more surprised when Javier tried to diffuse the situation.

You figured soon enough that perhaps the Javier Peña you met a few months prior was putting quite the show on for his overbearing, obnoxious lover. Of course, you were sure he hardly saw her that way. He was perhaps a lot smarter than you gave him credit for.

Javier often chided your mother when you spoke back to her, rather unexpectedly calling out her bad parenting and the behaviour she “modelled” for you when you were a child. You overheard them argue after a big blowout, from your room. It upset you that he was even getting involved. He tried to talk to you about it later, but that was the last thing you wanted to do.

Obviously, you knew your hatred of them both had something to do with your psychologically deprived childhood, but it baffled you how neither of them, especially wannabe father of the year Javier Peña, didn’t realised your isolated anger would perhaps be diminished if they stopped trying to meddle in your life, the one neither of them seemed to care about unless something about it upset them.

If he really cared about your wellbeing he’d take his wife and get the fuck out of your life. You were an adult, one that wasn’t going to listen to anyone, especially not the mother who packed you away all those years ago, and her hypocritical, infuriating husband.

Thats why, despite having almost gotten caught and having your ass handed to you less than forty eight hours prior, you were back at the shack, drink in hand, stupidly forgetting exactly what had you scrambling to get out there in the first place.

Who could have even blamed you? Your mother had been especially annoying that particular morning, and Javier and his buddies had colonised the house for a barbeque in the afternoon. In what even you recognised as somewhat juvenile rebelion, you decided the universe owed you some fun after having to endure their patronising, senseless chit chat all day.

It wasn’t even that late, but you were already feeling it, the effects of the countless drinks you had downed over the course of the few hours you had been dancing at the bar. Nothing unusual in that, men often offered to buy you drinks, handsome ones at that, and you didn’t have the money to live extravagantly. Besides, if you weren’t going to use your charm what was it even there for?

Was it Timmy? Tommy? You couldn't even recall his name by the time he was tossing you onto the counter in the bar’s bathroom. To be honest you couldn’t really figure out much of your surroundings, letting yourself get lost in the delicate, dizzy, tipsy haze as his hands slipped under your skirt to squeeze at your thighs. Your regular drunk hookup, or rather someone you disappointingly rolled around with till he finished and left you to roll your hips against your pillow wishing your hands were your Stepfather’s.

His lips brushed your neck, sloppily planting kisses up and down your skin, nipping at your collar bones as he pushed himself between your legs. You closed your eyes and imagined he was Javier. The thought made you moan and you reached for his collar to pull him closer. He didn't smell like Javi, wasn't as big, his chest wasn’t as firm, his arms didn't envelop you like Javi’s did.

You felt him swell against you, and you pushed against him, mind once again drifting to Javier standing at the grill in your backyard. His white linen shirt unbuttoned far too low, rolled up sleeves drawing your eyes to his forearms. He’d had a hand on his hip, a sliver of skin right above the band of his shorts just barely visible.

He smiled at you, and you had worried he’d caught you staring. You revelled in the image. You recalled how he leaned against the edge of the pool with the afternoon sun beating down on his golden skin. You imagined his hands moving under your bra to squeeze your breast.

You were rather embarrassingly enjoying the little montage of your stepdad that was playing in your head. You had almost forgotten it was tommy, or timmy rolling his hips against yours. If a loud, wall rattling thud hadn’t interrupted you, you would've enjoyed your little delusion even longer.

To say you were startled was an understatement, you practically leaped right off the counter. Unable to really gather your bearings in time, you barely registered timmy, or tommy, scrambling to fix his shirt, you yourself rushing to cover up and fix the top of your dress.

From the corner of your eye you caught a hand grab him by the shoulder and shove him towards the door, dragging him out of the bathroom and towards a building commotion outside. You heard people yelling, but couldn’t really make out what was going on.

When you looked up and found Javier looking dead at you, instead of your little fling, you damn near collapsed. He looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. In a second he was shutting the door behind him, and flicking the lock. You would’ve ran, but its not like you could go anywhere, besides, hed gotten a good look at your face gawking at him, like a fucking moron.

It was over.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” you hopped off the counter and tumbled into his chest. He took you by the arm and dragged you right to the back of the bathroom, you struggled to remain on your feet but he didn’t really care. Much of your dizziness was thanks to your new found anxiety and had little to do with the vodka you’d been downing all night. This was definitely not an ideal situation. His grip on your arm tightened, and made you wince. You liked the sting, not so much the rest of the whole ordeal. “This where you’ve been fuckin’ going?” he seethed, coming close enough that your noses almost touched, he shook you lightly by the arm as he spoke.

You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he pulled you closer. “None of your fucking business.” Sure, you weren’t on your best behaviour, but did he really think he could boss you around?

“Sure as hell’s my fucking business.” he took a look behind him, then turned back to you and leaned closer. “‘DEA agent’s step daughter dancing at illegal drug club’ sure gonna make a sweet headline.” His fingers dug into your flesh. Only then did it hit you why exactly he was in your dingy shack to begin with. You heard Timmy arguing with someone outside. You felt your palms become impossibly clammier.

“Just fucking turn me in then, asshole.” you got closer, and you were sure he could smell the vodka off your breath. You wished that sounded as courageous and bold out loud as it did in your head. His eyes jumped to your lips, and he rolled them, huffing in frustration. You felt your own eyes burn, and your vision became blurry. You didn't want to cry in front of that bastard. You looked away.

“To whom? Myself” his thumb smoothed over your skin, and his grip lightened. “Not gonna arrest you, fuckin’ idiot.” he rolled his eyes, then dropped your arm to put his hands on his hips. He looked down and sighed, massaging his temple and then glancing behind him again.

“Riskin it all for that fuckin’ looser?” He let out a half hearted laugh, looking somehow both disappointed and smug. You wanted to punch him in the face. You would have, if he didnt happen to be the only thing between you and one dozen other narcs outside.

He glanced at the ground for a second, then back at you and fixed the strap of your top that had slipped down your shoulder. “Get in the car.” he pointed behind you, and you looked in the direction to see a small, open window.

“Know you're good at climbing outta windows.” you felt your cheeks heat so much they burned. Your heart hadn’t really recovered from his big, surprise entry yet. You couldn't stand to look at his frustrated, let down face.

Javi cocked his head and raised his brows, whispering a strained “go”. You had no choice, you turned away from him and towards the window.

—

“Where are we going?”

He didn't look away from the road ahead. Hand gripping the steering wheel with a renewed annoyance. “Better stop asking questions before s’ too late brat.” You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it right back up again. You decided it was probably a lot smarter to just shut up and not bother him any longer– regardless of the thousand questions and worries you had swimming in your head.

If you were lucky, he was going to drive the both of you right off a cliff, because if your mother caught any wind of what you had been doing, your plans for going to college, and living out of your house would fly right out the window. Not to mention the torture that would insue when she demanded to know your whereabouts all day everyday for the rest of the foreseeable future.

“Don't want ya hangin’ round the countryside, in these barns, nothing good happens in there.” he looked over you momentarily,

“Oh what? Are the cows joining in on the drug trade?”

“Newspaper boys, going missin’. Found him in the lake, about two miles from here.” you pressed your lips together.

The car ride thus passed in a painful, tense silence. Javier was clearly unhappy with the whole situation, but had decided not to immediately blow up in your face? Everything about that unsettled you. He was so shocked he seemed to be in denial. You'd much prefer if he just yelled at you and got it over with.

What else was there to do? Surely he wasn’t going to turn you over to the cops, he had his chance to do that already. However Javier never missed a chance to reprimand you, maybe he wanted to get a few words in before ruining your future.

You wouldn’t put it past him anyway.

The empty streets gave way to a narrow, winding road that cut through the woods. The familiar landscape of your small town faded away, replaced by shadowy silhouettes of trees that loomed closer and closer to the edge of the road. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the dense foliage– closing in around you. The road twisted and turned, each bend bringing you deeper into the night, and further away from any civilisation.

Beginning to zone out, you kept your eyes ahead, now unable to recognise left from right, and importantly, exactly how far out from town you had come. It wasn’t long before the “farwell, drive safe” sign that stood at the edge of the woods was swiftly moving past your right shoulder. A pit was quick to form in your stomach, the lowered window by Javi’s side let the cool breeze in. It wrapped around you and made you shiver. The smell of the woods soon overcame you.

Eventually,the car came to a stop in a small clearing. You watched Javi, but he paid no attention to you. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the wind. In the distance, an owl hooted, its call echoed through the trees. You felt like a child about to be reprimanded after getting in trouble at school. You could hear the ticking of the cooling engine, each sound amplified in the stillness of the night. The dark woods pressed in on you.

After what felt like an eternity, he opened his door, stepping out and gesturing for you to do the same with his head. Still absolutely clueless about what exactly he was doing, you decided just to follow along. He wasn’t going to actually kill you or anything. Probably just wanted to scare you. He had always thought he was a lot more scary than he actually was. At least that's what your brain was telling you. Your heart had other plans.

You watched from inside as Javi began to cross in front of you, for a good three seconds he stood directly ahead of you, facing you in the beams of the headlights. The sight made you shiver. He took a step out of the light. Taking a long deep breath to psych yourself up, after a short moment you opened your door. Javi placed his arm on the top of said door, leaning against it to watch you get out.

You almost tripped, but Javi caught you by the arm and manhandled you to the front of his truck. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, and when he turned you to face the hood it blinded you.

The scrape of your shoes against the damp soil, the crunch of the leaves– it was pretty much all you could really register. The moon shone bright, shining through the trees, but your eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. “These woods are fucking haunted.” A bug landed on the side of your face and you jumped, shaking your head and swatting it away. Javier laughed behind you and you rolled your eyes. “Ghosts the least of your worries right now, bunny .”

“Fuckin gross.” He shook you by the arm, his voice now a tad bit more annoyed than it was a little earlier. “Oh really?” He pushed you against the hood of his car, your back now facing it. You couldn’t see his eyes, any part of his face at all, you could barely see anything. You wondered how he moved so confidently in the dark. He must have practice.

“I ain’t sneakin’ out to be a slut every night.” His hands moved to grab your waist and your heart jumped. You swallowed, feeling more defiant yet sceptical by the second. “Sorry you’re not getting any, but it's not my fault, dirty old man.” Before you could even gauge his reaction your head was snapping to the side, a sharp burn spreading across your cheek as Javier’s hand made contact with your skin.

“I'm not getting any?” he laughed, then took your face between his fingers and squeezed your cheeks together. You winced, and your vision got blurry. You felt your panties dampen embarrassingly. “I ain't the one lettin’ stupid boys rub up on me, bunny.” He shook your face gently, voice so seething and cruel you whimpered, somehow more desperate for him than you were before.

“Desperate little slut.” He grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around, and promptly told you to “shut that whore mouth” when you screamed that he could fuck right off. His fingers left tender spots all over your arms and waist, and you winced when he manhandled you into bending over the hood of his car.

He placed a hand on your back to press you down, the other held your waist in a death grip and you felt him press up against your ass. Your dress had ridden up, and surely left little to the imagination. The denim of his jeans rubbed against your upper thighs, and the tips of your shoes barely scraped the ground with how far up the hood of the car he had thrown you. You whimpered and he shushed you with a hand squeezing around your throat from behind.

You knew you had to be unjustifiably wet by this point. You felt yourself throb when Javi put his hands under your dress and grabbed the waistband of your panties. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt his bulge through the fabric.

The jingle of his belt sent a shiver down your spine, every hair on the back of your neck standing up at attention. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, still undecided about how exactly you felt about this entirely new development.

Your heart jumped when he ran the leather across your skin, slowly, perhaps to catch you off guard when he finally struck you with it. You lurched forward, the pain so sharp a tear was quick to roll down your cheek. He struck you again, holding you down with his other hand. The sound of each slash, and your whines that followed echoed in the distance.

“Think you’re fuckin cute, don’t you.” It was horribly embarrassing to be bent over the hood of his car, both palms on holding you up as best they could whilst he landed spank after spank on your bare ass. “Like bein a wild child?” Your scream echoed in the woods when his belt made sharp contact with your flesh. Your knees buckled but Javier's hand on your waist held you up before it was retreating to land another slap on your ass. Tears were dampening the neckline of your dress already, rolling down your neck and rendering you a bigger mess with every sharp spank of his belt.

“Yeah? You get off on all those men touchin’ ya? Like being passed around like a cheap whore?” He gripped your hips so tight you didn’t even bother trying to wiggle out of his hold. “Should take ya to the office sometime, hand ya off to Steve, let him have some fun with you.”

You shook your head at that, there was only one man in the DEA offices you wanted, and unfortunately it wasn’t anybody that could actually be with. You clenched your thighs.

“Knew you were a fuckin’ nasty little girl.” He wedged his hand between them, pushing them apart and slightly spreading your thighs. His fingers rubbed over your clothed cunt, your panties now damp from all that had ensued. You shivered, then pushed back against his digits.

His fingers found your clit and you moaned. “Did ya cum?” he asked, referring to your little escapade at the bar. Suddenly, you were a whole lot less bold than you were a few moments ago, it wasn’t ideal to admit what you were going to, and it seemed almost impossible without sounding rather pathetic.

He stopped moving his fingers and pinched the inside of your thigh. “Answer me.” You whispered a “no” bracing yourself for whatever embarrassing comment Javier was going to throw back at you in response. “Huh.. No one fucked this tight little snatch before? Savin’ yourself for me?” he ruminated on the thought, sounding far more pleased than you would have desired. He wasn’t exactly right, but he definitely wasn’t wrong either.

When you remained quiet he leant beside your ear, lips ghosting the skin on your neck. “Hmm, that right? “Wish it was me instead of that stupid boy?” You groaned at his smug voice, then when his fingers slid under your panties and between your dripping folds. “Wished his finger’s were mine tonight, didnt you?” He cursed under his breath at how wet you were. “How many times d’you cum dreamin’ bout your stepdaddy fuckin your tight lil pussy…”

“Haven’t” You pressed your face against the metal of his car, cheeks on fire at your admission. He remained silent behind you for a beat, then gently lifted you to press your back to his chest with a hand around your throat. He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss against your neck, and the hand that was between your legs slid under your dress to plam your tit through your bra. “Ever?”

You gasped as he pulled it down, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You shook your head and pressed back against his hard cock. The buckle of his belt dug into your skin and you could almost feel the sting against your ass once again. He pulled you impossibly closer to him, hand returning between your legs.

He rubbed your clit in slow circles and then pushed two fingers into your entrance. “Full of surprises, aren't ya?” you gasped at the stretch, his fingers were surely far bigger than your own, or any others that had been anywhere near your pussy. “don't blame ya’ bunny , nothing like the real thing, huh?”

You bit your lip harder to keep from moaning, already far closer to finishing than you had ever been before, especially when he stroked your walls, mercifully scissoring you open in an uncharacteristic show of thoughtfulness.

“So fuckin’ wet, bunny .” he curled his digits, reaching that sweet spot inside you as he thumbed your clit. You pushed back against him, feeling yourself continue to gush around his hand. “Gonna slide right in at this rate.”

He yanked your panties down with so much force you heard a few stitches rip in the silence. Javier groaned, and you leaned back against him when his hand moved away from your pussy to slide his hard cock between your thighs, his hips flush against yours. He squeezed your tit in his palm as he pulled back a little, sliding against your swollen cunt again.

You felt your arousal smear against your thighs. He muttered a strained “Can’t wait much longer, bunny” . You, yourself thought you might have gone crazy if he waited longer. He pulled his hips back again, notching the head at your entrance and pushing in in a single, slow thrust.

You winced and then moaned, body unable to adjust to the sheer size of him so quickly, yet still hungry for more. You hadn’t felt quite so full ever before, you could feel his cock deep inside you. Your hand covered his on your chest and you mewled and whimpered when he moved his hips, replicating the sharp thrust again, and then again.

It wasn’t long before he was pushing you back down against the hood of his car to get a better grip on your hips. He twisted your wrist as you reached out for him, holding both in one large palm as he found a steady rhythm. The almost unbearable stretch slowly melted away into a delicious, burning need, and in only a few moments you were pressing back against him, pleading for him to pick up his pace.

“You rub your pretty little cunt thinking ‘bout my cock splitting you open?” You moaned a “yes” every part of your body now hot with need as he kept fucking into your warm, wet, heat.

“How?” When you didn't answer he landed a spank to your ass, this time with his hand, and right over the spot his belt had left its sting on not so long ago. You yelped and surged forward. His hand on your hip pulled you back. You pulled yourself up, craving the heat of his chest against your back.

“On my- oooh” your palm landed over his, fingers wrapping around one of his larger ones as you cut yourself off with a moan “On my pillow.” The memory made you throb harder, and the hand that was holding Javiers guided it away from your hip and closer to the cut of your thigh, craving the feel of his fingers on your clit.

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh and chuckled, hot breath fanning against your now sweaty skin. “Thought as much. My little slut. Knew I heard ya..” he took your earlobe between his teeth for a moment, nipped and then licked a stripe up your neck “tryna make yourself cum. Couldn't figure it out yourself huh?”

You shook your head. “horny little girl, need me to do everything for ya.” You had indeed, countless times rather ashamedly. The thought that he’d possibly heard you long enough for it to be a problem, had likely fucked your mother at the thought, wishing it was you under him in her stead was a thought that would live in your head for all eternity.

He kissed your cheek, then pushed you back down. “S’why ya keep spreading your legs for the whole world huh?” He put a palm on the middle of your back, holding you down as he continued to thrust inside you. “Chasin’ cock all day long.”

“Can’t help this whore cunt huh? So desperate to cum.” holding yourself up on your forarms you raised your head, turning back to get a look at him fucking into your desperate pussy.

“Knew it the moment I fuckin’ saw you. Dumb slut got nothing to her name besides this sweet pussy. No one taught ya any manners, how to be a good little girl.” His thumb brushed over the cut of your jaw, fingers squeezing your cheeks. His index and middle fingers swiped your lips, and they instinctively parted to let him push them in. You sucked and drooled around his digits, doing little to contain your moans as he continued to fuck you from behind. The taste of your arousal sat heady on your tongue. “Always knew ya wanted it, stupid little slut.”

“Runnin that whore mouth all day like you're payin’ for the house.” his hips snapped towards yours, his cock buried deep inside you. “But it aint your house, bunny .” With the way your tits were pressing against the smooth metallic finish of his stupid pickup truck you were sure they were going to leave a mark.

You released his fingers with a pop, and he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you around, hurriedly tossing you onto the hood of his car till your feet were also planted firmly above the bumper. Before you could even register the movement he was slipping back inside you, you felt yourself pulse around his cock. You hoped and prayed no one was remotely near, your wailes and whines loud enough to travel far into the distance.

“Get that in your fuckin’ head” He tapped his index gently against your temple and you nodded, frantically pleading yes after yes. You felt him throb inside you, each drag of his cock building the tension in your belly. You felt your pussy squeeze around him, and you wiggled your hips closer to chase the feeling.

Your head turned side to side, your whole body buzzing at the heat between your legs. You don't think you’d ever felt anything like it. Sure, it felt good to touch yourself, but this, the feeling of his cock inside you, against your wet walls, it was entirely different.

The tension only built in your hips, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you hurtled closer and closer to the edge. Your palms squeezed your breasts, seeking purchase on any part of your body.

You lay your back down completely, watching the light hit him right in the face, falling against his features to create sharp lines of contrast. You’d take a good long look at him on top of you to save for later, but he was quickly pressing his lips to yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

The weight of his body on top of yours was enough to make you cum on your own, but the feeling of his lips was what really did it. For how rough and quick he was splitting you open, his mouth moved gently against yours, his warm tongue parting your lips and gliding into your mouth. You moaned against him and he bit your lip, sensing how close you were.

“Wanna see that face when you cum for me.” his palm tilted your face upwards, and while the rest of his fingers continued to squeeze around your neck his thumb slipped between your parted lips. Instinctively, you closed your mouth around him, drooling and moaning around his thumb when he hit the sweet spot inside you over and over. Your pussy clenched around his cock and you tried to whimper his name. You felt another word bubble in your throat but you closed your lips around his digit to push it away. Your eyes fluttered shut at the intensity.

“Cum for me, lil bunny” his words made you tumble over the edge, your cunt squeezing and gushing around his cock, your back arching off the hood of his car. His fingers squeezed around your neck, holding your face in place so he could get a good look at your eyes rolling back into your head.

It was like a blackout, your ears rang so loud and your lips loosened around his thumb, going slack as you rode out your high. You felt him throb inside you at the sight. You felt the ache deep inside you, all the pleasure bursting in a single climactic second. Your lips fell slack around his fingers, whole body twitching at the sensation.

Your climax set him off, and it wasn't long before he was burying himself inside your hot heat. His cock pulsed against your wet walls, painting your insides with his spend. He groaned and squeezed around your neck just a little harder. You sucked his thumb gently and heard him curse under his breath. You tried to keep your fluttering eyes on his face, watching intently as the aftershocks subsided and Javier's brows knit closer with his final few thrusts.

After a few moments he stilled inside you, taking a moment to catch his breath. He pulled his thumb from your warm mouth to brush your bottom lip, then let his own lips take their place. You felt him pull out and you winced at the burn. He put both your legs up on his shoulders and leaned between your legs.

You watched as his head disappeared between your legs to place a kiss to your inner thigh, and pull your panties back up your hips. You reached for him and he pulled you up to his chest. “Gotta clean up a lil bit, bunny..” he fixed your dress and lifted you off the hood and into his arms. “Ain’t nothing to worry about.” You already knew your painties were ruined for good with a red stain by that point.

You rested your forearms on his shoulders, quite liking being held in his arms. “Knew you were always to much of a fucking perv to be a good cop.” He smacked your ass again for good measure and placed you on the ground. “You aint’ too much of a slut to fuck your stepdaddy aint it?”

He stepped aside and you watched him do up his belt again, walking towards the driver's side of the car. You looked behind you and towards the expanse of the woods. The trees rustled, and you heard, presumably, the same owl hoot from the distance. A small crackle in the foliage had you swiftly walking to the passenger side and yanking open the door. You hopped inside and slammed it behind you.

Javier was reaching in the glove box to stash away his gun. “Please” You swallowed, looking towards him. “Please just don’t tell her. She's going to have a freak out.”

Javi glanced at you momentarily, then murmured a dismissive “yeah yeah” as he started up the engine. That wasn't good enough for you. “Please, she’ll give me hell, I can’t deal with it.” You shook your head, then shifted in your seat. He muttered another “yeah”, checking his pockets for the keys to your front door. God forbid they slipped out while he was fucking your brains out.

You turned towards him in your seat, both hands on the centre console. “Please.” Javier grabbed the keys, hooked them to his belt loop and dropped his head in a sigh. He turned towards you, taking a moment to reach over and buckle you into your seat.

“‘Ain’t gonna tell, so stop askin’ before I change my mind.” He knew he didn’t need to ask you to keep your mouth shut– perhaps the most humiliating part of this all.

“Okay.. yeah..” The headlights flashed as you began your journey back home, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. You sank back, twisting in Javi’s direction, now curled up in the seat. His eyes remained on the road ahead. “Don’t do this shit again.”

“Just wanted some adventure.” your voice grew thick, and you yawned. “Next time ya want adventure watch a fuckin’ hitchcock film or something.” He reached out a hand to cup your cheek, engulfed it and patted it gently.

”Ain't always gonna be there to save your ass, bunny.”

—

PART II

In between

What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine

Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind

If I fear I'm losing you. it's just no good

You teasing like you do

Eeek! Hope you enjoyed!! I’m very excited for this series, and I hope you are too! Please let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who interacts with my work! Your comments and reblogs keep me writing 💗🐝

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minkyungseokie · 6 months

Text

Bali Meet-Cute | Logan Sargeant

synopsis; when vacationing in Bali, y/n accidentally meets a cute American F1 driver after he photobombs her picture

warnings; none

note; not requested

note2; I saw someone say they wanted this, I wanted this, everyone wanted this. I kind of rushed this, but I thought it was still cute

Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Logan Masterlist

I do not give anyone permission to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.

