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moonstruckme · 4 months

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A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say.

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed onto him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth.

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door.

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side.

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.”

“It’s hardly fifteen after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?”

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving.

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.”

Your face is already flushed from the chill outside, but he could swear it goes pinker as you unwrap your scarf, smiling back at him. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?”

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.”

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to events.”

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James and Sirius most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger.

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand.

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous.

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts.

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.”

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.”

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.”

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises. He goes into the kitchen and a second later you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with the string trailing all the way back to the couch.

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat.

“Mhm. You like them?”

“Never had one.”

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?”

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned.

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat them. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.”

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.”

“Yes!” you cheer, and he laughs as you start working quicker with the needle.

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.”

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour.

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives.

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her.

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock.

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!”

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms.

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Aw, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not a very difficult task, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.”

“Sorry,” Lily says as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.”

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.”

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry.

“Come here, my handsome little guy.”

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap.

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it.

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious thing Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again.

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly.

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.”

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“I,” Remus says, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.”

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always bring some color to your cheeks. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry.

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax.

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story of a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?”

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists.

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her outside.”

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees.

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.”

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.”

“Gross,” James says, looking slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.”

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off anyway.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you have a box from every person there.

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.”

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.”

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know.

“Shit, I forgot to check.”

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says slowly, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, honey.”

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile.

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.”

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness.

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it, and you’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge.

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go.

“Aw, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands. “No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.”

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir.

“Oh, that’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is covering your blush. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.”

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.”

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn.

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.”

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.”

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.”

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.”

Remus smiles as he rolls his eyes, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.”

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat.

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.”

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks pretty bad to me.”

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live a bit far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.”

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring, babe.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out.

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d prefer to keep it from coming to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a super huge downer for us every year.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

“Shortcake, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly tough when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.”

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of futility on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you in Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.”

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!”

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door.

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you.

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.”

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry when James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.”

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out.

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet.

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering.

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees, and the look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mmm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.”

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you, your knees curled towards him and his one leg crossed over the other angling him towards you.

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.”

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mmm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours.

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during one scene near the end.

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.”

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.”

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.”

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.”

And awhile later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?”

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.”

“I want to finish the movie.”

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.”

The credits start, and neither of you move.

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.”

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you.

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes.

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.”

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.”

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. Come on, you’re my guest. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.”

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.”

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.”

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.”

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down.

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.”

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious.

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you. “You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.”

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.”

“You can think that if you like.”

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his, you’re warm and weighty against him.

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo-smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing.

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb over your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while.

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together.

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says.

You hum.

“Unless you mean it’s working.”

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words.

He sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you.

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.”

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.”

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him. “Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.”

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you.

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back.

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his.

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. An low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to offer access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?”

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.”

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech.

“Do you want to move to my room?”

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip.

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?”

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?”

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.”

❆ ❆ ❆

You’d always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth.

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him.

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this.

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to his voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?”

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d ask you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating that warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you.

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees. “You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it.

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy.

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you.

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him.

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no.

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?”

You swallow. “Okay.”

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?”

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress. His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go down to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan, and he kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward.

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline.

“We can stop anytime you want.”

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.”

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs open further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue, and he wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time.

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, grasping feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under.

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound.

He looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil.

“Come here,” you plead.

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise, cupping his head in one hand and wrapping your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens.

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?”

“I want to. Do you?”

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.”

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces.

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another.

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?”

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his ministrations, and it’s still a bit shocking. His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.”

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you.

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?”

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face.

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?”

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.”

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound.

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint beneath Remus’ hands. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth.

“Come on, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.”

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found under your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.”

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.”

“Come here,” you demand again, and he wastes no time in obliging you. He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you.

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all.

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?”

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.”

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway.

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s okay if not.”

“You can,” you say certainly, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from his face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication.

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens.

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.”

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek. “A little bit, yeah.” Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now.

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.”

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?”

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.”

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?”

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.”

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee.

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead.

“That was really great,” you tell him.

“I thought so too.”

“You’ll stay here, right?”

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream.

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new.

Remus starts the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall.

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you.

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim.

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? Remus can’t even think.

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?”

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?”

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression.

“Really?”

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?”

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.”

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.”

You flush horribly, and Remus doesn’t expect he’s faring much better.

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.”

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.”

They’re his own words, put hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs.

With his track record this morning, he really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face.

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?”

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.”

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did too.”

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with it. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something he’d come up with to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time.

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again.

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is shy. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.”

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, sweetheart, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.”

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?”

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty. “Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?”

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically. “Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.”

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back.

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference.

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours?

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the river behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you.

So much for opposites attract.

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face.

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving.

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops into a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re a better actress than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?”

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?”

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.”

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.”

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness.

“Would you come here?” he asks.

You comply with an eagerness he wonders he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make the most of it now.

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your scalp. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.”

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?”

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.”

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.”

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles.

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.”

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her well.”

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.”

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly.

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.”

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.”

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.”

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md-confessions · 14 days

Note

sort of in response to that one ask about doll not being 'uzi if she never met n.'

both her and uzi were changed through grief and disconnect from their peers even if it showed in different ways. both of them have themes of loneliness & both of them have an intense festering hatred that fuels their motivations.

the difference between them is that through the connections that uzi formed after being forced into a situation where she had to open up, she deterred herself from the path she was slowly going down.

like her quote en quote villain arc was stopped before it started because of the connection she formed with N but doll never had that.

doll refused to form connections despite the chances she was given because it happened too late. her anger festered for so long that she wasn't able to make a comeback. her hubris was her downfall. she became the very thing she sought to destroy.

the point of promening and her 'hypocritical murder plan' was that she was so blinded by her anger and hatred, she didn't really think too far about the logics of her plan; she probably fantasized killing v and then took the first chance she could to actually do it.

she has some kind of tunnel vision, focusing on her goals until she's gotten them; no matter the cost, no matter who or what she has to get through. (another similarity between her and uzi, imo.)

