#wondering if this woman across the country was also by the window

[mediumgayitalian]

i keep seeing sad posts talking about "may castellan making sandwiches every day waiting in hopes that her son will return" and.

guys.

there is no hope for may castellan. she is not waiting at the door with lunch and a tentative smile, waiting for him to come home even though he didn't yesterday, or yesterday, or yesterday, or yesterday. "in hopes" implies that there will come a day when that hope fades. in hopes implies she knows the odds are bad. in hopes implies reality will eventually catch up to her.

there is no hope for may castellan.

she is not waiting in hopes for her son to return. she is preparing, day after day after day (after day after day after day after day after) for the inevitability that luke will return to her. she does not know he is dead. she does not understand he is gone. she does not realize that time has passed; to her luke is nine, still. to her she is still placidly awaiting to return of a fourth grader. luke is not nineteen and betraying his camp. he is not twenty and housing a titan. he is not twenty one and watching his friends get slaughtered in an arena, twenty-two and forcing his sister to hold up the sky, twenty three and realizing, soul shuddering in his chest, that he has made a mistake he can never take back, that he can never undo what he has done.

luke castellan to his mother is a child who has not yet lost all his baby teeth. the cookies she makes for him are soft, because she remembers that. he still leaves the crust behind on his sandwiches. he has scrapes on his elbows and dirt on his nose. he flinches before he hugs her. he spends a lot of time outside, but he comes home before dark.

may castellan's tragedy is not that she is penelope waiting for odysseus to one day return and we know that he will not. may castellan's tragedy is that she does not understand her hero has left at all. may castellan's tragedy is that she will never understand, and she will continue to age, and continue to deteriorate, and one day she will die and she will spend eternity walking the dying poplar fields, whittled down to the memory of something missing from her.

there is no hope for may castellan.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Fifteen Weeks

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: It's been fifteen weeks since Din Djarin first entered your life, now you can't imagine it without him. You take a leap of faith in your relationship and visit him at his farm. Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, face sitting, premature ejaculation, unprotected p in v sex (reader is tested and has an IUD, protect yourselves IRL), mentions of sex work, anxiety, Din is bad at feelings, farmhouse emotions, goats!, yes I made Din Djarin a schnauzer owner don't judge me. Words: 5,050

A/N: Here it is folks, the follow up to Fifteen Minutes, which I originally wrote as a standalone. Thank you to @goodwithcheese for speaking so highly about Fifteen Minutes thus making me revisit this draft and finally finish it. I also want to thank @frannyzooey for taking a look at the bare bones of this months ago. I really love these two and I’m so glad they finally get to eat soup together.

Masterlist

___

“So, where ya’ headed?” the Uber driver asks, turning toward the departures terminal.

“Just to see a... friend."

“Hm. Must be a special friend to catch a flight this early.” 

“I guess he is,” you smile through a yawn.

___

Waiting to board. Can’t wait to finally see you! xxxx🙂

Hitting the send button, you shake your head still finding it hard to believe you’re traveling almost halfway across the country to meet a man. A man you’ve fallen head over heels for.

Can’t wait to see you too. See you soon.

His response arrives just in time. A nervous rush of excitement courses through your body before turning your phone off for departure. 

You wonder if your seatmate can feel your leg shake as the nerves tap out against the plane floor. Sure, you’re excited, you’re ready to meet Din in person but there still is trepidation twisting inside of you. You’ve never done anything like this at all. You’ve never met a client and now you’re on a plane headed to one. You’ve known him for only four months, but the connection the two of you share is something you’ve never believed to be something you’d find. You’ve dealt with enough men wearing wedding bands who tell you they love you, that you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve seen, that you’re their whole world. Love is a ridiculous concept when you charge ten dollars a minute. 

With Din, it’s different, it’s something that can be named, can be felt, can be solved, and yet so many questions about it remain. What do you call the quiet silence that exists between the two of you, happy to be on the phone keeping each other company every night? The small laugh and head shake he does whenever you tell him he’s cute? The random texts of his life that always brightens your day? The way he nods with zero judgment when he hears the ding of your new client alert? What do you call the decision that got you here on this plane? 

You read the same page over and over in your book. Will you sleep in his bed tonight? 

You give up on reading and stare forward at the little map on the seat screen. What does he smell like?

You look out the window and watch the clouds disintegrate around you. Is he just as nervous as you?

You turn the volume up and try to drown out your racing thoughts. Will this all be worth it?

Two hours left to find out. 

___

You step off the escalator, eyes scanning the crowded baggage claim area for the reason why you’ve taken a six hour flight halfway across the country. Your hands grip the backpack strap tighter trying to calm the nerves overtaking your heart and brain.

There, right there, leaning against a column alone in the shadows is Din and the brown eyes you’ve only dreamt of seeing in real life. He straightens when you make eye contact, but makes zero attempt to move, still frozen against the column. You lose the fight to hide your smile and excitement hurriedly shuffling over to him, he smiles as you get closer, the same shy half grin he gives when he says good night. His hands slip out of his pockets as you approach. Goodness, he’s so big and handsome, he could be a heartbreaker of all sorts to anybody he sets his sights on. The phone doesn’t do his beauty any justice.

“Hi,” you smile.

“H-hey, I can’t believe you’re… here,” his voice sounds even smoother and deeper in person.

“I am,” you shuffle on your feet. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

He tucks his hands back into his hoodie pocket, his silent rejection shoots a pang of longing through you. 

You thought it’d play out like a grand romantic movie, you’d jump into his outstretched arms and he’d never let go. Din’s rejection fills you with jealousy… screw all of the happy couples. You hate those movies now.

Touch me.

Of course he’s nervous, you’re nervous too, you’re just better at hiding it. He still leans against the column, shielded by the liminal space.

“Do you have luggage?” He’s right in front of you and yet you’re too scared to touch him, too anxious you’ll scare him away. 

“Nope, just my backpack and carry-on.” 

Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Oh, okay, did you want to leave then?”

“I didn’t come here to see the airport Din,” you place a hand on his hoodie clad arm. He looks down and stares. 

Did you overstep? You couldn’t have, you just watched this same man orgasm for you last night while chanting how he couldn’t wait to paint you with his cum. 

“Din,” you snap him out of his stare, “come on, I’m ready to leave.” 

You know he’s not trying to reject you, but his nervous aloofness is overwhelming when all you want is for him to touch you… just once. 

“I—uh, here, let me take your bags,” he mumbles, reaching past you to grab your suitcase. “It’s really cold, do you have a heavier jacket?” 

“No, but I’ll be okay,” you reassure. The cold won’t sting nearly as much as Din’s seemingly innocent rejection.  

“Here,” he pulls the collar of his hoodie over his head. “I’m used to this cold. You aren’t.” 

You take the bundle of black fabric from his outstretched hand, not realizing just how cold you were until you put the hoodie warmed by his body heat on. It smells of him. Faint hints of campfire, wood, leather, citrus, and cinnamon. You wish you were wrapped up in Din himself, touching him, smelling him, tasting him. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Whatever is happening inside of him seems to be bleeding over into your mind. You’re now second guessing every decision to come here. He was excited last night, he texted you this morning how he couldn’t wait to see you, is he disappointed? 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods and turns towards the door, walking away in quick strides leaving you alone in the dark corner near that damn column he’d rather touch than you. He has your suitcase and backpack, so either this is a really expensive way to get robbed or he has zero clue how his actions are affecting you. 

He turns back to you as he reaches the automatic doors, his eyes wide with guilt when he spots you still standing in the same place he left you. Well, at least he feels bad. 

You let a deep breath out to steel yourself and walk to him.

“I-I’m sorry, just not used to ever having to… you know…”

“I know, it’s okay Din,” you gently smile. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m just—“

“Nervous. I know Din, it’s okay. I understand this is a lot.”

“It is, but just… know that how I’m acting is not how I’m feeling. I’m really happy to have you here. You’re so… beautiful and I—thank you for being here with me.”

There it is. Everything is worth it now. The early morning Uber to the airport, the neverending TSA line, the cramped airplane seat, the nervousness you feel. You’d do it all again to hear that sentence. 

“Of course, I know. You’re okay,” you take his hand. If he’s not going to do it, you’ll do it. “Come on, let’s go.” 

His eyes stay downcast staring at your hand wrapped around his.

You clear your throat to get his attention, his eyes snap up to yours. “Din, let’s go.”

“R-right. Of course. Right.” 

He leads you out the door, gripping your hand harder when the bitter wind lashes against your skin. 

The two of you weave your way through the parking lot until you reach a large silver truck. It’s clean with a few dents and scratches. Well taken care of but old. 

Din opens the creaky door and helps you step up. The black leather seat is smooth as you slide across it.

Din places your luggage in the back before opening his door and deftly stepping in. 

You hide a deep exhale when he starts the engine.

He clears his throat and you look over. “It’s–uh nice to see you in here.”

“I’m glad,” you smile, turning and reaching your hand out to touch his cheek. Your thumb finds the little heart patch on the side of his face, you’ve been thinking about how it’d feel since you first saw it. You can’t help yourself, he looks so delicate, as if he’s aching to be touched but too scared to ask for it. You’re holding a scared fawn in your hands. Don’t scare him, don’t move too quickly, let him figure things out on his own. 

His lips part as he inhales, deep brown eyes staring into yours, the nervousness radiating off his skin fills the truck cabin. You wish you could just throw caution to the wind and force him to tell you exactly how he’s feeling, to slide across the bench seat and beg him to take you right here in this airport parking lot. You don’t. You pull your hand away and put your seatbelt on.

“I can’t wait to see your home. I’ve never been to an actual farm before.”

___

You’ve seen glimpses of Din’s home in random pictures he’s texted you or your nightly FaceTime sessions, but you never imagined just how picturesque it could be. A large white two story farmhouse situated in the middle of a vast expanse of green grass, a small tin roofed barn sits to the side with a herd of goats happily grazing. Din’s life must be so peaceful here, very different compared to your townhouse in the middle of suburbia.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse as he pulls into the driveway. “I can understand why you never wanted to leave.” 

The truck stops in front of his home, a german shepherd and a little schnauzer run down the porch steps and head for Din’s truck.

“They’ll be fine with you, but let me get out so I can control them.” 

Din gets out of the truck, you chuckle to yourself as his clipped directions to the dogs are drowned out by excited barks. 

He opens your door and reaches his hand out.

“Grogu! Boba! Back!” Din shouts as he helps you step down. His raised voice makes your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know he could ever be this loud.

“It’s okay, I like your dogs, you know I think they’re cute,” you bend down and tap on your knees to beckon them over. “This must be Grogu,” you scratch his soft ears. “He does have big ears.”

“They’re not that used to other people.”

“Hmm,” you stand up and pat the top of Boba’s head, “sounds like someone I know.”

He chuckles as he walks up the porch steps and unlocks the front door. 

Warmth fills your body as you walk over the threshold. White walls, worn floorboards, antique furniture, all of it taken care of and clean. Tidy and well kept up, a lot like his truck, aged but in better shape and made to last; a far change from your newbuild townhouse and IKEA furniture. 

“Diiin,” you breathe, “it’s beautiful in here. Like… I knew you lived in a nice house, but wow, between this and the farm… when do you sleep?”

“I sleep enough. I’ll go get your bags, make yourself… at home.”

You take a seat on his couch, it’s perfect for him. Beige, simple lines, nothing fancy, not too comfortable, but probably the height of cozy after a long day working on a farm. Grogu jumps up and sits next to you, his little bearded face panting happily next to yours. You scratch his chest and praise him as he inches closer towards you. Boba stays near the entry, waiting for Din.

“Think he likes you,” Din says as he places your bags by the steps. “Don’t take Boba’s standoffishness personally he’s–”

“Like you. I know,” you smile.

“Did– what would you like to do?”

“Can I see the computer where you first talked to me?”

“Um, yeah,” he walks down the hallway leaving you behind yet again, “it’s just in here.”

You shake your head and rise off the couch to follow, obviously he’s not used to company.

You walk into a small office, everything has a place, efficient and tidy, perfectly Din. Paperwork stacked in neat stacks, a calendar with his sharp writing all over it hung on the wall, today’s date circled with your name written in the box. 

A black monitor sits on a mahogany desk. 

“This is the computer, huh?” you ask, running your hands across the black keyboard,

“It is.”

“So this is where it all began? You sat there, clicked on my picture, and now look. I remember when I first heard your voice,” you face him taking both of his hands in yours, “it was so deep and warm, it lit something inside of me.”

You guide his arms to wrap around you, his hands rest on your lower back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our first session ended. There was something so pure and mysterious about you, I knew you weren’t lying about wanting to know. It wasn’t some kink you had, I knew you needed help. I felt lucky to be the one to show you.” 

He sighs as you rest your head against his chest hearing the rhythm of his heart. “I closed that window so many times before finally agreeing and joining. I-I kept on thinking about how I could talk to someone as beautiful as you, all it would take is just a click. You were so pretty.” 

“Just a click,” you whisper, craning your neck up as Din lowers his head. His nose bumps against yours, his plush bottom lip is captured between your lips, another part of him you’ve wanted to touch since you first saw him. You finally kiss him, sweet and tender, his lips molding to yours perfectly. He pulls you in closer, his tongue hesitantly dipping into your mouth as you lick against him. The past fifteen weeks have finally led to this moment inside of this old farmhouse office in the middle of nowhere. Your Din and his soft lips, tense hands against your back, your soft coos mingling with his low groans, you could stay in this moment forever, if it wasn’t for Din’s phone beeping in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulls away, a bashful smile adorns his face, “I need to go take care of the goats before sundown.”

“Of course.” 

He hugs you, planting a soft kiss against your forehead and inhaling your scent before leaving. He’s warming up…

___

Din loves soup. You know this by the nights you spend with him over the phone. The man eats soup almost every single night. Soup with bread, soup and a baked potato, soup and steak, soup, soup, soup. 

You can’t blame him, the stew and homemade rolls he serves you for dinner are delicious. He shyly tells you it’s his speciality when he places the porcelain bowl in front of you. 

You could get used to the farm life. A fire burns in the fireplace while the tv plays Din’s favorite movie he’s been wanting to show you, some film about a galaxy far far away and an unlikely hero. The man loves space. 

His arm slung across your shoulder lies heavily on you, warming you inside and out. Grogu sleeps on your lap, softly snoring as you pet his gray fur. Din occasionally sneaks a kiss against your hair, you don’t know if you’ve ever been more comfortable in your life. 

The movie ends, a grand symphonic score plays over the credits. 

“That was really good,” you smile towards Din. “I liked it.”

A grin slowly stretches across his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, thank you for showing me it.”

“You’re welcome,” he gazes at you, the same look he smolders through the phone, like he can’t believe his luck that you’re talking to him. 

You attempt to fight a yawn and lose. Your eyes blink tiredly at Din when he reaches and rubs his thumb against your cheek. 

“Did you want to,” he clears his throat, “sleep in my room with me tonight?”

“Only if you want me to Din.”

“I, uh, I do.”

“Okay, I’d like that.”

___

The airplane and long day washes off and rinses down Din’s shower drain. You use his washcloth and think of his hands touching you. You smell his soap and think of inhaling the scent as he holds you close. You don’t know what’s about to happen once you leave this room. If you’re this nervous, how does he feel? 

Din looks up from the book he’s reading and watches you step out of the bathroom shyly padding over and getting into bed.

“What are you reading?” you whisper.

“Some book about a cowboy warrior in space…”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s good.”

“You know,” you look around the simple bedroom, “I see this room all the time, but only the wall behind your bed, hardly anything else. It’s been really nice seeing more of your life.”

He nods, blinking back to his book. 

The night can’t end like this. 

You grab the book from his hands and place it on the table.

“What are you thinking about Din? I never know what’s going on inside of you.”

“H-how pretty you look wearing that.” 

You look down at the pink silk tank top and shorts and swallow down a smile. You specifically wore it because you know how Din’s eyes light up whenever you put it on. “It’s my favorite because it’s so soft. Do you want to feel it?” 

He turns to you wide-eyed and gives you a solitary nod. 

“Go ahead Din.”

His tan hand splays across your stomach, golden toned skin rests against the blushy silk of your tank.

“S’soft,” he murmurs to himself.

“Here,” you place your hand over his and press down, “really feel it.”

His eyes angle down watching your hand navigate his around your stomach to just below your breasts. His mouth sits slightly agape, thick brows furrowing in concentration as you slip his hand underneath the fabric, his trembling calloused fingers making contact with your skin. 

“Am I soft here Din?”

“Y-Yes,” he stammers. 