Y/n hopped out of the bed of the room in the resort she had rented for the trip. She had finally saved up enough money to go to Bali and wanted to make it worth all of the time she had spent at her terrible 9 to 5-job. She'd be staying for a month and so far, for the two days she’d been there, she's been doing nothing but sleeping. After doing so much work for more than a year, she was too tired to actually go out and do anything for the first two days.

Y/n didn't know much of what there was to do in Bali, but she knew that by the end of the day, she wanted to visit the Leke Leke waterfall. She had heard from a friend of hers who had visited Bali that the Leke Leke waterfall was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen and that Y/n absolutely had to visit if she ever went herself. And now she was here, she didn't know what to do.

"Shit, I woke up so late." Y/n groaned, picking up her phone and grimacing at how late she had slept in. Even if she had known what she was going to do, she wouldn't be able to do much of it because she had woken up so late in the day. It was around lunch time or a bit after what was considered lunch time. "I guess I should just go to the waterfall." Y/n mumbled, grabbing a tot bag out of her suitcase and packing up some bug spray, sunscreen, her camera, and a towel. Before grabbing her bathing suit, putting it on, and putting on shorts and a t-shirt on over the bathing suit.

Y/n quickly got into the rented car and drove off with guiding off her GPS because she had the same sense of direction as a blind dog.

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“You have arrived at your destination on the right.” The GPS said. Y/n parked and got out of the car, taking a deep breath and smiling as she felt some of the tension she was still carrying from the long plane ride to Bali, exit her body, leaving only the feelings of bliss and tranquility. “This is going to be a fun day.” Y/n muttered excitedly as she pulled her camera out of her bag and pointed it towards the waterfall and its lush forest.

Click!

Y/n didn’t see or realize there was another person there, too transfixed on the ethereal beauty of nature that was in front of her. It was no wonder Leke Leke was a huge tourist attraction, it made the most perfect candidate for taking photos and it was perfect to put on Instagram. Y/n looked at her photos with a smile that began to fade.

Now who the fuck was that guy?

Logan sighed. This is really what he needed after such a shit weekend. He knew that it was a decision that was made with the team's best interest in mind, but it didn't do anything but shatter his confidence that he had worked so hard during the winter break to build up. Logan was well aware that his rookie season was absolute shit, which is why he worked so hard during the break. He wanted to prove to himself, the team, his fans, and his haters that he could do it. That he could be better than what he did during his rookie season, but the start of this season proved to be nothing but stress and a mess.

They both had to stop during their first race due to car problems, the next two races had no issues that Logan could think of, and then Alex wrecks his chassis, so Logan is forced to give up his own. The Florida resident shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair. He came here to relax, not to stress himself out more. He needed to stop thinking about what could've been if James actually trusted him enough to drive. He knew that they most likely wouldn't be getting points, but at least Logan would have more experience under his belt.

Didn't James say he didn't even really care about 2024 and 2025? Didn't he say he was focused on the new changes coming 2026 or something? SO why did the man feel the need to bench him if he didn't care so much. "That's enough, Logan." The blonde muttered, lightly slapping his cheeks, "You're here for a break. Not to destroy yourself anymore than you already have." He huffed and looked up at the waterfall.

Oh, what he would give to be like the Leke Leke waterfall. Untouched, unjudged, and unburdened by anyone or anything. Living in perfect harmony with the plants and animals that it shares a habitat with. He wishes it could be like this in F1. There was no drama, everyone got along, and the sport was made fun again like it was when he watched it on television when he was younger. But, alas, humans are flawed creatures that seem to bring destruction and ruin wherever they go.

It was a high-intensity sport, yes, but there was so much unnecessary drama and hatred that came with the new grid and the new wave of fans. Why couldn't friendly rivalries be made where the drivers obviously aren't friends, but the fans don't fight like they hate each other(Lewis and Max fans. They seem to go to war for no reason when the drivers are at best civil with each other).

Logan shook his head again as he caught himself thinking about his job again, but this time about the hate he gets being an American in a European sport. "Now is not the time to think about this. I'll go get something to eat and come back later." Logan muttered, turning around and walking back up the little pathway that was worm by so many people trampling down the small hill to play in the pool.

He didn't realize another person was there until he heard a 'tsk' followed by, "Who the fuck is this guy? He ruined my photo."

Logan looked up and his breath caught in his throat when his eyes met the gorgeous (e/c) of a woman so beautiful, he swears she could've been a deity, "H-hey, did I, uh, did I ruin your photo?" Logan asked awkwardly as the sharp eyes of the woman before him practically bore into his soul and stripped away his layers one-by-one.

"You did, but it's alright."

God, even her voice was heavenly. It felt like listening to a chill lofi beat with rain sound in the background. Beautiful and calming. It made him want to listen to it more as it was such a drastic change from the voices he hears everyday.

And by that, he meant the people who surround him. Not that he hears voices.

"Um, I'm sorry. If you would like, I can take a couple pictures for you." Logan offered hesitantly while the woman continued studying him, "There's something bothering you, isn't there? You look stressed." The woman observed, "Do I?" Logan awkwardly laughed as he straightened his clothing. "You do. What's your name? I'm Y/n." The girl introduced, bending down to offer him her hand.

Logan stared at her with wide eyes, unsure what to do. It seemed like she had no idea who he was and he was glad for that. It shouldn't have surprised him the way it did either. Despite having a huge fan base, Formula One isn't as well known as it should be. It really wasn't until DTS that any Americans knew what it was and they started gaining more traction as some people started watching because of how handsome all of the drivers were and stayed because they fell in love with the sport(I know I did) and there was nothing wrong with that.

Logan was brought back to reality by the woman shaking her hand in place as if telling im that she was waiting, "Are you going to shake my hand or are you going to continue staring at me with those big beautiful eyes of yours?" She asked

Y/n felt like diving off a cliff. She didn't know where she mustered up the courage to say such a thing and now she was embarrassed by the way the man was staring at her, "Shit, I didn't mean to say that out loud. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean it. I mean, I didn't mean it, but I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Your eyes are very beautiful, just like your face. I didn't mean-- I'm just going to stop talking now." Y/n rambled, face heating up as she felt herself digging a bigger and bigger hole.

Y/n looked down in embarrassment, too scared to look up and see the possible look of disgust that the man would wear, but she was pleasantly surprised to hear the cutest laugh she had ever heard from a guy and a hand slide into her own gripping it enough to reassure her, but not squeezing it.

"Thank you so much. If it makes anything better, I think you're absolutely breathtaking as well." The man said. Y/n looked up with wide eyes.

Breathtaking. He thought she was breathtaking

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she looked into his eyes. Y/n smiled bashfully and pulled him so he was standing next to her, "Come get some lunch with me. My treat." She offered. "Oh, no thank you. I couldn't--" "You're not. I'm offering, pretty boy." Y/n intterupted, "Logan." The man said, "What?" Y/n asked, "My name. Is Logan." The man, Logan reiterated.

"Well, it's absolutely lovely to meet you, Logan. Did you drive to get here?" Y/n questioned, leading him out of the forest by his hand, "I, uh, no. I walked here, um." Logan stuttered, easily keeping up with her strides. "Well, you can ride back with me. I know this is adrupt and weird for a first meeting, but I want to get to know you better." Y/n said, looking back at him with a smile that had his heart fluttering, "You do?" Logan asked.

"Of course, I do."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The duo found themselves sitting acros from each other in a resturant called Cafe Tahu after a short and silent car ride, "So, Logan, what's on your mind? What's got you looking so down while in one of the most beautiful nature spots in the world?" Y/n asked, tilting her head and resting it on her intertwined fingers.

Logan didn't want to burden her with his problems, but the way she was looking at him made him want to talk to her, “My job is to… drive cars and last weekend, my teammate crashed his car, putting it out of commission for the weekend. Um, usually if you crash, you're out, but…” Logan trailed off, clenching his fist.

Y/n slid her hand across the table and grabbed his clenched one until Logan had untensed his hand enough for her to intertwine their fingers, “Judging by your reaction, that’s not what happened?” Y/n asked. Logan shook his head, “No. It's not. They decided to give my teammate MY car. It's like they were rewarding him for his fuck up, but I'm not upset with him.” Logan let out.

“Well, I'm assuming it wasn’t his decision. You know what? I'm proud of you.” Y/n said, Logan looked at her in confusion, “For what?” He questioned. “For not losing your cool. For not blaming your teammate for the decision. For being so mature about it even though you could have gone ape shit. I have to say that I respect that.” Y/n said, removing her hand from his and instead holding his arm while using her other hand to prop her head up.

Logan looked deep into her eyes and nodded, “Do you want to…I don't know, have dinner with me tonight?” Logan asked breathily. Y/n tittered, “I don’t think first meetings are supposed to move this quickly, but at the same time, I've never had so much chemistry with someone I just met.” Y/n hummed, playing with Logan’s watch. “Yeah,” Logan muttered, distracted by her nimble fingers toying with his watch.

“Sure. Why not? Let's get dinner together.”

“Great. Can I have your number?” Logan asked, beaming while holding out his phone for her to take. She put in her number and handed it back, “After we finish our drinks, what do you say we go back to Leke Leke and take some better photos?” Y/n inquired.

“I’d like that.”

357 notes · View notes

writella · 1 year

Text

Trinkets; The Gifts of Gold He Gave You

Synopsis: A detailed record of all the special objects Daryl has found for you while hunting, riding, supply gathering, and living in the various places he has in the new world. These objects often lead to sweet moments of kindness, joy, and understanding between the two of you, deepening your connection. Although they are things others might not think much of— they were simply small gestures or trinkets after all— you believed these memories and mementos to be gifts of gold; they would shine in your mind forever onward.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, mutual pining, kisses, lots of love and ♡ sweetness ♡ (true self indulgence at its finest), but there are also descriptions of trauma, abuse, and self-hate. Though other than that, it’s nothing else except Daryl being an endearing friend and future loverboy to you. This travels across the plot and setting of season 6-8, but it might not be a perfect fit. Lastly, even though these can be read anthologically, I did write them in a storyline as if there was an order in which Daryl gives or does these things with the reader as their relationship grows, so some past trinkets might be mentioned in the next story, but it truly isn’t too big of a deal; this is one you can have fun with! ♡

Author’s Note: My dearest reader, this one took much longer than I intended, but I think it’s because I put so much of my silly heart-filled imagination into it— truly one of my favorites to write thus far. I’m just so happy to give it to you. Feel free to read these all at once, one at a time, or pick the ones that best fit who you are. with love, writella . ♡ ⋆ ☽

Trinkets moodboard & visualizer here!

Trinket No. 1: The Ribbon ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ⟡.•

A Bow from a Bowman

Daryl was out on a hunt one morning when he found it. It’s like he was compelled to pick it up, he did it without even thinking. It was nothing, honestly: kind of silly really, and flimsy, slightly covered by grass blades— it was dirty and discarded. But there was something about it, something tender… it reminded him of you, even though in some ways still, he hardly knew you at all.

It had been over a month since Daryl came back home to Alexandria; just a month since you entered what was supposed to be your new home. But also a week or so long journey it had been to unexpectedly find you and bring you back.

He remembered it well: you were covered in dirt, tired and hungry, running for your life from the past group you were with. He was going to let you go and mind his business— you looked scared of him anyway when you crashed into him. But most importantly, he had just lost his crossbow, his bike, and maybe even a little bit of his dignity to Dwight who stole them. He didn’t feel like getting tricked again, especially since it takes a lot to trick him; he wasn’t letting that happen again. Especially not the day after. And most especially not for a seemingly young and innocent-looking girl like Dwight’s wife, Sherry or that kid they were with, Tina.

But then, he heard the yelling, the hollering, the men– they wanted you, and none of it was for the right reasons. Very wrong and scary reasons they were indeed, ones he would soon come to understand were things you’d never want to live out or discuss again. He understood that feeling, so he stayed. He hid behind a tree. He decided to help again. Who knows of your innocence, but what was definitely true was that you were a lost and lonely girl in the woods. He knew a thing or two about those unfortunately, those stories ended badly.

Sad enough, the hiding and helping— or attempting to— led him to become a prisoner with you and your ‘group.’ He barely got scraps of food, and every night was just another day of seeing your tears, your face in a permanent state of desolation and misery; staying ever silent even when you were yelled at— even when you were forced to do things you didn’t want to do. You looked scared and small.

It was only when you all reached a hospital, one you burned to the ground just to get away from them, that Daryl saw the fight in you. You didn’t even ask for his help and he tried to save you, but in the end, you saved him. A silent soldier, you were. He returned the favor with the least he could do: he took you home.

And now there you both were. You sat by Rick’s fireplace. No one was home yet, and you had just put Judith down for the night. Daryl found you there on the floor with a book. He quietly sat near you. All you two said was hello.

And this was normal, actually– the being around each other, showing up unannounced, sitting beside each other– talking or not– or you, trying to help him with whatever work he was up to. He tried to fight it at first, but it became a regular thing. It’s what helped Daryl get to know you, and you to him.

You were equally as fierce as the fire you created not long ago, but just as gentle. Just as desiring to smile and create friendships. He knew that now. And he— he was just as rock solid and straightforward as the crossbow he once carried, but just delicate. Just as easily hurt and as quick to hide, yet so deeply desiring of loyalty and acceptance. You know that now too.

It’s still so soon, but you admired him, so deeply. You wanted to learn from him. You thought he was strong, and you wanted to be strong. All that anguish and pain and he came out a fighter, a leader.

Little did you know that is exactly what he thought of you. He went from seeing you cry yourself to sleep every night to becoming the kind and generous friend you were to almost everyone you met. Always offering to care for Judith, or allowing Carl to come to you to talk, or learning about guns and shooting with Rosita. And of course finding a way to go on supply runs, or learn to hunt, or fight walkers with Daryl as much as you could. As always, he pretended not to care that much, but he did. He couldn’t help it. He values his independence, but it was nice that there was someone who wanted to be around him so much. And he admired you for his own reasons as well: You’re someone who fills others up with lightness when such dark things have happened. He felt like that every time you two we’re together. He wanted to learn from you too.

As he sat there, thinking, he wondered if maybe that’s why he thought of you when he saw it. Maybe it was the brightness and softness of it, despite finding it on the ground, despite it being dirty. He cleaned it up, and it still shined, that’s like you but… he was still unsure. Maybe it truly was nothing, maybe it was stupid.

He looked to his side, watching your figure for a moment as he decided what to do. You were on your stomach, laying on the small rug that sat in front of the fire. You were continuing the chapter you were on, paying little attention to him. He only said ‘hey,’ after all. And you did wave back, you asked him how his day was, but all he gave you was a typical response, ‘fine,’ he had said. You thought maybe this visit wasn’t about talking so you left it. And all of this was typical anyway, for Daryl to come by Rick’s, or for you two to sit in peaceful silence, but then you started to see him fidget in his spot in your periphery, like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to sit, hands adjusting his jeans, moving things in his pocket.

“Do you wanna go to the porch?” You thought maybe he was reaching for a smoke. “I can put on the baby monitor…” He just shook his head at the suggestion.

You decide to move to the spot next to him, leaning your back against the wall. “Did something happen today?” Your voice was soft as you tilt your head, trying to reach his eyes.

“No,” he shook his head again, he was facing forward. “It’s just…”

“What?” You asked calmly.

He found it hard to speak, “Just- just brought something.” He reached into his pocket one last time, his hand in a fist as it made its way closer between the two of you until he started to release his fingers from his palm slowly.

It was a ribbon. A pearly light pink one. Just scattered in his hand. “It’s stupid,” he grumbled quietly, trying to shove it back down his pocket, but you stop him.

“Wait,” your hands gently cupping the other side of his and then you pick it up, letting him go. You wrap the ribbon around your finger and you tie it into a bow, examining it in your palm now. “This is for me?” Soft disbelief enchanted your voice. You made sure not to sound too excited or too surprised. You didn’t want to scare him, especially since he replied with:

“It's nothin’.” He was feeling slightly embarrassed.

“It's so nice,” your voice continued in its understated tone despite your smile becoming uncontainable. You couldn’t help the way your lips were curling upward, it was even hurting your cheekbones to try to make your teeth shine through a little less— Daryl Dixon just gave you a gift. And it was a little pink thing at that. Perhaps miracles are real. “It's perfect,” you say, “I can wear it in my hair.”

“It's stupid.” He repeated, brushing you off, but you saw right through him. Daryl doesn’t do anything for no reason at all.

“It's not.” Your words are so kind as your interject, “You know, sometimes it's the smallest things that mean everything. They become our favorite things even.” Your lips pressed together, forming another smile as he meets your gaze, “Like your vest that needs to be patched up.”

“It's fine,” he almost sounded defensive. It made you laugh.

As messed up as it is, it truly was fine. It was his and he loved it; that made it so. And he didn’t only have the vest, he also had his cut-up button-downs, and those ties he laced on the bottom of his jeans— you knew those were probably because the pants available didn’t always fit all the time, but nonetheless— these were all things that made him and his clothing unique from the others. Even in the apocalypse, Daryl was one of the few that maintained a personal style. You couldn’t help but love it. He could, and often always was, the guy covered all in dirt and grim and blood but he still had something about his look that was simply just him.

You missed that. Having those personal touches, and now here Daryl was with this. The simplest thing, but he brought it for you. It was your special piece, your special something. It truly was perfect.

“C’mere,” Daryl gestured, taking the ribbon from your hand and moving your shoulders so your back faced him. He undid the bow and cuffed your hair, he actually almost yanked your head with the way he gathered the ponytail, honestly– he forgets his strength, but you said nothing. Only giggling slightly, but you were mostly quiet. You tried to keep it down, afraid he might stop if he thought you were making fun of him. You wanted to reel at the closeness for as long as you could. You couldn’t believe the fact that he was doing something so domestic— you almost couldn’t breathe. He tried to detangle some pieces with his fingers and then he tilted his head to the side to leave some shorter pieces out at the front. He didn’t know what he was doing and he probably was doing it badly, but he tried his best to be delicate. He’s never touched you like this before. Every time his fingers accidentally brushed against your ear or your neck he relearned just how soft you are. And every feeling of his skin almost made you shiver; like when someone whispers in your ear, it always feels so sensitive, traveling down until you feel it everywhere. His touches felt like that. You always end up feeling his everywhere. He’s entrancing, filling you with hearts and stars.

Finally, he ties the ribbon into a bow right at the top of the ponytail he created. He’s done. He lets go. They shapes and colors fade. Everything is cold again.

But to him, everything looked warm and vibrant. Looking at you was a sight so sweet and so gentle among all this dark wreckage of the world— it was precisely how he saw you: the way the ribbon now laced around your hair looked like an angelic embrace.

You turn to him, “Thank you, Daryl.” Your smile is so sincere, so lovely, there might as well be a halo and hearts invisibly drawn all around you.

A moment passes as you continue to look at each other and your heart jumps. He’s still looking directly at you. There are moments that he looks away and you can’t help it, the bashfulness creeps up on you two, but he’s giving you all his attention; it feels great. You decide to take the chance, you can't help yourself, you hug him, you have to. It has been so long since someone gave you something. So long since someone thought of you so specifically and intimately.

He’s caught off guard, his hands don’t wrap around you until a few seconds later, but when they do, they are sure, and tight, more sure of it than you surprisingly.

You breathe him in, giggling again, “I’m surprised you smell this good.”

“Fuck you.” It makes you laugh just a bit louder, it’s the nicest ‘fuck you,’ you’ve ever heard. Its tone has a hint of sincerity in tandem with humor in just the same way you delivered your line. He shakes his head, “You’re silly.”

He lets you go and you turn away, but it’s only just a little. He watches how the ribbon lays right where he put it again, seeing the side of your face light up with your rosy smile as you sway your head. You’re trying to not make it obvious that you want to feel the wag of the bow and your hair back there so you do it slowly, it just feels so cool and so pretty. You liked it so much. You didn’t even know what it looked like yet, but it already made you feel more like yourself. Like a part of you that had left before this world began— it fit well like a missing piece finally snapping into place. It was your unique touch and he found it for you. He did it for you. Just for you.

For me, you repeated it in your mind, he found it just for me.

Trinket No. 2: The Lesson ō͡≡o˞̶ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Turnpikes, Gunshots, and Dreams

You had asked and asked for weeks with no let up. It made you start getting creative with your pleas: “You know, Daryl, we really should be teaching each other our skills,” you had insisted, sarcasm lining your voice. No one else in the group knew how to ride yet they were doing just fine, but you were incessant, “You never know what kind of situation we’ll be in where we might need it… I could die,” your hands raise as your voice does, “and your bike could be my only escape but I wouldn’t even know how to ride it!”

He would always just stare at you blankly, ignoring you, especially when you got dramatic like this right before you two were leaving. “Get on or stay,” he would say, “go help Rosita or somethin’.”

You’d grit your teeth and get on regardless.

But then one day, one lucky, lucky day for you— it was your earnest approach, and your silly smile, and sun-filled eyes that got the best of him as they looked up to meet his darker ones. “Please,” you said, stretching out the word, it was just as cheesy as your smile. He looked back at you from his front seat as you continued, “I just want to feel capable and- free… I don’t know,” but you did, you meant it and felt it from deep inside you. “To know I have the option I wanted to… I… I didn’t really have those before.”

He was still for a moment and then he nodded, restarting the ignition. You guessed that was another no until you started to ride past the walkers that lined the outer gate. “An hour,” he said, his eyes forward as the trees became a blur to both of you, “then we gotta get work done.” You wrapped your arms around him tightly, you only used to cup his waist or hold his shoulders, but you felt fearless today, head leaning against his back and neck, arms hugging around his torso. He finally said yes.

As time went by, you had gotten comfortable with completing your drills. You learned the controls, how to shift gears, how to waddle and power walk with the bike, operate the clutch, throttle, and lift your feet up, riding on a straight path all by yourself. Turns were still hard though, and the fact that Daryl always insisted you think about the worst-case scenario wasn’t the greatest either. He’d look you dead in the eye, his voice clear and unrestrained from his usual grovels as he said, “If a herd is comin’, or people are shooting, or if there’s something tryin’ to crash into you, you need to think about how you’re going down. Decide on what won’t fuck you up completely, then do it. ” He always got way too close to your face without realizing it in those moments, his finger almost crashing into your nose as he vigorously pointed to get the idea across.

“If something goes down, I’m not arguing,” you say. “You'll be in front.” You meant it, your voice was quiet, you understood.

But really, you didn’t: “If something go down, either of us should be able to do it.” He paused to make sure you got it this time, “That's the point.”

As if you didn’t already sense it, this was the first time you absolutely understood that Daryl was serious when he decided to do anything. Full commitment. Start to finish. You said you wanted to learn, that you wanted to be capable, then that’s exactly what he was going to teach you. You would take it seriously too.

Soon enough, Daryl allowed you to ride out of the gates of Alexandria first instead of switching off after you got a few miles out. You were getting better. So much so that today would be a different day, he explained. Daryl wanted you to ride to the Hilltop. This would be the longest distance you’ve ever rode. A whole 23 miles. But before you guys got there he would steer you in the direction of a turnpike: he wanted to practice speed, and most crucially for you, right and left turning.

His weapons and guns were strapped to his lower body, some on his thigh holster, and a machine gun over his back, all just in case, and his hold on your waist was fixed as you rode. It made you feel like a child and such a little teenager all in one with how excited you would get. Not only were you becoming skilled at riding a whole fucking motorcycle, but you were the one he was holding onto this time and it was the longest amount of time he was holding you at that.