Uzi basically stated "hey we should stop fighting cause there's bigger shit at play and we can deal with it better if we team up" and Doll responded with "No I can do this on my own also die"

sort of. imagine you spend years upon years seething and imagining ways you're going to kill this sky demon that killed your parents in front of you and lead to the activation of a virus that has plagued you for years since that point. you have to actively kill and eat people from a young age & you are alone in your struggles; presumably the singular person who is aware of them finds your trauma humorous to an extent, and even if she sticks by your side, you feel like she doesn't really get it. i reiterate; you are alone in your struggles.

one day, you finally get your chance. you fantasize this moment for years, to the point where it becomes the only plausible solution to your problems. you don't plan it out thoroughly, because you know the universe will deal its hand correctly and allow you catharsis after years of festering that hatred. it finally happens. you have her in your sights, you have her pinned, she knows who you are now and you're about to kill her, to inflict all the pain on her you have wanted to for years; no matter who may have gotten in your way, you will have this, it's all you want, its all you HAVE wanted.

and then someone stops you. she tells you some things that if you were in a clearer mind, you would have thought deeper about, but you're so fucking angry right now and you want her to get out of the way. you don't listen.

you fight. you lose. you come back.

she has the same virus as you. you're not alone anymore. and that's when the conflicting feelings start. but despite that start, they never quite come to any meaningful conclusion because you have more important things to do. perhaps she inspired you a little to understand that the fate of the planet is more important than your fantasy for revenge, but you're so set in your ways you can't quite admit it yet. and again; when you get that chance again, to enact revenge, you take it.

and in the end, it ruined her & she died. she died as she lived; alone.

essentially, 'doll is uzi if she never met n' doesn't mean that exactly; it means doll is uzi if she never formed meaningful connections. the friends she had in school don't count in my eyes. literally the very first proper interaction we see between her and lizzy is lizzy playing doll's traumatic experience off as a joke. no hate towards lizzy also just to specify i love them as friends i just don't think it is on the same level of healthy as n and uzis friendship is?

okay.. i can't add any more to this it's so fucking long also it's 1 am GOODNIGHT i hope this doesn't look weird or aggressive

#md confessions #murder drones #md doll #uzi doorman #serial designation n #serial designation v #md lizzy

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javier-pena · 1 year

Text

the overlook

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader x Tess Servopoulos

Word Count: 23.3k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: When you almost get killed, Joel and Tess are there to rescue you. They take you in and Joel nurses you back to health. When you discover that Joel and Tess are in a relationship, tension rises until it inevitably breaks.

Notes: Well, here it is, one and half months after I first mentioned it. As it turns out, I wrote a short novella about Joel and Tess and their little hideaway high up in the mountains that they suddenly have to share with someone else. HUGE thanks to Dani @joel-tess (which is a very fitting URL lmao) for spending two whole weeks reading this and leaving helpful comments and pointing out that I start half my sentences with 'but' and the other half with 'and'. I hope the end result is worthy of the show, at least I was trying to make this about love and what it means to love in a world that runs on hopelessness and hate.

***

Everything hurts. Every bone, every muscle, every movement, no matter how small. Are your eyes closed or open? Is it day or night? Those things lose all meaning in a world where you’re so close to death. You don’t even feel the clammy wetness of the snow because the ache in your side makes everything else seem less important.

A gurgling sound escapes your throat, and you stop breathing, just for a little while, but long enough for panic to kick in. Your body doesn’t want to die. It hasn’t accepted its fate yet, the one your mind has made peace with. The blood you cough up lands sticky on your lips and chin. There’s really no coming back from this. You don’t want to spend your last minutes on Earth fighting and struggling – you don’t want to die how you lived.

Now you start to feel the cold seeping in through your torn pants, making your legs numb. Or maybe that’s just what dying feels like. Maybe your body is shutting down, limb by limb. First your legs, then your arms, and soon all that will be left will be your brain, your thoughts, all the things you regret, all the things you should have done differently, all the chances you didn’t take. Just like your body that should accept your journey is coming to an end, you too should accept that you did the best you could in a world that has been trying to kill you from the start. Maybe you should be proud you’ve made it this far. There is no shame in dying in a cold, dark forest under the stars, no shame at all in accepting defeat when faced with an enemy that is so much stronger than you are.

Your eyes are open now, and you can see the dark outlines of the trees surrounding you, the darker, more solid shadows moving between the trunks. Maybe they’ve come back to gloat, or to finish the job. It doesn’t matter – why should you spend your last minutes worrying? Coughing, you turn your head to look up at the sky again, at the vastness above you. Yes, you never thought you would die here, today, but there are also worse ways to go, darker, more painful ones. Maybe you should be grateful you’re not dying in an abandoned warehouse, chained, gagged, discarded. You’re free, out in the open, able to breathe clean air, feel a gentle breeze on your cheeks. And you’re not alone, not with thousands of stars twinkling above you, and the forest whispering sweet nothings.

Your eyes are closed now, and you can feel yourself drift off. There is no more fight left in your body, no more struggle against the inevitable. You feel warm all over, as if someone is hugging you, refusing to let go. Surrendering is so simple, so easy. In death there are no more expectations, no reason to worry about snapping branches and heavy steps. All those things are irrelevant now – what matters is to let go. Once you’ve done that, you’ll be free. You already are free you realize with a burst of relief. Those heavy footfalls close to you, they don’t fill you with worry or dread or fear. It’s not even indifference that you’re feeling. You just feel nothing.

Nothing at all.

*******

Death is colder than you expected.

It’s a cold, harsh wind that cuts your face and burns your hand. All those stories about a bright light, about an engulfing warmth were lies. As were those about pain vanishing because you feel it burning, eating away at your side, even more intense than it was before. Or maybe there is a Hell after all, and instead of being filled with fire and brimstone and screams and horrors, it’s this – having to go on how you died, cold and in pain, unable to escape your mistakes and regrets.

Do you deserve to be in Hell? You’re not sure. Probably not any more or less than everyone else you know. Yes, you killed people, but who didn’t? At least you never killed without having a good reason. You didn’t lead an honest life, but no one could under these circumstances. Lying and cheating and manipulating was what kept you alive for all these years. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to make some mistakes, you would’ve died much sooner. But maybe that was the point – if you had stopped fighting, maybe there would be light and warmth waiting for you now.