“Touch me, as little or as much as you want. Wherever you’re comfortable doing, okay?” you remove your hand from his. “I came here for you… whatever you want… I want..”

“I want to,” he gulps, “I want to touch you all over.”

“I’m all yours baby.” 

His shoulders deflate with a groan, he trails his hand higher to cup one of your breasts. The tips of his fingers peek out of the top of your tank. Tan, well worked strong hands lay against your smooth skin. The sight makes you moan, your teeth gnawing at your lip, trying to qualm the temptation to touch him further. 

“Take it off Din.” His dark brown eyes beam up to yours. “Go ahead baby.” 

He grabs the hem of your tank top, softly bundling it in his hands and lifting it over your head leaving you bare chested. 

“Kiss me and touch me baby,” you gently will. 

His lips form over yours, his hands return to your skin, petting and caressing your breasts before you cover them, pushing them farther down your stomach. His breaths quicken against your mouth when you slip his hands underneath the band of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” he pants against your lips when his hand meets the wetness seeping from your pussy. “Fuuuuuck.” 

“You feel me baby? That’s how wet you always make me, ever since the first time we talked and all you were was a black square with a sexy voice. It’s like we were destined in the stars.” 

“God damnit, you’re so soft,” Din’s hips buck into the air, his head thuds against the headboard when his thick finger slips in between your folds. “I-I-I oh god, I’m– I think I’m going to cum. I’m sorr–” 

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, cum for me.” Your hand reaches down and grips his hard cock through his black sweatpants. “Cum for me Din.” 

You feel a warm wet spot spread against your hand, pulling a moan from you.. 

“I’m--agh– sorry,” his big eyes stare at you, a hint of shame rounds them. “You feel so amazing.” He pulls his hand out of your shorts.

“No,” you whimper at the loss of contact. “I like it baby, I like that you like me so much that happened. Please don't apologize. Keep touching me if you want to. Do you?” 

“God,” his eyes shrink in determination, “yes I do.” 

“Okay baby.”

You sit in between his stretched out legs, lifting your hips to take off your shorts, spreading your legs wide, much the same way you do for your clients. 

He stares at your exposed skin, eyes mapping every dip, curve and dimple of your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you’re here… for me.”

“Of course I am baby.” 

His fingers trace the plains of your legs, moving their way up to your thighs. His face set in a determinative scowl, eyes fixated on your core as he inches closer to it, now aching and soaked for him. 

“I-I’ve never done this.”

“I know baby, you remember our first call?” 

He nods.

“Remember what I told you what I liked?”

Another nod.

“Do that for me baby, touch me. Make me feel good.” A thick finger meets your lips, tracing a line up from your entrance to your clit before softly rubbing a circle around your sensitive nub. He remembered.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes out, his eyes staying planted staring at your pussy beguiled by his own actions.

“I am Din, only for you. I think about you every time. I-I,” you moan when he sticks a finger inside, slowly pumping it in and out, “I only want you.” 

“Only want you too, baby. C-can I taste you?”

“Ye–oh my god, yes Din, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.” 

“I’m yours, anything you wa–”

“Sit on my face,” he growls. 

“O-of course.” 

You crawl towards him, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips before straddling his face, your dripping cunt hovers right over his mouth. He grips your ass and pulls you down, smothering himself with all of your slickness. You cover him like a mask, he worships your taste like a religion, moaning and groaning into your sweet pussy. Your praises about how good he’s doing and how amazing you feel incant out of your mouth as he takes you to paradise. Plush lips suck and savor you, your hands grip the bed frame like a precious artifact, his devotion to you and your pleasure pulls a melting orgasm from you. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pray at his altar, knees bowed and quaking against his ears as he drinks your offering down. You’re shattered, everything you’ve ever believed in replaced by Din and his idolatry of you. 

You move your lust drunk body off and lay down next to Din. His face shines with a gloss of you, his tongue peeks out and licks his lips, before sending you a shy smile.

“You’re amazing,” he incredulously mutters. 

“You are too,” a doting grin lights your face before pulling him in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, a moan leaves your throat at the realization. 

Strong arms envelop you, pulling you closer to him, his hard cock juts against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Already?” you pull back and tease. 

“C-can I feel you?” 

“Feel me?” 

“Yes, c-can I… can we….?”

A rush of anticipation thrums through your body at the implication of his nervousness.

“Yes Din, we can. Are you sure this is what you want tonight? We can wait.”

“N-no. I want you, I-I want this,” he moves his sweatpants down, kicking them off. 

“Okay baby, okay,” you kiss him, grabbing his face, petting the soft hair of his sparse beard.

He rolls on top of you, cradling your head between his strong forearms, a heated kiss licks into your mouth as his naked weight covers you. Your legs open in a silent offer for Din to take everything you have. You can just feel the heft of his cock ghosting against your entrance. 

He looks down at you, brown eyes wide, plush mouth parted, brows softened with adoration. 

You send him a silent nod and smile when his cock enters you, feeling a sense of honor that you’re the one Din has chosen for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The green accept button, the reserved man dressed in all black, the deep voice, the connection between two screens. Now, you’re here with Din, moaning and rolling your hips to accept the length of him.

His neck strains when he sheathes his cock fully inside of you, panting and groaning as he slowly rocks back and forth.

“You … feel … like … heaven… I love your pussy… I love your body…. I… love you.”

He freezes at the divulgence, body locked in shock at his slip. 

Your face lifts in a reassuring grin. “I love you too,” your hand grabs his chin, bringing his lips to yours. 

You love him, you’ve known it for so long, but here in this farmhouse bed you can hear it, you can feel it. 

Your bodies meld, hips meeting, lips locked, he gives you everything, you give him everything. Your pussy clenches around his slow, full strokes. This is making love. 

“Baby, I-I.. I’m going t–” he strains. 

“Go ahead Din, I got you.” Your hands trail up and down the expanse of his smooth back. He grunts, burying his head into the crook of your neck, fevered breaths hit your skin as his cum fills you.

He rolls off, pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your hair. 

“Wow… I.. are you okay?”

“What?” your head perks up.

“You didn’t… uh–”

“I did when you fucked me with your tongue Din, I’m very happy and satisfied.” 

“Oh, I just… I want to make sure you’re good.”

“Baby, I am very good. Trust me.” 

“I love you,” he breathes.

“I love you too Din…” you rest your head against his chest, the exhaustion of the day settling in, quickly lulling you to sleep. This is the way to go to bed.

___

The faint sound of running water gently rouses you from the most peaceful slumber you’ve had. The sun has barely peaked over the horizon, the room’s still shrouded in a lazy darkness. 

Din’s long sigh echoes against the tiles of the shower like a siren song. 

You pad out of bed toward the bathroom, pushing the door wide open. 

Your mouth drops at the sight ahead of you… Din’s muscular, toned golden body shines underneath a glistening sheen of water. He runs a gray wash rag across his stomach, the mop of dark, curly hair right underneath his hand beckons you to look farther down. You’ve seen him so many times before, almost every night, but this is the first time you’ve been able to see all of him in person. Din is a big man, his cock matches his stature. Just as long, just as broad, just as golden. God, he’s gorgeous. 

You knock on the doorframe catching his attention, surprise tensing across his whole body. 

“Good morning,” you purr, “can I join you?”

He nods, his cock grows visibly hard when you walk over and get in. The warm steam, Din’s naked body, and the smell of Din’s cedar body wash engulfs you, this is the way to wake up. 

“Mmm, the hot water feels good,” you sigh, leaning your head against his chest. Din’s cock rests heavily in between you, tempting you to touch it. “Want me to wash you?”

He groans a yes. 

“You can wash me too,” you propose, squeezing a dollop of body wash onto your palm, running it across your chest before leaving suds on your hands. “Go ahead Din.”

Drops of water land against your skin as his trembling hands slowly reach for your breasts. He massages and kneads, both palms laying against your tits, his touch turns more searing when your hands land on his chest, rubbing in the soap along the dusting of hair stretched across his broad body. 

Your nipples pebble under his nervous, firm touch and undivided attention. He hisses when your hands slink farther down, running across the damp curls of his happy trail leading you to his cock standing between his thighs, thick and dripping. You wrap a fist around his length, his knees weaken causing his body to smash against the wall, his face grimacing in pleasured agony.

“Fuck,” he pants, water rains down into his wide open mouth, splashing out with every exclamation of your name he repeats as he cums all over your stomach. 

Your tongue runs up the column of his neck to his mouth, swallowing his rapid breaths. 

“You feel so good against me,” he gasps against your lips. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I am baby, I am,” you coo, wrapping your arms around him, wishing you could live in this tiny shower forever. This is the way to wake up.

___

Din settles on the porch swing next to you, pulling your blanket wrapped body close to him. 

“Is this what you do every morning?” 

“Just about,” he says before taking a drink of his coffee. 

“It’s nice,” you yawn, “early but nice.” 

He chuckles, “You get used to it.” “Mm,” you rest your head on his chest, smelling the fresh dew and hay on his flannel jacket. 

“I really like you being here,” he softly says.

“I really like being here too.”

“You know,” he gulps, “you can do your job here… with me.”

___

A/N: Thank you for reading! This ending makes me feel:

[l0v3tast3]

pervy neighbor!toji headcanons !

toji sets his sights on you and just can't look away!

✎ tags: mdni!, smut, female reader, maybe tw for stepcest (toji dates your mom)?, age gap (reader is college age, toji is probably late-30's), kind of dubious consent, infidelity, loss of virginity, unsafe sex, kind of obsessive!toji, pet names, breeding kink, corruption kink, dacryphilia, reader definitely has daddy issues (but no daddy kink)

✎ word count: 5k words (might have gotten a little carried away. but it's proofread!)

✎ author's note: something about jjk characters makes me have the worst, filthiest thoughts i've ever had, but i'm not upset about it. also genuinely surprised that this turned out to be 5k words i thought it would be like 2k max ( 〃▽〃) . . . toji brings out the best and worst in me <3

masterlist | requests

♡ when toji first lays eyes on you, it's sick how fast he starts thinking dirty thoughts. your mother and you are his new neighbors, coming over to say "hi" and introduce yourselves. your mother looked to be around his age, while you looked like you were probably in college (she must have had you when she was young like he had with megumi), but the way you half-hid yourself behind your mom wasn't helping you look any older.

♡ your mom makes you introduce yourself to him and you do so shyly, calling him "mr. zenin", barely making eye contact with the man that was a full head and a half taller than you. he smiles down at you and sticks out his hand, and after a moment you shakily take it, his engulfing yours completely. he could easily pin down both your hands with one of his. hell, he could pin down your whole body with one of his hands. he lingers a little too long, and you retreat a little further behind your mom after he lets go, your face an adorable shade of red.

♡ toji only half-listens to your mother rambling on, mostly just staring at you and being grateful that his shirt was long enough to cover his boner. he tuned in when she talked about how you went to college but still lived with her because it wasn't far. he also listened to when your mother mentioned her job took her across the country or even out of it a lot of the time. oh, so many thoughts were already forming in his head. toji could get quite creative when he wanted to.

♡ he can tell your mom is attracted to him when she juts out her chest and mentions her deadbeat ex-husband more than once. so he exchanges numbers with her and flirts a little. he's a single man, what else is he to do?

♡ toji figures out that, by the grace of god it seems, your bedroom is the one with the window directly across from his, and you don't seem to realize that your pink lace curtains are see-through. it really just kept getting better for him, didn't it? he absolutely watches your silhouette of you changing, watching your little figure take your shirt and shorts off, imagining he was in the room with you. if he were there, he wouldn't have to watch you put on other clothes. he would take off your clothes for you, probably rip them a little too (on accident, of course). he would make sure you didn't put anything on for a good long time, except maybe some cute lingerie. or a collar.

♡ he takes the time to work up to dating your mom. toji's a patient man, he can wait to get his hands on you. distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? and the better he gets to know your mother, the better he gets to know you, too. oh, she raves about you, of course! a model student and such a good girl, never getting into any trouble, always focusing on your schoolwork. you graduated top of your class in high school, and were on track to do the same in college. her baby was basically a genius! toji's heart swelled to hear about just how much of a good girl you were.

♡ it's not long before he's at your dinner table with your mother and you and a wonderful home-cooked meal. the woman that he's supposed to be looking at luckily talks enough that she doesn't realize toji is staring at you the whole time. you practically squirm in your chair under his gaze, hardly saying a word unless you were spoken to. he asks you normal questions, like how's school going, oh you're in your last year? any plans after college? he loves hearing your meek voice stutter out your answers. your mom has to tell you to speak up and you get that cute redness in your cheeks again, raising your voice just the slightest bit. you still called him "mr. zenin", so he tells you to just call him toji. you nod, but you don't actually say his name after that.

♡ at the end of the meal, he of course insists on cleaning up himself, and he's in the kitchen with a grin when he hears your mother telling you to help him clean up. you mumble something he can't hear, and your mom responds with "he is not scary, now go help him!" and he laughs a little. he'll make sure you aren't scared of him for long.

♡ you shuffle in with a few more dirty dishes and place them next to the sink, then look around for something to do before awkwardly picking up a rag and starting to dry what he had already washed. after a little bit of silence, toji strikes up some friendly conversation. "so, are you really liking college? your mom has been telling me all about how well you're doing. she's always talking about how much of a good girl you are," he says. the way your face once again got red was something toji needed to see more often. you seem to stop dead in your tracks and malfunction a bit when he calls you a "good girl", and you stutter something like "uh, yeah, it's- it's been good. she... actually said all that?" he wants to feel how you'll clench around him when he calls you a good girl as you take his thick cock. "yeah, she did," he says with a chuckle. "what? does she not say it to you a lot?" you shake your head no. poor baby, no one was telling you how great of a job you were doing. toji will, though. he'll praise you all night long when you manage to fit all of him inside you.

♡ he starts coming over more after that. he notices that (when asked first) you start telling him more about your achievements in college, like when you ace an exam or your professors write good feedback on your essays. and of course, he's always there to tell you what a great job you did; sometimes he adds in the words "good girl", just for fun. he even starts getting little smiles out of you, tiny at first, but they started spreading to your pretty eyes not too long after. you even start calling him "toji", finally. his name sounds so good coming out of your mouth, he wants to hear you say it while he's got his head shoved between your squishy thighs.

♡ it takes months, months of toji jerking himself off to every filthy thought imaginable about you, months of getting you to warm up to him, months of convincing your mother that he really was into her. it all pays off when the worst storm of the season rolls in. it's around 10pm when your mom calls him from halfway across the country, worried about you because she heard about the storm. apparently, you'll "freak out" if the power goes out. you get paranoid easily, she says. toji tells her not to worry, he'll check on you. he grabs his keys and coat and is knocking on your door within two minutes, albeit drenched in rain water. he sees you peak around the curtain of the window next to the door before you open it, asking him what he was doing here. "your mom asked me to check on you. says you scare easy." she was absolutely right, but you still huffed indignantly.

♡ you let him in, of course, and ask him if he wants a change of clothes. you say your mom probably has some of her ex's old clothes lying around that might fit him. he says sure and asks if he could shower, too. you stutter out a "yeah" and lead him to the bathroom, showing him where the towels and soaps were, accidentally brushing against him in the tight space. he can feel how intense your heartbeat is, just for a second. it makes toji want to smooth his hands all over your body, dig into the knots in your back and make it slow before he raises it even higher. you scurry off to your moms room to find a change of clothes for him.

♡ it takes you awhile to dig out something that might fit him, a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. it takes you so long, in fact, that he's out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist, opening the door just when you're about to leave the clothes on the floor. he thinks your nose might actually start bleeding when you see him shirtless, and it's the cutest thing he's ever seen. part of him thinks it would be funny to just drop the towel, but you scare easy. you hand him the clothes and speed-walk to the living room before he can thank you.

♡ toji gets changed into the t-shirt that clings to his skin and the sweatpants that are loose but will definitely show the imprint of his dick as soon he sits down. luckily, your couch has pillows. he finds you in the living room, your legs curled up to your chest as you look through netflix for something to watch. he plops down right beside you, making sure to grab a pillow for his lap, putting a foot up on the coffee table. you ask him if he's staying, and he says of course, what if the power goes out? do you know how to use the circuit breaker? you say you sort of do. he clicks his tongue and declares he's staying. you just hand him the tv remote and tell him to choose something to watch. you always let him take the lead with everything.

♡ it takes a lot of back and forth of him teasing you for never knowing what to watch and you just repeating "just put on whatever you want!", and when you finally do decide on something, the power goes out. you let out a squeak and instinctively press yourself closer to him, but he's wrapping an arm around you and saying softly that it's alright, it'll come back on soon. he can see your worried expression from the streetlights shining in faintly, and he reaches up to lightly pinch your cheek, muttering that you're so cute like this.