As you reached the turnpike, he guided you around the semi-circular road. Continuing on, you saw a few walkers in the distance. He told you to speed up, there was enough space on the road and there were only four of them, they were far away anyway.

You looked back at your surroundings, other than those four, the road was pretty clear other than some broken down, discarded cars. This accidentally became a lesson on tight turns and swerving too.

Some of your turns were abrupt as you tried to go around the cars, it made you nervous. You knew it was okay not to be perfect, but it was still a little stressful to make mistakes when a master was watching behind you.

“Relax,” he’d tell you, sometimes putting his hands over yours on the handles and helping you out. “You got it.”

You went on and as the walkers approached closer, an idea arose. It was probably irresponsible, but you joked anyway, “Daryl,” you whisper-shouted with fake suspense, getting his attention. “We’re on a mission. Got to take those guys out before they get to Rick!”

He chuckled a bit, shaking his head. He leaned in closer as you leaned forward, gaining speed. One arm wrapped around your hips in totality, hand placed firmly there as the other reached for his gun, extending his arm out as you two got closer to the walkers. You two turned to face them as Daryl pulled the trigger: one shot each, straight in the head, “Got ‘em.”

You gasp, your laughter sounding so wild and fun and unrestrained in a way it hasn’t been heard by either of you before. “Is it bad if I say I hope we find another one?!”

“No, that was fun,” he agrees understatedly, trying not to fully give in. You couldn’t even see his face, yet he was trying to hide a smile.

And you were too. It was all too much honestly. You were balancing riding and having Daryl right behind you, holding onto you, trusting you to do something he’s never let anyone else do before; and you just proved you both could probably kill it in a high stakes situation. Well, maybe not, this was very, very low stakes, but still, it made you believe. You decided to ride the high, quite literally as you kept going, shouting back: “Imagine us in battle?”

Oh, wait— your grin fades slightly, you immediately regretted it after you said it. The point of this life was to try to find a way to live, not always fighting to survive. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

The silence makes you feel like an idiot until Daryl speaks up, both hands now on your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, “If we were in battle,” he almost whispers into your ear, “we’d be their worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

You feel your smile practically reaching your ears. “We’re a team,” you say, the humor coming back to your face now, the shine in your teeth reflecting the sun as it always does. “A dream team.”

A dream… Maybe. You definitely were at least, but that is a thought he doesn’t let come to the forefront. He let it go. But it was true… something about you felt unreal to him. The way you wanted to be around him this much, so interested in the things he does; he still didn’t get it, it almost felt unbelievable. He wondered when it was going to stop. When he would wake up. He didn’t want to wake up. The thought grows, he can’t avoid it now: you are a dream. One he didn’t even know he wanted.

Trinket No. 3: Lucky Charms ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Flying Away With You

You gasp excitedly, “The Eiffel Tower!” You hold the bottom up to the light as he still holds the top. “Nice,” you say with bright eyes, “I found the Statue of Liberty in the mom’s jewelry box and a few others that weren’t on her charm bracelet.” You showed him the mother’s sterling silver and he showed you the daughter’s that he found. “I guess they were traveling family… or wanted to be.” You feel a heaviness behind your eyes after you say it.

You loved collecting these charms, but sometimes there was a sadness to it. Like you were collecting other people's tokens, little pieces of their personalities and their stories, keeping it as your own. It almost felt invasive. But it was something that you and Daryl did together. You liked that. Another thing that made you feel close to him… Maybe this was like keeping their memory alive? You may not have known them or know what happened to them, but you were giving something that they loved new life. The charms did make you happy, after all. Especially because it was Daryl that got you into it. But it was also you who got Daryl into it too.

You both can recall the first day it all started: He found it incredulous that you cared more about a little piece of jewelry you saw in the dirt rather than the bigger thing that was right by it: the deer Daryl just shot, the one that you two had been tracking for what felt like hours.

His face twisted up to you as he collected his bolt from the body, “We just caught a deer, and you’re lookin’ at that?”

“We just caught a deer for the first time in months and this was right by them… it’s literally good luck!” You held the gold sun charm to the actual light source it was designed after, “Look at us… Lucky charm, dream team, remember?” Your smile was just so wide after you said it, he let his slight irritation go. It was easy actually, he was always taken aback by that smile. It still wasn’t that long ago when he thought you weren’t the type to do so, like him most of the time. He had only seen you sad, but now, I’m Alexandria, you just glowed. Eyes and an essence as bright as the sun, and that smile, all teeth and just as pearly as the moon… The charm was perfect for you and it needed its match. Maybe a star too. He would find it.

He still remembers where he found those. He came across a silver crescent moon necklace discarded on the floor of a girl’s bedroom. It was simplistic, like one or those expensive necklaces that shouldn’t even be that expensive because of how small it was, but it was a perfect charm size, and it shined, there were no scratches. In the other girl’s room in the house, probably the younger sister, there was a charm bracelet on the desk. It was kind of childish and clunky, like one you could get in those supermarket toy vending machines. He took the first charm he touched and removed the clasp from it for your moon. It was hard to do it with his fingers on something so small and dainty but after a few tries, he managed.

As for the star, he found it on a walker in the woods. It was a little girl, it almost made him feel bad to do it because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but her and what looked like her mom and dad went straight for the two rabbits he just caught, ripping their skin, eating them. He shot them all in the head. The thud of their bodies to the ground only seconds apart. Oh well, were his thoughts, their fault for messing with his catch. After that is when he noticed the gold charm bracelet on the kid’s wrist. It was different from the one he saw last time in that other girl’s room, it wasn’t a fake toy, it was more refined. Maybe they were a well-off family.

There was a star was at the center. It’s all he wanted, but he thought you might want to see the others she had too— they were all nature themed, he kind of liked it— so he tried to take the bracelet off but it wasn’t working. The thing fit her wrist perfectly and the bracelet clasp was stuck so, in typical Daryl fashion… he just chopped the girl's hand off.

Kind of gross, and he would definitely have to keep the red off of everything now, but the star charm was gold, it would match the sun charm and the moon would stand out at the center, he assumed. He thought it could look nice… and beggars can’t be choosers in the apocalypse anyway. After he took the bracelet he discarded of the hand, tossing it to the ground like it was nothing. (He’d leave that part out if you asked for the story later). Now that he had the bracelet, you would also have a gold owl, a bunny, a bird, and if it couldn’t get any better, there was a deer charm too. That’s what was most important about the account anyway.

That night, Daryl crawled into your bedroom from the window while you were asleep. He placed the star and moon on top of your journal that was on your desk, and after that, he left. That was it. He just wanted to surprise you. He’d give you the rest later. You only realized he did it and how he did it when you closed your window that was slightly left open the next day. There were scuff marks on the window sill. They were from his shoes.

After that it became a game; a little side quest. Like how people would count red versus blue cars or shout ‘punch buggy,’ when they are out with their family. An activity that took you out of your boredom, or really, for you in the apocalypse, it was an activity that made you feel oddly sane again, since you always dealt with the insane everyday anyway.

That was what today was about. At least on the down low; at least after you found anything of value for the community; at least to you two. You guys had found what seemed to be a wealthy neighborhood a while ago, when you passed that turnpike. The houses there were so big there, but all you had was his bike at the time, nowhere to put supplies and you were expected at the Hilltop, you couldn’t stay and look around.

It had been a little while after that and you had a plan now, a few Alexandrians backing you up with cars. You two finished your portion of houses to sweep and now you were waiting on the others, sitting in one of the house porches. That’s why you both were showing each other your finds from this place and the others.

You continued to hold the Eiffel Tower charm in your hand, “Maybe we should go to Paris…” Your voice was wistfully, then a quietness lingered in the air, it made you laugh awkwardly, releasing the tension. Your suggestion was one of those silly things you say where you mean it, but you pretend it’s just a joke, knowing it won’t have any outcome. “All of us, I mean,” you do mean it, but at the same time you we’re just talking about him right now. “That would be nice.”

“What would I do in Paris?” He asks it while he fixes his weapons, you’re sitting back, looking at the trees. He thought it was a ridiculous idea. He’s never been anywhere. He hadn’t even been to Virginia or D.C. before this and there’s no way he could go anywhere else now.

“Well I guess we’re never going to know unless we find out… you can eat!” You laugh, “You do like eating.”

He snorts, “Who knows if there’s food left there.”

Pessimist. “Again— we’re never going to know unless we find out.”

“Have fun tryin’ to become a pilot,” his drawl comes out strong on that last word. “Or a plane.”

“I guess that’s the next charm we need to find, an airplane or a captain’s hat. I am a pilot… or I can pretend to be.” There’s that smile again, “I can do anything.”

“Bet you could.” He meant it.

You nod, your next words making you laugh at yourself, “I’m Barbie.”

“Better,” he mutters. You can barely hear it. You don’t know if it was real so you say nothing until—

“We’re going to travel the world some day, Daryl.” You say it so surely, breaking the moment of silence, “We’ll find a way.” As long as we’re together. As long as you want me.

That’s all you wanted, truly. Even if this world really couldn’t take you to Paris, or New York, or anywhere out of Virginia. All you wanted was him. All you wished and hoped for is that he wanted you… but did he? You still weren’t sure.

Trinket No. 4: The Flower and the Photograph 𓇢𓆸

Back Pocket Memory

You two were almost near Alexandria, only a few miles left to drive. “Do you think we can just sit down over there before heading back?”

Daryl continued driving, “Dangerous to leave a good van with supplies just put.”

You pointed to the clearing you were referring to ahead. The trees were sparse in that area, it might have been a meadow, but you didn’t know the difference. There was a little pond near the center. “Can we just drive the car a little bit closer? Just for a few minutes?” You look up at him, your eyes doing that little sunshine thing as it always does, “I just want to sit in the grass,” you say, putting your hand out the window, feeling the wind through your fingers, “the sky feels so nice today.”

He huffs, but does as you ask. “Get out,” he says, gesturing to you to walk over to the area you pointed at. “Pick your spot.” You run over and he follows. You have this wonder about you, it was almost childlike, but not childish, more— sweet, innocent perhaps.

You jump down to the ground and cross your legs on the grass, looking out at the pond. Daryl parks the car a little behind you and comes out to sit on the hood. His legs spread, knees almost to his chest, his elbows lay on there, arms extended.

You look at him, “You’re really not going to sit down?”

“If someone comes up behind us and steals our shit then that’s gonna be your fault.”

Fair. You gesture at him to move over and you sit to his side on top of the car.

As you settle, you close your eyes and you raise your face to the sky. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your closed eyelids. There was a majestic kind of wind that blew in the air today. It made everything look effortless, especially Daryl.

His ever-so disheveled hair had pieces flying on both sides, brushing some parts out of his face, and pushing others in. As always, it was just enough that they didn’t completely cover his eyes. How does that always happen? Thinking about it makes you giggle lightly as you look at him.

“What?” He asks, becoming a little self conscious.

You shake your head, your eyes looking at him kindly, hoping to ease his nerves. “You just look nice.” Your voice was silvery and sweet as you said it.

You get up and skip toward the pond, picking a flower and coming back to him. You sit down and try to put the tiniest white flower behind his ear.

“What’re you doin’?” He tries to swat it away, playfully hitting your other hand that tries to hold him in place and he takes the flower from your other hand. He successfully places it behind your ear instead. “Better,” he says.

As he looks at you, he notices light pieces of your hair frizzing up at the top from the wind, other pieces at the bottom still moving around slightly. It didn’t look bad, to him, your hair looks more like that invisible halo he sees when you’re around, and with that flower in your hair, you look like a true angel or maybe even a fairy with all the greenery surrounding you. You’re just lovely.

You give him a closed smile, your head falling to your knees. “Pretty day,” you sigh contentedly.

Pretty girl.

Handsome man.

Then a thought comes. Your smile turning to a grin.

“What?” He asks sharply. He knows the look you get when you’re up to something at this point.

You grab your backpack from your side, slowly bringing out the polaroid camera you found earlier today.

“No,” he pushes the side of your face, already detesting the idea.

“Daryl,” you whine.

He says it straight this time, “No.”

“But…” your eyes trail his face for a moment before continuing, “you just look… I don’t know. It’s like I said, you just look so- nice.” There’s other words you could use, but you don’t, not yet. “I just think it would be nice to have a nice picture. All we take pictures of is the houses and work. It’s boring and a waste.” You pause, “Daryl… Please?”

He rolls his eyes, grumbling, “You first.”

He’s glad no one was around when these moments happened. Someone might think you had him completely whipped. His brother definitely would think so if he was still around. Daryl was almost embarrassed of himself because of it. But you don’t ask for much. Other than the bike thing, you really didn’t. You trusted him and you were patient. You went along with his plans and you could sit for long car rides and periods of time in quietness if that’s what he wanted. You never pushed him to tell you his story. He only knew a part of yours circumstantially and he didn’t push you for more details after he brought you home, so you did the same. He could feel you wanted to ask more questions, but he also saw you stop yourself, move on, you were creative with your conversation topics: you asked him about what the best thing he hunted was, or what his favorite things were about your friends. You were so gentle with him. Maybe you could get him to do almost anything you wanted without you even knowing, but it was worth it for someone like you.

You look down shyly, “I’m not good at pictures,” you admit.

“You’ll look fine.” He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. You’re so alike, more than you know.

He tilted your jaw with his thumb. It was too quick for you to melt into it but the feeling lingered, it made you buzz with excitement and it was easy to smile after that. He looked through the viewfinder, seeing you do that pretty sunny smile, matching the yellow bud of the white flower. He clicked the button. Beautiful.

You snatch the camera instantly, “Your turn!” You were too eager but you didn’t care.

You take the flower from your hair and bring it toward him. He sucks his teeth, saying your name as he does so, “No!”

“Yes, Daryl!” You push it over his ear, but not before he pushes you knee, just to do it. He didn’t even know why he was fighting, he knew he was letting you have your way right now. “Look,” you sound like a school teacher, “very nice.”

You even out some of the frizzy parts at the top of his head, the light wind was still blowing through it, it was futile so you left it, he looked great anyway. A perfectly imperfect mess.

He crossed his arms over his knees and looked into your eyes. You held the camera to your face and snapped the shot. “Beautiful.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. If anyone else was here that could see those all to familiar hearts and stars around you and in your eyes, it was so hard to hide. “I’m keeping this,” you said, placing the polaroid delicately in your back pocket. He said nothing, he wasn’t going yo let you know he cared about a dumb picture. “Okay, thank you for indulging me,” you start, taking the flower from his ear, “let’s go home.”

Later that night, past one am, he came through your window again. But this time you saw. Your head was almost covered by the blankets, your eyes slightly open. He didn’t even look in your direction. Maybe he wanted to be quick.

You saw him go into your bookbag. It was hanging on your desk chair. He took the picture out. He wanted it. He wanted your picture. The one that matched yours of him. Maybe this was something. Maybe he did want you.

You closed your eyes quickly when he started to turn around, then watched as quietly as you could as he neared the window, starting to climb out but not before he placed the polaroid in his back pocket, just like you did. Now you both had a piece of each other, forever.

Trinket No. 5: The Music Player and the Wish on an Eyelash ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ♬♪

Never Fade Away

It’s official, in all the ways it possibly could be: Alexandria was truly your home. More time has passed: you live in a house, you have a job, you have family— it’s your friends. In some ways things are better than they have ever been… yet you still think about the night and the dark just as much as you used to. You tried to hide it, you wanted to be grateful and you were. But the things that used to happen to you, and the people that hurt you… they still lingered like ghosts when night came.

In the closed and guarded walls of your community, you hoped night could be a time and place that was peaceful. But thoughts of an attack, thoughts of losing your first real home, it left you apprehensive and paranoid of what could happen in your vulnerable state. And when you close your eyes, sometimes the past visits your dreams. It all felt inescapable.

It makes you so fearful that despite keeping your window’s curtain open, a battery-powered lantern resides practically glued to your nightstand— always on when the sun goes down. You knew it was a waste of a resource, but at least you kept it on low, at least when you woke up in the middle of the night, closer to morning really, you remembered to turn it off— the sun making its way back around soothed your nerves; it was always that initial getting-to-sleep part that made you need it anyway.

And of course, you’ve tried to calm yourself down at night using different methods to see what stuck: You do read— your neighbors were always kind enough to lend whatever books were in their houses— and you did daydream— letting your mind wander to happier, more wondrous places when you wanted to escape— and it did help sometimes, but on other nights, it wasn’t enough.

You miss watching tv in bed. There was something about the buzz of the box, and the voices of humor and romance and relatability that miraculously took you away, and helped you stop thinking, even allowed you to drift to sleep… it was a luxury you didn’t have anymore, and not only did you not have that luxury, you also had an overabundance of dead or deadly issues to worry about. It all haunted you.

You sat with your back against the headboard of the bed. You’ve yet to put on any night clothes. You had already read the next chapter of your book, and you would have read another, and possibly another after that, but tonight you knew it would have just kept you awake as something to do instead of worrying about sleep. You were tired though. That’s why you stopped, but you also weren’t ready for trying to catch sleep that wouldn’t come.

Part of you hoped Daryl would stop by, but he doesn’t always, and he probably won’t tonight. Some nights he’s out until the next day or the next week, who knows how far he went this time, you didn’t go with him and he left too quickly to ask. It had been a few days since you saw him last.

When he was here though, he did start to make it a habit of stopping by to see you, especially when it was time for Alexandrians to settle into their homes for the night. He stopped being so quiet through the window and only dropping things off. He would start coming through the door. It was just a light chat for a couple of minutes at first, then there were the times when he stayed an hour or two. He always sat on your floor, by the window, or by the door. You never understood why until you insisted he sit in your chair by the closet. It was only until a few more visits later you realized the chair's light color becoming just a bit visibly darker. It was soot and hard work and the air, he worked outside all day and usually visited before he called it a night. You made sure not to mention it, you just cleaned it yourself. No need for him to feel embarrassed.

Besides, you didn't mind, anytime he walked through your door or jumped in from your window, that was his chair, at least that’s what you called it in your head. You liked that. You liked that after he brought you home he didn’t move on and let you be. In his defense, you didn’t let him be either, but he could have always distanced himself if he wanted to, told you no, but he didn’t.

You two have gotten so close quite quickly. You both felt it and you didn’t know why, but at the same time, you did. It was something left unspoken, even in your mind, always on the side toward the back of your brain. That part knew you could fall in love with him, but why admit it to yourself if the other person might not feel the same? You were still feeling that way. Despite all the moments you’ve shared thus far. His silent nature was endearing at times, but it could also be a very confusing gripe of yours. There were moments when you knew exactly where his mind was, but there were other times when you simply did not. Especially when it came to you. Daryl always gave you just enough, and maybe tonight, it would be nothing at all.

At least that’s where your thoughts resided until you heard the creak of your door slowly pushing inward.

Daryl’s hand holds the doorknob, meeting your eyes as he steps in further. Your window casting just enough light on his face.

“Hi,” you meant to be clever, ask him if he knew how to knock, but only wistful, subdued surprise is all that came out in your one-word greeting.

“Hey,” he replied, it almost seemed like he was surprised too, you couldn’t tell it from his voice but from the way he cut the word short. “Didn’t know if you were awake.”

You laugh somberly, “You didn’t?”

“Didn’t see you in the window.”

His voice is low, your house is quiet, and people are asleep in the other rooms. You match his tone with your own quietness, “Right,” you say. The window did hit the bed end, not the top. But he knew you were a late sleeper. He even came and sat with you for longer the night before he left because you had told him about it— he knew, he had to, but you didn’t question it.

“Um,” he’s looking down, “Was just gonna leave somethin’.”

He starts to walk to your nightstand but you stop him, your hand reaching out, not touching him, but it’s just enough to pull him to your gaze. “You’re gonna leave without showing me?”

Daryl positions himself toward you and you sit up. Gingerly, he takes something small out of his front pocket, it was covered in one of his bandanas. He looks at it for a moment, almost unsure before placing it on the bed, right in front of your lap.

It was an MP3 player. One of those slim rectangular ones with a digital rectangular screen to match and a big circular button with the controls covering the bottom half. There were some small scratches in the screen corners and some dent marks in the back. The arrow buttons were starting to fade too, but he handed you some headphones out of his back pocket as you continued to examine it, it must have worked.

You look up at him, eyes wide, shining just a bit in the dark just like the little silver miracle that was in your hands. You remembered having one of these, the thought made your lips curl, a light open-mouthed smile forming as the nostalgia set in.

You move closer to the edge of the bed, the sky illuminating you more in your semi-darkened room. You place your hand on the other end of your bed, “Come,” you say as your tap the spot. He’s hesitant before he finally accepts the invitation, sitting down. You would have insisted anyway if he didn’t.

You flip the switch on the side then and the music starts instantly in your right ear where you set one of the earbuds in. You tried to put the left on him, but he shook his hand, “You listen.” You let him be for now, you were too excited to see what the previous owner was into.

The songs are scattered from different decades, but what you notice the most of as you skip through were various 90s and 2000s rock, pop-punk, pop, and the like. There was Nirvana, but also Fiona Apple to Blondie, and even Elvis. It was a little all over the place, really. This definitely had to be a teen’s in the early or late aughts. You thought maybe Carl would like this. There was even some stuff that you were sure had to have come out in 2010, right before the apocalypse began… Another kid who wouldn’t get to spend the rest of their teens, or young adulthood, or adult life like they were supposed to, like you were supposed to.

Having these thoughts while Aerosmith’s Fly Away From Here played was not helping, especially since it made you think of your lost family, and those from your found family that were gone now too, so you decided to skip, but the button seemed to fidget. You tried again, then again, even touching the screen. You accidentally made the shuffle icon come onto the bottom corner.

“Don’t like Aerosmith?” Daryl read it on the screen, but he also recalled the melody, even from just the soft buzz produced by the headphones, the volume was accidentally turned all the way up, you set it down.

You give him a light smile, “Aerosmith’s fine. Just have to be a little more careful with this, I guess.”

You continue to press forward to see what else is there until you shriek, color coming back to your face as you shake your head at the memory emerging as you listen. “Oh my god, my sibling used to love this song when we were younger.” It was Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend that was playing. “We used to put on the radio or look up the music videos on the tv and dance. They loved doing that…” Your voice was soft, both sweet yet desolate, “I knew all the popular songs and all their favorite songs whether I liked it or not.” You giggle, “I can lie this one is fun.”

You knew Daryl would probably scoff, but you lightly place the left earbud near his ear for a few seconds so he can hear what you’re talking about.

“Definitely a chick’s.”

“‘Chick’?” It was funny, and you did laugh, but you still decide to protest, “It’s just one song and…I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty eclectic mix of artists…” You continue to press forward as you ask, “Were there kids? Or- did there used to be?”

“Based on the rooms.” He nods, “Boy and a girl.”

“Hm,” you say curiously, flipping through the songs: the next one that played was by Linkin Park, then Alanis Morisette… you wondered if the kids shared it or shared interests. Suddenly, the player starts Lit’s My Own Worst Enemy. Your eyes are starlit as you gasp, “Oh, this one is so you.”

This time you fully push the headphone into his left ear, turning the volume all the way up as the first verse plays, his face is fixed, “This ain’t me.” There is silence as the music continues and he scorns, “You think I used to just get drunk all the time?”

“Daryl,” your laugh is light, “no.” It was a ridiculous thought and he should know it, but nonetheless, you console him, “Of course not.” Your hand reaches forward onto the bed, nearing where his own resided, but not touching. It saddened you to see Daryl always react like this to small things. He was never judgmental, but he was always so quick to believe others would judge him. “Maybe not that part,” you smile, slightly mischievous, “but- okay, this-” you sing-speak along lightly, remembering to stay quiet, “it’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy, cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me- that's you! That's literally you.”

He shakes his head, ‘Whatever,’ the gesture says with his grunt.