Blood tickles the back of your throat but you’re too weak to cough. All you can do is lie there, the copper taste filling your mouth before you feel yourself drift off into unconsciousness. At least you’re allowed this short break. Maybe death isn’t so bad after all.

*******

Death smells like gasoline and disinfectant, it smells like burning trash and blood. That doesn’t surprise you now that you’ve made peace with never being embraced by that warm light. Death is also quiet, calm. No more rustling leaves, no more heavy steps – just silence. If the smell wasn’t so bad it made you retch, you would think you were back home, in your childhood bedroom, before the world was fucked up and you lost everything. Or maybe you have to experience it all over again, the loss, the pain, the heartbreak. Maybe that’s your punishment for killing and lying and cheating. It could be worse, you decide. It’s nothing you don’t know, nothing you can’t live with.

Watching your mother being executed by soldiers? You replay those few short seconds every day, and have been for 15 years. Reliving the pain of your brother beating you until you couldn’t get up? You forgave him for that a long time ago because he was right – you deserved it. Being gagged and bound so you couldn’t run off, unable to escape your father selling you to a group of men when you were barely 22? Back then, you thought it was the worst thing that could happen to you. You laugh. Life had so much worse in store for you.

All those memories can’t hurt you anymore, but there is just one … one day you don’t want to relive. Still, there is no sense in worrying about it now. You can submit to the guilt and self-hatred when you get there. And maybe you won’t. Maybe something else entirely is about to happen, something much worse than you could ever imagine. No one knows what happens after death, but you’re about to find out.

*******

The voices have been with you for quite some time, but you still can’t recognize them. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think you’ve heard them before. It’s odd – isn’t this supposed to be about your life, your memories? Maybe you could place them if you could understand what they were saying, but it’s impossible to make out. You’re fairly certain there are at least one man and one woman. Sometimes you can hear her laughing, sometimes she shouts and growls. His voice is always the same, a deep rumble, monotone.

It could be that you know them. You’ve met so many people over the course of your life, so many strangers, some of them good, some of them cold and cruel and dangerous. But if the man and the woman are significant to you, significant to learning one final lesson, then why don’t you recognize them? And why can’t you understand what they’re saying? What’s the point to it all?

When you realize you can open your eyes, it comes as a shock to you, and you immediately close them again. You don’t want to see because you don’t want to know where you are, but your left arm itches and burns, and you can’t move your right hand to feel out what the problem might be. You also can’t move your left arm or your legs for that matter. So, if you want to find out what’s going on, you’re going to have to open your eyes sooner or later.

You’re breathing too fast but you can’t help it. If this is death, then why are you so terrified? The worst thing that could happen to you has already happened. There is nothing worse, nothing more final than dying. Still, you pant like a rabbit caught in a trap, your heart fluttering inside your chest when you finally manage to force yourself to open your eyes. And you see nothing, just darkness, not entirely black but too dense to make out much except a lamp somewhere above your head, the lightbulb cold and dark. It could be worse.

Even with your breathing still too fast and your heart still fighting with everything it has, you manage to turn your head to the left. You can make out an IV bag next to the surface you’re lying on, its line leading to your arm, buried in the crook of it. You groan, and try to lift your right hand again to free yourself but you can’t. You can’t and you don’t know why and the room is spinning and spinning and … you realize.

You’re tied down.

You can feel the coarse leather against your skin now, against both wrists and around your ankles. This can’t be death – it’s too much like life, too much like what you’re used to. A disappointed sob forces its way out of your chest, followed by a dry heave. Not only did you fail to escape, you ended up in a worse situation than before. Panic grips you, cold and hard, and you don’t hear yourself screaming but you must have because a door bangs open and the voices are in the room with you now.

You lose consciousness … you don’t want to know.

*******

You dream of a mountain stream, cold and clear. You dream of the ocean, of waves rolling in, quietly at first, then louder and louder. You dream of birds in the sky, of your gun in your hand. You dream of red sunrises, of fire burning flesh, of the iron taste of blood.

You dream of her.

You don’t want to dream of her, so you wake yourself up. But the only thing that awaits you is the horror of still being alive, of still being trapped in a windowless room, hooked up to an IV bag, tied down, with no idea about where you are, what time it is, and what they want from you. And you wish you had died in that forest under the stars, so the snow could have covered your body, and you would have been forgotten. But you’re refused that one final kindness, even now, when you have nothing left to lose.

There are sounds outside the locked door – it’s bound to be locked, isn’t it? You can’t get up and check, but there is no point anyway. You’ve been confronted with enough locked doors in your life to know better than to expect anything else. The sounds are loud, metallic, like someone is working on something, destroying it. You don’t hear voices anymore, you don’t hear the man or the woman, you don’t know if it’s one of them out there or someone else entirely. And it’s probably best that you don’t. The sooner you find answers to those questions you’re chewing on, the sooner you’ll be in danger again.

The sounds stop and your entire body tenses. You try to move but you can’t – all you get as a reward is a sharp pain in your left side, right where the bullet hit you. But it’s much softer compared to the pain you felt lying in the snow. It doesn’t take up so much of your mental capacity now and you can breathe through it. Almost as if someone tended to the wound and it’s healing. But before you can ponder that possibility you hear a key being turned in the lock of your door and it swings open, bringing a beam of light with it.

You don’t want to see, so you close your eyes, pretend you are still asleep. It won’t save you, it never has before, but it might buy you some time, prolong the inevitable for a little while longer. But your breathing is too fast, your body is too tense – you’re not fooling anyone.

You hear footsteps that sound heavy against the hard floor. One pair of boots, so at least you’ll only have to deal with one of them for now. Not that you can deal with anyone in the condition you’re in, but it’s still a small consolation.

“I know you’re awake.” A deep voice. A man’s voice.

You don’t move. He doesn’t know shit.

He sighs, moves closer to the bed you’re lying on, but he doesn’t touch you, doesn’t hit you. Instead, you feel an uncomfortable tug on your arm as he checks the IV. And that’s it. That’s all he does. Soon, you hear his footsteps receding, moving back toward the door. And you risk one glance at him before he shuts it behind himself.