♡ "you think- you think 'm cute?" you ask quietly, and he nods with a smirk. "mhm, think you're adorable. such a pretty girl," he says, leaning in just a little closer. his large hand that takes up half your face is in your hair now, tangling his fingers in it and playing with it a little. you're so warm, heating up the more he touched you. his other hand rubs your back, slowly going lower, inch by inch. he can see his touch having an effect on you, a very, very positive one. your breathing gets a little bit quicker. he can feel your heartbeat through your back.

♡ "think you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen." the hand on your back is coming back up, to your shoulder and grazing past your neck to cup the side of your jaw and stroke his thumb over your soft cheek. "do you not think you're pretty, baby?" you definitely notice the pet name, but you don't say anything about it, just look down and shake your head a little. "oh, princess, can't have that now." he guides your head back up to make you look at him again with wide eyes. "i can show you. you're gonna let me show you how pretty you are, right baby?"

♡ you give a tiny nod and he kisses you, and god, toji is in love with your lips. they're so soft and sweet, and he can't help but move a hand to the back of your neck to pull you in deeper, greedily swallowing the little noises you made. he finds it cute how you struggle to keep up with him, how a whimper escapes you when one of his overly-sharp canines catches your lip. he wants to mark you all over with them, claim every part of your body as his, listen to you yelp when he sinks them in almost too deep.

♡ toji draws away and laughs when you try to follow him, taking in your dazed look, red lips shiny with his and your spit and blown pupils. "aw, sweet girl, you already look so fucked out. haven't even done anything to you yet," he mumbles as he starts kissing down your jaw and around your neck. the pillow is gone and he's picking you up effortlessly to put you on his lap, facing him. he's obsessed with how small you are compared to him. you're trying so hard to hold back more noises, and your hands go to his broad shoulders, as if you were going to push him away (not that it would do anything, he's got an arm wrapped around your back now). but you don't, you just gasp out a whiny "what about my mom and you?" and he draws back a little to look you in the eye, lips hovering just over yours again. "'m just showin' you how pretty you are, baby. she doesn't appreciate you enough, does she? i can, so much better, princess. we can keep it secret, right?" he says, his voice low and rumbling and you look hypnotized.

♡ you nodded a little with an "mhm" and he smiles, kissing you again. he takes his time with you, as agonizing as it is, but he needs to work you open. your mom was going to be gone for another few days still, and he had already waited this long. when he pulled away again he went straight to kissing down the other side of your neck, using his hand still in your hair to move your baggy shirt to expose more skin. he uses the other one around your waist to press you into him a little more and down enough to feel his hard dick through your shorts and his pants. it forces a little gasp out of you and your grip on his shoulders tightens, balling his shirt. "toji, i've never- haven't done this before," you mumble. he knows, of course, he knew it from the start, could practically smell it on you.

♡ "'s okay, princess, i'll go slow. i'll be so gentle with you, promise," he mumbles into your skin, his hands all over your body, in your hair and on your back and your arms and under your breasts, over your stomach. it's almost overwhelming to you. his hands end up grabbing you under your thighs, just below your ass, and you let out a yelp and wrapped your arms around his neck tight when he stands up with you. "c'mon, baby, can't show you how pretty you are in here." he brings you to your room, glad to see there's a little bit of streetlight coming in too here. he sits down on the edge of your cushy bed with you still in his lap, lathering your collarbone with attention.

♡ his hands are rubbing your hips, edging underneath your shirt and pressing you down more and more against his aching cock. "feel how hard you get me, sweet girl? 's cause you're so damn cute," he breathes, and he's so happy when you start shakily grinding down against him, your legs spread so wide by his. he's been waiting for this for so fucking long, and now he's finally in your room, finally inching your shirt over your head for you. toji's scar stretches with his smile when he sees you aren't wearing a bra, and he catches the arm that tries to cover yourself up. "mm-mm, princess, gotta see all of ya." he puts your hand back on his shoulder and uses his to grope the tit he's not sucking and nipping and licking at. your body twitches and a dainty hand goes to his hair, and you're finally moaning for him, whimpering his name when he tugs a little too hard with his teeth.

♡ the power comes back on on it's own just as your nipples are starting to get sore, your fairy lights taped around the edge of the ceiling lighting the room up with a soft glow. toji detaches himself from you and smiles. "can finally fuckin' see ya again, 'bout time," he mumbles, going right back to what he was just doing. you whine and your grip on his hair and shoulder get a little bit tighter, but his hands don't let you move in any direction except closer to him. he keeps going, too busy thinking about how gorgeous your tits will look when they're swollen with milk, how sweet they already are and how much sweeter they will be, until you tug on his hair a little and say his name between sharp breaths. he finally lets up and his hands go to your waist and hips.

♡ he helps guide you while you grind down on him, just taking in how you close your eyes and let out sweet little gasps whenever he bumps your clit through your shorts and underwear. "gonna let me take these off of ya, sweet girl?" he murmurs, his hands massaging your thighs and ass, waiting impatiently for you to nod again before he picks you up again and lays you down on your bed. he's just glad it's a queen size; enough space for him to fuck you most ways he wants.

♡ he follows your shorts and underwear down your legs with his mouth, committing all your embarrassed squeaks to memory. you try to close your legs once he has everything off but of course he doesn't let you. toji's smile doesn't leave his face while he's taking your thighs in his hands to spread them apart, leaving one to smooth a hand over your belly. "prettiest girl i've ever fuckin' seen," he says again, watching his hand go to spread your little pussy apart. his thumb grazes your clit and your hips jerk and he laughs. "so damn sensitive. never had anyone down here, baby, not even to eat this pretty pussy out?" you can't even look at him when you shake your head. if it's possible, his dick gets even harder. "good. dumbass frat boys couldn't ever do it like i can."

♡ once toji finally gets his mouth on your soaked cunt he doesn't think he's capable of stopping. you're practically dripping onto the bed, and he's there to lick every drop up, swallowing it happily and coaxing as much more as he can out of you with his tongue. your body is already writhing, you already have your hands in his hair, you're already crying out for him, and he's in a state of euphoria.

♡ he stops for a moment and you're about to ask what's wrong before he's muttering about how the bed is "too damn short" and you're being dragged down to the edge. your noise of surprise turns into a gasp when he starts sucking on your clit again, now kneeling on the floor. toji throws your legs over his shoulders and holds down the top of one to keep you in place, his other hand coming back to your pussy. his middle finger is slowly sinking into you and he moans into you when he feels how tight you are; his hand is never going to be enough to get himself off after this. when he starts working in a second finger you cum; you can feel it everywhere in you, taking over your body and your head (you think you may get addicted to this, to toji doing this to you).

♡ of course, toji doesn't stop after you've cum once. he gives you a little break, despite being so close to breaking himself. he's so close to letting himself loose on you, so close to digging his fingers in just bit too hard and sinking his teeth in too deep. somehow, he manages to just rub your hips and nip at your inner thighs. you mewl out his name and try to pull him back up to you but he doesn't budge, instead laughing and shaking his head. "not yet, princess, you're still way too tight." he pushes two fingers back in, his mouth hovering back over your clit. "wouldn't want to rip you in half, would we?" you stopped listening the second he started back up on your still-sensitive clit, throwing your head back and grabbing his hair again. "ah-h, toji, wait-!" he wasn't listening either.

♡ he doesn't let up until he makes you cum with three fingers (twice) and you're nearly crying from overstimulation. the only words you seem to be able to form at this point are "toji" and "please", and toji thinks this is his new favorite version of you. eventually, when he runs out of patience and he deems that it won't hurt that much, he finally lets you come down from the high he'd kept you on. he leaves one more mark on your thigh before he stands up to strip himself down quick, releasing a breath of relief when his aching cock is finally freed.

♡ it takes a moment for toji to decide how to take you. in all the months he waited and thought about this, he never could decide on this part. he would have you ride him, if your legs weren't still shaking. he decided to just say "fuck it" and go with missionary; easier to see your cute expressions like that. toji moves you back up the bed and climbs over you, smiling and cooing down at your watery eyes and his favorite shade of red painting your skin. he wraps your legs around your waist and brings his hands to cup your face again.

♡ "aw, what's wrong, baby? you were beggin' me for somethin' just a minute ago, what was it? hm, princess? c'mon, use your words." you mumble out a little "please", and toji shakes his head. "'please' what? you want more, 's that what you're tryin' to say? c'mon baby, tell me you want more," he says, one of his huge hands grabbing your jaw, putting the lightest amount of pressure on it. your eyes widen a bit and you nod, squeaking out a "more, toji, please!" and his cheeks start to hurt from how wide his smile grows.

♡ he took a moment to appreciate the view of his dick resting heavy on your stomach, a before-shot of how deep he'll reach inside of you. his head came to just below your belly button; toji could have came just from that. he notices you're still just looking at him and he takes one of your hands and wraps it around his cock for you, and you finally look down at it. he wishes he could take a picture of your face, it's both hilarious and incredibly cute. "toji, 's not- not gonna fit," you mumble as he moves your hand up and down it. he laughs a little. "we'll make it fit, princess, don't worry." he's gathering both your hands now in one of his and pinning them over your head. "it'll only hurt for a minute, then it'll feel so good, baby, i promise. not gonna want me to ever stop." toji rubs his dick through the folds of your pussy, covering it in your own arousal, his head brushing your clit and making you whine. "all ya gotta do is lay here all pretty and take it for me, you can do that, right baby? i know you can, bein' such a good girl for me." you're melting and practically dripping from his words and he lines his head up to start pushing into you.

♡ your hands squeeze his just about as tight as your tiny pussy does around the head of his cock once it pops in. toji kisses you and moans while you gasp, and he pushes in a little more, and you already feel like this would be enough. he's so thick; his fingers had felt so big to you, but now that just made you feel dumb. he draws back an inch just to push in two more and your legs are tightening around his waist. you're making cute little noises while he pushes your jaw up to mark more of your neck. he's everywhere, surrounding your entire body with his, not giving you an inch to move. you feel him everywhere, inside and out, and he's so deep inside you, and he still has a couple inches to go.

♡ his hips finally meet your thighs and toji thinks he's found heaven. he was so elated to have you how he wanted you, ecstatic that his months of work had finally paid off. he stops sucking on your neck to come nose-to-nose with you, his hold on your jaw loosening so he could thread his hand through your hair. "ohh, fuck, pretty girl, you're doin' so fuckin' good, bein' such a good girl for me," he breathed with a smile and hooded eyes. "does it hurt, princess? 'm sorry, it'll go away soon, baby, i promise. gonna feel so good in a minute. feels so good around me, so much better that i ever thought- shit, baby," he chokes out a moan when you're squeezing even tighter around him and you whine, trying to move your hips to get him to move.

♡ he starts moving, and he swears he tries to go slow, but it admittedly doesn't take long before he's really fucking you. "takin' it like a fuckin' champ, baby, my god. feels so fuckin' good. never leavin' this pussy, fuckin' never, princess. hah, sweet girl, don't squirm so much, how am i supposed to find all your good spots like that? that's it, baby, just take it for me. such a good fucking girl." his mouth gets filthy and it just doesn't stop running while he fucks any air and any thoughts out of your body. he's too deep, there's too much of him but it's so good that you just don't care. it's so much better than you thought it would be, toji makes it so much better than you thought it would be.

♡ you cum before long and he fucks you through it, holding your jaw to keep eye contact with you the entire time, obsessed with the tears threatening to fall from your wet lashes. he slows down as you come down and you think he's mercifully giving you a break when he pulls out, despite your cry of protest that he wants to make his ringtone. then he's picking you up and standing up with you to sit in front of your floor-length mirror with your back to his chest. "don't ya remember, baby? i gotta show you just how pretty you are," he says in your ear as he digs his hands into your hips and ass tight enough that there will definitely be bruises, but he's lining you up and pushing you down on his cock before you can whine about it. you're clawing at his arms and reaching behind you to grab his hair while he keeps sinking you down, and he watches with a salacious grin.

♡ "see, princess, see how pretty you are? bouncin' up and down on my cock like you were fuckin' made for it, you were, weren't you? fuckin' perfect fit. you look so perfect taking my cock, such a pretty girl. prettiest fuckin' girl i've ever seen. no, no, don't look away baby, watch how good you take my dick inside your tiny little pussy. that's it, princess. this pussy is mine now, right, baby? right? yeah, all mine now. gonna ruin you for any other man on the fuckin' planet."

♡ you came again and toji wasn't far behind you after that, practically using you like a toy at this point. you did your best to cling to him, but the only thing you could do in his hold was to watch and feel his fat cock bullying in and out of your pussy. babbles and moans were all you could manage now, and the only thing that would have made toji happier was if he had his phone in his hands to record it. he'd have plenty of chances later, anyways.

♡ "gonna let me cum in your pretty pussy, baby? aww, hah, too cock drunk to speak, huh? did i fuck you dumb already? mm, like you like this a lot, princess. so sweet for me. i'll fill you up with my cum as a reward, how's that sound? ha! your pussy likes that idea! squeezin' me so damn tight, you like that idea, don't you pretty girl? ohh, just be good and take it, just like that baby."

♡ he slams you down all the way on his cock and wraps his arms around you, grinding up into you hard, and you feel your belly get warm and somehow you feel even more full. you go limp against him, closing your eyes and whimpering with every twitch of his hips. it's just the mix of your heavy breathing for a few moments before toji's sitting back up from curling you both forward, looking in the mirror again.

♡ "aww, c'mon baby, you're letting it all leak out," he says, his voice gravelly and a bit heavier than before. when you don't open your eyes fast enough, his hand is in your hair and pulling it to make you look at where his cum is leaking out of you around his cock. and he's still hard.

♡ "guess i'll just have to fill you up again to make up for it, huh, pretty girl?"

[faefictions]

Snow in Indiana

Eddie Munson x Reader

5.7k words

Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most

Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)

“Dear Eddie, 

Does it Snow in Indiana?” 

He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time. 

“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.” 

Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well. 

“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.” 

Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles. 

When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes. 

He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends. 

That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years. 

The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day. 

Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up. 

At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore. 

He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now. 

He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account. 

He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion. 

“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”

He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain. 

Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner. 

You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching. 

“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.

“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold. 

“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper. 

“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way. 

Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office. 

“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?” 

“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room. 

“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.” 

“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.” 

“Used to be your grandma’s house?”

“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.” 

“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?” 

“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.” 

Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you. 

“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.

Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left. 

“Any luck with that address?”

“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.” 

“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”

You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place. 

Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.” 

You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice. 

“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.” 

He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind. 

Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on. 

Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van. 

“Left out of the lot?” 

“Yeah,” you smiled. 

“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”

“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.” 

The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him. 

“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet. 

“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh. 

It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow. 

“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door. 

“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.” 

“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”

“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”

“Long trip?”

“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”

“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”

You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van. 

“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging. 

“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, where is it?”

“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”

“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it. 

He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat. 

“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face. 

“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize. 

“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”

You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment. 

“Everything ok?” 

He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. 

“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”

“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought. 

But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky. 

“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving. 

“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.” 

“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy. 

“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.” 

“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”

“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.” 

Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it. 

“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so. 

“That good huh?” you laughed. 

“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”

“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.” 

You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”

“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”

“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.” 

You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie. 

“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you. 

“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.” 

“They wouldn’t be mad at you.” 

“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process. 

“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.” 

“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.” 

“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke. 

“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”

“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face. 

“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”

You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side. 

“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma. 

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house. 

“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you. 

“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.” 

“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”

“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.” 

“Want me to come in with you?”

“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.” 

“Have you ever lost anyone before?”

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him. 

“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.” 

You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head. 

Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way. 

The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long. 

You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him. 

“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.”

“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more. 

“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”

“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal. 

“Someone back home?”

“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall. 

He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much. 

He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face. 

“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.” 

He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding. 

“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”

He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded. 

“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.

Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes. 

“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”

“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard. 

He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“I told you she’d like it here” 

A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it. 

“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking. 

“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped. 

“What?”

“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke. 

He nearly panicked as he tried to reply. 

“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn’t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment. 

“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch. 

“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”

“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”

“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”

“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions. 

Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought. 

“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it. 

“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”

“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”

“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself. 

“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb. 

And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away. 

It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you. 

“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth. 

“I am now.”

(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )

@embrace-themagic @fanficparker  @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3 @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @whenshelanded @starlitlakes @witchwolflea @ali-r3n @g0thdraculaura @celestcies

[ineffabildaddy]

i have waited

(crowley pov poem - warning for suggestive content!)