“No, you’re actually a little bit self-deprecating, I think. At least internally.” You continue, “Oh, and this part— I didn't mean to call you that- you see?” You say, humor still in your smile, “That part is you.”

Daryl gives you another small grunt indicating ‘no’ as he shakes his head again. “If I say something to someone, then I mean it. Wouldn’t say it if I don’t.”

“Well, you also mean a lot of what you don’t say,” your eyes trail to the side. You knew that didn’t make sense, but it did to you. There was a part of you that was still in denial of your feelings or if there was a possibility he had any for you either. You’d never see him talk or treat anyone in a more than friendly way– or whatever Daryl’s version of friendly was. You wanted to protect yourself by not admitting you adored him, even to yourself, but really, you knew. And there was the way he kept giving you these things, these little moments: the ribbon, the picture, the charms… It made that smaller part of you that believed something was there, glow and warm inside your heart.

You look at him, there was a sorrow placed on both of your faces, but he just looks at his hand that is placed on the bed through his hair, the one that's so close to yours. “You really don’t think there is anything you don’t regret saying?” Another song passes, you didn’t recall it, but then the playlist shifts to something slower, it’s the Beatles. “I just think you keep a lot inside… It’s okay though. But it is just something I notice.”

Normally, a comment like this or something similar to it would sound trite and judgmental, there are a lot of things people don’t talk about now, but you say it with understanding, a little sad because you can’t help it, but your voice is kind, like gentle fingers through his hair, evening it out; a voice that shows you care, you see him and respect him even if you do want more. “It’s okay,” you whisper as Paul McCartney’s voice sings softly, “I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me.” It felt like he was speaking right to Daryl as he continued to look away from you.

It’s moments like this where he wants to say it all. The sad stories from his childhood that he has never been able to tell anyone before. Stories about his brother… the bad, yes, but even some of the good ones. He knows he could talk to Rick if he wanted, or Carol. His group was loyal to him as much as he was to them– he knew that, but they probably wouldn’t care to hear about Merle, it would probably make them angry to be reminded of all the bad things he’s done to them. He wouldn’t blame them. In many ways, and for more reasons then all of them, he will always be angry at his brother too. This is why he didn’t even like to let himself think about the past, but in other ways, it still sucked. It makes him feel alone, like talking about himself or his brother or the past was just a gateway to hurting himself and scaring others, scaring you.

You wipe him away from those thoughts even though you didn’t even hear them, your voice pulling him out of his trance, “Things are harder now, Daryl, but I think you’ve only gotten better.” There is still so much you don’t know, but nonetheless, it’s like you can read his mind.

“This is the only me you know.”

“And even then I don’t think you’re the man I met when you found me… We’re definitely not the same people.” Your hand is just inches from his fingertips now. “We all have things to improve on, even if we think we’ve already grown up. I think that’s a part of growing up actually… just realizing that you never do, or at least not entirely. You’re always going to continue to grow.” Your words linger in the air as the next song starts, it’s Paramore, it’s The Only Exception— something still laced with melancholia but it has a sweet gentleness to it. It's just like you. This is how you were trying to be with your words. “It’s better if you allow it though, or work toward it instead of against it, I think.” You laugh at yourself then, “But I'm far from perfect so I should really stop talking.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks, you’re hopeful the night’s light doesn’t show it too much.

He wishes he could tell you he thinks you’re perfect, or at least something close to it. At least for him. You truly were like an angel. Maybe Radiohead is on this too.

The chorus continues to play, leading to the song’s ending and his jaw tightens. It’s annoying that you were right, your words from before echo to him. They weren’t nonsensical, he did get it: he does mean the things he never says as much as the things he does, but no one will ever get to know. Not that everyone has to, but maybe for you, maybe just a little, maybe you can be the exception. And he can tell that you’re trying to me: who carries around a silly little ribbon anyway? Or who keeps their window open almost every night, even on cold nights? He felt like he was failing you. Maybe these gifts and these small moments weren't enough. Maybe they were just trinkets; meaningless, giving you false hope for a love he couldn’t provide.

You both hear the outro, “Oh, and I’m on my way to believing,” and his heart pangs at that. Maybe he doesn’t have to fail, maybe he can try, at least right now, “It’s just…” he speaks up, his voice clears, “It made me think of you when I saw it.” He was talking about the mp3, “That’s why I brought it back… You’re always humming under your breath. Now you can stop annoying me with the same old thing.”

Your eyes roll, but you aren’t mad, in fact, you can't help that it makes you smile. “Oh, okay, Daryl,” you say through quiet bits of laughter.

“Also thought it could help you sleep… I dunno.”

You nod intently at his words, “Thank you,” and that wistfulness in your voice returns. “That's really kind.”

He nods back. He’s so gruff and straight-faced all the time, but was it bad to say that there were moments when you can't help but see him as adorable? He was always trying not to meet your gaze through his hair, and it was always messy like a kid’s, just like when you took that photograph.

Muse’s Starlight starts playing as you brush some of the hair out of his face. It's an awkward transition, but it's what you get from accidentally pressing shuffle so many times. In the end, though, the words make it seem perfect for the moment. The singer spoke of desire and escape, about missing loved ones and wanting to keep someone special, someone that's like starlight, close by. You understood that. He did too.

You giggle lightly, “Daryl, you- you have something…” You point at your face in reflection of his.

“What?” He wipes his nose.

“No, it's- it’s here,” you say, taking your finger to lightly catch the eyelash that threatened to slip away from his face and onto the bed. “Make a wish,” you whisper. Your face is nothing short of innocence and wonder.

His snorts, “I’m not doin’ that.”

“Daryl,” you eyes widened with apparent prodding and pleading annoyance, but your words still have a sense of amusement to them, “I think we need all the luck we can get.” Your head tilts as you say through your smiling teeth, “I’ll do it with you…?”

“Fine.” He can’t help that your squeal makes his lips curl but he’s trying to hide it.

“You have to really do it.” You turn the music down, it's in the background now. Your usual sun-filled eyes are currently wide like the moon as you look into his, coming closer to his face.

He nods, “Okay.”

“Promise?” You sing.

“Promise.” He meant it, he even closed his eyes before you to prove it.

You closed your eyes too, “Okay, I’m trusting you.” Squeezing them tightly, you whisper, “Think about what you want, and then I'm going to count to three and we blow.”

Instantly, your heart foolishly thinks of Daryl. You know you could be thinking about the safety of your group, the stability of Alexandria, or hoping that the threat everyone feels coming subsides into nothingness, but all your thoughts are just of him. It makes you feel like a silly little girl, waiting for that big romantic confession of love that you dream about, the one that will probably never come.

I wish for you, you think. You can’t help it, you can’t say anything else, this is the only thing that’s true, I just wish to stay by your side, forever.

The song echoes your hopes too, I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.

You agree, never fade away, please.

“Okay,” you say softly aloud, “1… 2… 3…” And then your wish flies into the air. You two stare at each other afterwards, eyes starry like the sky from your window.

You wished for each other.

Trinket No. 6: Scars, Marks, Tattoos, and Internal Wounds ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The Things I Only Trust You to Know

It’s another night. Another visit. It wasn’t intentional this time, but your curtains were drawn. They’re almost never drawn, at least not completely. The window was still open though, the night’s breeze ruffled them backwards. Daryl became concerned, so he climbed up, opening the window wider and pushing the curtains to the side to get through.

He saw you crying.

Hearing the thud of his boots stomp lightly to the ground triggered you to turn, body facing the closet as you were curled in your bed. You didn’t want him to see you. “I’m tired tonight, Daryl.” Your voice was low, you tried to keep in neutral. For the most part you were doing well, but it was still obvious you weren’t fine— he saw your face before you covered it.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, his legs hitting by your feet. He didn’t feel like asking if you were okay if you were going to lie and say no. “You can tell me to go if you want,” was all he said, rubbing your arm as he did and then let go. You starting sniffling involuntarily because of the touch. You realized you were holding in a breath, the shaky exhale came out louder than you wished it did. “I’m sorry,” your voice blubbering. You were embarrassed. You hadn’t done this in front of him since before he brought you home.

“Don’t gotta be.”

“I feel stupid,” you say under your breath. You’re still trying to hide your face.

“Stop.” He puts his hand over your body now, on the bed, and he faces you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head slowly, looking at him, “I don’t know how to say. I can’t-”

“Just say it,” he said calmly.

You felt heat rising from your throat, it was like the words were trying to come out, but it felt scary to do so, it made your teeth grind against each other. Your head shakes harder, “I don’t think I can.”

He brings a hand to your face and wipes some of your tears with his thumb, “What would you tell me?”

You would tell him to speak, that it’s okay, you both knew it. The thought makes you sit up in your bed, tears still running down your cheeks, but you were going to try.

“You’re just going to get annoyed,” you wipe some of your tears with your wrist, “think I’m dumb, like a little girl.”

“You’re not dumb,” he spoke over you before you finished.

You pause, you shake your head again. The words are on your tongue but you just feel so bad and so embarrassed to admit it. “Sometimes I just…” your voice hitches and your hands goes to your head, more tears fall, “it’s just one of those days, I guess.”

One of Daryl’s hands goes to your shoulder and your upper back, he pats you until it quickly becomes a soft, swaying motion.

Your voice doesn’t go above the lightest whisper as you try to start again, “Sometimes- I just look at myself and I-” a sob erupts from your throat and tears roll much quicker, “I know you’re going to think I’m stupid, but sometimes I just wonder if anyone could love me.” It doesn’t even feel good to finally admit it, but you continue, “I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like maybe I’m not enough. Or I’ll never be.”

Daryl’s face heats up. How could you ever feel that way about yourself? How do you not see yourself as anything less than everything he’s seen in you since the day he met you? You’re not stupid. Never. He feels stupid for not seeing this in you. He feels stupid for it being so hard for him to tell you everything wonderful about yourself in the way you deserve.

He thinks for a moment, he wishes he was more poetic, but he wasn’t and there are still certain things he’s not ready to say. So he decides on something else as he calls your name, “You’re telling me you can’t see you’re a tough son of a bitch?” The phrase makes you laugh involuntarily through your tears, he always says it like it’s one word. “One that found a way to burn down a hospital and kill a bunch of dickheads in one go just to stay alive?” He huffs, “Prettiest arsonist I’ve seen.”

You gasped but it made you smile lightly, it was funny. “I’m not an arsonist! And it was only part of the building.”

“Coulda fool me.” He tilts his head, “But you’re also probably one of the best scavengers we got. And you’re a good friend.” His hand travels to your knee, “You’re really good at talkin’ to people… and to me.”

You try to let his words fill you up but there is still doubt. “I don’t feel like pretty and really good are the right words.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

You shake your head.

He doesn’t get it, “Well, what do you see that I’m not?”

Your heart beats ferociously, you don’t move, you’re hesitant, you don’t know if this is right, but there is a part of your that wants to. “Can I show you something?” You asked.

He nods.

It’s scary, but you decide to trust him, showing him the part of yourself you felt most ashamed of. The part of you that you thought was unloveable.

But he sees nothing shameful, nothing bad, he just holds onto it or another part of you, caressing you gently. “You’re perfect,” he says, shrugging as if his words aren’t a big deal, but he knows they are. This is the first time he doesn’t keep a thought like this in his head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He turns his back on you now, and he takes a breath, sighing deeply. You’re confused until he sighs and starts to speak; “When you were with those guys— and I know it ain’t the same, but— I know what it’s like. For people to use you.” He swallows hard, “I don’t like myself all the time neither.”

Your eyes widen. He was taking off his shirt. The first thing you see are tattoos, until your eyes travel to the other side, you see what he meant; the scars. “My dad. He was a drunk and a loser and an asshole.” Daryl's voice hitched, you couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but you had never heard him like this before. “He did it to my brother too, Merle. But then he just left when he was old enough. Didn’t even give a shit that our dad was gonna do it to me,” there was anger in his voice. “He said he didn’t know,” and then he chokes on his words, “but how can I believe that? Thought it’d just skip a generation? He never changed. Neither of ‘em.” You wanted to hold him, but you didn’t know if it was too soon. He was still speaking, “Then when I got old enough, I left too. Some time later I started drifting ‘round with Merle, like that was gonna be any better… Two fucked up kids doing nothin’ with their fucked up lives.” His face turned to the side, you saw his profile, his eyes were red, “That’s what I did before Rick… You all were going to do good things with your life and I was gonna be nothing.”

“Daryl…” you were crestfallen, “I’m so sorry.” You held his arm, stroking it softly. “But you weren’t going to be nothing.”

“Yes, I was.”

“There is no thinking about what could have been. This is how life is. Maybe this was always going to happen,” your voice falters as you say it. “You’re not nothing. You’ve become everything to so many people.”

He turns his face back around and you look at his back again. It was difficult to look at, you won’t lie. Your heart sunk low, like it was being squeezed and brought down to the pit of your stomach to know that someone put him through this. Someone who was supposed to love him. Another tear escaped your eye at of the thought.

“Daryl,” you stutter meekly, “Is it okay if I hold you?”

His nod is so faint you barely see it, but he doesn’t say anything else so you believe it is a yes.

Your fingers ghost over his back until you let the tips of them finally lay on his skin.

His eyes wince and squeeze as he shutters despite your fingers trailing so tenderly. Your palm is now flat on his back as you move downwards and back up again. You kiss near his shoulder, right on the tip of his highest tattoo and then you wrap your arms around him, under his arms over his waist, and he holds your hands there.

You stay there for a long while, you don’t have a recollection of time. The moment feels like forever, although it is sad and you wished you weren’t discussing the things you were to get here, you don’t want it to end. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him.

It’s quiet until he says, “No,” disagreeingly, “You’re not brave just because you go through some shit.”

“But you still are,” you insist. “This happened to you and you chose to be the person you are now despite it. You became someone invincible.” You pressed him against you tighter, “I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Finally he turns around and takes you in his arms, your head now resting over his shoulder as your chests touch, closing the gap. You lay down on the bed and he stays on top of you. One hand plays with your hair and you continue to caress his back.

“I really like your tattoos,” you whisper, almost a giggle in your voice. “They look really good on you.”

He smiles a little. He never takes off his shirt so people barely see all the ones he has. He liked that you liked them. “Thank you,” he says.

“Do you want more? If you could?” You also want to ask why he got the ones he did, but the crying has made you sleepy and him being on top of you is making your mind hazy. “I wish I could,” is all you add.

He looks at you, “Maybe that’s the next thing we find.” He was talking about a tattoo gun, “That’s the kind of junk people don’t need now, we’ll look.”

He plays with your hair again, both your smiles are so innocent and lazy, you two would knock out soon, but it was nice to talk about something that used to be mundane for a moment.

“What if we do it and it turns out bad?”

“We’re not gonna find it tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say, moving on. “You know… I remember I used to be so scared of that stuff— needles and blood. I can imagine wincing just thinking about a needle touching me at the doctor’s… But now, I think that’s a pain I’d actually prefer… Rather than the other things we’ve gone through… If there ever was a choice like that.”

He agrees, “If there was a choice, I’d be covered by now.”

You two laugh at that, letting go of each other. Your bodies are on your sides, parallel to one another as you lay down. You’re on the side that faces the window and Daryl’s back is to it. He sees the moonlight illuminate your face because of it, the glow makes you look enchanting.

He wonders if you would get one— a tattoo, or another one, of this: of the moon; of the night where you showed each other parts of your bodies you wanted to hide, thinking they were flaws; of the night where you accepted each other fully despite it. Where he laughed and felt happy even after he shared something so dark. He almost never laughs or feels happiness in its totality, but with you, he does. It happened right now as he’s looking at you.

You see his face glistening in tandem with the white light that shines on you, it’s darker, but it’s still there. You were wondering the same exact thing.

Your eyes feel heavy now. They slowly flutter shut, but you try to keep them open. You don’t want him to leave. But he sees that your face dozing off, you’re tired, your eyes keep trying to close and close fully. He quietly gets up to go, but you stop him. Holding onto his forearm, sliding down to his hand. “Just stay,” you murmur, “please,” it’s light and dream-like. So he does. He doesn’t want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to let go of you.

You both stay at your sides, your intertwined hands at the center. He continues to look at you and you smile softly as your body finally allows your eyes to close shut. You drift swiftly to sleep. And he stays awake for a while longer, fixed on you and your slowing breath until sleep finds him too.

Daryl being right there, and you being right next to him, made everything infinitely better.

Despite it being vague on details, feel free to skip around areas of this one if you are not comfortable with reading about the reader being imprisoned at the Sanctuary.

Trinkets No. 7 & 8: The Second Ribbon and the First Kiss ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ જ⁀➴ -`♥︎´-

Confessions From a Broken Bowman and a Battered Beaut

It had taken a long while for you and Daryl to talk again after you escaped the Sanctuary.

The last time he saw you was through your tears as Negan’s men threw him in a van, your eyes bloodshot, wanting to scream and plead. He felt it was his fault that he didn’t fight harder; he felt that it was his fault that you were in there for so long; felt it was his fault that you were taken there in the first place. He couldn’t save Glenn— a burden he still carried so deeply, even after talking to Maggie— and that led to not being able to save you. He felt like he left you, not knowing you would have been in the same place he was if he didn’t escape before you got there. But what choice did he have? He didn’t know. And he doesn’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to admit that in a heart beat, he would take another day of torture, of abuse and pain, if it meant he was with you, and you could make it out together. One more day for him would have been worth your days only adding up to one hand if it could. It would have been better than just waiting for you on the other side. Having to hide just so Negan wouldn’t find him and kill him and more of his friends because of it.

And even worse, what if he threatened Daryl with you instead? Especially since you were still there, with him. That’s part of the reason why Daryl wanted to blow up the Sanctuary. It would have just been one side. Just enough to cause the chaos you needed to run away from your captures and back home. You were fast enough, he knows you are, and you must have known all the exits by now. He tried to convince himself of it. Rick told him it was a bad idea, dangerous to do that to the workers, and most importantly to you— it too many what ifs if it didn’t work out— but what else was he supposed to do? He needed you out, and the Saviors to be gone. It felt like the only choice.

But then, Daryl saw your face. You got out, you didn’t need another fire. It must have been their first attack against the Sanctuary that helped.

Your breathing was so heavy when you finally stopped, you were running so fast, there were patches of dirt all over you, sweat dripping from your neck. It must have been fate that he, Tara, Micchone, and Rosita were right there on the other side, ironically trying to go back to the place you just escaped from.

All their guns were pointed in your direction. They heard the gunshots, they heard someone running. They instantly dropped everything when they saw that it was you.

It felt like the world turned in its full rotation in seconds, coming into a halt all in this moment. The woods, the running, the chance encounter— him; it’s like you were brought right back to the start.

He was speechless, stunned in a way he didn’t expect, mouth agape and yours the same. You didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know how to apologize in the way he felt he should, so you both just stood there. Tears started to well in your eyes. All he did in the end was look down.

This exchange of stares happened only in a mere matter of seconds until Rosita brought you in for a hug, cursing leaving even though she knew you didn’t have a choice, being so happy you were back, but for you it felt agonizingly long.

And for Daryl, it all felt endlessly hopeless. The reality that his plan probably could, or most definitely would have killed you sunk in. He was stupid for thinking that it could work. And seeing you in that wife's dress? A black bow tied to the back of your head? It was unbearable. He hates that he found it hard to even look at you.

The two other women welcomed you back, Michonne even looked teary eyed. The sight made some of your own tears fall because of it. She took you by the shoulder and Rosita took your waist, guiding you to the trunk. Tara went back near Daryl, she wanted to ask if their new plan at the Sanctuary was still a go but waited when she noticed Rosita sent a glare Daryl’s way. It honestly did more to Tara than Daryl. He didn’t even bother meeting her face, he was already punching himself for his silence, for his inaction. He just got in the driver’s seat and took off.

After that, you watched him, waiting to see when his eyes would finally meet yours, but he tried to avoid them as much as he could. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were okay when Alexandria fell and you were all in the sewers, and when he entrusted you to take care of Judith as he guided everyone to the Hilltop afterwards.

This treatment was excruciating, but you said nothing. You didn’t feel like yelling at him, you just wanted him. And there was no time between when you came back to right now when you could speak alone anyway if you did want to yell. If you asked why he probably would just shoved you off and you’d get more sad and upset than you already were, or maybe you’d pester, demanding some kind of answer and he'd be the one that might yell… no reason to fight in front of people, especially since there are so many other things to worry about.

But you remember when you finally got to the Hilltop, and how you saw the way he embraced Carol almost right after he saw her. You weren’t upset about that specifically. You admired Carol, even if you didn’t get to know her that well yet. You knew they loved each other, you thought they had a beautiful relationship… It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you fought all the way to get back to your family, to him, and it felt like it was all just so he could act like a stranger again. He didn’t even say hello when he saw you, or ask how you got out, or that he missed you. Maybe he didn’t. That was the real reason you said nothing. The thought broke your heart.

You could at least say that Negan talked to you, and didn’t keep all his feelings inside– whether they were real or not, you were only half sure somtimes– but your time at the Sanctuary, becoming a soon-to-be-wife, it was a hardship only you endured. No one would understand the humor of that sick joke, and it especially wasn’t the time nor would it ever be when everyone hated him and wanted to kill him so desperately.

The next day came by, you all prepared for the Saviors to attack at Hilltop. You were on a break, sitting in the cellar. It was dark, but it helped relieve you from the incessant heat that beamed outside.

Daryl was looking for you. This happened to be the third place he went around. He had just spoke to Rick, apologized for their fight. He felt awful that it took until after Carl passed for them to talk about it, and that his passing made Rick start to believe all the killing might be the only option like Daryl believed before. He still wasn’t sure what he felt now. All he knew is he couldn’t let you two go on like this any longer. It was time to talk to you.

As he opened the cellar door he kept it slightly open, letting the light emanate through.

He sits down next to you, bringing his knees up as he usually does. You don’t bother looking at him. Maybe he would just ask you to do him a favor like last time.

There is silence for a moment. He doesn’t know where to begin. All he decides to say is, “You got Judith here safe, I made sure Rick knew. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who led us here.” Your voice says quietly.

“You helped chop a lot of those walkers down in the swap.”

You sigh, not answering him right away. “This isn’t a competition.”

“I know,” he mutters.

Silence is all that hangs in the air again. With each second that passes it makes your throat swell, bubbling up to your tongue and brain as it usually does until you’re trying to hold back tears.

Daryl was feeling similarly. All his words were caught in his throat too, wanting to be said out loud but he can’t, it’s like someone is squeezing and choking him right there. And he can see your teary eyes, it could almost make his eyes match.

He says your name low and slow, “Do you hate me?”

You’re stunned at the thought. Your words are hushed but vehement, “How could you ever think I’d hate you?”

“I left you-”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve fought harder when they put me in that van, you grabbed onto me and I still let them take me—”

You speak in between his words, “Why are you acting like you had a choice?!”

“—I could’ve went back right after they told me that’s where you were. Not leave you! I coulda done that.”

You shake your head, your voice a sharp whisper, “If you tried either of those things you would have been dead. Everything would be worse and this probably still would have happened.”

“I could’ve done something,” is all he repeats. Quietness fills the space again. You’re never going to agree on this. He’s stuck on what happened and you’re upset about what’s happening.

You breathe in shakily. He’s still finding it hard to look and it hurts, it makes you sad and angry.

Your voice becomes stifled, almost weepingly as you ask, “Daryl… Why can’t you even look at me? Why have you barely talked to me since I came back?”

His voice raises strainingly, “Cause I left you.”

Your voice cries as your head shakes again slowly, “You didn’t leave me, they took me. You left me now.” That makes him turn. You see his eyes, they’re puffed and the whites of his eyes are a faint red, and yours are still watery. “It’s not your fault.”

The backs of your fingertips brush against his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and you go down further, continuing to shake your head sadly, moving back to your face to wipe your own tears.

“Did they put you in that cell? Take your stuff?”