You should focus on the gun and knife strapped to his side, on the fact that you could easily grab them from your position if you weren’t tied down. Instead, all you can see is his profile, mostly hidden in shadow, his strong jaw and big nose, his furrowed brow. And despite all your instincts, despite everything you had to learn the hard way, you want to believe he’s not planning on hurting you.

What a foolish thought to have.

*******

The next time you wake up, the restraints on your ankles and wrists are gone. You notice it immediately because you’re curled up on your side in a tight ball, hugging yourself. But once you realize that, you shoot upright, pulling the needle from your arm with the quick movement. Before you can jump out of the bed, you feel a yank and a metallic clang puts you back in your place. Yes, the leather is gone, but you’re still handcuffed to the bed. You’re only able to move more as long as you’re not planning on getting up.

“Sleep well?”

It takes everything in you not to scream. You’ve been alone in this room for so long, waking up alone for so long, you weren’t expecting someone else to be there with you. And that’s on you – you really should know better after living like this for 15 years.

The room is still dark, except for a lamp right next to your bed that’s bright enough to let you guess the dimensions of the space you’re in. Outside the circle of light, just beyond what you can comfortably see, the man who checked up on you … hours ago – maybe days ago – sits on a chair, leaned back, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest. Today, you can’t pretend you’re still asleep.

“Who are you?” Your voice is hoarse from screaming, it’s hoarse because you’re parched.

He nods at you. “Drink.”

You take your eyes off him for a second to see there’s a glass of water on a small table next to the bed. You don’t touch it.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Who are you?”

Would knowing really help you? Probably not. But it would give you back some control. It would make you feel like you were more than a good he’s going to barter the first chance he gets.

“My name is Joel.” He looks at his hands when he says it, so you can’t see his eyes. You can’t know if he’s telling the truth, but there is no reason for him to lie. Joel. He could be anyone and no one, but he’s the man who’s currently holding you captive.

“Where am I? Why am I here?”

Joel sighs again. “I ain’t the one … I’m just supposed to make sure you don’t dehydrate. Drink.”

You shake your head.

“You almost died out there. Hell, you almost died in here, too. You need fluids.”

What he says makes sense. You were there, after all, lived through the whole thing. But this is after, and no one helps anyone after the world perishes, at least not out of the kindness of their hearts. The water is probably laced with drugs so he can put you under again. You know better than to expect anything from strangers. You knew better before, and you certainly know better after.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He pushes himself out of his chair, and you push yourself back so your head makes painful contact with the hard metal wall behind you. He doesn’t need to drug you for whatever it is he wants to do to you. You couldn’t defend yourself in the state you’re in, even if it was your life on the line. But he doesn’t touch you. He picks up the glass of water and takes one big gulp, spilling some of it down his chin and chest. The reverberating sound that comes with him putting it back down echoes around your head.

“There. Happy?”

He lets himself fall back into the chair and crosses his arms again. A few drops of water cling to his beard but he doesn’t wipe them away. He doesn’t do anything except stare at you.

You shouldn’t do it. Maybe he’s immune to whatever he put in your glass, maybe a small dose doesn’t have any effect on him. But you’re too thirsty to care. Your mouth is dry and sticky at the same time, and your throat aches for some relief, for some water.

The water is so cold the first sip sends a shiver down your spine and makes your teeth hurt. But after that it gets easier and easier and you drink it down faster and faster until there is nothing left and your empty stomach feels so full it hurts. He doesn’t say anything, just takes the empty glass from you and makes to leave.

“Hey,” you call after him. Hey, Joel, you want to say, but it feels too intimate. “Untie me?”

He doesn’t even shake his head before he closes and locks the door behind himself.

*******

The soup burns your lips and tongue, but you’re too greedy to pay much attention to the pain. It’s nothing special, just some roots and mushrooms, and a few pieces of lean meat, but it’s the best meal you’ve ever had. Joel watches you drink down the soup, one hand resting on his knee, the other hanging down, hovering close to the gun. He expects you to throw the soup in his face, and you can’t even be upset he thinks so little of you because you were considering it for a second.

“Be careful, it’s hot.” It’s too late for that warning, but he says it anyway.

“Do you think you’ll untie me today?” you ask, moving your bound wrist so the handcuff scrapes against the handle you’re tied to. You’re still in the same room, tied to the same hospital bed, but at least the IV is gone.

He smacks his lips. “Nope.”

“I won’t run,” you promise. “Honestly, Joel, where do you think I would go? You still won’t even tell me where I am.”

“You don’t need to be untied if you want to stay right here.” You’ve heard this a million times.

“Don’t you think it’s time you trusted me?”

He huffs. Sometimes he says, “You clearly don’t trust me,” sometimes he gets up and leaves. Today, he just quietly watches you as you drink your soup.

You know he doesn’t want to harm you. He had plenty of opportunities in the three weeks you’ve been living under his roof. That’s something else you know – three weeks. Two of those you spent drifting in and out of consciousness, hovering between life and death. One you spent trying to convince Joel to unlock the handcuffs.

The one thing you still don’t know is why you’re here. What does he want with you? Why is he keeping you alive? Why is he nursing you back to health? Sometimes you aren’t even sure if he knows the answers to those questions himself. But the stronger you get, the more you’re looking for answers. And the more you push him, the more he shuts down.

“Where am I, Joel?” You’ve asked him this so many times that the words have started to sound fake.

“You’re safe.” He replies, and as always, those words sound like a lie.

“If I’m safe, then why are you holding me captive?” Why am I still locked up? Why don’t you want to untie me? What’s behind that door? You’ve tried countless variations on that same question and he’s found countless ways to avoid answering them.

“Would you like some more soup?” He nods at your empty bowl.

Yes, you would, but you also want to get up and move about. Wordlessly, you hold out the bowl and he takes it from you, always careful not to come too close to you, so you can’t grab the knife or the gun. You tried, of course you did, and you failed miserably. You still have the bruise on your arm to prove it.