-

I have waited for you, angel

As woman, as man

As both, sometimes

Red-lipped and hard as anything

Or a drag of lace under gathered breeches

Dew-flecked with my cloudbursts of want

I have waited as neither, a blank page

Fluttering in the breeze from the open window

While you dip your pen in your inkwell

I have waited for you, angel

As a young girl shuns the sunshine of an August afternoon

To sit by the phone until it rings three times

Or, indeed, until darkness falls at last

I have waited for you like an old man

Longing for a death which refuses to come

He sits on park benches and wonders

How he must endure the commotion of life

Just when his soul has found quiet

I have waited for you, angel

As an ocean wave

Which suddenly knows it shall dissolve into foam

Crashes harder than intended on the sand at the prospect of it

I have waited for you

In taverns, coffee houses, glittering ballrooms

In bookshops, in bookshops, in bookshops

On faded rugs and felt-covered armchairs

I have waited with the patience required to finish a Tolstoy

And the hunger that stabs as one devours a great mystery

I have waited for you, angel

Under the stars on a clear night

Thighs trembling around my own crooked fingers

I have waited for you, also

In the solace of my bedchambers

Twisting silk sheets across my chest

So they might soothe the ache beneath my ribs

I have waited for you, angel

In the lodging rooms of country inns

Even as I land face first on a bed of straw

And bend my knees before a brooding stranger

I have waited for you, angel

At the courts of countless monarchs

Arching my back like a good mistress

As one man pulls at the string of my corset

And another knocks over his silver chalice

I waited for you, angel

In a Soho pub over bottles of Talisker

A book by my side, kept as a souvenir

I waited for you, again

One elbow leaning on the Bentley

My glasses fogging up as you retreated one last time

I have waited for you, angel

Since before the stars began

Since the world was merely a funny idea

Which made cherubs giggle and archangels whisper

I have waited for you, angel

For years beyond counting

I can wait a little longer

You know where I am

-

thank you so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are endlessly treasured<3

also available to read on ao3 here!

this work is a gift for @foolishlovers and @omens-for-ophelia <3

tagging the usual suspects: @bowtiepastabitch @sabotage-on-mercury @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @tangerine-ginger @greenthena @and-his-hands-were-24-crows @amagnificentobsession @iammyownproblematicfave @ineffable-rohese @cottagecore-raccoon @crowleyholmes @createserenity @queer-reader-07 @nimbusalba @adverbian @ingenio-ira

pls let me know if u want to be added or removed from my taglist!

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY 

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

A Pair Made in The Pits

Falling Behind Pt. 3- TFP Megatron x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.5

A/n: Thank you all, once again for your patience and understanding on the time it took for this chapter's release. It was hard to find time to write between multiple ER visits and the passing of my dog, but I was finally able to finish it up! I hope you all enjoy, and I would love to hear your thoughts. WC: 7099

And thank you to @callsign-relic for allowing me to commission her beautiful work for my story's cover art! You always make amazing pieces!

Warnings: Torture, cursing, Starscream and Megatron being a dick, and deprecation. If I've missed anything, please let me know

Y/n wasn’t sure as to how one of the Autobots- probably Optimus- had returned her car to her driveway, but she wasn’t complaining. She did, however, inwardly groan over the fact she forgot to turn off her 6am alarm after all of yesterday’s excitement, especially after the awful sleep she had. Y/n’s mind kept her up all night, the voices of anxiety now practically screaming that something was wrong- that something wrong was done. And it wasn’t until she had finally gotten to sleep did it feel that seconds later her alarm was blaring in her ear. 

Getting up, against the wants of her body, Y/n slowly makes her way to her kitchen, debating whether or not she wants coffee or tea to start her morning. Looking in her fridge and seeing a lack of milk, the decision is easily made and she fills her kettle with water and begins preparing the steeper and getting the oolong out of the cabinet. However, before being able to take the first sip, the sound of the rumbling and then resounding hiss of a semi coming to a stop. Taking a look outside her living room window, there sits Optimus, waiting for Y/n to come outside, presumably to go back to the base.

“Shit.” Y/n groans, rubbing the bridge of her nose, wondering if the kids are also being ushered out of the house this early. 

Pouring her tea into a travel tumbler, Y/n scurries around her house to take a quick shower and get changed into a black blouse tucked into a midi, and finishing it off with a pair of booties. She applies some makeup and practically runs out the door, grabbing a random book on the way. 

“... Good morning, Optimus.” The passenger side door pops open and Y/n quickly climbs in and makes herself comfortable. The woman gives an airy laugh while fiddling with her hair, “I didn’t expect you so soon, I had to rush around to get ready.”

“Good morning, Y/n. I apologize- I did not mean to rush you, though it may be best to get back to the base sooner than later.” The cab hums with his response- even if Y/n hadn’t been inside, she was sure she would have felt the baritone vibrations nonetheless. 

The drive back was long and quiet, much like last night. Taking a sip of her tea, Y/n finally looks down at the book, and it takes all of her restraint not to spit it out onto his dashboard. What looks back up at Y/n is a sweaty, shirtless cowboy and the title ‘Ride into My Heart Like a Stallion’. A gag gift given to them by their friend half-way across the country, of which Y/n never intended to touch, let alone read. Y/n couldn’t help but truly consider the pros and cons on whether or not she could just chuck the book, but she knew it would drag up more questions if she just threw the book out the window, so she simply crossed her arms over it and hoped that no one would ask her about it throughout the day. 

“Y/n?”

Snapped out of her thoughts, Y/n looks over to the head unit of the dash, not entirely sure where to look before responding, “Sorry, it seems I was lost in my own thoughts.”

“I was asking if you needed to stop anywhere before heading back to base? We do not have much for humans at this moment.”

“Oh um, no, I’m alright. I have my tea and a book, and I’m sure the children will be able to keep themselves occupied as well. I’m not completely familiar with the boys, but Miko will most assuredly be fine; give that girl a pencil, paper, and something of interest, she’ll be kept busy for a while.” Y/n laughs to herself for a moment, though a worried expression passes over her face, “She’s a creative girl, but I worry about her being lonely. Her host parents aren’t used to her, and she doesn’t really have any friends at the school. I think, despite the rather strange circumstances, that perhaps being with you all may be good for her.”

“You seem to care for them well. Do you have sparklings of your own?’

“Sparkl- oh, Children? No no no. I don’t have any- um- sparklings. Closest thing I hope to get to that is Miko. I haven’t figured out my own grievances in this world, and it wouldn’t feel right to bring life into a world where your own quotemate may be a cruel joke.”

“A quotemate?”

Y/n takes a deep breath through her nose and casts her eyes to the ceiling of Optimus’ cab, trying to come up with a succinct explanation to the complex system that not even humanity has completely figured out, “Well, a quotemate is someone you are connected to. In the simplest of terms, your quotemate is the person who is supposed to protect, love, and stand beside you. And the way you find them is a quote that appears on one of your wrists- hence, ‘quotemate’. There’s a few more details, but that’s the gist of it.”

“We had a similar- but not very common- phenomenon on Cybertron, however, we call our fated ones ‘sparkmates’.”

“It’s a much prettier word than our species’. Why sparkmates?”

“Your kind call them hearts; we call it a Spark. It contains our life force and our memories. And in the case of the ones in which we are destined, they are our other half and thus hold the other half of our spark. Those of our kind who have a sparkmate were encouraged and expected to cherish and hold them dear.” Optimus’ cab is silent for a moment for a moment, “Though, after the start of the war, people began dreading hearing the words engraved on their frame, fearing their other half would be on the other side of the battlefield.”

“...Do you have a sparkmate, Optimus?” Another hum runs through the cab, before turning into the slightest chuckle.

“I do. He’s not the easiest mech to get along with, but I would never have made it as long as I have without him.” The bot’s facial feature may not be present, but Y/n can easily imagine the fond, endearing smile that would have otherwise found itself on the large mech’s lips. “I will be forever grateful for Ratchet’s undying support.”

“Ratchet?!” Once the statement sets in, Y/n’s head whips from the ceiling of the cab to the center dashboard at the revelation.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I haven’t spent much time around Ratchet, but he’s not the most- how do I put this- welcoming?”

“I will admit Ratchet is wary about the involvement of you and the children, but he will not cause you harm.”

“OH! Oh no- I- I didn’t mean to- to imply that he- I know Ratchet wouldn’t hurt the children! He just visibly doesn’t seem to like us.” Waving her hands in denial, Y/n scrambles to fix the miswording of her statement, but it doesn’t seem Optimus was too worried about the misunderstanding.

“Give Ratchet time, he will adjust. I have no doubt you both will get along with time.”

“You’re right- after all, we all will be spending much more time with each other. I look forward to getting to know all of you.” She smiles, glad to know Optimus, and likely the rest of them will take good care of the kids and herself. Maybe she would be able to pick Ratchet’s mind at some point for information about the anatomy or history of the Cybertron people.

*       *       *       *       *       *

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” This is not what the young woman had hoped would be, quite literally, crawling around the base, but she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the thing that Ratchet had just squashed, “I hope to hell and back that is not what you people consider some kind of bug!”

“No, Y/n. I’m afraid this may be the effects of dark energon.” Though Optimus’ voice is normally quite dark, Y/n could easily pick up on the deep worry that whatever this ‘dark energon’ brings, means nothing good will come of its arrival in the base. “ Seeing as it has some of the residue Arcee found on Cliffjumper, it would stand to reason that it was what brought both your equipment to life and Cliffjumper back from the dead.”

“It would answer the question as to why Cliffjumper’s life signal came back online, but dark energon, Optimus? It’s such a scarce material- it’s virtually nonexistent. Why would it be on this rubbish planet?”

“May I interject?” Both bots turn their attention to the woman they had evidently forgotten was there- one much more open to the interruption than the other. “Um- may I ask what energon is? I thought you said your people’s Allspark was made of it, so why would it attack Ratchet? ”

At the question, Ratchet scoffs and begins running diagnostics on the squished piece of equipment that previously housed some of this energon stuff. His blatant display of annoyance was no less irritating than it was yesterday, but not only did Y/n not want to start some sort of argument with Optimus’ sparkmate, it also wouldn’t get them anywhere, so she would refrain from mouthing off to the condescending mech. At some point, she was going to have to have a one on one conversation with Ratchet about speech behavior and ways to go about explaining things without making the rest of the room feel as if they’re a massive inconvenience, but now was not the time- no matter how tempting it was to tell him to shove his opinions up his tailpipe. 

“Energon is the lifesource of our people. Dark energon is something that can give life-” Optimus gestures towards the mangled metal, “- but the cost is great. Not much is known about it, as Ratchet stated- dark energon is a rare commodity, but it is not something to underestimate, hence why I believe Megatron is the reason why it has found its way to this planet’s surface.”

Both Y/n and Ratchet look at Optimus, almost in synch, “But why?”

“To conquer this planet by raising an army of the undead.”

“Where would he find that many Cybertronian dead, Optimus? It’s not like Megatron is going to just stumble on a burial ground on this planet.” At least the sass Ratchet displays isn’t always just directed at any human- his leader isn’t even exempt from the proverbial lashings of the team’s medic, though Y/n supposes that may have something to do with them being connected.

Before Optimus could answer, his thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of the rest of the Autobots’ alt-modes. Upon stopping, each kid hops out of their respective guardian, having obviously come from some kind of fun. Looking at her phone, Y/n realizes that it's still a little early in the day, so she is a tad surprised they woke up this early on a Saturday, but she’s glad to see all of them having fun and maybe even bonding with their new companions. Seeing Bulkhead awkwardly handing Miko her electric guitar, she already has a feeling the girl will be putting on at least one show while they are at the base, knowing the acoustics are much too tempting for the girl to not play at least one song. 

“Autobots, remain here. Ratchet and I will be outside of communications range for some time, so I’m putting you in charge.” Optimus give his orders 

“Optimus, with all due respect, playing bodyguard is one thing, babysitting is another.” The sight of Jack scoffing and rolling his eyes at her wording is easy to see- any kid his age wouldn’t like the idea of being babysat, even if it was by an alien robot. The femme crosses her arms before gesturing towards the medic, “Besides, Ratchet hasn’t been in the field since the war.”

“My pistons may be rusty, but my hearing is as sharp as ever!” Ratchet’s call from his computer forces a laugh barely covered by a cough from Y/n, which she quickly mouths a ‘sorry’ when he shoots her a look. 

“For the moment, it is only reconnaissance.” Optimus tries to assure the smaller bot, but both Arcee and Y/n could smell the bullshit from a mile away.

“Then why do I hear an edge in your voice?” 

At her continued questioning, Optimus pauses and furrows his brows, “Arcee, much has changed in the past 24 hours. We must all learn to adapt.” Before she could get another word out, he turns to Ratchet, “Ratchet, bridge us out.”

And with just a few steps, they were gone.

“Okay chief, so, uh, what’s on the activity list?” Jack looks up to his mechanical guardian only to be met with a scowl.

“If I’m not mistaken, Jack, you should have some schoolwork to do. Why don’t we give them a break from whatever activities they treated you to this morning?” Y/n smiles at the kids, trying to give the Autobots a needed time off from their newly appointed roles as guardians. “Miko, you can practice some of your guitar and then start on some of your work, and Raf, I’m not sure of your schoolwork load, but I suggest you start on any work you may have.”

“Yes ma’am.” All three kids say, some more begrudgingly than others, all while setting up for whatever they are to get done.

“Good, I’m going on Patrol. Bee, you’re with me.” Arcee makes her way to the tunnel, ready to go out.

“But Optimus told us to stay here.” Bulkhead brought up the leader’s orders before almost immediately being shot down. 

“When Optimus puts you in charge, you can call the shots.” With that, both Arcee and Bee transform and are down in the tunnel in seconds, leaving the kids, Y/n, and Bulkhead left.

“So, uh, what’s on the activities list?” Bulk turns, seeing Miko plugging in her guitar to the amp, the feedback forcing everyone to cover their ears.

“Band practice, anyone?” After a moment of silence, she turns to the younger boy, “Come on, Raf. You play anything?”

“Um… Keyboard?”

“Laptop and samples-”

Y/n smiles and shakes her head, glad to see the kids are getting along before opening her book and tea thermos, taking a seat near Ratchet’s computer stand so as to not get in the kids’ way. She never planned on reading this kookie book her friend sent her, but it was either the book or be subjected to joining Miko’s makeshift band after an already hectic week.

“Y/n, are you joining?”

“Nah, I’m good with just listening, Miko. You know I prefer listening to you play.” Shooting the girl a smile and thumbs up, she returns to the downright awful writing of this cowboy love story. Y/n has to go to the bookstore at some point to send an equally bad book. Maybe a silly alien romance book- forbidden love. They’ll be rolling on the floor at the concept. 

As the woman chuckles to herself, the familiar green lights from yesterday start blaring, letting them know Agent Fowler had returned. Bulkhead rushed the kids to hide behind his pedes and Y/n didn’t want to risk being seen running over, so she kept her spot under Ratchet’s computer and motioned to the kids to stay quiet just as the elevator door opened.

“Prime? Prime!” Y/n couldn’t see the man, but she could tell that he must still be on the platform, since she could no longer hear his footsteps. Just like yesterday, he did not sound happy.

“Agent Fowler, uh, he’s not here. Nobody’s here! … except me, of course.” The green bot chuckles awkwardly, and Y/n silently groans- this mech is going to get them all caught if his nerves take over. 

“Well, where is he? Wait, let me guess-” as Fowler rants and raves he must have started to move because Bulkhead begins taking steps to keep the kids out of sight. However, his movements and the cable to Miko’s guitar don’t seem to be mixing well, from the way Y/n sees Miko nearly fall, only for the boys to catch her. But the slight fall was enough for the guitar to send sound through the amp, she just hopes that it wasn’t enough to break the man from his tirade.

“Since when are you bots electric?” Fowler questions and Y/n is pleading for whatever deity that may be listening to grant Bulkhead the ability to come up with some kind of lie, but the kids beat him to it.

“Hi. We’re… interns! Earning extra credit in auto shop.” Jack awkwardly smiles, hoping his lie is bought.

“Alright. Let’s move. I’m taking all three of you into federal custody.” Hearing his footfalls on the metal stairs, Y/n makes her way over, picking up a piece of the squashed robot from earlier that Ratchet must have missed. 

“Over my dead body.” She holds up the metal piece like a makeshift bat, more than ready to take a swing.

“Woah there. By the stripes of Uncle Sam’s shorts, ma’am, put the weapon down. I’m just going to take you and these kids to-” Taking a step back, Agent Fowler puts his hands up to show he didn’t mean any harm, only to be cut off by the woman again.