“Only the first time I came there. And then the two other times I tried to escape. After that I was sent to sleep with the other girls.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t think it was the same for me like it was for you.”

“Did he,” he almost can't say it, “Did he hurt you?”

You knew what he meant. All you could do was shake your head slowly, it was a gesture of no.

He nods, his mouth fixed. Some relief is finally released from that, but this doesn’t change anything. They still took you away, they probably put you in a cell, they don’t deserve mercy. He wants to tell you that you all are still going to kill Negan and how he still plans on killing Dwight, but he holds his tongue. This wasn’t what being with you was about right now. His mind races with plans, just thinking of how to get close to them, how to commit the final act, until you speak, reading is mind again.

“I-” you stutter ashamedly, “I think- I know that my time in there has changed me and maybe I see things differently or know more than I used to but… it doesn’t change that I’m with you. I never let that go.” You whimper, “It just hurt when you didn’t say anything to me. Like you were disgusted by me.” You can’t help the string of sobs that come out.

“No,” Daryl holds your face close to his. The bottom of his palm reaching your neck, his fingertips extending over your cheeks, his thumb caressing over the area under and behind your ears. “I fucked up. I was going to try to blow up a part of the Sanctuary… even before I knew you got out… If you got hurt that would have been my fault. That would have been on me. I’d never see you again- Would’ve hated myself.” His voice hitches, it’s rasp so coarse and grating.

You hug him instantly. Your hands go under his arms and one of his goes in your hair, holding your head so tightly as it presses into his shoulder. He cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop” You breathe him in, “It’s okay.”

“It aint.”

“It doesn’t matter now.“ You wait a moment, telling him quietly into his neck, “I only want to be with you.”

“And what if it goes bad? What if I hurt you again?”

“We’re going to hurt each other, Daryl. What matters is we try and we stay. That’s it.”

He faces you now. His nose brushes against yours, your foreheads connect, it makes your eyes flutter shut. Your tears are drying the longer he holds you like that and everything feels so warm. Your heart, your brain, your cheeks and his fingertips against them. It makes you feel it again, that fearlessness— you kiss him. Gently touching his jaw, your chin moves upwards, your mouths opens, your lips twist so softly with his, you already can’t breathe, and then you let go.

As he looks at your face, he smiles, realizing he’s seeing the girl he used to know again. His sunshine girl with the stars in her eyes. They’re shining up, still half sad and glossy, but the bright lights are slowly coming back on. His dream is back. She’s real. You’re real. You’re trying, you’re staying, so will he.

He takes your neck and kisses you this time. His tongue slips in, you’re so surprised, you gasp into his mouth. It makes you both smile into the kiss. You come closer and he helps you into his lap, allowing you to lean in. His hands go to your waist and yours to his shoulders. Then one of his hands runs up to your hair and your opposite hand does the same to him. You want to touch each other everywhere now.

Then he feels the ribbon, the black one. It makes him stop.

You’re worried, “What happened?”

He holds the piece of hair that the ribbon is secured to, it’s only a little part, the rest of your hair is down, and he undoes the bow, discarding it to the ground. Your hair falls messily over your ears and down your neck. “You don’t need that anymore.”

Daryl pushes your hips and you sit on the floor again. He’s reaching in his pocket, and you can’t believe it, it’s another one. A dark ruby, maybe a silky burgundy one it was in color— it was another ribbon.

“How long have you had that?”

“Since I found the other one.” He shrugs, “I thought the first one was better.” This one had fraying on one end, unraveling just a bit.

You would have said that you could sew it later, but you didn’t, you said only what mattered: “It’s perfect.”

Daryl doesn’t argue. This is him trying, he takes the win.

He doesn’t know how to put it nicely in your hair, how you do it with the different styles, so he just wraps all of your hair in a ponytail, just like last time, tying it into a bow.

It feels like a gift, not just because he gave it to you and not because it looks like a decoration on top of one, but it is all of it— this moment, the conversation— it all feels like breathing new life into something you worried might be slowly withering and dying. You exhale, it felt so nice to feel him so close, to feel his fingers run through your hair, to feel his breath on your skin.

“Think maybe this suits you better now,” he says, and maybe it always has.

He leans back against the wall and you lay your head and back in the crux of his knees and chest. You look up into his eyes and he does the same right down at you. There was more work to be done, more fighting to endure, but for now, you lay there as if you were the only two in the world. In a moment of sweet understanding; in a moment of love. You could finally admit it to yourself now, you were absolutely and monumentally in love.

… I could go on forever ♡ perhaps this can be a mini-series where I post one when I think of another and you can feel free to request a trinket you think Daryl would give the reader and I’ll post it and respond or even write a blurb for it and add it to the list if it’s a good fit! Thank you for reading. ⋆｡°✩

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fluff #twd fanfiction #twd fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #writella’s sfw section

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cloudysarts · 1 year

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All right I take the bait. Why do you believe Manel should have accompanied Pacifica at the party

AHHH THANK YOU IM SO EXCITED TO EXPLAIN MYSELF (in reference to this post)

ok. northwest mansion mystery is a great episode obviously. but HERES why i think the episode would've been even better if mabel was in dippers spot!!!!!! its kinda a lot so i put it under a read more

so this episode is sort of the middle-ish of season 2 i think, right before the ford reveal!! its not a super long show anyway so theres not a ton of pacifica appearances, anyway. BUT in EVERY SINGLE OTHER PACIFICA EPISODE, her energy has been bouncing off of mabel!!! from their meeting in double dipper, to irrational treasure, to golf war; they have been established as the main dynamic here. golf war is especially important here, because this is the very first step in pacfica's redemption arc! mabel saves her in this episode, the pines give her a ride home, and it seems like pacifica is going to start being a little more understanding of mabel because she had misjudged her, hence why she was treating her so poorly. it looks like theyre gonna establish a friendship between them!

and then. they dont. they basically never interact again. because the next time we see pacifica, she goes straight to dipper in northwest manor mystery. the cold open implies that the northwests wanted dipper specifically because of his knowlege of how to deal with the supernatural but IN MY OPINION that DOESNT EVEN MAKE SENSE because we NEVER see dipper fighting these monsters on his own? hes ALWAYS with mabel. at the very least, i think it shouldve been BOTH of them??? we see a brief shot of a newspaper clipping where dipper is fighting a vampire bat or something and i just. when did this happen. where is mabel

that would be a fine argument for it being both of them instead of just mabel so heres one of my bigger points thats gonna come back a lot in this breakdown: dipper. does not like pacifica. he STRAIGHT UP HATES HER. every single interaction theyve had has been negative!!! its even massively negative at the beginning of this ep!!!! though mabel often dislikes pacifica, she TRIES REALLY HARD TO LIKE HER. mabel has a lot of love in her heart, and if she could, shed want to be her friend!!! its always been pacifica whos been rejecting those advances!!! golf war was the start of pacifica understanding that about mabel, and it nmm wouldve been the PERFECT time to wrap up that arc, rather than leaving it!!!

and i would argue that could STILL LEAD INTO A DIPCIFICA ARC, if thats what the showrunners/fans wanted? most of why dipper hates pacifica to begin with is because shes so terrible to mabel. he only agrees to go to the party in canon because MABEL wants to!!! imo, i think the lead in to them being a couple would be a million times better if that massive problem in their relationship was solved first

i dont PERSONALLY like dipcifica but im trying to stay unbiased about this if you cant tell

i would also argue that like. dipper just seems really out of character. the reason i picked some of the scenes i did for my redraws, was because they were scenes that i think his behavior would fit mabel a lot better. examples:

why do the northwests have a suit in dippers size anyway. he literally doesnt even like wearing it sjkfhkj in a potential re-write of this ep, i considered that mabel would come in wearing her super extravagent home made dress, and it would 'violate dress code', so she would be forced to wear one of pacificas we could still have that cute dress-up expo scene that we do AND have some fun commentary/symbolism about pacifica being nervous about having her in the dress because its NICE and TOO GOOD FOR HER and she looked FINE BEFORE ANYWAY

mabels empathy is a recurring theme in the show. shed WANT to give pacifica the benefit of the doubt, and would be VERY betrayed when finding out her and her family already knew about the ghosts and knew what he wanted. i understand that dipper was so upset because it seemed like pacifica was changing for the better just to find out that she wasnt, but i think this fits so much better with mabel, because shes always WANTED to believe that shes secretly a good person. she would be glad to see her turn a corner, and would be upset when finding out she was 'wrong', and that she really was mean deep down. whcih would obviously lead to her comforting her later/finding out the truth about her etc etc. on the other hand, dipper literally never believed she had good in her. from the first interaction we see of them, he thinks shes as terrible as her family. he ISNT as interested in giving her the benefit of the doubt and if it wasnt a life or death situation i dont think he wouldve forgiven her. IDK i just think its more in character for her

the dancing scene!!! honestly this works fine as is (i can see both dipper and mabel being excited to make a mess on a fancy carptet) but idk i just think it carries so much more weight if its these two girls. silly moments for mabel!!!! pacifica getting to really be a kid and not just a sparkly prop!!!!!!! pacifica finally indulging in her sillyness that she mocked in irrational treasure!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok moving on. one of the bigger things that bother me about it being dipper here instead of mabel is one teeny tiny (honestly really irrational) scene at the party. in it, dipper is confronted by fiddleford, who tells him he has big news about the author/the laptop and the towns in danger and its vitally important and dipper just. shrugs him off???!!?!?!?! i cannot even IMAGINE. in alex hirschs words "the first season is about dipper being in love with wendy, and the second is about him being in love with the author" meaning that. those are the TWO things that dipper is completely and totally obsessed with. hes clearly not over wendy (as we see in later episodes) and this is not long after sock opera/society of the blind eye so youd THINK hed be more depserate for answers than ever!??!?! this child was willing to sell out his great uncle and raise the dead and stay up for several nights in a row for answers, and the second he is offered some (from a man who WORKED WITH THE AUTHOR btw) hes like like 'whatevr'?!?!?! it is so out of character and it drives me fucking nuts every time. i know hes starting to like pacifica now but as we see in the comics (if you chose to think those are canon) HE DOESNT EVEN SEEM TO LIKE HER THAT MUCH!??!?! hes STILL convinced shes vain, and mean, and selfish!!!! he DOES start to have a little arc with her but jksdfjksf IDK i just cant in a million years see him passing up the chance for answers to the biggest mystery in gravity falls to hang out with a girl he tolerates

but yknow who i CAN see doing that? MABEL!!!!!!!! mabel would be concerned when mcgucket comes up to her, and starts talking like this!!!! i can totally see her suggesting that he relax for a little while and enjoy the party like dipper did, and then forgetting to come back to talk/not running into him later!!!! ESPECIALLY since i can see mabel WANTING to spend time with pacifica where dipper just. really doesnt seem to want to MOST of the time

ok ill admit that this last one is sort of a personal opinion. but i just. i really dont like the B plot of this episode with mabel and the girls. IDK its just so annoying and pointless to me to have a plot where its just a bunch of girls turning against each other over a guy. im not gonna say its mysoginistic bc i know little girls can be boy crazy but i just. dont see why there was a need to make them fight/turn against grenda briefly??? even when they rekindled and it was all ok in the end its just. in comparison to the A plot its so. Nothing.

in my head i have a rewrite of this episode and how it goes is that pacifica approaches dipper and asks for help and he turns it down (like he does in canon). mabel suggests that they do it anyway, but he refuses, as he wants nothing to do with her. when dippers gone, mabel agrees to help (and pacifica begrudgingly accepts bc it seems like the only option) and so she steals the journal when dippers not looking. she goes to the party, and events go pretty much the same?? only major difference i can think of is that the B plot is replaced by one where dipper realizes mabel and the journal are missing, so he sneaks into the manor/sneaks around the house trying to find he rand get it back (and its so massive he has no luck). the reason i think THAT works is because we can even still have the scene where dipper turns to wood like shifty prophesied!!!! and i would even argue it makes more sense this way because wasnt shiftys warning that "if you keep digging so deep into the secrets of gravity falls, this will be the last form youll ever take" ?

OK IM SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG im probably forgetting points too so i might edit it later but THANKS FOR ASKING

tldr: pacifica and mabels friendship plotline was left on a total cliffhanger after golf war and if mabel replaced dipper in nmm it would've been a good resolution to it

edit: check the reblogs if youre still interested! i added another list of reasons i think this (mostly in response to people disagreeing)

#Gravity Falls #gravity falls analysis #gravity falls essay #mabel pines #pacifica northwest #northwest mansion mystery #northwest manor mystery #gravity falls nmm #nmm #mabcifica #mabifica #i wanna add that. it is fine if you like dipifica SJHKDFJHKDLS I KNOW ITS CANON i personally Do Not Get It but to each their own #but also while saying that i want to add that . im not trying to argue that mabcifica should be canon #in fact i do not think it should be #when i say i think mabel should be in this episode i am specefically saying that it doesnt NEED romantic undertones to be good #they can jut be buddies #cloudysrants #northwest mansion mabel au

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uyuartik · 8 months

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bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature.

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours. “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles. He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.

“Well, apology accepted.”

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around.

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.”

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway?

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer."

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite.

"I'll be there."

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day.

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.

It is still completely the same.

===

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up.

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?"

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy."

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle.

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm.

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him-

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch.

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further.

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration.

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake…

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.”

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.”

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

“And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-”

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled.

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said?

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it.

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind. “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation.

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh.

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him.

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety.

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason.

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball.

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension.

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-”

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest.

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface.

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point.

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything!

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.” You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him.

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange.

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute.

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.”

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair.

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him.

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.”

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride.

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp, “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.”

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets. “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?”

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.”

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over.

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.”

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection.

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right?

Oh my God, it is.

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with. “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.”

“Is there?”

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good.

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close?

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.”

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.

“I’m waiting, darling.” You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin.

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time.

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows.

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.”

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room.

Though he has no rush to join you.

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him.

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that.

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.” And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.”

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax.

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better.

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance.

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him.

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do.

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big.

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?”

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent.

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too. “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.”

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-”

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.”

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily?

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already.

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on.

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan.

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light.

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant.

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self.

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks.

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.”

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out.

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind.

“Darling?”

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind.

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.”

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail.

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?”

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads.

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

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roe-and-memory · 2 months

Text

before his debut in the piston cup racing series, lightning spent the previous season (that of 2005) in the dinoco grand national series (the pixar cars equivalent of the nascar xfinity series, essentially a level lower than the cup series).

at the time he started the season at 16, turning 17 in may, and became the youngest driver to ever win a race across all three of the top series (PCRS, DGNS, PCTS), and eventually he would become both the youngest person AND the first ever rookie to win a championship in any of the top 3 series as well.

at this point, this is his first year with harv as his agent, and his first year racing in the big leagues — meaning longer races in hotter places on longer tracks and much more restrictions on what he’s able to do within his car. he doesnt do much, of course, he’s waited his whole life to be at this level and is happy to accept their rules. he excels within this series, much better than anyone thought he would, and gains himself a fanbase of people who watch the DGNS regularly. hes not popular by any means, but damn is he good. he wins eleven races that season alone, including the final race of the season in which that crowns him as the champion (despite his already extreme points lead).

harv is very harsh. lightning assumes thats the way his agent should be — i mean, he IS trying to get a ride in the cup series for the next season — so the agent being on his back about winning and “not failing” seems natural to him.

halfway through the season, during the summer months, one saturday afternoon, its hotter than usual.

typically lightning would have a small desk fan in his car, but the piston cup prohibits that because, of course, they have other options that are more advanced than a plastic clip-on fan.

however, after the start of the race, about midway through, actually, lightnings gear malfunctions. he doesnt tell anybody until the race is over, in which he places ninth and gets out of the car in his pit box, immediately collapsing to the ground.

severe heat exhaustion is what hes suffering from, with headaches, lightheadedness, nausea, hyperventilating due to his struggle with breathing, and muscle cramps all throughout his chest and legs. there are immediately officials at his side, medics following soon behind with ice packs and more water bottles. he will have to go to the hospital, they figure out pretty quickly, as he’s panting like a dog and very obviously struggling to function. he cant even bring himself to think straight, ignoring the questions thrown at him and just curling in on himself.

an official helps him pull his firesuit down to his waist, another official is combing his curls out of his eyes and pressing a cold towel to his forehead, and another is calling the ambulance out from the garage area, all while the medics tend to his burns and press ice packs to his skin.

harv, of course, cannot have his driver looking like a fool in front of the cameras. ESPECIALLY after he embarrassed the entire team by coming in ninth when he had a car that was most definitely first place material. the man storms over to where the teenager is sitting on the ground, back against the side of his car, and starts yelling at him for his performance on the track and his “dramatic act”, referring to the kids medical episode that is still actively occurring.

the official that had helped him get his firesuit off his torso was having none of it. he stands up, gets right into harvs face, and tells him to leave immediately or else security will escort him from the area. when harv protests that hes the kids agent, the official scoffs and tells him it does not matter who he is or what he wants, he will be removed from the premises forcibly.

lightning wants to apologize for disappointing him, but he cant seem to form the words to say it, instead the mans words bury themselves like daggers under his skin and only make his hyperventilating worse.

that hospital trip wasnt fun. harv was angry, impatient, the entire time. he had the official that defended him and mack at his side the whole time, after the official informed the nurse that the teenagers agent should not be allowed into the room the man simply paced outside the door, occasionally peering through the small window to glare at the three.

lightning was plagued with guilt, and profusely apologized to mack for the disappointment. the trucker insisted he shouldnt apologize, it wasnt his fault — he just wishes the kid had told them that his cooling equipment had broken so they couldve fixed it and not had to have experienced this kind of hospital trip.

#cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #pixar cars #cars headcanons #memory’s headcanons #harv cars #mack cars #piston cup #harv sucks #i genuinely hope he fell into a river after cars 1 #mack is the best big brother ever though #there for his little (17) year old brother all the way

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spaceorphan18 · 7 days

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I just have some thoughts and, I just... they're just thoughts with zero intention of being inflammatory or derogatory. (I do respect all the other ships on the show, enjoy Kanthany and am looking forward to Benedict/Sophie, and am slightly annoyed I even have to have a disclaimer, my god fandom, sometimes...)

I think that in one way that Bridgerton, as a show, struggles a little (and I suppose I mean struggle loosely) is that it's chaffing between wanting to be (what is essentially) an anthology show vs a regular TV show where the characters are developed long term.

I think Simon and Daphne's story works within season 1. But like the book(s), it's a self-contained story that isn't intended to go beyond the happily ever after other than a cameo here and there. (I do hope Daphne comes back eventually to cameo, it's a shame she wasn't in season 3.) But their story isn't meant to go anywhere else.

Anthony and Kate is the most awkward story at the moment. Anthony is one of the few well rounded characters in the book, as he's the head of the household and in most of the books. And Anthony and Kate having to run the household feels a little like a missed opportunity to be developed on the show. Now -- I know it's because Jonathan Bailey is becoming hugely successful actor -- and the original premise of the show is supposed to be self-contained stories. But it's a shame, because I think Anthony and Kate have so much potential for good stories to tell, and I have a feeling they won't be.

The thing about Pen and Colin, though, is that they haven't been treated like the anthology format the two previous couples got. Their story has been treated in a more traditional, long-form tv style, in which the characters have grown and developed, and so Season 3 was their spotlight, but we've past that and... I still think they'll be getting a considerable amount of screen time in Season 4. (Obviously, not as much as Season 3 - and I hope people don't get their expectations up too much). But look at how much they both got to do in Season 1 and 2. It's A LOT. And Season 4 will probably be on par with that.

I'm super curious as to where we go from here. Season 4 kind of has its expected trajectory, and I can pretty much guess what we're in for (and am looking forward to it!)

But what happens after? Do Benedict and Sophie now fade into the background completely? What are we doing with Anthony now - which is still rich in possibility? Pen and Colin's story probably will wrap up (in a way) in Season 4 -- where do their individual arcs go, or will the by pushed back?

[And, as an aside that I don't really want to make -- if Nicola wanted to get off the ride, after Season 4 would be a good place to do it. I guess that depends on whether or not she becomes the next Jonathan Bailey -- and as much as I would love that for her as an actress, the Pen fan in me's heart would hurt]

And if you don't have these subplots in future seasons, what do we have? Neither Eloise's book or Francesca's book really have any sideplots (Francesca's especially) -- and yet you have all of these characters. I know they want to develop Gregory and Hyacinth more, but idk idk.

But I guess, back to my original point -- the further we go on, the less the anthology style works because we've started spending A LOT of time with these characters. I think the central romances will, for the most part, be fine, but the subplots and the previous couples and the long standing characters -- what does the show do?

I don't have answers, I'm mostly thinking out loud....

That all said - I really, really hope they get to Gregory and Hyacinth's books -- because I think there's potential for a lot of fun to be had in them. (I personally like them way more than Eloise and Francesca's books, so at least Netflix has one long term fan...)

#bridgerton #polin #polination #don't mind me - i'm just thinking about show structure and issues i'm sure the show runners are thinking about #and i just have a hard time believing Netflix will let this show continue until 2034

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7grandmel · 1 month

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Rip of the week: 12/08/2024

I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE!

Season 6 Featured on: Transmission Archive ~ The SiIvaGunner All-Star Nuclear Winter Festival Collection

Ripped by Vincent Mashups, Jp, Grambam36

youtube

Requested by Corb, uwustepanne and an anonymous reader! (Request Form)

I worry sometimes that I talk up the atmosphere and feeling of Season 6 a bit too much on here. To me it is still undoubtedly SiIvaGunner's most underrated Season, a period of the channel where even I was beginning to tune it out yet was left enamored once I realized what it was doing - its meaning being something I've covered endlessly in posts like Totally Shaaking Out Right Now, Bramble Blast Collab, The End of HHGregg, and far too many more. The overall picture I've painted is that of a Season with a sort of dour moodiness to it the whole way through, an aura of something that's all about to change, a slow trickle towards the end - yet, like with any SiIvaGunner Season, it's never possible to make such a cut-and-dry assessment of things. That's part of why following the channel is so much fun: There can be a broad idea for what the channel is currently doing, yet so many rippers can put their own spin and interpretations on said idea as to morph it into something far more layered. Because while on the whole Season 6 represents the ideas of letting go of the past and moving on through a sorrowful lens, I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! spins that mood into something worth celebrating - a last hurrah, a final festival, and one big show to send us all off into the apocalypse.

With that context in mind, it really shouldn't have been surprising to me that multiple people wound up requesting this rip for coverage. Indeed, it's also one that I've had sitting in the back of my head for a very long time, as a faint memory of what it was like to follow the channel back toward the final months of Season 6. That feeling of things coming to a close was gradually creeping up on us - or at least, it had begun feeling that way to me - yet for the longest time we didn't quite get WHAT was happening, what terrible fate that we were supposed to be dreading. The Christmas Comeback Crisis? The King for a Day Tournament series? Wood Man? The SiIva AI? The SiIvaGunner channel ITSELF? There was a lot of uncertainty swirling around, yet it was a ride that we couldn't really do much about other than just go along - a feeling that was only emphasized more and more with the start of the Nuclear Winter Festival, or DoomFes.

As the festival went on, we got to see Wood Man and friends meet and pass all sorts of people in the nuclear wasteland, like a slow gathering of stars on the verge of fading - it was becoming more and more clear that the event wasn't just some inconsequential one-off like Season 5's WesternFes, but would be having...SOME sort of impact, a trip down memory lane but with a looming abyss at the road's end. And in the midst of all of those feelings, underneath the atmospheric artwork and writing being done throughout the entire event - I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! drops. A spark of such joy, nine days before Christmas Day, in the middle of the apocalypse. Where did this all come from?