Joel walks through the door but leaves it open. He sometimes does that because there is nothing of interest to you to see beyond it. Just a table, and a calendar on the wall opposite. August 2003, and a picture of a golden-fronted woodpecker, a tiny red berry held gently in its open beak. Its eye looks red, too. You guess there must be a stove somewhere (or at least a gas cooker) or Joel wouldn’t be able to cook soup. But that’s it. You don’t know how many other rooms there are (if there are any), you don’t know how many other people there are (if there are any). Wasn’t there a woman here while you were fighting for your life? You can’t be sure. And asking Joel is useless – you’ve tried.

“Here.” You take the soup from him and he sits back down to watch you as before. “Be careful, it’s hot.” You’re trapped in a loop.

“Why do you always do that?” you ask, holding the bowl in your hands, letting it warm your cold fingers. “Why do you always watch me eat?”

A puff is your only answer.

“Scared I’m going to whittle a key from a few pieces of boiled potatoes and a sprig of rosemary?” you tease.

“I have my orders,” he answers as if that settles the matter.

You know better than to ask him whose orders they are. This conversation is giving you a headache. So you try a different approach. “What’s your favorite kind of soup, Joel?”

The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s about to smile, but he gains back control immediately. “Any soup that’s warm and keeps me alive.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, what’s the real answer?”

You don’t think you’re going to get an answer since he just looks at you for the longest time. You’re used to it, to his brown eyes on you, assessing you, trying to determine how dangerous you are. Only today it’s a different kind of gaze. He’s not looking for danger but something else. And eventually he finds it.

“Black bean soup,” he answers.

There’s already a witty remark on your tongue but before you can get it out, a siren goes off, loud and jarring, unlike anything you’ve heard in a while. Your body’s reaction to it is instantaneous. You drop your soup, fling it from you, so the bowl hits the ground, bursting, spilling the warm liquid everywhere. Joel doesn’t notice. He’s on his feet and halfway out the room at this point. You have no idea what’s going on, what the siren means, but you know you’ll be safe cowering in the room under your blanket. At least you hope you will be. Whatever is out there, whatever triggered the alarm … Joel is just one man. And isn’t this how it started last time? You thought you were safe too, but there were just too many, and they took whatever they wanted. This time, you’re not even strong enough to close off your mind. This time, you will surely die.

You hear no sounds from the other room, except the telltale click of a magazine being pushed into a rifle. You hear no sounds because you try to block out everything that comes afterwards …

When it’s all over, Joel cleans up the soup you spilled. You’ve lost all appetite, and he doesn’t push you to eat more. Joel smells metallic, like smoke. You don’t want to ask him what happened and he’s not going to tell you anyway. Instead, when he’s done, he softly closes the door to your room, leaving you alone in the darkness. He has things to do now, gruesome things, things you wouldn’t know how to help him with even if you weren’t injured. But you could tell from the tension in his shoulders and the cruel lines around his mouth that whoever tripped the alarm wasn’t infected.

And it never gets easier.

*******

You flinch. It still hurts whenever he changes the dressing, even though he’s so careful now. Joel wasn’t like that at first. The first time you were fully conscious during the procedure, you broke down crying because the pain was too much for you to bear. You definitely weren’t looking for comfort from him, but a kind word would have gone a long way. Instead, all you got was a, “Suck it up, you’ve been through worse.”

The more your wound heals and the more you recover, the more careful he handles you. Still, every time he undoes the bandage around your chest, it feels like he’s tearing the wound open again, as if all the scab your body formed around it is coming clean off. It doesn’t help that the wound is on your left side near your ribs, and you have to take your shirt off every time Joel cleans it. It leaves you exposed and uncomfortably on display. Every other man would have taken advantage of your situation by now, but not him. Maybe that makes you feel even more vulnerable.

“It looks good,” he tells you, examining the wound. He carefully touches the tender flesh around it with the coarse tip of his forefinger, sending an uncomfortable shudder down your spine. “No sign of infection. I think it might be time to take you off the antibiotics.”

“If you say so, doctor,” you say through gritted teeth.

He huffs, removing his finger. “Does it still hurt?”

“Of course it fucking does,” you snap.

He draws back, straightening his back. His face is a blank mask. “Was this your first time getting shot?”

“No,” you answer, protectively slinging an arm across your naked stomach, “but the first time I almost died from it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t just the wound.”

There’s no question in it, just an observation. And yes, he’s right, it wasn’t just the wound. It probably wasn’t life-threatening to begin with, but it’s none of his business when he doesn’t even want to tell you where you are and why you’re here. You know better than to open yourself up to a complete stranger who keeps you locked up. In the future, you need to be more careful. You can’t let him come any closer than he already has.

“Like you would know,” you say defensively.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he flexes his fingers fast, balling them into a fist and releasing them.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” you sigh impatiently.

Without another word, he gets back to work. He cleans the edges of the wound with some cold water, then he has you press a gauze pad against it while he ties the bandage around your torso again.

“A few more days and we can leave it open,” he tells you once he’s done.

“And then what?”

Is it going to be the same as always?

You glance at Joel, his furrowed brow, as he focuses on tying the bandage tight enough to hold but not tight enough so it will hurt you. He wouldn’t, would he? Hurt you? You shake your head. No, you’ve been there before. You put your trust in people before and it almost cost you your life, and it certainly cost you part of your soul. If anyone should ask, you still have the scars to prove it.

Once he’s done, Joel runs his fingers from the edge of the bandage down your naked side to your hip. It’s not a conscious movement, at least you don’t think it is, since his brown eyes are glazed over, almost empty. But it still pushes all your questions and doubts aside. Joel would hurt you if he could, there is no doubt about that. But he would also protect you, has already protected you. And that’s where the real danger lies waiting. It’s not hidden beneath cruelty and malice. It lies buried beneath care and attention. You either die for the people you love or you live long enough to lose them. And if they betray you, you can never really fully recover from that.

“That’s not up to me,” Joel answers, averting his gaze.

“Please,” you start.

“That’s enough.” His voice is harsh, the words meant as a shove, but all you feel is a pull deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Joel,” you try again, but he shakes his head and stands.

Usually, before he leaves, he tells you to get some rest or holler if you need anything. Today, he stomps out of the room, his boots heavy against the concrete floor, and you turn away from the door because you won’t sink so low as to call after him. But before you can make sense of the whirlwind of feelings holding you captive, before you have time to put your thoughts into order, you hear him return. He grabs your wrist, the one that’s tied to the bed, in a firm hold, one that makes you yelp in surprise.