“Nowhere. You are taking these kids nowhere. Optimus has promised protection for these kids and like hell will I allow some random ass man, trusted government agent or not, to touch a hair on these kids’ heads, let alone take them anywhere.” Y/n takes a look behind her, and in seeing the kids looking between Y/n and Fowler apprehensively, she drops the metal to her side, not letting go in case something goes awry, “… I will go with you, if it will get you to leave.”

“What?!” Miko shrieks, coming to hold onto the sleeve of Y/n’s blouse, making her briefly glance back before bringing her attention back to Agent Fowler, ”You can’t go with him! He-”

“Bulkhead, get Miko.”

“Uh I don’t-”

“Get her now, Bulkhead. She is your ward, act like it.” She shoots the metal giant a glare, watching as he finally picks the girl up, not that she went peacefully.

“No! Put me down, Bulk!” Miko thrashes in his hold as Y/n walks towards Fowler.

“Let’s go have a conversation with whomever your boss is, shall we? I’m sure I can convince them that leaving these children in Optimus’ care is the best course of action.” She grins at the man as she passes him on the way to the elevator, a grin that holds a level of malice that makes Fowler nearly let the woman just stay instead of getting in the confined space of his helicopter.

But only nearly.

“And I know that my superiors will have all of you in custody.” He grabs her elbow and finishes leading her up the steps and into the elevator. Both adults could hear Miko screeching in Bulk’s grasp, threats and complaints that turned to pleading the closer Y/n got to that elevator. Y/n didn’t say anything. She didn’t look back. But with every step she took, her heart squeezed with each scream from the girl. It isn’t until they get onto the elevator and the doors close that the tension from her shoulders ease and the breath escapes her. 

“Is that so? I’d say if your superiors are as weak-willed as you, I’ll be back before it’s time for the kids to be back home.” She doesn’t bother looking over at the man, not even as he mumbles something about respect and ‘women and alien robots being the problem with his blood pressure’. 

Before long, the elevator comes to a creaky stop and the doors open to reveal the orange hue of the rock the base is hidden under and a view that, under different circumstances, would be quite gorgeous, especially with the breeze taking away from the baking early fall sun. A few feet away lies the helicopter Agent Fowler presumably arrived in earlier. The reality of the past ten minutes was setting in with each step they took towards the vehicle and while Y/n absolutely would have stood up for those kids again in a heartbeat, maybe she wouldn’t have given herself as collateral quite as quickly. 

“Get comfortable, it’s gonna be a long 5 hour flight.” Tired of his hold on her arm, Y/n pulls herself away before scrambling up into the body of the helicopter, grimacing at her lack of grace. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll be providing in-flight snacks. After all, you seem to have such star spangled hosting skills.” She adjusts herself in the passenger seat, and never in her wildest days would she ever thought she would hope and pray for a vehicle to turn into a giant robot and prevent her from being sent to a government facility, but here she sits- hoping for just that.

“Are you going to be pushing my buttons this entire flight, or will I have an ounce of peace on the way to the Pentagon?” Fowler pulls himself up, lacking his own grace and nearly falling face first into his seat, forcing a snort to come from Y/n.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to send me back to the base.” The suggestion brings out a laugh of Fowler’s own, no other answer needed nor given. Starting up the chopper, he glances over to ensure the straps were done properly before handing a set of headphones to Y/n, before the sound of the blades becomes too loud.

Finally, the vehicle lifts off the ground and the flight to Washington D.C. begins, making Y/n wonder if she could properly time being over one of the larger ‘islands’ of sandstone littering the Nevada desert to jump out of the copter, but deigns it too risky to attempt. While she’s turning over possible solutions in her head, Fowler rings his boss, “Sir, Agent Fowler. We have a situation. I’m en route from the autobot base. I’ll brief you in person.”

Choosing to save her breath, Y/n continues looking out the window of her side of the vehicle, noting the sun ebbing its way closer to being at its highest point. That was one thing she hated about this area, while she found the landscape to be gorgeous, it quickly became boring seeing the exact same hues of orange, yellow, brown, and the occasional reds. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes after Fowler informed his boss of his location that the sonar built into the dashboard started beeping with an icon flashing on the screen, getting closer to the center of the sonar’s radius. 

“I am begging you to tell me that is either a big bird or a friend.”

“What in Uncle Sam’s beard-” Looking up from the dashboard, Y/n sees some kind of drone flying right at them and lets out a shout, pushing the steering gear to the side with her foot before the thing coming their way. Luckily, Fowler snaps out of his shock quickly enough to grab the steering before the both of you could go crashing into the canyon side. 

“Watch it!” 

“You watch the fucking drone!” And as if her luck wasn't bad enough, in the next moment, the helicopter jostles, claws of whatever had attacked them now sinking into the roof of the helicopter's cab. Moving in her seat, Y/n looks up to the ceiling and shrieks upon seeing the sharp talons that easily make up the length of her face stuck in the metal above her, forcing the agent to cover his ears. 

With a harsh yank from above, the copter jerks in response and the last thing Y/n remembers is the feeling of the cold, hard glass making a sharp impact with the back of her head, before everything went dark.

*       *       *       *       *       *

The feeling of weightlessness while simultaneously feeling as if something is pulling you down by your ankles is something Y/n can confidently say she's never felt before. That sensation accompanied by the frigid air around her and the pain of having her arms being held twisted uncomfortably in the air made her transition back to consciousness that much more unpleasant. Tension and pain racks her body every step closer she gets to being awake, drawing out a strained hiss from the woman.

“Ooh? Look who's finally decided to join the party.” A scratchy voice drawls from a few feet to her left. Opening her eyes, Y/n is met with two bright, red eyes made all the more piercing with the bot's white dots that must act as pupils. Despite the strain on her throat and body, she lets out an ear-shattering scream and kicks the new mech.

“Ach! Why you little-”

“Where am I?! Who the fuck are you?! Let me down!” Paying little mind to the irritated figure before her, she struggles in her chains, squirming and shaking.

“Awwww the little human wants to be let go?” A sharp talon pricks Y/n's chin and lifts it to bring her eyes back to his, the grin on his face a celebration of his premature victory.

“Yes! Please!”

“How polite. Such a rarity in humans.” He chuckles to himself, obviously thinking his little stab to be funny. “All you have to tell me, dear, is where the Autobot base is. Can you do that for me?”

“Don't tell him anything!” Finally, Fowler speaks up from Y/n's left, shocking her into whipping her head to face him, not having even noticed his presence prior to him yelling.

A silence fills the cold, dark room and Y/n looks back to the mech before her, a desperate look in her eyes, “I'm sorry, what's an autobot?”

The mech wrenches back, his grin twisting into an infuriated scowl. Standing to his full height, he wraps the chains that hold her around his hand and pulls them up and towards him, further twisting her arms until a sickening pop echoes in the room, forcing a scream to rip from her throat. Any kindness, faux or no, had vanished as the bot before her snarls, “What do you mean, you don’t know?!”

Y/n’s breathing is shallow and panicked, the burning sensation surging down her arm and through her shoulder causing her to squeeze shut her eyes. Luckily, it was only her right arm, but there was no time to appreciate that. After a moment, she opens her eyes to see the now-blurry mech leaned down in front of her through the tears building and streaming down her face, she hiccups, “I’m sorry! I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear!”

“Fine. If you’re going to play like this, I have no choice but to escalate matters.” He brings himself back up to his full height and turns to another bot who presumably is standing guard at the door. “Bring the prod.”

Prod?! If struggling in her chains wouldn’t exasperate her dislocated shoulder, Y/n would be moving every which way in order to find some way to get out of this nightmarish shitshow.

“Please, sir. I don’t know anything about any Auto people! I was picked up by this man after getting lost in the desert.” Tears beginning to subside, Y/n glances at Fowler and then back to Starscream, “I’m sure you’re a reasonable… robot-”

“I am not one of your feeble human machines, I am Starscream! Current second-in-command and future leader of the Decepticons!” The door opens, letting more cold, stale air into the room, and the bot from earlier reenters the room, holding what can only be described as some futuristic bident. Starscream snatches the device from the other Decepticon, “Finally, what took you so long?!”

“I’ll be nice and give you one more opportunity, humans- where is the Autobot base?” Switching his tactics to address Fowler, he leans down to the man and holds the prod up to his chin.

“Sure thing,buddy, right after you eat my star-spangled shorts.” Fowler laughs but is quickly cut short as Starscream activates his prod, a pink electrical current running between the two prongs. Upon pressing it to Agent Fowler’s ribs, the man screams in pain, clutching his own chains in an attempt to ground himself.

“No!”

“As I imagined, energon and human nervous systems don’t mix.” As he keeps the energon-infused prod pressed to Fowler’s skin, his grin only grows. With each press of the instrument, the clothes begin to sear away, allowing the energon access to his bare skin, no doubt doing further damage, if the smell of burning skin is anything to go by.

“Starscream, leave him alone! Please!” Voices in her head plead with her to keep her mouth shut, to no avail. The man is suffering, and while Y/n wasn’t exactly Fowler’s biggest fan for taking her away from the Autobot base, she didn’t want to see the poor man suffer.

And he stops, but only for a moment. The humming of the torture device and the heavy gulps of air Fowler sucks into his lungs at the brief interlude fill the otherwise silent room. Starscream’s eyes flick back and forth, not really focusing on anything. After another moment, he gives a thoughtful hum of his own, “Perhaps you’re right. I may have been going about this all along.”

“Yes! I’m glad you-”

“If what you say is true, that means you’re an innocent human. And what a shame it would be if a, what do you humans call them- “protector of the people” was to allow a civilian to face such methods of… interrogation.” And without another moment’s pause, knives felt as if they were entering Y/n’s bloodstream from where Starscream jabs her, ripping yet another agonizing scream from her throat. 

“Stop it, con! She has nothing to do with any of this.” Fowler barks, jostling his chain to attempt to wriggle out of his constraints.

“Precisely. The faster you tell me where the Autobots are hiding, the sooner I stop hurting our friend here.” Driving the point home he jams the prod back into Y/n’s ribcage, releasing another scream from the woman. Similar to when Fowler was receiving the same “Decepticon hospitality” Y/n’s clothes began to singe away. Fighting the desire to keep her eyes closed, she struggles to look at Fowler and give him the briefest of shaking her head, before letting it hang down, the weight of her own head too much to keep up.

I am not doing this just for you to give it away, Fowler. Don’t fuck this up.

She knew she couldn’t say anything that may give her away, so the hope is that her fellow prisoner could understand to keep his mouth shut, even if she is to suffer for it. The next jolt was to her right arm, as if that arm hadn’t already been pulled from its socket, just at the crook of her elbow. To drive home the fact that he didn’t plan on letting up, Starscream dug the prod in harder against her skin, drawing blood to the surface. He finally retracts the weapon and holds Y/n’s head up with a dagger-like finger on each cheek, turning her to fully face Fowler, not that she could see him very clearly, “Come now, Agent Fowler. I don’t think our friend has much more in her. Haven’t you realized the Autobots have abandoned you? I am the only one you can rely upon now. So, tell me what I want to know, or we’ll see how many more she can take.”

“Please… no more. I’ll tell you,” Fowler breaks eye contact with Y/n, ashamed to give up after she’s done so much to keep quiet. He couldn’t keep sitting back, letting her take the brunt of Starscream’s sadism anymore. It takes so much strength for him to muster the words, “They’re in… secret government base.”

“Fowler… no.”

“Go on.”

Shots being fired were audible from beyond the door across the room. And unless Decepticons practiced their aim in the empty hallways Y/n briefly saw, that means the opposition was aboard. 

That means the Autobots had come to save them. 

“You were saying?” Having also heard the commotion outside, Starscream becomes more antsy, and it shows.

“In the old steel mill… or was it under that carnival funhouse?”

Finally fed up with the disrespect and sass, Starscream frustratedly yells and stabs the prod back into Y/n, the intensity of the voltage much higher than it had been earlier. The shots were louder now, being heard even over Y/n’s screeches. If Fowler wasn’t halfway into unconsciousness, he would have tried to distract the mech as much as he could, but he couldn’t think past staying awake and alive. 

“I’ve had enough of this.” Starscream begins unraveling Y/n from her chains, not trusting the others to keep the Autobots at bay, let alone defeating them. He may not leave this moment the victor, but like hell is he going to lose both hostages. Y/n doesn’t have the strength to fight back after all that had been done, barely even registering that not only is she free from her chains, but she’s also haphazardly being shoved into a cockpit and losing consciousness for the second time that day.

The door to the room opens a moment later, a silent Vehicon just stands in the entryway.

“Well?” He asks, patience draining with every passing second, quickly turning to shock when the Vehicon’s frame drops and both Bulkhead and Bumblebee are poised for blasting whatever stands in the room, immediately shooting the other Vehicon with Starscream. Aiming his arm towards Fowler, Starscream glowers at the interrupting bots, “Not so fast-”

“I wouldn’t.” Arcee taps him from above, having snuck her way in through the ventilation shaft. 

“Oh, but I might.” 

“Where’s Y/n?” Bulkhead keeps his blaster aimed towards Starscream, but with a brief glance around it’s easy to see there is no other organic life, other than Fowler- only chains that now hang empty.

“The other human? She said she didn’t know you, so we… parted ways.”

“NO!” Bulkhead shouts and immediately begins shooting, prompting the other to take fire as well. Starscream can only jump from side to side in order to avoid their gunfire. 

“Apologies, Autobots, but I’m sure you can find her body down below somewhere.” He cackles as he transforms into his alt-mode, and races out of the room, knocking Arcee from the vent and Bulk and Bee into the ground. 

* * * * * *

Y/n wakes up in another dark space- only this time it’s much smaller and warmer; there’s a sway to the room, if you can call it that, but she isn’t sure if the sway is from the nausea overcoming her or if wherever she is is actually moving. The last thing she remembers is a final shock to her body before passing out. Eyes adjusting to the light, it’s easy to determine the surrounding space is the inside of some kind of jet, but instead of the cockpit being parallel to the ground, it’s upturned, like the aircraft would be facing the sky. She was in a Cybertronian- likely Starscream, if the color scheme is anything to go by.

Pressing her hands to the ground, Y/n is quickly reminded of the fact that Starscream had ripped her right arm out of its socket. Looking down, she notices her clothes are burnt and ripped beyond repair- her blouse now adorned with asymmetrical, distressed sleeves that barely go past her elbows and the skirt being a shredded mess, likely from rough handling of Starscream’s razor sharp talons; Taking her foot and stepping on the pathetic scraps of fabric of her skirt, Y/n uses her functional hand and rips a handful of the fabric strips away. Y/n balls the cloths up and puts it in between her teeth as a makeshift mouth guard. The limb now felt numb, but she knows that popping it back in is going to burn; her left hand grasps the right arm’s bicep.

Deep breaths. Deep Breaths, Y/n.

And with an upwards jerk, she feels a brief click in her shoulder, but the limb doesn’t doesn’t stay in place, forcing a deep inhale through her gag.

Relax. You’re not going to be able to reset it if you don’t fucking relax. You just survive until Optimus gets you.

After another few deep breaths, Y/n tries it again and feels a more solid click as she screams, muffled by the burnt fabric in her mouth; letting go, her arm stays in place, though a reignited burn returns to the site of the wound. With her arm taken care of, getting out of this wretched place is next on the to do list. Banging a hand on the glass enclosing her in this dreadful mech’s cockpit, the needles in her throat become even more pronounced as she groans, ”Let me out.”

Nothing changes. His steps are still steady.

“Let me out!”

Again, nothing.

“STAR-”

“STARSCREAM, YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL! I ORDERED YOU TO AWAIT MY COMMAND!”

Upon hearing such a loud fury, Y/n immediately seeks out the most stable part of Starscream’s cockpit and hunkers down. If she has learned anything, it’s that these Decepticons generally deal with disputes through violence, and she doesn’t believe that stops within their own ranks.

“Please, Lord Megatron, I meant no- AGH!” and just like that, Starscream, and Y/n transitively, fly across the room at Megatron’s hand. And though Y/n can’t see him, it did not sound like it took much physical exertion for him to do so. 

“Instead, your mindless agenda resulted in the disabling of my ship and the delay of MY PLANS!” Megatron raises his hand again, more than ready to strike Starscream again.

“My intentions were pure, master. I only wanted you to be rid of Optimus.” Y/n’s world tilts as Megatron brings his foot against Starscream’s head, smashing it into the ground and allowing sparks to fly; she grunts at being thrown from her “safe space” and rolls onto the glass under her that begins cracking under the pressure of Megatron’s foot. She hates crying, but after the third time death threatens to barrel down your door, the stress begins to cap off, and so the weeping begins.