Well, obviously, it came from the brilliant minds of rippers Vincent Mashups, Jp, Grambam36 - all three of which I've covered on the blog before with some of the channel's greatest rips, such as Gate Happy, Bowser is Coming. and SUNGORE. But more to the tune of the channel's lore and the narrative of Doomfes, the retro-YouTube aesthetic and seemingly boundless energy of childlike whimsy and joy always stems from one more of SiIvaGunner's many stars met along the way - Unregistered Hypercam 2 of the King for a Day Tournament fame. And while it's certainly an assumption to say that I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! was specifically made to be a tribute to Hypercam, I could personally think of no better way to represent him for this event, as the glowing spark of internet joy that helps keep the SiIvaGunner channel afloat.

And it's that spark of joy that the rippers captured so excellently within the rip in particular - I Gotta Feeling isn't quite on the level of old-internet anthem as songs like Never Gonna Give You Up or Dreamscape of How 2 Do Anything fame are, yet its still a song I vividly remember hearing tons of back in 2009-2011ish YouTube, a theme bumping with optimism and happiness for the days ahead. It might seem a bit odd to be using it for the context of a Nuclear Apocalypse event at first brush, yet nostalgia is hardly ever a purely joyous thing - for as much joy as I Gotta Feeling brings me, it is at once also a bittersweet joy, with an understated sadness over the fact that things have changed so much since those days 15-plus years ago. It's that bittersweetness, I feel, that I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! runs with.

The rip is built on having the song be performed by voice clips and sentence-mixings of a vast pool of online memes - yet unlike what you may initially expect, it's not kept isolated to just nostalgic early-internet memes. The song title isn't being facetious: Everything from Zelda CDi Ganon, to Gangnam Style, to Friday Night Funkin', to Smosh, to Crash Bandicoot Woah, to even a sprinkle of classic SiIvaGunner memes like We Are Number One. The rip is distinctly different from rips like Corridors of Vine or even most other Hypercam rips, which focus on nostalgia for one specific era of online culture - instead, I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! reaches across the entire internet for one collective, massive embrace, a hug the size of 20-something years worth of online jokes. It's a bit silly to get sentimental over, maybe - but that goes for the entire channel, doesn't it?

It's of course all helped greatly by the rip itself being executed perfectly from that concept. The sources are more than just a greatest-hits of old memes, as they all fit their chosen lines near perfectly, all pitch shifted and sentence-mixed just enough to fit the lyrics yet never to the degree of making them unidentifiable. They're all here in full force, all introduced by the video opening with the most Unregistered of Unregistered Hypercam 2 YouTube editing. It sets the stage for something oh so easy to love, yet to me I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! inspires a feeling so much more complex than love. It was a moment that brought us all together, not crying because it's over, but smiling because it happened.

#todays siivagunner #season 6 #siivagunner #siiva #Vincent Mashups #Jp #Grambam36 #i gotta feeling #black eyed peas #uhc #uhc2 #unregistered hypercam 2 #doomfes #ytp #ytpmv

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 2 months

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medialog june 2k24

watched

wordplay - rewatched this documentary about crosswords and particularly about the annual crossword tournament put on by will shortz while waiting for the anesthesia from my wisdom tooth extraction to wear off and found it about as charming as i remembered... i love a doc about a subculture made up of endearing nerds. i first saw it when it came out and on revisit it also has some intensely 2004 vibes - in particular jon stewart shows up as one of their crossword-fans talking heads and it really brought home for me how influential he was on the development of internet tone (like to this day the reason so many people on reddit sound Like That is because they're trying to be jon stewart and failing...)

the bourne ultimatum - movie go zoom zoom! still not convinced matt damon can act

artists and models - i had never seen a dean martin/jerry lewis film before and i don't really want to again but i'm glad i saw this one (this is how i feel about the two (2) wes anderson movies i've seen, and also pulp fiction & tarantino). some great colors & costumes, a plot that goes surprisingly bonkers in a final third turn that reminds you it was the cold war (between that and all the stuff about comics & violence this one also functions as a real time capsule), and (my main reason for watching) shirley maclaine the love of my life is so adorable and funny as a daffy sweetheart in a role that really lets her (a former dancer) show off her gift for physical comedy.

the secret garden - the cast in this movie is so good, including the children in the starring roles, and while it doesn't even attempt to do anything with the book's deranged relationship with things like the british empire and the concept of disability, watching it really did bring me back to why the book has been so beloved - the fantasy at its heart is ultimately about hard humble work paying off and about friends teaching each other to be nicer, which are i think deeply appealing narratives for children in a way that people sometimes forget. it's so funny that part of what cures mary and colin of their bad personalities is meeting another unhappy rich child for the very first time!

humanist vampire seeking consenting suicidal person - this was slight but sweet, a darkly funny romcom with some style and heart. also i had never seen a french-canadian movie before i don't think and it was a fun surprise to hear them talking like "frenchfrenchfrenchfrenchRRRRfrenchfrenchRRRR." not an accent with which i have much familiarity!

jurassic park - my somewhat inexplicable, even to me, aversion to raiders of the lost ark had me avoiding action spielberg for basically my whole life but i gave this a shot thinking maybe i would appreciate it if not enjoy it and was absolutely GLUED to the screen from about five minutes in. i understand why other directors are like that about spielberg now, and also what jj abrams is trying to do all the time and failing because he doesn't understand how it actually works. this is like the most famous movie in the world basically and i've seen so many clips from it over the years and yet even waiting for them and expecting them to come i was ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT! like WOW! truly a movie that feels like a theme park ride more than any other i've seen except maybe fury road. anyway as you statistically speaking probably already know this movie absolutely rocks, and not just for (1) laura dern and (2) jeff goldblum with his tits out.

citizen kane - spent the last weekend in june at two different marches & closed it out sunday night with a screening of the movie that made me bisexual <3 one day i'll figure out a way to articulate how this movie did what it did to me but for now i will just say that it is great and its reputation is deserved and orson welles is one of the most entertaining screen presences of all time and it looks so cool and beautiful all the way through and it is so so so so gay

interview with a vampire season 2 - my opinion on this is at this point well established lol finally some good fucking food!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

read

megan abbott, the turnout - this & the zadie smith book are further steps in me catching up with authors i lost track of during some bad reading years! when i heard that megan abbott was coming out with a book about sisters who run a ballet school i was like LOL because that's like the peak ultimate megan abbott premise (girls and the nastiness of both feelings and bodies and ambition and hunger and an atmosphere of nightmares and filth and the insane dynamics of a tightly knit but deeply dysfunctional world, all to the nth power), and guess what as a megan abbott fan i loved it :) all the bad reviews on goodreads for this are like "why is this book so gross? why is she sexualizing the nutracker? there were scenes in this book that made me feel dirty reading them. way too much focus on the wet leotard crotches of little girls" and i was sickos dot jpg the whole time. but actually i think the reason that this wound up being my favorite abbott since dare me is that at its core it's a book about a woman with an unbelievably fucked up childhood due to her incredibly fucked up dead parents and the suspense that gives the book its tension and its form is less about what's going to happen with the plot and more about whether she is at any point going to put it together that the things that happened to her when she was young were actually bad; the further the book goes, the more deeply you understand the walls of denial and distortion around her entire life. it rules.

david j. skaal, something in the blood: the untold story of bram stoker, the man who wrote dracula - as previously mentioned, i have some real qualms with some of his dracula readings, but overall i found this an addictively pleasurable tome - 600 pages and he kept them turning the whole time. i love a biography that starts off with some background on medieval ireland, you know? skaal is a good writer with an engaging but learned style, and the book is clearly both exhaustively researched and intended for popular audiences (albeit popular audiences who have definitely read dracula, but, i mean, who else is reading 600 pages about this guy?); reading it often feels something like having a drink with a professor who knows his stuff and is NOT afraid to gossip. dracula qualms aside i may investigate some of his other books, particularly his book on dracula screen adaptations, since i'm curious about those but don't necessarily want to, like, watch most of them, lol

bonnie jo campbell, the waters - book club book that was objectively certainly not terrible and which had some things i did like or appreciate, like an 11 year old girl obsessed with math (representation matters...) but which i found just about the most boring thing i have read in my life. like i would definitely say campbell is a better writer than, say, taylor jenkins reid (to name another book club book) or whatsherface who wrote the book of fried green tomatoes which we also read las year... but i found those books much more aggravating but also easier to get through than this book, which really requires you to have some level investment in, like, the natural world of rural michigan, but mostly made me feel so glad i don't live in a small town where all the men have guns.

zadie smith, swing time - it's funny because when i started this i was spending a lot of time thinking about how maybe plot and structure have become underrated, but then this was like a very long book written in the style of someone just kind of talking at you about their life, with plot events technically happening but never feeling like the driving force of the book, and i was totally riveted, which was a good reminder that you can get away with anything if you're a genius! smith is just such a keen observer of people and how they operate, and so allergic to relying on any kind of obvious assumptions about the relationships between demographics & personality or beliefs, even as demographic realities are such a key part of the fabric of the book... i was a little worried i would be disappointed by the fact that she abandoned the modernist-leaning experimentation of NW for a more straightforward, even chatty, style, but "you can get away with it if you're a genius" applies to that too. this book is also an absolute masterclass in the universal through the specific - i cannot emphasize how much literally not one thing the protagonist experiences has ever happened to me, how much our lives and backgrounds and personalities overlap not at all, and yet constantly i found myself aching with resonance over things like "it's so true that's what it's like when you have a mom" or "that really is what it feels like when you are young and sort of smart but also sort of stupid" (which if i were to define it briefly is i think more or less what the book is about).

listened

charli xcx, brat - i remain after all these years a true romance truther and continue unfairly to measure all her subsequent work, much of which is frankly too sophisticated and experimental for my listening taste even if i recognize she's Doing Something, but this album sounds great and has some bops. as a straight-through listen it was too rich for my blood, but i find myself enjoying the songs on shuffle mixed in with whatever else i've been into more than i would have expected from that first exposure, and also 360 has been stuck in my head more waking hours than not for like a month and a half now and i'm still not sick of it (although i think my favorite song on the album is 365, and not just because i think it's really funny that she ended the album with "the opening track coming out of the bathroom after doing cocaine"). plus as someone who HAS been listening to charli since whenever the video for "you're the one" dropped it is nice to see The Culture finally rally around her even if i remain a little puzzled over why now, the all-star remixes getting rolled out have been pretty delightful (LORDE!!!!!!!!), and it's nice to have the zeitgeist coalesce for a moment over something i too think is fun (especially since the other thing gay people love this summer is chappell roan on whom i have yet to be converted sorry to everyone i'm sincerely glad you're having a good time)

#medialog 2k24 #isabel 2k24 #media 2k24 #another fun game of can i remember my own tagging system for these...

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sam-is-my-safe-word · 4 months

Text

Demon Dreams

Demon!Dean Winchester x Jensen Ackles

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Non- AU, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Season/Series 10, Character Bleed, Jensen Is Not Okay, Jared is Jared, Jared Is Worried About Jensen, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Is An Asshole, Emotional Manipulation, Identity Crisis, Possession, Sort of? - Freeform, Wet Dreams, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Strangulation, Exorcisms, Sexorcism If You Will,

Word Count: 3,201

Summary: Jensen is no stranger to character bleed. But it's not meant to take over your life like this, right?

Notes:

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "you fed my demons" "you created mine" square.

Okay, this is the most fictional thing I've ever written lol. This is an utterly fictional Jensen set in an AU with no wives or children. I am not implying for one single second that anything in this fic actually occured. Nor am I implying Jensen is gay or bisexual. Please don't sue me lol. Also, first time writing RPF/RPS. Still feel some kinda way about it. Be gentle with me (even though I am not gentle with you, my dear readers)

Endless thanks to my beta @runawaydr3amerao3 for all her help in making this so much better than I could have & for her comma wrangling <3 Endless thanks also to @talltalesandbedtimestories for getting me involved in this whole bingo thing & cheering me on <3

Jensen is no stranger to character bleed. It’s happened before. Some characters are just too heavy.

It’s happened with Dean a few times. Hard scenes that invade his dreams for days afterwards. Character arcs that refuse to leave when he sheds Dean to put Jensen back on and leave him snapping at everyone.

This is different, though. This is like the character has taken on a life of its own in his head.

Jensen is no stranger to sex dreams either. He’s a healthy guy in his mid-thirties with no long-term partner and a job that takes up almost all his life.

Jerking off at 3am because he woke up hard from a dream of some faceless someone riding him like a mechanical bull, and his alarm is going to go off in just over an hour and he’d really like to sleep a little more and sleep won’t happen until he deals with his cock, is just another part of life.

This is different as well. This isn’t a faceless stranger. He knows the person haunting his dreams.

Intimately.

Jensen has dreamed about Dean lots of times. He’s an old friend.

This is not his Dean.

~~~

Demon Dean was a challenge. He started out fun to play, a nice mix-up. A chance for extended scenes with Mark, to let out Dean’s inner asshole. A sex scene - awkward - and a fight scene - awesome. The black contacts weren’t fun but overall it was a good time.

Up until filming the third episode, when he had to act against Jared again, and suddenly Demon Dean wasn’t fun anymore. Then it was hard. Then it was fighting against every acting instinct that came with ten years of Dean, ten years with Jared.

Not Dean, Sam’s brother anymore; Demon Dean, Sam’s enemy. It was a hard headspace to get into. Chasing Jared around the bunker with a hammer was brutal. He couldn’t even truly lose himself in the character because he still had to direct everyone else.

Then it was over. Just three episodes and he was free to lose the murder shirt and style his hair properly again.

And he’s proud of his work. Especially ‘Soul Survivor’. It’s always a challenge to balance actor and director, but he’s thrilled with how it turned out. He made Demon Dean a true threat to Sam, and as long as he doesn’t examine that too closely, it’s okay.

But it’s been a couple of weeks since they finished ‘Soul Survivor’, and Jensen is still waking up sweating after dreams about black eyes and the words ‘do it’ ringing in his ears.

~~~

Look, Jensen is a perfectly sane guy. He has a great handle on his mental health, knows the signs of when he needs to reach out. Hell, after ten years of helping Jared, Jensen would say he probably knows more about mental health than most people who don’t actually suffer with mental health problems.

So while he knows that his dreams of weapons, black eyes and the thrill of the chase are just character bleed, he also knows that he needs to be aware in case they develop into something serious.

But nothing he knows tells him what to do when he starts to look forward to his dark dreams.

Jared might be able to help, though.

So a few days later, when he wakes up hard and aching after dreaming about Demon Dean fucking his throat raw - all while holding a knife to it - after he’s taken care of the problem, he texts Jared - once he’s washed his hands, of course.

It’s still early, but Jared gets up hours before he needs to, to work out and walk his dogs and generally become a person. A far cry from Jensen, who falls out of bed after four snoozes of his alarm and downs coffee until his eyes open.

Jensen: You up?

Jared: Yeah, lol. Why are YOU up?

Jensen: Can’t sleep. Can I ask you something?

There’s a pause and Jensen thinks maybe Jared’s sitting down or something. No one asks to talk at 3:30am. He isn’t expecting the phone to ring in his hand.

“‘Lo.”

“You okay? Not like you to be up at this time, never mind asking if you can ask me something.”

This is exactly what Jensen didn’t want. Now he has to try and explain himself with words instead of text.

“I’m okay. Just… Do you even dream about Sam?”

Jared lets out a small laugh; Jensen can hear the relief.

“All the time, man. All the fucking time. You don’t dream about Dean?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean… like, weird dreams about Sam?”

Jared hums.

“I had a recurring dream that he kept showing up to my high school graduation and glaring at me. Like I was an asshole for finishing school, y’know.”

Jared chuckles.

“Or when I’ve gone a little too hard on the candy and there’s Sam, staring at me from across a table with a pile of salad in front of him. Like, okay, dude. You’re a health nut, I’m not. That kind of weird?”

God help Jensen, Jared is going to make him spell it out.

“Not exactly…”

Jared must hear something in his voice because he starts to laugh, far too loudly for the time of day.

“Ohhhh… that kind of weird. Jackles, you pervert, you.”

This was a terrible idea, why did he even message Jared? He’ll never live this down now.

“No, not like- I mean, that kind of weird but not… Stop fucking laughing, Jared.”

Jared has gone from laughing to belly laughing; Jensen can hear him fighting for breath.

“I’m sorry...”

“You’re not.”

“No, I’m not. This is too funny. Hollywood hot-shot Jensen Ackles all in knots at 3am because he had a wet dream-”

“I fucking DID NOT!”

He did, though, night after night.

“Why are you blushing then?”

“I’m no-”

Damnit, he is. He can feel his cheeks heating up.

“It wasn’t a wet fucking dream, Jared. I’m not thirteen, for chrissakes. It was just a weird dream and it kinda freaked me out.”

“A weird sex dream, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Jared is still laughing but it’s starting to die down now.

“Okay, calm down. Yes, I dream about Sam. Yes, sometimes they’re weird. Yes, sometimes they’re sex-dreams-weird. Hell, I dream about fucking Sam more than I dream about fucking anyone else.”

Jared sounds perfectly at peace with this revelation, and if it was regular Dean that Jensen was dreaming about, he might get it.

“I mean, it’s either dream about fucking Sam or dream about fucking you . I’ll take Sam any day.”

Jared starts fake gagging and Jensen is over this entire conversation.

“Okay, good talk. Thanks, Jared. I’ll see you in a little while. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“Wait. You know I’m only messin’ with you. You can talk-”

*Click*

Well, that was a waste of time. Jared sounded sincere at the end, but Jensen is too embarrassed to even try to talk now. Hopefully by the time he has to face Jared in the car, Jared will have found something else to talk about.

~~~

Jared was smart enough not to bring up the early morning phone call, and after a brief hug and a nod, they were all good.

Demon Dean, though? He’s dining out on the call, milking Jensen’s embarrassment for all it’s worth.

It’s a special kind of humiliation when someone is three fingers deep in your ass and you’re moaning like a whore, and they bring up an awkward 3am call you had with your best friend a few days ago.

“So you think this is weird, huh?”

Jensen never doubted Dean’s swagger was well earned, but Demon Dean turns it up to eleven. Jensen hasn’t come this hard since he was a teen, and it’s part of the reason he looks forward to these damn dreams, even though they freak him the fuck out.

“‘Cause you sure seem to like it.”

Demon Dean twists his fingers and Jensen howls.

“You like being here, at my mercy. You like when it hurts, when you’re scared. When I take it.”

Jensen’s hips buck. God, he’s so close.

“This is where you should be. That pretty face needs to be sucking cock or face down in the sheets.”

Jensen isn’t eighteen anymore, he’s not new to the scene and insecure about himself. He knows he’s a good actor, a good director, a fucking professional. But something about Demon Dean cuts through all that and suddenly he’s a kid again, doubting everything. It makes him even harder. The pitch black eyes and the waves of menace rolling off Demon Dean make Jensen legitimately scared of him, even though he knows it’s just a dream.

“Does it feel weird , Jensen?”

Jensen can only moan in response. It’s so fucking good.

“Answer me!”

There’s the cold and heavy weight of a hammer pressing into his Adam's apple, and when Jensen opens his eyes, Demon Dean’s own ice black is all he can see.

“N…no.”

He’s rewarded for his answer by a hard thrust in and upwards. He’s right there, he can taste it.

“N…no.”

Demon Dean mocks him.

“No, it doesn’t look like it, either. Looks like you’re having a blast. Cunt so tight around my fingers. Looks like you’re right where you should be.”

Jensen can’t breathe.

“Say it. Say you feel right here, cunt stuffed full of me.”

“I…”

“Say it, Jensen. Or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck. Fuck… I feel right.”

“That’s it. This is what you’re good for, isn't it? Just a pretty boy to get fucked.”

“Ju-just a pretty boy to get fucked. Fucking… please!”

Demon Dean smiles coldly.

Jensen wakes with a groan, hips still thrusting into the mattress as he soaks the sheets.

More laundry. He should buy more sheet sets.

~~~

Jared pulls Jensen aside a couple of weeks after the call. They’re out with some cast and crew from that week's episode, just relaxing, having some drinks and blowing off steam after a difficult shoot.

Jensen really doesn’t want to be there, doesn’t want to be anywhere, really. But he couldn’t refuse, not without prompting more questions. So he paints on a smile, sticks to beer and tries to let the conversations happen around him without getting involved.

Jared must notice his discomfort and grabs him on a trip to the bathroom.

“You alright, dude?”

Jensen sighs internally. He doesn’t want to do this.

“I’m fine, just tired, y’know.”

Jared cocks his head a little; looks at Jensen too closely.

“You wanna get out of here? I’ll split an Uber with you?”

God yes. But then it will be questions on Monday and he can’t with that.

“No, I’m good. Besides, you’re having a good time. You don’t gotta leave on account of my old ass.”

Another head tilt, Jared really can be a puppy at times. Normally, Jensen adores this caring side of his friend. But he’d give anything to have that focus aimed away from him right now.

“Jen…”

“I’m fine! Okay. I’m fucking tired, it’s been a long week. Let’s just… get another drink or something. Okay?”

Jensen didn’t mean for Dean to come out of his mouth then. It happens, but not usually in temper like that. Jared holds his hands up in surrender and lets Jensen walk past him, back to their group.

~~~

He’s on his knees, Demon Dean’s cock buried in his throat. It hurts, he can’t breathe, but it feels so good.

“Fuck, that’s it. Choke on it. Gonna get that throat all fucked out.”

Jensen moans and digs his fingers into Demon Dean’s hips.

“Gotta help you find Dean’s voice somehow. Know you’ve been having trouble with that.”

Demon Dean runs a hand through his hair as he says it and Jensen forgets to be offended.

“That’s it. That’s it. Pretty mouth on my cock. Just like it should be.”

~~~

Something isn’t right with Jensen. Everyone can see it. He’s just not present anymore. Not totally at least. He gives it his best on set, but he just can’t seem to find the right headspace anymore. Scenes that he would knock out in two takes, max., are taking six/seven/eight now.

Jared is beside himself with worry.

“Jensen, please. If you won’t talk to me, talk to someone, anyone. Please!”

“I’m fine, Jay.”

Weary smile. Tired eyes.

“Jensen. Is this about those dreams you were having?”

“No! Of course not. Anyway, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Jen…”

“Night, Jared.”

~~~

“I should just keep you here, Jensen. In your mind with me, all the time. Think how good it would be, nothing to worry about. Just pleasing me.”

“Please…”

“So fuckin’ pretty. Made to be laid out on silk sheets and just fucked . Over and over and over. This is where you should be.”

“Fuck…”

“Too much pressure out there. Acting, directing, managing your life. Wouldn’t you rather stay here, just us?”

“Yes. Fuck yes. With you.”

~~~

It comes to a head during the filming of ‘The Executioner’s Song’. An absolutely pivotal moment for Dean, and Jensen just cannot get his head in the game. Everyone is frustrated, including Jensen.

But as always, it’s Jared that breaks the spell in the end.

“C’mon, dude. Get it together. I’m sick of redoing this scene.”

It’s said with humour, but Jensen can hear the tension and frustration underneath.

The words spill out of him, without thought.

“I think I’m gonna quit…”

Jared just looks at him, slack-jawed. There’s silence for a minute. Thankfully they’re in a quiet corner of the set while the crew resets the equipment… again.

“What?”

It’s said so softly, Jensen almost doesn’t hear it.

“I think… I’m not cut out for this. I should quit. This isn’t what I should be doing.”

Jensen says it calmly, as if he’s pondering what to have for lunch. But when he looks at Jared again, he’s floored by what he sees.

Jared is crying. His eyes are full of tears, one is tracing its way down his cheek. He’s clenching his jaw, but Jensen can see the wobble. Jensen is reminded of filming ‘All Hell Breaks Loose Part II’, wiping away the stray tear that fell as Dean mourned Sam.

It’s like the fog lifts from Jensen’s eyes. He realises what he just said.