“Joel, what …?” you try, wanting to get away from him and be closer at the same time.

Before your heart can decide if it wants to stop beating or spin out of control, you hear a metallic click and a weight falls off your wrist. You’re free! Your brain doesn’t have enough time to process that new piece of information before your fingers close around the handcuff and you raise it, bringing it down hard against Joel’s temple. He grunts in pain but you don’t pause – you’re sprinting toward the door as fast as you can after weeks of being tied to a bed. You have the element of surprise on your side because Joel doesn’t come after you, at least not right away. You’ve made your way to the room with the table before he has fully realized what is happening.

Your lungs and legs burn like they’re on fire and your head is spinning, screaming for you to slow down or you will collapse, but you ignore all the warning signs, desperately searching for an exit. There are two doors, one on your left and one on your right. They both look the same – dark green, dirty, paint chipped away, especially around the handles. It’s crazy how much your brain is able to take in and process whenever you’re in danger. But you don’t have time! You can’t linger and stare at the small kitchen corner, maybe even look for a knife you can use as a weapon when Joel finally does come after you. You don’t pick a firearm out of the crate right in front of you either because the rifles and guns probably aren’t loaded and you can’t afford to be slowed down by dead weight.

You make a decision in the spur of the moment, without any plan where you are, any idea about what kind of building you’re in. But you just know that the door on your right will lead you to freedom. And so you make for it, spurred on by the grunts behind you. Joel is in pursuit now, having recovered from the initial shock. If you want to get out of here, it’s now or never.

The door is unlocked. It’s not even particularly hard to push it open, not even for someone in such a weakened state as yourself. It just swings open, and you’re outside – just like that. You don’t see much: snowy mountains, a quiet forest, fences and barbed wire, two abandoned cars, a horse, its flanks steam in the cold winter air. You see your own breath too, and it almost makes you turn back. If you leave in your condition, face the winter without so much as a coat to keep you warm, you’ll be dead within a few hours. You certainly won’t make it through the night. But it’s a fate you can choose, something you can control now that you don’t feel like your own person anymore. And it’s preferable to dying tied to a bed in a dark room.

You run, stumbling like a fawn. If you push through the pain and the cold, if you ignore your cramping muscles, the jab in your side, the iron taste in your mouth, you should be able to climb over the fence. And then you can hide in the forest until it’s too dark for Joel to find you.

Something barrels into you, pushing you to the ground. You scream as your entire world erupts with pain. Lights flicker in front of your eyes, white and red, and your world tilts and spins. You’re so cold but your left side burns red hot. Did Joel shoot you?

“Fuck!” It’s the woman’s voice – you recognize her instantly. She’s the one you heard talking to Joel during those first few days when you had no way of knowing what was real and what wasn’t. She’s lying next to you, covered in snow, one hand firmly wrapped around your arm. “What the fuck is going on here?”

You’re being lifted up by a strong hand wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt. A desperate gasp escapes you as Joel lifts you out of the snow. His eyes are bright with rage, his breath is a hot cloud between your faces, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to let go soon. If anything, his grip turns harder as he twists your collar in his hand.

“What are you doing?” the woman snaps at him.

“I untied her and she made a run for it.” His honesty surprises you, even if there are other issues right now you should focus on.

“Let go of her,” the woman orders, and there’s just a brief moment of hesitation. Then you’re dropped to the ground, crumpling into a heap in the snow.

The woman sighs and pushes herself to her feet. “Come on,” she hisses at you, pulling your arm. “Get up.”

You try to tear yourself loose, even if your entire body is screaming for you to stop fighting and give in. “No,” you grunt through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”

She laughs in your face. “And where do you want to go, sweetheart? Look around. You’re stuck here, whether you like it or not.”

You look around at her words but you only see the same trees and mountains you saw before, and you still feel like you’d rather die in the woods than live with this helplessness any longer.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” she groans. “Come on.” And with that she pulls you up like you weigh nothing and shoves you. “Get moving.”

You should probably put up a fight – if 15 years living in this world have taught you anything, it’s that the strong survive. It should feel like this situation has just gone from bad to worse, but there is something about the way Joel lowers his head as you walk past him that gives you pause. And you might be imagining it but the woman’s grip feels less hard. It’s not that you think they’re good people, but you’ve been here for more than three weeks and if they had wanted to hurt you, they’ve had plenty of opportunity so far.

*******

“Why am I here?” you ask. You’re sitting at the table, a steaming bowl of soup in front of you, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “What do you want from me?”

The woman, Tess, sits opposite you. In front of her on the table is a loaded gun. It’s as if she’s taunting you. You could reach for the gun, try to shoot her, but she’s faster than you and you’d be dead before you’re fully out of the chair. Joel leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. Maybe his lack of trust hurts you, maybe it’s an uncomfortable pull near your heart, but you also can’t blame him. There is a bruise forming on his temple where you hit him with the handcuffs. You don’t even remember doing it.

“We don’t want anything from you,” Tess answers, and it’s just as unhelpful as Joel’s non-committal grunts.

“Then let me leave.”

Tess shakes her head. “No.” Before you can protest, she adds, “You still need some time to recover.”

“Why are you helping me?” The question is directed at Joel but he keeps quiet.

“You were almost killed, remember that?” It sounds almost like an accusation, the way Tess says it. “We found you and brought you here.”

“Why?” It baffles you. They must have an ulterior motive.

“Where I’m from, you don’t just leave people to bleed out in the snow.”

You laugh at that. “Where I’m from you do. Has it ever occurred to you there might be a reason why I was almost killed?”

“There’s always a reason,” Tess says with a nod. “No one can afford innocence.”

You look at her for the first time, really look. She might be around Joel’s age, but it’s not easy for you to tell. She has long, brown hair that is starting to gray, and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The look she gives you is cold, hard, but beneath all that there is something else – it’s as if she’s forcing herself to put up a front. Before, when you came in, she took off the heavy winter coat she was wearing. Now she sits opposite you, dressed in a dark sweater that is tattered along the edges. A second gun is strapped to her side with a leather shoulder holster. It looks new.