“NO ONE RIDS ME OF OPTIMUS PRIME BUT ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DO-” The sound of Y/n’s wailing, though faint to Megatron’s audials, catches his attention. Lifting Starscream above himself by his throat and turning him enough to get a glimpse into his cockpit, making perfect eye contact with Y/n. Slowly turning Starscream back to face him, Megatron tightens his grasp around his throat and hisses, “Starscream… explain yourself.”

“My lord, She is a friend of the Autobots! I took her as a hostage so we can extract information!” His voice comes out staticy, a sign Megatron may be doing more damage than he should as he continues constricting his grip. 

“You are as stupid as you are a disgrace to the Decepticons. Bring the human out.” Megatron growls his command and releases his throat, sending his second-in-command scrambling to retrieve Y/n, who in turn dodges each grab at her body, thanking the fates for making his cockpit on his back while bi-pedal.

“Stop moving, you-”

“Keep the fuck away from me! I already told you, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, you walking scrapyard, and me speaking to your troglodyte of a boss isn’t going to change that!” Unfortunately, there’s only so many places for Y/n to run to, and her Yakety sax impression comes to a close when he manages to snag a part of her skirt. Bringing her out on the palm of his hand whilst using his thumb to press her to lie flat on her stomach, he presents her to his master while scowling down at her.

“Why you insolent little-”

“You are wasting my time, Starscream! Is she telling the truth- have you really learned nothing from your own hostage?! Not only have you wasted our resources with your stunt, but you have given the Autobots a reason to storm this ship!”

“No, my liege! They won’t come here to find her- they believe her to be dead.” Starscream allows a shaky smile to creep its way onto his lips, hoping to at least somewhat appease the brute in front of him. Processing what he’s just said, Y/n stops trying to move her way from under the mech’s thumb.

They think I’m dead.

“And what does that leave us with? A soft, useless human who can’t even escape the confines of your servos, let alone provide any kind of productivity for our cause.

No one is coming to save me.

The image of Megatron’s face moving to be right in front of her entire body snaps Y/n out of her spiraling thoughts of lost hope, the heat and humidity coming from his mouth breezes against her, forcing goosebumps to crawl along her arms. The mechanical giant looks her person up and down, then scoffs,

“Worthless scrap.”

The woman bristles as he begins to make his way towards one of the room’s doors. Having noticed Starscream loosening his hold on her back, Y/n stands and snarls at the back of Megatron, “I’m sure you know all about being worthless, wouldn’t you.”

His heavy foot slams to the floor midstep, once relaxed stature stiffened as he slowly turns back towards Y/n and Starscream, in which the latter panickedly looks between the girl in his hand and the mech who has killed other Cybertronians for less. Megatron turns his attention to another mech Y/n had not previously noticed who is practically hidden in the lack of light on this ship- of whom looks back to Megatron. The two stare at one another, as if speaking with each other telepathically.

“Starscream, take that… thing to Knockout for examination.”

Taglist: @the-unhinged-raccoon @hystericalanarchy @mythicallystupid @darkfangx399 @nixblizzard16 @crowleysthings @delectableworm

Let me know if you would like to be added to the list!

[blackleatherjacketz]

Work of Art

Baron Helmut Zemo x Original Female Character

Summary: Zemo is interested in how his new partner would look after certain *activities* while Sam and Bucky are out running errands.

Warnings: NSFW! 18+, Explicit Smut, Hand Kink, Eye Contact, Hand/wrist Kissing, Soft Dom Zemo, Zemo Being In Love With Gustav Klimt’s Artwork, Intellect Kink?, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Zemo Describing Klimt’s Paintings in Great Detail, Colors

Notes: I had a sex dream about Daniel Bruhl as Zemo last week, and I haven’t known peace since. I had to change a few things for logic reasons, but here it is. Also, this is just as much a love letter to Gustav Klimt as it is to Daniel Bruhl. Enjoy!

WC: 2.1k+

Read more MARVEL stories!

Tags: @bullet-prooflove @skittle479 @genevievedarcygranger​

The setting sun of the unfamiliar country shines through the windows and into the living room, casting a rainbow of light through the glass teapot that separates him from her. It expands across the table and onto the floor, stretching beyond where they sit in reds, greens and blues until disappearing just short of the door in a purple haze. He stares at her from behind the plume of steam that rises from the pot, two identical cups filling nearly to the brim as he studies her every move.

“Darjeeling?” He raises his eyebrows with the question, the chestnut hues of his eyes glinting amber in the warm evening light.

“Please,” she nods, scooting forward in her seat to finally enjoy his company without the judgment of her two partners. She hopes she can figure out what it is about him that makes her pulse quicken and her stomach flip every time he gets close to her. Was it his accent? His title? His intellect? Maybe it was a combination of all three. “Thank you,” she nods again.

“Of course. You know, unlike our mutual friends, you strike me as a woman who appreciates the finer things in life.” He starts, setting the pot down before sliding one of the saucers across the coffee table toward her.

“Is that so?” She leans forward to touch the handle of the mug he pushes in front of her, deciding to brush her fingers over his knuckles in the process.

He pauses as she touches him, lips parting and breath stilling as he tilts his head to the side as if to think through his next move. She knows that everything within his grasp holds the potential of turning into a movable piece on the giant chessboard of his life, a game he aims to win at nearly any cost. But she also knows that he was willing to dominate the kings and queens of the board to avenge a lost love, a result of passion and attachment, a sign of weakness. She hopes to use those long, deep stares he’s been giving her these past few days to bind him to her, to distract him long enough to spill some of his secrets and place a crown on her own head.

“I can’t imagine James or Sam would be able to appreciate a good cup of tea or glass of wine the way you and I would.” He keeps his hand beneath hers as he straightens his posture, now looking her in the eye through thick and heavy lashes. “Or a work of art.”

“Art?” She holds his stare in return, continuing to trace the hills and valleys between his fingers as the tiny hairs on the back of his hand stand on end. “I wouldn’t think that you, of all people, would support the arts.”

“On the contrary.” He releases his grip on the mug’s handle and weaves his fingers between hers, deftly stroking her palm with his thumb. “Anything can be a work of art if you choose to see it that way: the fall of an empire, the structure of a building, the curves of your face.”

Her mouth falls open as he continues to caress her skin, a thousand tiny tingling sensations spreading out from their point of origin as he presses into the heel of her hand. He scoffs as a knowing smirk tugs at the corners of his lips and brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Are you familiar with the works of Gustav Klimt?”

“The Austrian impressionist?” She whispers, wondering where he could be going with this. “The painter?”

“A symbolist, actually.” He encircles her wrist with his opposite hand, his fingertips soft and gentle as they trace the veins that snake their way up the back of her arm. “A common mistake.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” She mutters with the little air she has left in her lungs as he strokes her arm like a trained masseur.

She watches in amazement as he opens his mouth to kiss her palm once more, this time a little deeper, a little longer as his tongue briefly parts his hungry lips. She leans forward as the tingling sensation shoots up her arm and into her chest, extending far beyond the trail his mouth leads as he kisses his way down her wrist. She can almost feel those eyes of his travel up her shoulder, noting the goose flesh racing up her axilla into the pounding pulse of her neck. His glare is nothing short of magnetic, drawing her in like a sailor to a siren as they quickly darken with desire. She isn’t entirely sure now if this seduction plot was a plan of her own, or if he’d merely tricked her into thinking it was her idea to begin with.

Either way, she sees no reason to pull back now.

“Klimt was a genius,” he stands up from his seat on the couch, keeping his fingers clasped in hers as he makes his way around the coffee table, pushing it aside. “He found beauty in nearly everything he saw.” The baron kneels in front of her, pushing the table back even further with his body as he finally settles at her feet.

“The symbolist parts of him were found mainly in his landscapes.” He pulls his hand away from hers, releasing it only to touch the intricate pattern of the dress that barely covers her thighs at this angle. He takes his time tracing the dozens of beaded triangles on the expensive cloth he picked out just for her to wear, hoping she appreciated it. “The concentric circles of trees in the forests, blades of grass in the meadows, the tessellation of leaves,” he elaborates as he smooths his hands down her legs, resting them both gingerly on her knees. “And the flowers in bloom are all different representations of the masculine and feminine.”

His chest expands as he pauses for a moment to take her in, the object of his desire, before exhaling and proceeding with his lesson. He slides his thumbs between her knees and pushes them apart, forcing her skirt to ride even farther up her hips as his lips curl into a smile. “But Klimt’s most famous paintings featured gold leaf and the women in his life.”

She swallows hard as she looks down at him for the very first time, his tall stature always drawing her chin upward to get a better look at him until now. This angle seems to suit him, the fading sunlight catching in his hair as it falls from behind his ear in front of his forehead. She can practically feel her bones shaking in anticipation as he holds her knees in his palms, that confident smirk painted permanently on his lips.

“Klimt knew that a work of art shouldn’t be rushed.” He glances up at her, sliding his hands over the tops of her thighs at an agonizing pace. “That something so beautiful should be studied at length before he would dare put it on canvas.”

She holds her breath as he ignites a fire beneath her skin, spreading her legs as the warmth of his hands ventures up toward her center. She can feel that fire rise up into her belly as his fingers tease the fine hair on her thighs, reaching the hem of her underwear as she finds herself rocking into them, silently urging him to pull that final barrier between them apart.

“He had many lovers, most of whom he painted,” He pulls back the cotton between her legs, sliding his fingers between her moistened lips before gliding them up and down. “Only after bringing them to a state of elation.”

“Yes,” she breathes out as he fondles her, his fingers the most skilled she’s ever felt in her entire life. “I remember that.” She moans as he stokes that heat, spreading her moisture over the length of her sex as he keeps his eyes on her.

“Good.” He increases his pressure on his way up to stimulate her clit as her hips begin to move in tandem with his hand. He grins like the Cheshire Cat, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he persists in his carnal efforts. “They say his painting of Judith captures her at her most vulnerable state.” He slides his fingers inside of her walls, standing up as he pushes on her bud, rubbing a deep tantric rhythm into her core.

“Oh!” She utters, grabbing onto his shoulder as he continues his ministrations. “Baron!”

His smile widens at the mention of his title, but he only continues his lecture. “Lips flush, cheeks rosy, eyes heavily lidded,” he turns to sit down next to her on the couch, keeping his fingers warm inside as he whispers into her ear. “When I first laid eyes on you, I knew I had to see you like that.”

“Yeah?” She gasps as he lifts her leg over his lap, stretching her muscles as he delves his fingers even deeper inside of her. “Oh!”

“Yes, and you’re almost there, my love.” He curls his fingers upward, grabbing onto the base of her neck with his opposite hand as he sends messages of bliss all the way up her spine and into her brain. “Tell me when you see gold.”

She nods as he speeds up his handiwork, the sound of her slick the only thing she can hear besides her own shallow breaths and the beating of her heart. She can feel him push that final signal up through her, each of them building on top of the last like a line of dominoes bringing her closer to the edge. She looks down as he nearly breaks his wrist trying to please her, knocking down every one of them in succession as if they were laid out in an intricate shape painted by Klimt himself. Dozens of branches split off from her center, spiraling as they fall into her arms, legs and feet before curling in on themselves as her body shakes from the euphoria.

Her orgasm continues to spread through the tips of her fingers and the roots of her hair as she finally turns to look at him. She can feel those golden stems of ecstasy grow and brighten within her, splitting in half, breaking free until they reach every inch of her body through his magic fingers. She cries out as he doubles her pleasure, wrapping her foot around his leg to keep herself steady as her entire body begins to seize in his lap.

He moves his hand from the back of her neck to her jawline, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him as the sun shines one last time through the stained glass windows. Its yellow rays hit his eyes at just the right angle, illuminating the amber of his irises into a vibrant gold as he unravels her completely.

“I see it,” she confesses, now putty in his hands. “I see the gold.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, slowing his rhythm between her legs before planting a kiss onto her cheek. He pulls his thumb off her bud, careful not to get anything on her dress as he slowly drags his fingers up and out of her silky spent sex before bringing them up to his lips. “I knew you would.” He takes his time tasting her, those golden eyes of his rolling back into his head as his lips reach his knuckles.

She shivers as she watches him savor her, this deadly powerful man literally brought to his knees for nothing more than a chance to experience her beauty in person, to sample the fruits of his labor. Part of her now wishes that he could be someone else, someone who isn’t so devious, so wild and unpredictable, but she knows that’s part of what drew her to him in the first place.

He opens his eyes and draws his fingers from his mouth, letting go of her chin and stroking her hair with a newfound sense of adoration. “You look just like her now, a true work of art.”

She lets the echo of her climax shake its way through her, consciously calming her breathing as he combs through her hair, watching his chest rise and fall as a guide for her desired rate. She unhooks her foot from his calf before letting her hand drift down his neck and chest, reaching down between his legs to return the favor.

“Ah!” He stops her, clicking his tongue as he grabs her wrist. “You should rest before they get back. Drink your tea. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

[novistarplanet]

Prairie View

CowboyTenkoShigaraki x MailBride!Reader pt1

summary: Who said growing up in a small town would be hard? But when unforeseen events happen in your life causing you to move miles over towns and marry a certain Blue hair gapped cowboy

cw: 1.7k

wc: applied female reader,Separation, mentions of being sold, Fluff, anxiety, death of a parent, marriage, shig with a gap, first name, country accents. lmk if I missed anything!

A/n: I tried to give them accents so if its horrible I'm sorry in advance also I initially imagine this to be a black reader but it could be anything you want it to be ALSO im making this into 3 parts!!

Walking towards the train through the thick crowds of townsfolk, all waiting for the train to stop.

You couldn’t help but think about your new life waiting for you. Your hand tightens on the handle of your big leather suitcase, carrying all your memories and treasures of your old life.

“Y/N WAIT!!” just as you were about to board the train, you turn back to see your brother Jake waving his hands 

“Jake, what are you doin here?? you shouldn'a be out theyer taking care of Granny?” 

“m'couldn'a let ya leavin' witout this” He takes your hands into his dirty big ones and places an old silver heart-shaped locket in your hands

your left speechless as he pulls you into a hug “ now don'tcha forget' to write me and grann' dun’t let the big city make ya forget about us”

You freed yourself from his embrace and kissed his forehead, tears flooding your waterline and sniffing up as you wish him farewell. Taking a foot inside the train, leaving the life you once knew behind.

a couple of minutes pass everyone seated and chatting you took it upon yourself to look out the window and looked at all the trees passing by.

you couldn’t help but stare down at your locket, opening it and revealing an old wrinkled photo of your family. Featuring a younger version of you and Jake, both of your parents, and your grandmother. 

Your grandmother was a mail-order bride being sold off by her parents when she turned 16. She told you many stories about her husband on dark nights when brushing your hair.

She never wanted you to experience what she did, but life did after your parents' tragic death and your grandmother's illness forced your remaining family into intense debt.

A couple of months ago, you were looking for ads in newspapers for any able jobs. it wasn’t uncommon for a woman in your town to work as a live home nanny.

flipping through the pages you came across the mail bride section.

You always walked pass the bullet board for them heading towards the town's bakery. Sometimes you took time to read, and them only wondered how much confidence it took to entertain the idea.

but the ad you saw was different.

he was a young rancher from a big town a couple of towns over from yours. He was short and straight to the point, saying how he needed someone to take of the housley chores and most importantly an heir.

you immediately went into your father's old study and wrote up a letter.

you poured out your heart and soul into the letter writing long tales explaining how you were the perfect fit.

of course, when your grandmother found out she was upset ranting on and on about how you could just work at the bakery or maybe as a teacher in the nearby schoolhouse.

but once you told her about his letter and how he's offering to send double the money back home she could no longer put up a fight.

as more and more letters got sent and sent off your grandmother soon found out about his status in his town

She told you a man of his reputation you must display eloquence and grace with each step you took

she even took her time and sewed you up some of your mother's old fancier dresses.

you snapped right out of your trance as the train stopped with a loud “CHOO-CHOO” looking around and noticing a bunch of people stepping out the door

once you walked out the door, you were greeted with a bunch more active sight people going in and out of other trains, horses tilting their heads back and forth trying to take off and people being reunited with others.