“Jared…”

He reaches out to touch his friend, but Jared turns and walks away without a word.

Jensen just watches, unable to move, as Jared goes to the crew and tells them he needs to go home. The director tries to beg Jared to stay, saying they’re already so behind schedule - a glance in Jensen’s direction at that. Jared is unmoved, though. Jensen hears him say that even if ‘he’ - meaning Jensen again, of course - can get it together, they won’t get anything usable from him today, and he’ll be back on set bright and early tomorrow to get it done.

Shame, hot and sick, fills Jensen. What has he done…

Jared has already left by the time Jensen gets his things together. The car that usually drives them both to and from set is waiting for him, though. Jared had said he was going to make his own way home. No one wanted to argue.

The ride home for Jensen is smothered in thick silence. Not even a goodbye is exchanged with the driver when they pull up outside Jensen’s apartment building.

What has he done…

What has he let himself become?

He spends the evening drinking bourbon from the bottle and stopping himself from calling Jared. Even with the early finish, it’s still late - by normal standards - and he’s tired from the day. The bourbon speeds the process along and it’s not long before his head is hitting the pillow.

Jensen is well into the dream before he realises this is one. It’s almost like lucid dreaming, these nightly visits with Demon Dean. But he’s never tried to control them, just takes what Demon Dean gives to him.

Tonight, though, tonight he sees through the veil. So to speak.

Demon Dean is above him, watching him with those blank, black eyes and that cold smile, distorted by the grimace of effort he’s putting into fucking Jensen as hard as he can. He’s got two fingers buried in Jensen’s mouth at the same time and he’s spouting the usual shit, but this time, Jensen knows it’s shit.

“God, wish I could fuck your mouth and cunt at the same time. Both so fucking tight and pretty.”

He thrusts deeply and Jensen groans around the fingers before spitting them out in disgust. Demon Dean doesn’t seem to notice.

“Fuckin’ perfect here, right where you’re meant to be, getting this tight hole fucked sloppy. Just what you’re good for.”

Jensen snaps, or breaks free. He’s not sure.

With a roar of anger, he bucks his hips upwards, uses the momentum to shove Demon Dean over onto his back. Jensen goes with him, ends up straddling his waist, feeling Demon Dean’s hard cock resting against his ass, no longer inside him.

With the demon beneath him, Jensen raises a fist to punch him, break his nose, his cheekbone, his jaw, anything. But those depthless black eyes and that cold fucking smirk stop him. Demon Dean would welcome the violence. Jensen is not a violent man, not unless he has to be.

He has to be here. Has to take back control in the only way Demon Dean understands.

He wraps his hand around the throat beneath him, squeezes just a little. Just to test.

“You fed my demons long enough. No more.”

The laugh that comes from below him is a little strained, a little wheezy. Jensen brings his other hand up, wraps them both around Demon Dean's neck, thumbs crossing over the Adam's apple.

“Fed your demons? Jensen, you created mine.”

Jensen squeezes. Hard. Tight. His arms shake with the effort. The face beneath him goes red, then purple. But the body never fights to break free. The hips under him squirm and thrust.

Tighter.

Harder.

Jensen is sure something is going to pop, unsure if it will be him.

Right as his arms are about to go limp, unable to hold the tension anymore, he feels the cock behind him twitch, kick and then shoot hot over his ass. When he looks into the face under him, the eyes appear to roll back.

But instead they just morph to green, the same green eyes he’s seen in the mirror every day of his life.

His hands fall from his own throat and the body under him takes a deep breath.

Not Demon Dean anymore, only Jensen.

Jensen wakes with a shout, his hips churning into the sheets and mattress below him, cock still spurting cum into his boxers.

He’s soaked in sweat and when he realises what woke him - strangling Demon Dean and watching him morph back into Jensen - he feels new cold sweat break out all over him.

Is it over? Is he free from Demon Dean’s spell?

He needs to call Jared…

But first, where did he put those new sheets?

#supernatural #fanfic #jacklesversebingo23 #jensen ackles #dean winchester #demon!dean x jensen #spn fanfic #spn rpf #crossover #dean winchester x jensen ackles #demon dean #jackles #dean winchester smut #jensen ackles smut #demon!dean #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #spn #ao3 fanfic

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daughterofcain-67 · 11 months

Text

ℳ𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒫𝓊𝓂𝓅𝓀𝒾𝓃 𝒮𝓅𝒾𝒸𝑒

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's finally Autumn and the residents of Montana are excited to celebrate the upcoming holidays, whether its Halloween, Thanksgiving and eventually Christmas. But Beau Arlen wasn’t really thrilled. He wasn’t into the Pumkin Spice season and didn’t really have a reason to celebrate since his divorce. Beau hadn't been to a Fall Festival since before the divorce with his ex and honestly didn't plan on going. But you convince him to live a little, make happier memories while he's here and give him a break from the cases he's a part of. And maybe the both of you may walk through opened doors.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: none! simply fluff with the new Montana sheriff~

Autumn was finally here! You couldn’t have been more excited. You no longer had to worry about the scorching heat of the summer, or the mosquitos that would bug you at night. Now you could finally enjoy the cooler weather, wear your hoodies and cardigans and anything else that was cozy for this time of year. You were so ready for the warm cappuccino and the hot chocolate while snuggling under a blanket to read books or binge your favorite movies.

But the part that you were most excited for was the upcoming Fall Festival! At the festival here in Montana, there were plenty of vendors where people would sell homemade items or foodstuffs. There was games, some rides, and other activities for the kids. There would even be a band and a place where people could dance in the evening, enjoy each other’s company, and there were different fire pits in the night where people could roast marshmallows and make some s’mores. It was nice family fun for everyone and it always got you ready to kick off the Autumn season.

At this particular moment, you had gotten some breakfast treats for the cops in the sheriff’s office and you had gotten some coffee for the new Sheriff in town. You wanted to butter him up for a little proposition you had.

See, you knew he was new in town, and you were made aware through Hoyt that he was divorced. It wasn’t necessarily a good split from what you've heard. You didn’t know how he spent his holidays now, and you wanted him to have fun this holiday season and invite him to the festival! How bad would it be since the two of you would simply go platonically. It's not like either of you were really looking for a relationship anyways.

Plus you needed a break from working in the PI's office and give your brain a rest from the research and tackling different cases for clients. So far it's been predominantly cheating husbands and runaway teens for you.

Coming out from her office, you see Jenny with a smile on her face when she saw you, "Hey! I was just about to swing by your place."

You lifted a brow slightly at her comment, "Um, what for?"

"I kind of needed some advice for a case. But judging by the looks of it, you've got your hands full. Let me help you with that." She smiled and took the box of treats and set them down on one of the tables to the side where some of the officers have been known to put snacks out for everyone once in a while.

"I'd be happy to help, but can I catch you around your lunch break? I kind of needed to talk to Sheriff Arlen for a second." You said and Jenny leaned back a little, raising her brows before she smirked.

"You're asking him to go to the Fall Festival with you, aren't you?" She asked and you looked down at the coffee in your hands.

"It's more of a proposition of two acquaintances trying to find something to do. It's not like it'll be a date." You shrugged, but you knew Jenny would still have that slightly condescending smile on her face, the one that implied she knew better.

Honestly anytime you told Jenny that you were thinking of even talking to Beau, she made you feel like this was some sort of high school suspense drama or something that the kids watch these days where the girl is too shy to talk to the guy or the girl thinks it will never work out. Or something else of that somewhat cringy nature.

You were two adults, you were pretty sure Beau was in his mid forties, you were barely into your thirties. You were trying to be more mature than what Jenny had playing in her mind. Then again she did have a teenaged boy running around so maybe she watched some of those little shows to try and have the conversations stay relevant with her kid. Who knew.

"You know, it's okay to have a crush on a guy even if you aren't a teen anymore. It's not taboo. How do you think divorced people meet other people and re-marry?" Jenny asked and put a hand on her hip and you gave a half smile.

"I think all I can use right now from the Sheriff is a friendship. My divorce from Tristan is still relatively fresh, remember? It's taking a lot for me to even want to ask him to come along. Then there's him and his divorce. And you know how his divorce went better than I do." You reminded her, but you watched her just shrug.

"All I'm saying is don't slam any doors shut when they're barely starting to open up. Keep an open mind and see what happens. I'll catch you later. I'm gonna go see Cassie and see if she can help with the case while you ask Beau out." your friend teased and you playfully rolled her eyes before she walked off.

You walked over to the Sheriff's door and you lifted a hand before knocking on the door. Once you heard him telling you to come in, you opened the door and saw the man you were looking for sitting at his computer screen. His brows narrowed at the screen so much that you could see a wrinkle from how hard he seemed to be focused.

"You think you have time for a coffee break?" You asked and you could tell you broke his train of thought from the way he blinked at the screen before lifting his head up to look at you.

Then you saw that smile that could sweet talk any girl, charm any cop to do what he asked them to do... damned him and his charisma.

"Y/N! What a surprise to see ya. What can I do for ya, Darlin'?"

You swore you needed to find a way to make your heart stop throbbing when he called you Darlin', especially when you knew he called a lot of people different nicknames as a habit he claims he picked up from Texas. He didn't mean anything by it other than just a friendly gesture and you knew it.

"Well, I was in town for breakfast. Turns out I bought too many breakfast items and decided to bring them over here. And I assumed a certain sheriff needed some caffeine." He smiled at what you were saying and let out a chuckle while he turned his chair around so he could get out of it and walk over.

"You're a doll. Thanks." He said and when he went to reach for the coffee, he hesitated before he looked at you, "It's not Pumpkin Spice, is it?"

You laughed and shook your head and handed him the coffee, "No, just the normal way you like it."

He let out a slightly dramatic sigh of relief and he took the coffee before you smirked, "That's not to say I didn't get some pumpkin related treats amongst some other things for breakfast." Beau cringed a little, making you giggle to yourself at his reaction.

"Hey, not everyone's a hater around here when it comes to that sort of thing." You reminded and he shrugged while he took a sip of the coffee, humming with delight.

"Anyway, what have you been up to? I know it's been a while since I've had my hands tied with the past couple of cases lately." He said, but you could understand that he's been busy. You didn't exactly envy him for the workload he had on his plate.

"Just working with Cassie and working on cases wherever I can. Mostly a lot of runaway teens that we just got back to their parents, and paranoid spouses worried about cheating husbands. I just finished up with my last case and we haven't had anymore clients walking in, so it's kind of slow at the moment."

"Man, I wish I had your work load." Beau chuckled and you shook your head.

"No you wouldn't. Guys like you are better off where there's more action. You'd hate how slow it is right now."

"You sayin' I'm the antsy type?" He asked curiously and you shrug.

"I'm saying you'd be happier doing something most of the time rather having longer periods of downtime." You said, "Just from what I've seen from you."

He hummed a little and took another sip of his coffee. You looked over at his desk and saw all the different casefiles scattered about and you bit down on the corner of your lip, wondering if you should even suggest taking him away from work.

"Hey uh... I know you have a lot on your plate right now. But I was wondering if you wanted to go to the festival tomorrow? Given you have a little less going on." You said and he looked at you confused.

"Festival?"

"Yeah, the Fall Festival's everyone's been getting ready for. It'll be a lot of fun and it gets you out of the office for a while."

Beau looked down at you. Jenny had mentioned something to him about the Fall Festival but since Carla left with Emily, he hadn't really celebrated any holidays. He didn't really have a reason to since Emily preferred holidays with her mom and step family. He tried to celebrate the first couple of years after the divorce but it wasn't the same and he didn't see a point in it anymore.

"Actually I think it'd be better if I stayed here, Darlin'. This work ain't gonna finish itself and I'd rather be ahead of the game." He said.

"Let me rephrase that..." He heard you trail off and he saw that certain look of determination in your eye. He's seen it when you were dead set on completing a case or laser focused on doing something. Hoyt said you had your stubborn moments even if they were sometimes few and far between.

"For the sake of your brain, you know, not exploding from the information overload on your abundance of cases, you and I are going as friends to the Fall Festival and you and I are going to have fun. Gets us both out of the offices and out of the house. Plus it gives you some new memories to make while you're here."

Beau couldn't help but grin at you, "For the sake of my brain, huh? How nice of you to consider my sanity." He chuckled before he tilted his head for a moment, "What time am I picking you up?"

He watched as a grin formed on your lips and he couldn't bring himself to saying no to a smile like yours, "How's ten sound?"

"I'll grab ya by ten then." He promised and your grin went to a full smile.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow morning. Don't get into too much trouble before then." You told him and he smiled as he watched you leave the office.

Maybe you were right about getting out of the office for a bit. It couldn't hurt that much and he could give his cases a break for some time. It was sweet of you to invite him along but he wondered how hard it was for you to ask him.

Unbeknownst to you, Jenny told him you were divorced as well. Yours was only about eight months ago and Jenny told him that you buried yourself in as much work as you could in the beginning of it but Hoyt convinced you to kind of ease up successfully about a month ago. Although you didn't really go out much with other people the whole time. From what he understood, this was the first time you really invited anybody to go out and do something with you like coming to the festival.

Maybe you needed this just as much as he did even if he didn't want to admit it.

He couldn't help but wonder how bad your split was, but he was pretty confident that you wouldn't want to sit and compare notes with him about ex's.

All he needed to remember was what time he needed to pick you up for this thing.

The next evening came around and it was already close ten. You were sitting on the couch in your living room while you waited for Beau to pick you up to go to the Festival. You honestly hoped that you'd have fun with this thing. Honestly you were shocked at yourself for even following through with inviting him.

You could hear Beau's truck pulling up and you got up before grabbing your belongings you wanted to take with you. You heard your phone go off with whatever sound you had that would alert you when you had a text. When you grabbed your phone from your pocket you saw that Beau messaged you.

BA: I'm here Darlin

You grinned, putting the phone back in your pocket before you started making your way outside. There, you saw the familiar grey truck and Beau waved at you from the driver's seat.

You grinned and waved back before walking over and you opened the door and sat in the seat.

"Hey." You grinned and he smiled, returning the little greeting.

"So are you ready for the festival?" You asked, buckling up.

"I'm more ready than I think I'll ever be." He insisted, "It's just been a while since I've been to one of these things."

"It's been a while for me too. I haven't been to any kind of festival since I got married. He wasn't really into that kind of thing." You said, placing your little bag down on the floor board, "But anyway, I think my favorite part of the festivals are the vendors. I would do a lot of Christmas shopping early and the vendors had cute little gifts I'd get."

"Yeah, those little vendor tables do have neat little goods don't they?"

"Yeah. And then there's the snacks people come up with too! Some of my favorites when I used to come to this festival was caramel apple ice cream." You said, starting to get excited to come to one of these things again. Honestly even when you were married you should have come to these things even if Tristan didn't like to come.

"That sounds pretty good actually. But ice cream when it's cold?" You could hear Beau questioning your logic a little and you shrugged.

"Sometimes I like cold desserts even when it's cold outside. But then in the times where I don't really want something cold, I loved their cinnamon apple fudge. I had never heard of anything like that but the vendor that year made it taste really good. And I tried a pumpkin pie flavored piece of fudge and that was really good too."

"You guys really go all out here for Autumn don't you?"

"Wait until you actually pull up. I've just talked about little gifts and desserts. It's way better than it sounds." You smiled and you watched a grin begin to form on his face.

After a few minutes you and Beau finally made it to the fair grounds.

When the two of you got out of the truck and made your way to the entrance, Beau's eyes widened. From the looks of it, this was about the size of some sort of city fair. There looked like there were even rides he didn't expect to see and he saw some kids playing some mini games like cornhole while some other kids were playing with horse shoes.

"Wow... You weren't kidding. This place has a ton goin' on." He admitted as he walked beside you.

He hadn't been to something like this in so long that he had forgotten what to initially expect but he had to admit, this did look like fun. Definitely worth stepping away from the office for a while.

"See? I told you it'd be fun." He could practically hear the smirk in your voice and he smirked as the two of you continued to walk together.

From that point on, he basically let you drag him wherever you wanted to go as you showed him around. You convinced him to try some caramel apple fudge. Of course he was a bit skeptical of that kind of flavor but it beat the ice cream, it was way too cold for something like that.

Then some of the rides caught his eye and he saw one that he hadn't gone on since he was in his twenties. It was a pendulum swing and he heard a mixture of laughter along with screams from some girls probably mad at their boyfriends for taking them on that ride. Then he looked at you.

"Why don't we go on that ride?" He asked you, and when you looked at what he was motioning to, you got a little hesitant.

"Are you sure?" You asked and he chuckled.

"What? A spinning swing too scary for the PI? Besides, if you made me try that fudge, I get to take you on a ride." He teased, getting a kick out of messing with you a little.

"What? No! Of course it's not too scary. You've got a deal." You said and he watched you walk over to that line, making him chuckle before he started following after you.

You two waited in the line and he watched the way you were looking up at the ride, watching the way that it would swing back and forth. He couldn't help but wonder what you were thinking about. Whatever it was, you seemed a little deep in it.

But before either of you knew it, it was your turn to board the ride.

When you went onto the ride you and Beau found some spots that were next to each other. You could feel your heart racing in your chest.

Honestly? You didn't think you'd be riding something like this while in your thirties. But you had to admit, stuff like this was bringing back a memory or two. They were bittersweet, but you were trying not to remember the last time you were on one of these. So now you were making new memories and you were happy about that.

Once you were secure in your little spot, you took in a deep breath. A part of you did get a little nervous about these things when you were a kid with the speed and heights of stuff like this, but you supposed it was a little amplified because it had been so long.

Then, the ride started.

The swinging began and you could begin to feel the wind in your hair, then when you felt the ride start to spin around mixed with the swinging, you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. And after a few minutes the ride was finally over.

When it came to a stop and you were unbuckled, you could still feel some leftover adrenaline and you were laughing to yourself as you looked up at Beau who was smiling at you after he was finished unbuckling himself.

"I guess I was wrong. Not to scary for you after all." He chuckled and you smiled.

The day went on and you two practically killed most of the day and into the early evening. You could hear some local band beginning to play and when you and Beau walked over to some table to give yourselves a break from walking.

"Beau! Y/N!"

You looked in the direction you could hear the voice coming from and you saw Jenny walking over with Cassie and Denise.

"Well look who joined the party!” You grinned as you got up and hugged all of them.

“So you convinced the good ole sheriff to come out and about, huh?” Denise asked with a playful grin.

“Well I wouldn’t say convince. More like friendly force. She brought coffee so I couldn’t complain too much.” You could hear Beau reply and you chuckled.

You and Beau slid on your benches so the other three ladies would have some place to sit.

“How how long have you guys been out here?” Cassie asked you and you smiled.

“Well since this is Beau’s first Fall Festival here, I thought we should get sort of an early start so he picked me up around ten this mornin.’” You answered.

“Wow, so you’ve been out and about all day, huh?”

“Yeah but it’s been fun. Never in a million years did I think I’d try anything that wasn’t normal fudge. I don’t know if I’d get something like that again.” Beau laughed.

"We've spent most of the day riding on different rides and looking at some of the vendors for some Christmas gift ideas." You spoke.

"Christmas? Already? It's barely the end of October!" Jenny said with a chuckle but you grinned.

"It's never too early to star looking at gift ideas."

"You must be some kind of over achiever. I just wait 'til the last minute. How Tristan cheated on somebody like you, I'll never know." Cassie said and you went quiet.

Beau heard the way you seemed to go silent and watched Hoyt lightly smack Cassie's arm just for Cassie to start rambling.

"Sorry, I just meant that you're great and that he just-"

"No, it's okay, Cassie. You didn't mean anything by it." Beau watched you look at the other girl and smile. But he could tell it wasn't that genuine smile he'd seen you wear earlier that day.

"Well... It's getting kind of chilly. I'm gonna go grab some coffee or cider or something." You said and Beau watched you get up and grab your bag before going to one of the trucks you guys passed.

He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, wondering if he should go after you. Once he decided to go and check on you, he excused himself. He started looking for you, which didn't take too long for him to do and luckily the line for the coffee was short.

By the time he got to you, you already had your cup and you were sipping from it. That same look you had when the both of you were in line for the first ride was on your face again, but this time you looked a little sad.

As he made his way towards you, he reached out and placed a gently hand on your upper back since he came up from behind. He saw you look up at him before suddenly looking away and start to wipe your eyes.

"You alright, Darlin?" He asked.

"Yeah, coffee was a little hotter than I thought and burned my mouth is all." Unfortunately, even with hot coffee, Beau didn't think your pain tolerance was low enough for you to tear up from a burnt mouth.

He pulled you to the side so you two wouldn't be in the way of people getting their drinks, then he wrapped his arms around your smaller figure. Then he placed his head on the top of your own.

"I don't know how bad things were with you and that Tristan guy, and I won't ask. But I know it probably took a lot for you to ask me to come along with you to this thing. And it's good for both of us." He said softly.

"You told me yesterday that besides getting out of our offices, this would be a good time to make new memories. And that's exactly what we've done today, right?" He asked.

There was a couple of seconds of silence before Beau heard you speak again.

"Yeah.. it was pretty funny watching you eat that fudge and see your reaction to it." You said and he smiled before he lifted his head and looked down at you, seeing you start to grin again.

"Hey, it's not my fault they used a little too much sour apple flavoring." He said and he grinned when he heard you start to laugh.

"Come on.. Let's get out of here. I know the perfect place for us to go and end tonight on a good note." He promised.

The next thing you knew, Beau was taking you in his truck to some back roads. You could tell he was getting more comfortable around these roads. Maybe that was from some of the rides he’d take with Cassie or Jenny to help them with their cases.

Either way, he ended up taking you through the back roads to the top of some cliff side that used to be part of an old hiking trail. There was an opened area, the sky was clear and you could see the stars. You smiled to yourself as you looked out the passenger window but eventually the truck came to a stop.

You heard Beau’s door opening and you started to unbuckle. Then Beau came to your side and opened up the door for you. You thanked him and got out of the truck.

When the two of you were out of the truck, you watched Beau open up the door to the bed of his truck. You watched him hop up into the bed then he offered a hand to for you to take. Once you made it into the bed, you watched Beau open up the toolbox attached to the back and you tilted your head when he pulled out some blankets.

“Do you always have those back there just ready to go?” You asked him with a smile and he grinned.

“A good boy scout is always prepared, right?” You could hear the sheriff and you smiled. Then you helped him get the blankets laid out before the both of you sat down and got comfortable. Then there was another blanket Beau set aside and the two of you got beneath the blanket.

Once the both of you were settled, you looked up at the stars and started to think. This had been the most fun you’ve had in a while. You felt happier that day than you had in the past several months since the divorce.

“Thank you… for coming with me today. You were right. It did take a lot for me to ask you to come. It took a lot for me to even want to come to this thing anyway.” You said.

“Thanks for havin’ me come along, Sweetheart.” He said and he could tell you wanted to open up about something, but he wasn’t sure if you knew where to begin.

“When… When I split up with Emily’s mom, it wasn’t easy. It was even harder when Emily chose to go with Carla, but I can’t get mad at her. That’s her mom. It didn’t help when Carla went and got married to Avery.” He began, hoping you get a little more comfortable if he talked first.

“I used to celebrate some holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas with it just bein’ me and some buddies before I stopped. Haven’t really had much of a reason to go out and go to festivals and what not. The last time I’ve even gone to one was when Emily was a lot younger, Carla and I were in a better spot then but that was that Thanksgiving and Christmas were the last holidays we spent that were happier.”

“Splits are never easy. But like breakups, they get easier after some time. The feeling’s never completely gone, but it’s easier to cope after a while. Putting yourself out there and making yourself go out to places like this, it’s a step in the right direction.”

When he finished talking, he felt you put your head on his shoulder. It wasn’t exactly what he expected you to do, but he was glad that you were a little more comfortable. Then he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you a little closer. Then he heard you starting to speak.