“And you don’t care about the reason at all?” you press. “Maybe I murdered ten FEDRA officers.”

“Those guys who were trying to kill you weren’t FEDRA.” Joel’s voice is deep, almost hoarse.

You definitely don’t want to talk about that so you change the subject. “If I’m that innocent, why not let me go?”

Tess just glares at you.

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “I’m grateful and all, but I really deserve some answers, don’t you think?”

“It’s the truth,” Tess says after a brief moment of contemplation. “We found you in the woods, we decided to look after you until you were better. You aren’t fully healed yet and we’d like you to stay with us until you have recovered.”

“And what do you want from me in return?”

Tess doesn’t look like she’s going to answer you, but Joel does. “We need a third person to look after the compound, at least until the end of winter. If you want to repay us, you’re more than welcome to stay and pull your weight until the snow melts.”

“For real?” you ask. He’s joking, surely.

Tess nods at Joel. “You’re clearly capable. And you’re strong. We could use someone like you.” She hesitates. “Especially since I can’t be around most of the time.”

You prick up your ears at that. She’s giving you more information than she needs to give you, vital information about one of their weak spots. She probably doesn’t trust you, not fully, but she trusts you enough.

You clench your jaw and nod. “All right, but you have to start answering my questions honestly.”

*******

You’re high up in the mountains, far away from whatever is left of civilization as you know it. No one comes up here – no humans and certainly no infected. It’s just Joel and Tess, at least during the winter. In summer, when the weather clears and the snow melts, they will go back to Boston. Until then, they’re in charge of a warehouse of ammo and guns. They are in charge of a stockroom full of food. And the people who put them in charge aren’t FEDRA.

Mostly, it’s just Joel up here. Tess leaves for weeks on end, travelling around the country on errands they don’t tell you about. Trust only goes so far. And when she comes back, she never stays for longer than a day or two. It’s their third winter up here, Joel’s third winter of being mostly on his own. They both don’t want to come next year, but they go where they’re sent. Tess also makes it clear that it’s best if the people in charge never find out about you staying here.

Here. It’s not home, not exactly, but it’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time. Joel and Tess call it the Overlook. The main building they kept you in, a warehouse where they keep the ammo, the stockroom, and a tower, tall and menacing, that they use as an outlook. Most days, you can’t see much up there. Winter is cold and gray in these parts, the clouds hang low almost every day or it’s snowing constantly. You haven’t seen the sun in weeks.

It’s not easy work what they expect of you. It’s back-breaking, skin-tearing kind of work, but it feels so good to be doing something. Especially now that you’re fully healed you focus on getting back your strength. Seeing the progress and noticing how much more your body can take with each passing day gives you a grim satisfaction. The first time Joel let you out of the house you couldn’t even make it to the fence and back without almost collapsing in the snow. Today, you’re outside, setting traps to catch rabbits, climbing trees, helping Joel skin and gut a deer he shot. And you don’t feel tired. You feel alive, driven by purpose.

Joel’s naked hands and wrists are covered in blood, his face is grim and set. It took you some time to learn that he’s not angry when he looks like this, but that he’s concentrating and you definitely shouldn’t interrupt him when his brow is furrowed like that. So you watch as he works, grunting with the strain of it, his knife quick and fast in his hands. There is no point in carrying a whole animal back to the Overlook; it’s better to carve out the parts you want to use here and now.

Joel has taught you so much in the time you’ve been with him. Sometimes you wonder how you were able to survive the first 15 years without him. And sometimes you wish you could stay with him into spring and all the way through summer and fall, even though both he and Tess made it clear that it’s not possible.

A crack cuts through the silence of the forest, as if something – or someone – close to you just stepped on a twig. Joel drops the knife so fast you almost don’t see it fall. The rifle is in his hands, he’s up on his feet, pointing it into the general direction the sound came from all before your hand has moved to the gun hanging at your side. Three birds take flight, their flapping wings almost as loud as the step you heard. But other than that, nothing moves in the snow-covered forest.

“Maybe it was just an animal,” you dare point out.

“Yeah, maybe,” Joel says through gritted teeth, still observing the trees and the spaces between them.

You know not to say anything more or give any advice until Joel has decided it’s safe to continue his task. You haven’t been living out here for years, you haven’t even been living outside high walls that much. It’s not your place to question Joel or any judgement he makes regarding safety. But, soon enough, he lowers his rifle and falls back onto his knees with a grunt. There is a lot of work left to do and it will get dark soon.

You watch as his knife glides under the deer’s skin, separating it from the meat and muscle beneath. A pungent smell fills the air around you and you wonder if you might be attracting other animals, like wolves. You hear them howling at night, higher up in the mountains, too far away to be of much concern. But the winter is hard and there isn’t much meat to spare. You’re an easy target for a pack of apex predators close to starvation.

Joel puts the knife down next to his knee and begins to pull, tearing away the deer’s skin with a sickening sound. And then, before you can offer Joel help to roll over the big carcass, something jumps Joel with a shout, pushing him to the ground. It all happens so fast you can’t shout a warning – you didn’t even see the assailant coming even though Joel told you to be on the lookout. Your surprised shout comes too late.

A man pushes Joel to the ground. You can’t make out his face, but it’s covered in a trimmed, black beard. Joel, taken by surprise, raises his hands to protect his face, but the man has a knife clasped in a fist, its blade gleaming in the afternoon light.

“Joel, watch out!” you shout, but there is nothing you can do.

The man brings down the knife in a slashing motion, cutting into the red skin on Joel’s wrist. Joel doesn’t scream – he doesn’t even grunt. Instead, as the man draws back for a second attack, Joel punches him so hard he rolls off and Joel can get to his feet. The man assumes a crouching position immediately, apparently unfazed by Joel’s punch. He’s hunching down low, the knife still in his hand, twirling the handle, trying to get a firm grip on it. Joel glares at him, calculating, his face masked in concentration.

You calculate too – how long would it take for Joel to grab the rifle and fire it? Too long. What about the knife? The attacker is squatting between him and the blade. Could you help him? You don’t dare to when you see Joel’s furrowed brow.