You looked around for your future husband during the time you two spent sending letters to each other. Tenko described some of his features in the letters he sent.

he had a long scar that crossed his lip, dark red eyes, and long blue locs.

you couldn’t wait to see him scanning the crowds of people until your head stopped at one rancher with a brown cowboy hat with a symbol of a horse in the middle of it

as you and he locked eyes, he can rush towards you.

using his pants to rub off the dust before taking the bags from your hands and leading you up on the covered wagon 

using his hand as a booster for you to get onto the seat next to he's

“ atta' girl Aah hope the train ride weren’t too rough on ya” 

“no, it was alright I just didn’t expect it to be so long”. a small smile crept on your face the way he’s hand scratched his neck as he was trying to come up with small talk is sweet.

you can tell he’s nervous 

“Well, the trip to the ranch an’t all’ dat long I guarantee ya that we can go and fix up some supper for ya”

“ I’ll lac'k that very much” opening up a bright smile towards him

“’M right then”

You didn’t miss the way he’s cheeks turned red

he hops on the wagon grabbing the two handles that connect to the horse's saddle “Giddyip!”

and with that, the wagon started to move with a couple bumps here and there you couldn’t stop to think this was it.

You are here far away from your family and friends and here in this new town. It looked nice from what you saw it definitely wasn’t a small town you weren’t used to.

you wondered if you could even fit in here Tenko spoke so well it only proved himself to be of the upper class.

meanwhile where you came from your folks only knew so much and were taught so little

looking back seeing dust and dust combine in the air and looking at all the faded buildings in your visons.

"I'm guessin' you ‘dudn’t come from a big city?"

“hm?” you turned to him staring at him for a couple of seconds before he began talking again

"T’s way your ‘lookit at me an’ all’ tells me your aint from nowhere near these parts" He looks right at you only for a brief moment before taking his attention back onto the trail.

"me and mah family comes from a little small town. Everyone knows everyone." Staring up back at him you could read his face almost like he didn't know what to say.

he took he's head and just nodded.

for the rest of the ride, you two sat in complete silents. It would be an understatement to say you are nervous. Your grandmother told you on the first day of her marriage they had sex immediately.

you hope he wasn't like that.

"im afraid were here" the horses came to a halt and with that, your head quickly bounced up, and took a look around.

wealthy was a lie.

he was loaded.

green grass as far as the eye can even see a river the size of the ocean circling with the fresh cool breeze causing your hair to blow in the wind. A big ol red barn full of animals, horsing roaming across the wide large field chewing on the long grass that reached mid-way at your leg along with a white house with fences surrounding it.

you'll have a lot to tell granny about.

a low chuckle came from beside you "Im guessin' you lik the place?"

the only thing you could even do is move your head up and down. This place was nothing like anything you had seen before.

"lemme git ya down and I can give ya a tour" He took the two black stallions into the barn cubby making sure their feed and their gates are properly shut.

he reappears in your vision coming up to your side and sticking his hand out for you to use. Once you got down he went and grab your luggage.

"follow me" you lead right behind him walking on the Stoney pathway towards his house well your house now too.

with each step you take on the stairs to the door you start to feel even more homesick it doesn't make a loud CREK! sound like yours do.

" c'mon in ill show ya your room" tapping you lightly on your shoulder.

you begin to bite hard on your lip to the point where blood almost drew

with a quick glance at the door putting all your anxiety in the world in your palms you went in before him taking a few steps forward looking back and seeing him close the door.

He wasn't able to move well not the way you were standing right in front of him gaping at the interior of the house.

the outside didn't do the house any justice.

he chuckled a little at her starstruck-ness

" 'm guessin your gonna lac your room then?" he bends his head down and chuckles a little "ill give you a tour of the place once your settled in"

"we can go now i dont wanna stall on you or nothing"

“ ’M right then”

he leads you up the shiny wooden stairs dissecting the painting that hung from the wall looking at one and noticing the child version of Tenko in the painting. Just looking at these paintings tells you he comes from old money.

taking you to a well-light hallway with pink flower wallpaper on the walls he stops at a birch door and quickly unlocks it.

Once he open the door it was like you were in a new world you took a look at the high ceiling, the soft velvet carpet the shining white vanity with pearls and rings present, and dresses hanging on the dressing screen.

“M’ room is across the room down the right hallway if you need me for anythin’. With that, he placed the luggage down onto your new bed.

You couldn't help yourself but smile at him.

For the first time throughout the trip, he showed you a wide smile showing a little gap.

“Thank you so much for the opportunity I am forever grateful”

he walks over to you his hand placing itself on your lower back while his other hand is tilting your head to look at him placing a warm kiss on your forehead.

“get some sleep Y/n”

maybe living here won't be so bad.

©NoviSt3rplanet/I do not like reposting, modifying, or translating on any platforms! thank you 🤎

[lillipad72]

The Annotated Anne of Green Gables ~~ a special rereading

CHAPTER IV ~~ Morning at Green Gables

hello everyone, i am back! i have actually been traveling this past month abroad and have not really had much ability to be on tumblr, but i have returned so expect more from me again!

"I think he's lovely...He is so very sympathetic. He didn't mind how much I talked -- he seemed to like it. I felt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as I ever saw him."

Anne's iconic recurring title of 'kindred spirit' for people she connects with on a deep level probably comes from a well-known poem by Thomas Gray, a very popular English poet, despite only publishing thirteen poems in his lifetime. The poem "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" was found in the Fifth Royal Reader, published in 1873, so it is likely Anne would have come across this term there, but this term is also located in The Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner, published in 1883, and Elizabeth Von Arnim's Elizabeth and Her German Garden, published in 1898. While it is not completely certain where L.M. Montgomery would have first heard this term, odds point to the Gray poem, and based on the timeline of Anne, it appears this would also be where Anne Shirley would have picked it up. That part of the poem goes as follows: "for thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead / Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, / If chance, by lonely contemplation led, / Some kindred spirits shall inquire thy fate," (Stanza 24, 11. 93-96). Gray's poem was partly inspired by the death of fellow poet Richard West and its themes include death and remembrance. This is an interesting place for Anne to pick up from, noting that she herself has experienced loss, most intimately in that of her parents. I wonder if she thinks of herself as her parents' kindred spirit who thinks about them after they passed, and she herself longs for someone who will remember her so deeply even when she has gone somewhere else.

"Oh, I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums. It makes them seem more like people. How do you know but that it hurts a geranium's feelings just to be called a geranium and nothing else? You wouldn't like to be called nothing but a woman all the time. Yes, I shall call it Bonny. I named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom window this morning. I called it Snow Queen because it was so white."

This passage makes it abundantly clear that L.M. Montgomery inspired Anne from her own childhood experiences. This instance is taken almost exactly from her journal. On September 21, 1889, when she was thirteen years old, she wrote: "There wasn't any school, so I amused myself repotting all my geraniums. Dear things, how I love them! The 'mother' of them all is a matronly old geranium called 'Bonny.' I got Bonny ages ago -- it must be as much as two or three years ... I called it Bonny -- I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums ... And it blooms as if it meant it. I believe that old geranium has a soul!" It seems that L.M. Montgomery went through her earlier journals and looked for examples of youthfulness that she could use to create Anne!

next chapter

[zmediaoutlet]

ww: letters (5)

for the @wincestwednesdays prompt: withdrawal

I spent two hours at a coffee shop talking to a woman. Complete accident. I asked to read her paper if she was done with it and she wondered if I had a phone charger she could borrow. She was eating a chocolate muffin and said she was an addict and smiled in that way people do when they know the joke is lame but they’re also not really joking. She said then that she was going to a meeting in the church across the park but she didn’t like that it was in a church. The whole higher power thing isn’t for her. I asked if the steps really helped or if it was just the talking and she said mostly it was the really shitty coffee that kept her coming back. She was cute. She missed her meeting and gave me her number. You’d be proud.

I actually looked at the steps, once. Higher power, fearless moral inventory, making amends. Turns out I was hitting them all pretty spot-on, for a few years there. But there was this thing that they insisted on, with the language—that you’re never recovered, you’re always in recovery; that you always are, and never were. Maybe that fits with the sort of stuff people go to meetings for. They never exactly formed a group for what I had. I mean, can you imagine. Hi, I’m Sam Winchester, and I—

Not a drop in fifteen years, nor a craving for one. That’s not denial. It really did carve out of me clean. Like someone cored a hole right through the middle and cauterized it and the skin grew over without a scar. Even versions of me that only wanted power or answers or to fix everything with a snap of my fingers—going back to that really never was an option. No meetings necessary.

I left the coffee shop and sat in the park. Sunset and then dusk. Cold still but spring’s starting to creep through. The sky to the east a thin deep blue. I watched it get dark and got that old second wind. Still half-expecting to get a call and start running. Still, despite everything, despite this whole year, expecting that I’ll hear that monster engine turn the corner and I’ll hear the horn and I’ll turn and even if I can’t see through the window in the dark I’ll get up and I’ll get in the passenger seat and we’ll go—to a graveyard, to a bar, to a drive-in playing a shitty zombie double feature, to a motel on the outskirts of town with ugly wallpaper and a shower in contention for worst in the country and there’ll be two beds because despite everything there were always two beds, whether we were fighting or whether we were good, and there’ll be the TV on the news muted and there’ll be a twelve-pack on the table and the heater rattling under the window and the smell like smoke, grease, and the warm salt there at the back of your neck where you’d tip your head forward when I came up behind you and you let me—when you let me get away with a lot. You let me get away with a lot.

The keys are in my pocket. I’ve balled my hands into a knot between my knees and my heart’s pounding sick and high in my throat. Across the park the church has people pouring out a side-door. Holding styrofoam coffee cups, cigarettes little orange flares in the dark. I tip my face up at the dark sky and feel my cold lips and nose and ears and let the adrenaline drain through my skin, dropping to the bare dirt below.

There’s no admission to a higher power. No moral inventory to account for and no amends to make because there’s nothing I’d apologize for, now, and nothing I’d change. I will practice this principle in all my affairs.

It’s never going to be were. We are. And, Dean—

[pinkyeongs]

the long lost adeptus

chapter one/ kind of a prologue?

-cross uploaded on wattpad @pe3eechy might also add to ao3

               in the heart of liyue harbor, nestled within weathered stone walls and cloaked in an air of mystery, stood the library.  its ancient oak doors creaked with anticipation as visitors stepped across the threshold, entering a realm where everyone seemed to hold their breath. y/n wondered if anyone else had noticed this. noticed that the staff here always had the right things to say, never said too much, never too little. sunlight, filtered through stained glass windows, painted kaleidoscopic patterns on the mosaic-tiled floor, casting an ethereal glow upon the hallowed space. the air hummed with the whispers of countless generations, as if the very knowledge held within those shelves yearned to be heard once more. she was on a quest for answers, seeking to unravel the enigma that had consumed her thoughts for months. she had turned this library inside out searching for what she knew it held, what she knew this country was hiding. it had been weeks of doing this. but with every page turned and every sentence dissected, she found herself slipping deeper into a realm of uncharted mystery. 

it didn't used to be like this. it all started with a harmless assignment from her professor on the rich history of liyue. as she delved deeper into her research, she began to notice peculiar gaps within her country's recorded history,  there were unexplained absences and inconsistencies that gnawed at her inquisitive mind. she wondered why no one else had questioned this prior to now, she took a moment to ponder and only found blame for her own ignorance. it had been 18 years of her living within liyue. her whole life spent within the mountains and the harbor, yet she had never asked herself where it all started. she had heard talk about gods from outsiders from mondstat when she was child, but not long after that lady ningguang issued a non emigration order amongst the people, y/n hadn't seen another outsider since. she heard talk between the elders of liyue, comparing this new law to a far away country called inazuma. y/n has always considered herself an educated young woman, enjoying the time she spent reading, and studying. she had never once considered herself to be ignorant, well that is until now. 

y/n continued to dig deeper, unearthing fragments of truth that had long been buried. with each passing day and every fruitless search within the library's ancient tomes, her frustration grew. the answers she sought seemed to slip through her fingers. it became evident that the truth she sought could not be confined within the inked pages alone. she ventured beyond the hallowed halls of the library, determined to find alternative sources of information. her inquiries led her to the elders of liyue. she sought them out, their wrinkled faces a testament to the passage of time, hoping they held the key to the secrecy that has overcome liyue. 

"come, my child, sit by the fire and listen closely. I shall share with you the tales of our land, of the gods who once protected us." 

 "thank you, elder. i am eager to understand the truth." y/n said, anticipating the truth. "long ago, when we were young and the land was vibrant, our ancestors revered a pantheon of an archon. their names were whispered with reverence, their deeds celebrated in songs and dances." 

"who were these gods, elder? what were their names and what powers did they possess?" she questioned. 

"ah, their names still echo in the winds of time. many are still among us today, it is due to lady ninggaung that the city of liyue relishes in such ignorance of it's history." y/n was not surprised by this, after all of the research she had conducted within the previous weeks, the relentless shadiness of the millelith and the ruler of liyue was apart for anyone to see. y/n opned her mouth to question, but the elder beat her to it. "i still do not know the exact reason our archon has abandoned us, and why lady ninggaung refuses to speak of it. we were only children at the time." 

y/n's face twisted in confusion, "but they are gods are they not? who is lady ninggaung to completely banish a god from it's rule?"

he sighed, "time took its toll, my dear. as generations passed, belief in the gods waned. people became consumed by doubts and skepticism, forgetting the sacred bonds that had once united us. i suppose lady ninggaung look advantage of this." y/n felt an inkling of betrayal. she wondered what it would have been like growing up under the protection of a god, she felt as if lady ninggaung had taken that from her. "is there no way to bring them back? can we rekindle the faith and restore their protection?" 

"i believe that the god that once cast it's protection amongst liyue has long fallen, but there is one last thing i have not yet told you." the elder almost chuckled at the look on y/n's face. "sit closer, my child, for there is more to the tale of the gods. they did not act alone; they had loyal helpers, allies in their divine mission." helpers? y/n asked herself. 

"these helpers were known as the adepti. they were mortals chosen by the gods themselves, bestowed with gifts and powers to aid in their sacred tasks. it has been many years since one has spoken of such being, i was but a child when i saw them." 

y/n squirmed in her seat, "you saw them, elder? what did they look like? what were their names?"

the elder leaned back in his chair, "my memory fails me now as i get older, but i do remember one thing." 

"what is it elder?" she questioned leaning forward and grasping the elder's hands gently. 

"there was one particular man who I saw quite regularly," the elder pauses for a moment and thinks, "what was his name again?" 

as the girl pondered the knowledge of the adepti, a mixture of excitement and trepidation coiled within her heart. the anticipation of what lay ahead weighed upon her like an ever-growing burden. "ah, yes i remember!"

"what was his name elder?"

"adeptus xiao."

taglist: @esthelily @xiaos0n1yprincess

[braveclementine]

Chapter 19/20

Warnings: None (anyone can read this story)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. I do not condone any copying of this.

𝓣𝓗𝓔 men called Loki and Thor were coming today.

I was curled up in the corner with a stuffed animal, cuddling it. It was white like me, with several different black spots on it. Bucky called it a panda bear. I thought it just looked like an oreo with eyes.

It didn't taste like an oreo though.

Not that I was supposed to know what oreos tasted like anyways.

But it was Sams fault for leaving them out.

Even though half of them freaked and took me down to Bruce to see if I was going to die from chocolate poisoning.

But I didn't.

So I think I should be allowed to eat more.

Bruce wasn't here at the moment, not wanting to greet Loki when he came in. Apparently Loki had done bad things to Bruce, so they weren't on good terms.

Actually, none of them seemed to be on good terms with this Loki person. Wanda and Vision had taken Billy and Tommy away too, far across the country and once Pepper found out, she said she wasn't coming back to Stark Tower with Morgan until Loki was gone.

So I assumed that Loki was a bad person.

Bucky and Steve sat together at the table while they waited. They were in a heated discussion about cake. I liked cake, especially with vanilla icing.

I wasn't allowed to eat it though.

Tony on the other hand was sitting next to me, petting me. He seemed extremely stressed about the whole Loki situation so I gave him lots of kisses to try and cheer him up. It seemed to work for the most part.

Nat on the other hand, looked utterly bored. She was sitting up on the table, cleaning the dirt from under her nails with a blade.

Road was standing near Tony, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't talking to anyone, just staring out the window.

Meanwhile, Fury was on the far other side of the room with a woman named Maria. I hissed at him whenever he came within ten feet of me.

He never came within ten feet of me.

Sam and Clint were having a loud conversation about pop tarts, and whether we had enough in the Tower for Thor. I wondered what a pop tart was and if I could eat it.

I was hungry.

"Can I have food?" I asked Tony, rolling over onto my back.

Tony smiled, rubbing my belly. "You're adorable Blizzard."

"No, I'm hungry." I whined, rolling back onto my stomach to bat at his legs. "Give me food!"

Suddenly, there was a loud crash of loud noise and I looked up just in time to see a roaring rainbow rushing down from the sky.