“Tristan… He was the love of my life. Or so I thought.” He heard you begin.

“I met him when I was in high school. We weren’t high school sweethearts, he had a bit of a roaming eye and I wasn’t his type at the time. But by the time I graduated college I ran into Tristan again. We hit it off pretty well and we got married when I was about 26. Unfortunately the honeymoon phase didn’t last a long time. The first two years were great, then the next few were rocky. Then the last few… It was pretty much like Hell. We couldn’t go a day without fighting. Then I found out he was on some dating websites. That lead into a really big argument and we agreed to try counseling. I thought the counseling was working and the last couple of months were happier.” He felt you get a little tense and he moved his arm along your upper back to try and help you relax.

“The last time I came to something like this was with Tristan. He wasn’t really into riding rides like we did today. I went to one of the rides by myself and when I came back from one of them, I saw him with some other girl. I didn’t know if they knew each other, or if he just picked up some random girl. But I caught them making out and that was when I had enough and wanted a divorce.” He heard you continue and he frowned a little.

“I know making out isn’t going all the way and having sex with another person, but to me it’s still the same thing. It’s the morality of it you know?” You continued and he could understand where you were coming from.

“Is that why you were lost in thought when we were in line for that ride?” He asked and felt you nod against his shoulder.

“Yeah… Just brought back some. Bittersweet memories I guess.” You said before you looked at him, and Beau thought his heart was about to stop on him.

“But I guess old memories can be overpowered with new ones, right?” You smiled and so did he.

“Well, I’ll tell you what.. I know Halloween is comin’ up and I know I’ll be busy that night but if you don’t have any Thanksgiving plans, maybe the two of us can do a little something to get us out of this muck we’ve been in.” He suggested and he watched the way your eyes seemed to light up at the idea.

“Yeah, I’d really like that, Beau. Maybe we can do something like that around Christmas time if you don’t have any other plans.” Now it was Beau’s turn to smile.

“Sounds like you’ve got my holidays booked this year. Sounds good to me.” He said and he pulled you a little closer to his side. When your head when back on his shoulder again, he turned and kissed your crown lightly as the two of you looked back up at the sky once more.

“Not bad for a Montana festival.” Beau said with a teasing tone, “Not quite like Texas, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“Oh? Well maybe I’ll have to go down and visit just to see how their little fairs are.” You replied and gave him a little nudge.

“Oh, Darlin’, There’s nothin’ little about Texas.”

“Oh really? Does that go for you too?” You asked with a smirk and he looked down at you only to let out a deep chuckle.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You chuckled at the fact that Beau was playing along but you didn’t think anything would come from this. You couldn’t deny that you would have loved something to develop with the good looking sheriff but you had to stick with what you told Jenny. What you needed was just a friend right now.

You looked up at Beau who was looking up at the stars again. His eyes seemed to sparkle with the moonlight. You leaned over and softly kissed his cheek. When you looked at him, you saw him shift his gaze towards you.

Then, he leaned down and you could feel the warmth of his lips and the tickling from his beard against your mouth. You could taste the coffee on his mouth since he bought himself one before you both left the festival. He smelled like warm cinnamon and some sort of wood like he preferred campfires.

You relaxed against him and began to kiss him back, his hand slowly moved to your hip as you shifted. But when your lips parted, both your foreheads touched.

“And I thought all you needed was a friend.” You breathed out and you could tell he was smirking.

“Well, there’s always Jenny, Cassie and Denise that are the friends. But… is there something wrong with something happening with the both of us?” He asked you.

“Well… On one condition.”

“And what’s that, Darlin?’”

“You can’t make fun of me if I’ve got some pumpkin spice paraphernalia in my fridge.”

“See, that’s half the fun, Sweetheart.” You laughed and rolled your eyes at the remark.

“Okay, only if you try some of the creamer in your coffee, just to say you tried it.”

“Ugh, alright.” You could hear the annoyance in Beau’s voice and you chuckled.

“I’m joking.” You reassured and took one of his hands.

“But I think you’re right. I don’t think it would hurt if something hypothetically happened.” You said and he gave your hands a gentle squeeze.

“I think… this could be a good adventure for us.” He said and you leaned in to kiss him again.

So what if you kind of jumped the gun. Jenny said not to shut the door when it’s barely been opened. But you were pretty sure that this door was opening up more and making a way for new possibilities for you. Beau seemed really sweet and ever since he came to Montana, things have been happier for you.

So… on to a new adventure!

Thank you guys for reading and I hope you enjoyed! No matter what stage in life you’re in, there’s always a chance for a new adventure! Life has many doors that can be opened, don’t be afraid to walk through 💕💕💕

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @posiemax @deanwinchestersgirl87 @impala67rollingthroughtown

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles imagine #big sky #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #beau arlen x female reader

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green-typewriterz · 5 months

Note

hey there :) ! fun idea: cowboy/sheriff sam winchester in some southern town, maybe the reader could be a bandit and they repeatedly run into each other (maybe sam lets them get away at times, like it’s half rivalry half admiration) but there’s some creature around that forces them to work together ? fluffy end too bc I’m a sucker for riding into the sunset endings

Raise Hell

Cowboy!Sam Winchester x Bandit!Fem!reader

summary: 1800s AU - you’re a bandit, Sam’s what the Sheriff would call ‘a demon hunter’, they just happen to come by your camp

Warnings: injury, mentions of guns, demons, its the 1800s…so…, timeline may be weird, no specific season

Author Notes: this was much longer than I intended but enjoy. Also i know this is u H, i recognise your typing style

word count: 4046

You sighed as you walked past the third wanted poster with your face on it that morning, tearing it down while whispering a, “they never get my nose right.” To yourself. You continued on your journey, assuring yourself and your horse, Songbird, that there wasn’t that much longer to go.

After hours of travel, you set up camp a ways out of a town, staying in the shrouds of the shadows. You didn’t need any townsfolk spotting you and handing you in. You were sitting at the fire, eyes watching the skyline as the wood spit ash onto the floor by your feet, almost like a warning.

There would be a passerby every now and then, but no one important enough that you noted anything particular about them.

“Evening Ma’am.” A voice called, tone harsh and strong like the old folk singers. You looked up, but kept your hat low on your head, covering your face in the same deep blue of the sky.

Two men stood in front of you, broad shoulders and polite smiles. You knew who they were, of course you did. The Winchester name was well known across most of America, though you were never sure how much of it was legend. You decided not to take any chances. You nod to them silently, not sharing the same courtesy to smile back.

Sam spoke next, sounding a lot less irritated than his counterpart. “You wouldn’t mind if we rested with you for the evening would you? Our horses are tired and so are we.”

There was silence for a moment as you thought. You should say no - it was in your best interest to do so. But they hadn’t seemed to recognise you yet, and, with the bandanna you had quickly pulled over your mouth, they shouldn’t for the rest of the evening. You nodded once more.

Dean sighed at your silence but sat anyway, opposite the fire from you so he could try and see your face better - something you were trying your hardest to not let happen - while Sam went and hitched their horses next to yours.

”She’s beautiful.” Sam said to you, gesturing to your horse. Songbird was a full black shire horse with a large white strip along the nose. She was certainly flashier than was wise for a bandit, but you got her when you were young and you’d rather die than part with her.

You smiled and stood, heading over to the three horses. “She’s smart as hell, my best judge of character.” Sam laughed gently, looking over at you as he petted the blonde horse in front of him. You tried not to speak too much - though you weren’t sure how recognisable your voice was, you didn’t want to risk it. Sam stared at your hands, noticing how a large scar pulled its way along your palm - unusual in shape.

”Same with my Riot, he’s an Arabian so he’s pretty judgmental. Dean’s is the worst though, Baby’s so temperamental it’s almost impossible to get anything done” You smiled and looked over at the sleek black Hanoverian - you noted how well kept it was.

You both made your way back to the fire and sat, refastening the clasps of your boots to save you doing nothing.

The sun had fully set by now and night bit at the fire, causing it to settle into embers. Sam leaned against a tree, and you assumed he was sleeping while Dean sat opposite, his eyes still trained on you as if you would draw your gun.

It seemed as though he had planned to calm down when a series of cheers echoed across the valley. Both of you looked up, eyes sharp. You’d recognise the voices anywhere and you’d wager that the boys would too. Dean ran for his horse, not bothering to wait for his brother and rode after them.

You woke Sam quickly and headed for Songbird, apologising to her for the loud noises. The two of you rode after the older officer, but soon realised that you were being circled by the gang. You signalled to Sam to take a different route, but he was too focused on his brother and was quickly knocked off his horse by a bullet to his arm. You pulled to a stop and got out your pistol, Shooting at the bandits as they passed. They didn’t want you, nor Sam really - they just wanted to cause chaos.

Your shots rang as a warning and the gang cleared out, leaving you, two scared horses and a bleeding officer who would most likely arrest you given the chance. “Dean.” Sam called out but you silenced him, putting pressure on his arm.

”Shut it. You’re brother’s probably alive.” You spoke quickly, helping him to stand. Using a mix of his own strength and yours, he climbed onto the back of your horse and held his arm tight around your waist. You gripped the loose rein of Riot’s leash and headed back to your camp, quickly and quietly.

When you returned, you found your camp ransacked. Food was missing from your bags and small smoke clouds trailed from the now put out fire. They didn’t want you to find it again, which most likely meant they’d be returning for the rest. You’d have to be gone by the next evening.

Sam was pale and his eyes were fluttering every so often. You were warm and it was hard to breathe so with a sigh you pulled the bandana from your face and wrapped it around his arm, securing the wound and partially stopping the blood flow. Luckily, the bandits hadn’t had time to go into the packs in your tent and you smiled in relief when you pulled a large bottle of whisky from it. You poured some over the injury then took a large swig, wincing at the bite of the alcohol.

You’d let Sam sleep for now. He could get proper medical care when he returned to the sheriff's station, hopefully without you in handcuffs.

Sam was lucky in the sense that he got sleep that evening, something you weren’t so blessed with. Fatigue pulled at you and you found yourself playing with the remaining hot embers to stay awake - though they were dwindling by the minute. Eventually, Sam woke and sat up, his brows furrowing in confusion.

”Morning.” You said simply, sending a nod his way. He groaned in pain and turned to face you, good hand pushing his hair from his eyes. Now your bandana was off, Sam had a good chance to look at you.

His eyes narrowed, taking in your features. “I know you from somewhere.” He said gently, voice raw from pain and sleep. He wasn’t wrong.

1870

You were standing still behind a wall, one hand inching toward your pistol and the other holding money you were currently attempting to steal. It would’ve been an easy escape, you could’ve ran, called your horse and been clear of the town before anyone noticed but the new ‘specialist’ that had been travelling through Texas had to get in the way.

He tackled you to the ground, pulling the money from your hand and pinning you with minimal force. “Ow.” You said with annoyance, trying to move your hand so you could reach your blade that hid in your waistband.

The man’s gaze was stern as he kept you pinned against the hot sandy floor. “What are you doing?” He asked, voice harsh with suspicion. You sighed and turned your head to the side so you could actually breathe and rolled your eyes.

“Is it any of your business?”

“Ow.” He replied, mocking you. You stared at him, finding it unusual how a man of his profession had such long hair, which was cut into a small fringe and was falling slightly over his eyes. He eventually relents and allows you to stand, hand resting on his pistol as he places cuffs on your hands.

He took in your outfit, noticing how you wore dark denim and black leather, the only thing standing out was a red bandana. You certainly looked like a bandit.

You sighed and held up your hands, looking at the handcuffs in annoyance. “Seriously? You’re gonna cuff me? How are you so sure I’m a criminal?” You asked, voice bored - this had happened far too often to be entertaining at this point. He went to reply, when a deep voice yelled his name.

Sam.

He turned, breaking into a sprint and leaving you cuffed there. “You’re not gonna-” You began but sighed, realising he wasn't coming back and walked grumpily toward the abandoned blacksmith’s saw - not a good idea in retrospect, but it got you free.

1872

Sam walked idly into the sheriff’s office, hand reaching up to remove his Stetson when he saw you, sat in the gaol with your arms leaning on the bars. You were wearing a lighter shade now, mostly donning browns and blues, though the red bandana was still safely tied around your neck.

“You don’t seem very good at your job.” He said, smirking as he walked closer. You looked up at the man, sighing when you saw him. His hair had grown longer, sitting gently by his chin.

You leaned back in the seat and the cuffs on your feet clink, “I’ve been a bandit since ‘65…and I’ve been caught twice - though I’m not counting the first since you didn’t technically arrest me.” You replied, staring with boredom at the dirt under your nails. He nodded in response, reasonably impressed at you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, him watching you with tired but amused eyes and you fiddling with the cuffs around your ankles. Sam’s eyes were drawn to your hands, seeing the large red scar that ripped over it, shining slightly on your palm.

Suddenly, a loud gunshot rang through the sheriff’s range and the both of you sat up straight. A large group had planned an organised attack on the station and, much to your luck, it gave you a proper chance to escape (one which you accepted gratefully). Sam had seen you climbing quickly onto your horse, but he had more pressing matters at hand - at least that’s what he told himself.

1876

He sat in the bar, head in his hand as he played with the whisky glass in his palm - the ice creating a cold film over his fingers.

It was like something from a novel, the way you stood in the doorway, a perfect silhouette. You stepped into the light, looking overly annoyed at nothing in particular and Sam almost didn’t recognise you. The lace gloves on your hands looked as though they itched and he was surprised you could breathe in the corset,, but you looked…different, all the same. It seemed as though you didn’t recognise him either as you took a seat next to him at the bar, signalling for something (anything) to drink.

“Bandit?” He asked, eyes stuck on you. You turned slowly, recognising the voice. He had certainly changed, in fact, he almost resembled a man, though his face was still slightly too young for this to be true.

You smiled, sipping your drink. “Sam. And it’s Y/n.” you replied, sending a nod his way. Sam replied with the same courtesy and furrowed his brows, looking at the amount of skirts and ruffles that you wore. You took notice and sighed, fiddling with the outer lace. “Not my choice, too difficult to run in - but my brother chose the dress code for his wedding and the jacket wasn’t acceptable.” You complained, voice tired.

He laughed, though noted to himself that you had kept the bandanna around your face - no doubt the pistol was still hidden somewhere.

The two of you drank for a long while, sharing short stories (you trying to keep the more illegal details out) and talking about your brothers. However, it seemed as though all of your meetings would be short-lived.

“Ma’am.” A voice called, stern and unwelcoming. It was a voice you recognised (you had taught yourself to remember every voice of every Sheriff in the state…for your own convenience). You shared a look with Sam, you’d been recognised.

You sighed and agreed, standing and leaving the bar. “I don’t doubt we’ll see each other again, Sam.” You said simply, heading back toward the wedding.

1883

“Hello.”

Sam turned, smiling as he recognised you. You were back in the usual attire, red bandanna seeming more red than usual…if that were possible. You were standing, leaning against the wall with one hand lazily resting on your belt.

He found himself smiling. “I should technically arrest you,” He stated, standing in place by his horse. You grinned in reply, moving closer to him with a simple smile.

“Who cares about technicalities?”

You kept your hand on your holster, the other by your side, mirroring his pose. Your eyes moved to his hand, noticing how his fingers twitched in some sort of anticipation (though you weren’t sure whether he was going to arrest you or something much more exciting). Sam’s head cocked to the side, following your every movement with an unreadable expression, then he almost whispered, “wasn’t it fun though, me putting you in handcuffs?”

Sam had aged rather drastically in your few years apart, his jaw was harsh and square and his hair flicked, slowly but surely nearing his shoulders. He was broader too - before he had been young and as lean as a six foot four man could be but now he was all muscle, large shoulders and strong arms. He looked built for the job now. Sam’s scarred hands played over his belt buckle and your eyes flitted over it, seeing a small star sigil with a circle wrapping around it - something you recognised.

A smile played on your lips and you moved away again, fingers tucked through the loops of your jeans. “Smooth,” you spoke lazily, then turned just before you reached your horse, adding on, “but yes, it wasn’t too bad.” He laughed gently and you climbed onto Songbird, leaving him staring after you yet again.

1884

“Bandit.”

You smiled, nodding your head lazily. “Is my name so hard to forget?” You replied almost snarkily, a hint of something else hidden in your tone. You leaned down, wrapping any spare cloths you had found around his injury - you knew better than to remove the bullet.

Sam laughed gently, voice slightly weak. You looked up, brows furrowed in confusion as he spoke. “I just find it a funny sight…a bandit fixing up a ranger.”

You smiled too, now, shaking your head gently - you tried to ignore his wince as you tightened the scraps around his shaking arm. “You’re not really a bull though, are you?” He shook his head in response, sitting up slightly as if it would be a task to explain what he does.

”No. I’m more of a…specialist?”

”Oh, so a hunter.”

Sam went silent, almost in a state of shock - he wasn’t sure how to reply so instead he resorted to a simple nod and you went back to bandaging him, talking absentmindedly. “I am too, technically. I’m just more… illegal about it.” You spoke and he laughed, nodding once more in agreement.

You finally leaned away from his arm and sat by the completely extinguished fire, eyes stuck to him. “How about we go searching for your brother?” You asked, arms crossing. He moved closer to you and began to set up the fire once more, prompting a confused look from you.

”We’ll go in the morning, it’s not safe to travel now. I wouldn’t be able to fight in case anything happened.” He replied, adding, “a days more rest.” You nodded and leaned back against a large rock, eyes lidded as they flitted over to the slowly growing fire.

The night had grown dark, flurries of rain filtering through the deep blue sky. You were still awake, running your hands through your hair softly. Sam was sleeping, as soundly as you could with the annoying, spitting type of rain running down your face. It picked up after a while and under the harsh cover of night you could swear you heard the beating and repetitive sounds of hooves against wet sand.

You were, unfortunately, proven right and the very same bandits from two nights ago stormed you, coming back for what they had left. You knew you couldn’t leave Sam behind and resorted to a good old fashioned knife fight. If any gunshots were heard, they didn’t wake Sam - this type of noise was far too familiar in Texas.

You managed to fend them off until they gave up, but garnered a few nasty cuts on your arms. It was something you’d handle later on. Rain beat down now, choking you and you’re not sure what’s water and what’s blood in the dark.

The sun rose again - as it had always done - and your role of tending the fire dwindled to watching it die as Sam awoke beside you. “You’re hurt. How?” He asked, leaning close. Both yours and his wounds seeped in unison, weeping at each other for retribution.

”It’s usually the job description of a bandit to be hurt.” You replied, declaring to both him and yourself that it was no one's business. He didn’t relent.

He drew nearer, hands twitching in want - to help you as you had for him. Though, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to speak on the matter and moved on to something much more pressing. “Dean is alive. Back in town I’d wager.” You looked over, glad he had moved on.

You raised a brow. “And you’re sure how?” He allowed your confusion, offering a sort of explanation for the matter.

”His horse, if he had been hurt, Baby would ride straight back here.”

“What if Baby’s dead.”

Silence. No one had ever offered the idea. No one liked to think their pet would die. “That damn horse is invincible. Keeps on going. It’s been two days, they’re back in town.” Sam assured, watching you poke idly at the sand.

You nod and stand, brushing the dirt off of your knees. “Let's go meet him then.” You said simply, heading over to your horse. The knife wound on your thigh tugged at your movements and you tried to brush it off, hoping the limp wasn’t too visible.

The air was heavy and humid, ripping air from your lungs and sitting hot against your skin. “What happened?” He asked gently as the two of you headed in the direction of the town. Sam’s eyes lingered on your skin, tracing over where sweat stuck your clothes to you.

”It was nothing, a few of the bandits came back. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” You replied, pulling your collar away from your neck in irritation. The heat had risen with impossible speed and for once you were happy that your bandanna wasn’t secured around her neck. You leaned against Songbird as you rode, skin damp.

Sam watched from beside you, noticing how quiet and calm you seemed. “And you’re not bleeding out? I can help-“

You shook your head. “No need. I don’t want you to return any favours,” You looked at him with a smirk, “I might need a ‘get out of jail’ pass some day.” He laughed, turning back to the open path.

As if sent from the heavens, the wind picked up and cooled your skin, blowing warm air across your body - though you would’ve appreciated a cold breeze, this’d have to do. The morning had become midday, sun high in the sky and air foul with an uncomfortable smell, when Sam stopped still, both him and Riot seemingly staring off at nothing.

You came to a stop too, listening. Watching. “What?” You whispered, but then you saw it, so far away it could’ve been a speck. The breeze, the smells. It was a demon. There was a quick nod shared then the both of you took off toward the old barn. It was the only thing for miles and you were both sure that no human could live out here without supernatural assistance.

Sam usually would’ve taken time to plan, but he had been hunting this thing for far too long and irritation had whittled his patience down. He took the blade from his belt and pressed his back hard against a half-ruined wall while you went around the back, a bottle of holy water you kept in your pocket securely in your hand.

Of course, it had been expecting you, and your ambush was more of a self-sacrifice. Your back hit the barn wall harshly and you hit the ground, the holy water falling a ways away. Sam was next to fall, blade being ripped from his grasp. You sat up, groaning in pain and looked over. It was a man, one who had clearly been a bandit.

Pain ripped through your thigh and you looked down, seeing the stab wound tearing wider than it had before. You turned your head to the side, seeing the demon fighting Sam. He certainly had the mis advantage however and was moments away from his own knife entering his chest.

”Hey!” You yelled, standing up again. The demon. You wiped the sweat from your brow and pulled the colt from your waistband. “Christo, bitch.” You pulled the trigger and the demon crumpled to the floor, a mess of sinew, blood and demon ash.

Sam stood, wiping the sweat and blood from his brow. “Nice shot.” You nodded at him and walked back out the barn, your limp much more pronounced - something you could’ve expected.

——

The both of you reached town, ugly stains of red littering your clothes and skin. Dean was standing on the porch of the Sheriff's station with bruises of his own - though his weren’t as frequent and had nearly healed. He pulled his brother into a fierce hug, hand pushing the back of Sam’s head into Dean’s shoulder (if he had seen Sam wince he didn’t take note of it).

You watched from a distance, leaning next to your horse tiredly. Before you could turn to leave, cuffs were placed around your hands, guiding you away from Songbird. You looked up at the Sheriff with angry eyes, voice harsh and raw from fatigue, “I just saved your boy’s life. Multiple times.”

Sam looked over, brows furrowing as he saw you being led inside. He would’ve followed - he had all intention to - but Dean held him back with a harsh grip against his palm. “Sam. She’s a criminal.” There was a wager in his mind: he wanted to do the right thing - to free you, but a more guilty part of him won. He didn’t want to disappoint his brother. Sam turned away and your eyes tracked him in disappointment, though you know you shouldn’t have expected much.

Night fell fast, and the usual heat of Texas was replaced with splintered wooden floors, a sticky yet icy breeze and cold metal bars. You picked at your nails, trying to clean any remaining dirt out from underneath. Your weapons had been seized and without both them and your bandana you felt exposed.

You were just warming up to the idea of getting comfortable when a shadow covered the moon light that streamed through the windows, one with broad shoulders and a Stetson. The door of the cell swung open slowly, quietly and the shadow stepped to the side. “Go to your horse and leave.” The shadow whispered.

Sam.

A rough hand placed a piece of red cloth into your palm and a soft breath tickled against your ear. “Think of it as me returning the favour.” Through the filtered moonlight you could see Sam’s face, the old bottle windows scattering the night scene across his features like glitter. You smiled gently and leaned forward, placing a kiss to his lips. It was something slow and gentle, something memorable.

But then, you were gone, leaving no trace that you had been in the cell except the opened handcuffs and the sharp, yet fleeting smell of cherries and tobacco. Sam found himself smiling.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #angst #sam winchester x fem!reader #supernatural #hurt/comfort #fluff #happy ending #if you squint #supernatural fic

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