Interesting.

But the loud noise also made me run under the table and slink down.

"Aww, come here Blizz." Tony said softly, reaching under the table to pull me out. "It's just thunder." He looked up at Road, "Did he do it on the lawn again?"

"Nope, he used the helipad like you asked him to." Road replied, turning away from the window.

It didn't take long for two men to walk through the doors. Everyone straightened up, standing if they had been sitting- including Tony who left me on the floor by his feet.

I pounced back on the oreo, rolling around with it, before I settled down to get a good look at the men.

One had brown, spiky hair, looking like he was trying to copy that one vampires hairdo from that one TV show. . . Elijah, I think? He was very buff, with large arms and two different coloured eyes. He had a larger axe hammer thing in one hand and was wearing silver armor with a red cape.

He grinned widely, and said, "Hello again my friends!"

"Hello Thor." Nat said sweetly. "Welcome back."

I turned my attention to the second man, who looked extremely uncomfortable. He had long black hair that was curly. His eyes were blue and shimmery. His face was pale and smooth, much unlike his brothers, which had the trimmings of a beard. He was tall and thin, and any muscles he might have were hidden under his green clothing.

It was as though I had been hit with a lightning bolt.

I got to my feet, slowly padding over to where the man in green- Loki- was standing.

"Blizzard come here." Tony called quickly, but I didn't listen.

I padded straight up to the God of Mischief, and batted his shoes.

"Pick me up." I demanded.

Loki bent down, picking me up in his hands.

We stared at each other curiously before his eyes shifted down to my paws. Specifically the back paw where my only black mark was. His eyes widened, staring back at me.

"Y/N. . . " He whispered so softly I could barely hear him so I knew the others could not.

"Daddy." I cried.

He set me back down on the floor, squatting down with me. I put my paws on his knee. "Help me!"

"Blizzard, come here girl." Bucky pleaded. He sounded nervous and I wondered why. Why were they so scared of him?

I remembered everything now. My entire life. Every moment.

Loki stood back up and turned to Thor, "Give me your cloak."

Thor raised an eyebrow- I remembered him too now- but swung the red cloak over to Loki.

Loki put a hand over me and I could feel the magic tingling in my bones. I could feel it changing me, helping me grow, until I was no longer a kitten, but a human.

"What the fuck?" Bucky, Steve, and Tony all asked together.

I sat there with my E/C eyes still on my father. My long H/C hair flowed down my shoulders, covering my entire back and my father bent down, wrapping my naked body in my Uncle's cloak.

I could feel the strange tattoos on my arms tingling and everything now made sense. If I looked down, I could see the crown shaped birthmark on my hip. The one that had looked almost like a black tattoo on my paw.

"Holy shit." Bucky cursed again.

I turned to face them, keeping close to my father, afraid of their reactions.

Bucky's face was the one I saw first. His blue eyes were wide, his face slack with shock. He had taken a few steps towards me from when I had padded over to my father as a kitten. Steve was next, still frozen where he had been before, his blue eyes full of suspicion and uncertainty.

Tony looked completely taken aback, having sat down in a chair, a hand covering his mouth as he rested his elbow on his leg.

"Can someone just explain what happened?" Sam finally asked.

Loki glared at all of them, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "This is Y/N Lokidottir. And if the name doesn't give it away, she is my daughter."

"I didn't know you had a daughter." Nat said. "Thor never told us-"

"She went missing a long time ago." Thor interrupted. He gave me a loving glance. "Before New York, before all of that. Before you even knew of us."

"Then. . . how. . . what. . ." Tony seemed absolutely shocked.

"I was kidnapped during one of the invasions." I whispered. Bucky and Steve both jerked upon hearing my voice, their hands flying to where the last soulmate tattoo was. "There was a witch with them, who turned me into a cat and hid me in her pocket. When Odin banished her to Midgard, I was taken with her. I stayed with her for many years but then there was a problem. She erased my memories and the next thing I remember is ending up in Mr. Peters house."

"Which Witch?" Thor asked.

"I think her name was Agatha." I said softly.

"Well." Fury drawled from the back of the room. "I would hate to say I told you so. . . who am I kidding? I told you so."

"I'm not a spy." I said, but I couldn't even be angry about it.

"Maybe not." Fury said while Loki's arms tightened around me, "But I did say that any cat with supernatural powers was not really a cat."

I gave a nod of assent. Perhaps that was true.

"Well!" My father sounded more cheerful than before. "I suppose my er- visit will have to be cut short then." He looked at my Uncle Thor. "Mother will want to see her especially."

"Yes, of course!" Thor said boisterously. He was just as loud as I remembered, but I was only glad that I was back with my family again."

"Wait!" Bucky said hurriedly. "She can't leave yet!"

My heart twisted painfully.

"Why not?" Loki asked angrily.

"She's our soulmate, you can't just take her away from us." Steve said.

"Ah." Loki said with distaste. "She will not be joining your soulmate stuff. In-"

"You can't make that decision for her."

"He's not." Thor said with obvious regret. "It is our law. Gods cannot be soulmates with humans. Our lifespans far out live yours and it would only lead to pain and suffering on Y/Ns part when you die in twenty or thirty or forty years and she lives for a thousand or two more."

"It is against our law to do so." Loki added. "Doing so would banish her from Asgard for life."

"We have waited for her for forever." Bucky said. I think he was trying to sound angry, but all he did was sound hurt and that hurt me too.

"It will be fine." Loki spat. "You do not need her. You already have two mewling quim on the side already."

Bucky's mouth dropped like he had been slapped, while Steve sat down in his chair, looking mortified. Both of them realizing a lot of things at that moment. Tony glared furiously at the two of them, and then glared at Nat who was blushing just slightly.

"Father." I whispered. That wasn't fair. Now that I had my memories, I had taken a fair share of lovers into my bed as well. It was technically against the law in Asgard to shag outside of marriage, but no one listened to it. It had become a useless law.

"No Y/N. I cannot see you get hurt like that."

I took a deep breath and said, "Steve and Bucky are also immortal Father. It is different with them."

Thor and Loki looked at each other.

"We will have to speak to our father." Thor said, sounding troubled. "Perhaps it would be safer for you to stay here at the moment."

Loki looked disappointed, but nodded as well.

"Someone get her some clothes." He snapped at the others, before he and Thor drew me away into a corner.

"Are you sure this is what you want sweetheart?" Loki asked softly.

"Yes dad." I whispered. "I have found that I already love them. I think it would hurt more to not be with them. And they really are immortal so that should make a difference in the law."

"I will speak to Odin about it." Loki said, sounding troubled as well by this idea. "Hopefully mother will help persuade as well. I love you."

"I love you too." I mumbled, hugging him tightly. He kissed the top of my head.

"Here Blizz- Y/N." Sam said, holding out some clothes.

"Thanks birdbrain." I said softly.

He grinned, "You've been hanging around Tony to much."

Loki put up screens to block the others out while he and Thor turned so that I could get dressed. It did take me a moment to figure out how to wear clothes, and when I was done, I recognized one of Tony's AC/DC shirts and Bucky's Slytherin detailed sweatpants.

Loki pursed his lips when he saw the clothing. "I will bring you proper Asgardian clothing when Thor and I return."

I hugged Thor too and it took a while for the both of them to actually leave, as we did not want to part, so soon after finding each other again.

I suddenly felt rather self conscious when I was left with them by myself.

"Can we talk alone?" Bucky asked awkwardly.

I nodded and the three of us left the room. 

⬅️➡️

[gaelic-symphony]

A Year in the Life: March

Twelve vignettes from the married life of Tara Lewis and Emily Prentiss, written for the Year of the OTP writing challenge.

Prompt: road trip

Words: 565

Warnings: none

Read on AO3 or below the cut

            Emily was surprised when Floyd Feylinn Ferrell agreed to a custodial interview, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity for the BAU to gain valuable knowledge about the mind of one of the most chilling unsubs they’d ever encountered: a Satanic cannibal who had feasted on the women of Bridgewater, Florida twice before the BAU finally put him in prison for life.  She wanted to make sure the FBI got as much as they possibly could from the interview, and the best way to do that was by sending Tara in.  In addition to being one of the most prominent and skilled forensic psychologists in the country, she was also the expert on the Ferrell case: She’d gone down to Bridgewater after the BAU caught him the second time and spent three weeks helping Florida prosecutors make sure he got convicted.  She’d hated every minute of it.  The last thing Emily wanted to do was send Tara back to Bridgewater a third time, but she had to do what was best for the BAU.

            At the very least, she thought, she could make the trip down to Florida a little more pleasant for Tara.  They could turn it into a romantic getaway: drive down together, spend a few nights at a nice hotel, and enjoy some quality time as a couple.  And so Emily and Tara packed their bags and hit the road first thing Monday morning.  Leaving from Quantico in a Bureau SUV wasn’t exactly the most romantic start to their trip, but Emily wasn’t going to be swayed.  She put her phone in the dashboard phone mount and started their special road trip playlist that they always listened to when they went for long drives together.  Tara chuckled to herself as the opening notes of “Born to Run” began to play.

            “Road trip playlist for a work trip?” she said, raising an eyebrow as she glanced over at her wife in the passenger seat beside her.

            Emily grinned and nodded.  “Just because we’re going to interview a serial killer doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun along the way,” she said.  She rested her hand on Tara’s knee and batted her eyelashes coyly as she watched the smile spread across Tara’s face, her heart skipping a beat at the way Tara scrunched her nose.

            “Well, in that case, maybe we should’ve taken Lana instead of this big gas guzzler,” Tara joked, referring to her beloved Opel, their usual choice of transportation when they went out driving together.

            Emily began to sing along to the music, and before long, Tara started singing too, their practiced harmonies perfected from years of road trips together.  Emily’s clear, soaring mezzo-soprano took the high parts, and Tara’s rich, husky alto took the low ones.  Virginia and North Carolina passed them by as they cruised along I-95 South with the windows down.  The songs kept playing, and the road stretched out in front of them, and Tara almost forgot where they were headed and why.  She kept glancing over at Emily’s silver hair streaming in the wind and smiling to herself as she wondered how she’d gotten so lucky to be married to a woman who could make a work trip to a Florida maximum security prison feel like a vacation.  Maybe Florida wasn’t so bad when she got to experience it with the love of her life.

[whitepolaris]

Mischief at the Country Tavern

by Fiona Broome

Ghost hunters joke that every historic restaurant and inn in New England is haunted, and they may be right. I can vouch for the existence of a ghost at the Country Tavern in Nashua, New Hampshire. Blond, mischievous Elizabeth Ford is a beloved spirit who haunts the Country Tavern restaurant. They've even named a gourmet diner after her: Chicken Elizabeth.

According to local legend, Elizabeth and her husband moved to colonial Nashua-then called Dunstable-in the mid-eighteen century. Because of its poor soil, unreliable transportation, and continuing hostilities with Indian tribes from Canada, New Hampshire remained decidedly rural.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth and her husband, a ship captain, were delighted with their new farmhouse. That it was near a well-traveled coach route not only provided peace of mind for the Fords but also meant that Elizabeth would feel less isolated when her husband was at sea.

The newlyweds were happy during the early years of marriage, in spite of Captain Ford's reputation for a volatile temper and fits of jealously. Elizabeth's sweet and playful nature usually prevented serious arguments, and for that her husband was grateful.

Their lives seemed idyllic until Captain Ford returned home after nine months at sea and found his wife pregnant. When the baby arrived a couple of weeks later, Ford was convinced that his wife had been unfaithful. In a fit of jealous rage, he killed both Elizabeth and the baby.

In one version of the story, he buried their bodies in the yard just outside the farmhouse. Over their graves he planted a tree-possibly to conceal them-and it remains just outside of what is now the Country Tavern. Others say that he dumped the bodies in a wall on the property or that the graves lie beneath the house itself. But it seems that no matter where they're burial, Elizabeth never left.

One Happy Ghost

According to local lore, Captain Ford hastily signed on with the next ship out of Portsmouth and soon was killed during an argument over a card game. No one mourned his loss.

Elizabeth's ghost began appearing soon afterward. Sometimes, she was spotted in the yard. More often, people saw her gazing out a window.

The farmhouse had many owners over the years before it became the Country Tavern restaurant. Since then-1985 to be exact-the buildings has been lovingly restored and the grounds artistically landscaped, a transformation that has delighted Elizabeth Ford.

I have actually seen the young Mrs. Ford. She's about five foot five and very slender, weighing about a hundred pounds. When I last saw her, she was wearing a deep red colonial gown. Her pale blonde hair was worn unfashionably loose, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. She was also translucent. Many restaurant patrons, however, say that Elizabeth can look as real and solid as anyone else-among living, that is.

Elizabeth skips and dances barefoot around the upstairs dining area. Her pranks including rotating patrons' dishes while they're dining and sending cups and saucers flying across the room. At the same time, Elizabeth is careful never to hurt anyone; she's mrely being playful.

Downstairs, Elizabeth visits the ladies room and sometimes tugs on the hair of visiting patrons. The ladies lounge was once part of the nursery, near the center of the farmhouse. It was also where Elizabeth felt safest, waiting for her husband to come home.

Interestingly, there has never been any evidence that Elizabeth's newborn is with her in the spirit world, and people often wonder where the child is. The consensus is that the baby probably crossed over.

Elizabeth's ghost certainly hasn't crossed. In fact, the young woman doesn't seem to realize that she's dead. In her own mind, she's still living in the time before her pregnancy, when she was happily married. That's why she's often seen upstairs, watching out the window for her husband's return form the sea.

Some people have seen Elizabeth looking sadly out the window toward the tree in the yard where she and the baby may have been buried. But these bouts of melancholy are brief, and soon Mrs. Ford's mood again becomes light and playful. In general, Elizabeth Ford is one very happy ghost.

Flickering Lights

When I first encountered Elizabeth, I was upstairs in the restaurant, showing some "ghost photos" to a TV show host. We were preparing to film a segment about the Country Tavern.

A shadowy seemed to pass over my photo album, as if someone had just walked by. I looked up and saw Elizabeth standing on tiptoes gazing over my right shoulder. She was looking down at my photos, seemingly fascinated by them.

I didn't want to startled the crew, so I kept quiet about Mrs. Ford's presence. However, just a few minutes later, she announced herself in her typically mischievous fashion. The cameras were filming as the TV host and I walked around the restaurant's upstairs dining area. I could see Elizabeth watching us from behind one of the crew, when she suddenly vanished. Then, as we began to discuss Elizabeth during the show, the lights on the wall flickered-and each time we mentioned her name or referred to her, they flickered again.

Finally, the host asked anxiously, "That's just loose wiring, right?"

"We'd better find out," I replied. "If it is, the restaurant needs to know before a short circuit starts a fire."

I looked around for someone from the Country Tavern staff, but they were all downstairs. It was up to us to solve the mystery of the blinking lights.

Even when I think that something may be evidence of a haunting, I look for logical explanations. So I climbed up on a bench by the wall and thumped my hand near one of the fixtures to see if I could make the lights flicker again.

Nothing happened.

I repeated my efforts, this time pounding the wall with my fist.

Still nothing.

More pounding just inches from the light fixture-and still no flickering.

"Let me try," the host suggested, fathering her courage. She tapped the wall very lightly and-amid some nervous laughter-asked if Elizabeth was there. The lights blinked on and off as if cue. The TV host turned pale under her make up.

For the next several minutes, I pounded the walls trying to duplicate what had happened. No matter what I did, the lights wouldn't flicker.

"Elizabeth is just teasing you," I joked. And, with that, the lights turned quickly off and on again.

Only the wall had blinked off and on; the other restaurant lights remained constant. The power hadn't failed, even for a second. And the only light switches in the room were those in plain view. No one from the restaurant staff had left the kitchen either.

In other words, there was no rational explanation for the flickering lights. I laughed because I was used to ghosts, but the TV host and crew weren't quite as amused.

"See You Later, Elizabeth"

We briskly completed the TV segment, and the crew packed their equipment. As we headed toward the stairs, I glanced back over my shoulder and said quietly, "See you later, Elizabeth."

The lights flickered again, and I thought I heard a high, girlish laugh not far from my ear. I certainly felt a gentle swish of air, as if someone in a long gown had just adashed past me.

From what I've heard Elizabeth Ford is still a regular visitor at the Country Tavern. The restaurant is best known for its fabulous meals and fresh seafood dinners. But it's also famous as the home of one of the sweetest ghosts in New England.

Watch for Elizabeth Ford next time you're in Nashua, enjoying the food at the Country Tavern. Just don't be surprised if an empty cup gracefully across the room, or the lights flicker when you mention her name.