The man jumps in Joel’s direction and Joel manages to grab both his wrists and push, so he stumbles back again. With a sickening grin on his face, the man approaches a second time, slower, blade outstretched in front of him. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off the weapon for a second and it’s the first time you see him, that cold, calculating man who knows he has to kill to survive. Sure enough, the man attacks again, going for Joel’s stomach, an easy target since Joel opened his jacket when he was working on the deer. Joel jumps back two steps and the man stumbles. A death sentence.

Joel is on him in a split second, pushing him to the ground, not caring that his face comes dangerously close to the blade. The other man shouts out in surprise as Joel climbs on top of him, his teeth bared. He pins the man’s arms to the ground with his knees, the effort bringing an angry flush to his cheeks, then reaches over the man’s head to where his own knife is lying on the ground. That’s when you know it’s over. Joel buries the fingers of his left hand in the man’s long, straggly hair and pulls to expose his throat.

It’s just one slash. Just one quick move of Joel’s arm and the man stops kicking, struggling, fighting for his life. You don’t look away. You watch as warm blood spills onto the snow that’s now dirty with soil kicked up during the struggle. You watch bubbles of blood form on the man’s lips, hear his last gurgling breath. You watch Joel hold him down, breathing hard, knife raised for a second cut if necessary. Joel’s eyes are empty.

“Let’s finish up here,” he grunts, pushing himself to his feet.

You want to apologize for having failed him, but you’re still too frozen to speak. Even though the whole altercation was shorter than a minute, you struggle with what you just witnessed. Not with the killing – you’ve seen enough of that and you know it was self-defense – but with the speed with which it all went down, with how quickly a life can be taken if you miscalculate and fuck with the wrong person.

“You’re bleeding.” It’s not much, but it’s something.

Joel looks down at his wrist as if he’s only just noticing the injury himself. “It’s okay,” he says, then kneels down and cuts a piece of cloth out of the man’s shirt to tie it around the cut. “Let’s finish up here before it gets dark.”

You nod, then watch him shove the man’s body away from the carcass. There’s nothing you can do to help him with the body or the deer, and you fight down a feeling of uselessness and helplessness. Now is neither the time nor the place to feel sorry for yourself. You can do that later in the privacy of your own room.

Joel finishes up fast, wraps the meat into old sheets he’s brought along, then stows them in his backpack. You get your own load to carry back to the Overlook. The trek back you spend in silence; Joel marches ahead with purpose, you follow, a queasy feeling in your stomach. What if the man wasn’t alone? What if his group is nearby, waiting for an opportunity to attack? Joel can fight off one attacker, maybe even two, but he’s wounded and exhausted from a day of hard work and you’ve proven today that you’re not much use in a fight. Luckily, there is no need for you to worry. You safely arrive back at the Overlook and breathe freely again once the gate shuts behind you.

“Here,” you say once Joel has locked the door to the main building. You’re standing behind a chair, offering Joel a seat. “Let me take a look at that cut.”

He nods and lets himself fall into the seat, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “There’s a first aid kit under the sink.”

You don’t tell him that you know – it’s best if he doesn’t realize how much you’ve been snooping around. So you get the first aid kit without a word and put it down next to the pot of steaming water you boiled while Joel was putting away the meat. Finding some clean towels or even just pieces of fabric wasn’t easy but you managed.

The cut isn’t long but deep, and it takes you a while to clean it. Joel doesn’t complain, but flinches from time to time when you use too much pressure. It will leave a scar but it isn’t his first and it won’t be his last. You don’t have any disinfectant since most of it expired years ago, but someone put a small bottle of clean, stinging alcohol in the kit and you use that to battle any possible infection. It’s the only time Joel hisses through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more vigilant,” you apologize while you’re bandaging the wrist. “You trusted me to keep a lookout and I failed you.”

“Yes, you did,” Joel agrees and even though you know you made a mistake it still stings to hear him confirm it. “Next time, don’t watch me. Keep your eyes on the forest.”

It’s only now, when he points it out, that you realize how much you must have been staring at him. Your face grows hot with shame and embarrassment. “It won’t happen again,” you promise, your eyes lowered, pretending to examine the bandage.

“It’s not just your fault,” Joel adds. “I should’ve been more careful after that twig snapped.”

His admission takes the sting out of it a little bit. “Is it hard to…” you trail off, struggling to find the words to the question that's on your mind.

You look at him for help, watch as a shadow clouds his features before seeing it pass and be replaced by disbelief. “You’ve never killed someone?”

“I have. Just… never like that, with a knife to their throat.”

“It ain’t different from using a gun,” he replies gruffly. “You end their life either way.”

Satisfied with your work on Joel’s arm, you let go of it, ignoring how empty your hands feel without the warmth of his skin against yours. “But you were so close to that man; you could watch him die, you saw him take his last breath, saw him slip away.”

“It was either him or me.” There’s a strain in Joel’s voice when he says it.

“It was him or us,” you correct him, not sure if that makes it better or worse. “I wouldn’t have been able to kill him on my own.”

“You’d be surprised how much you can do when your life is at stake,” he says with a cold laugh.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Then you both fall silent. It’s not until much later in the evening when you’re about to go to bed that he stops you with a hand on your arm, pulling you into the same chair you had him sit down in earlier.

“What happened to you?” he asks then. “Who were those men who were trying to kill you?”

You feel your body stiffen and your jaw tighten as you try to keep down the unpleasant memories of that night and of what came before. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough luck,” he growls. “It’s time you gave us some answers.”

The stab of jealousy you feel at his use of the word us is almost strong enough to defeat the rising panic. Almost. “Why?” you snap. “Because you saved my life today?”

“No.” Joel sits down in a chair opposite you so the table is between you. He fills two shot glasses with a cloudy, brown liquid and pushes one across the wood to you. “We trust you enough to let you stay. It’s time that trust was returned.”

You laugh coldly but wrap your fingers around the glass. “It’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” The confrontational tone has gone from his voice. He knows he has you.

You make one last attempt to get out of the situation. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“The beginning is usually a good start.” You expect him to be smirking at you, but he isn’t. There isn’t even much expectation in his gaze. He knows you’re not leaving the table until you’ve given him some answers.

“Well,” you sigh, giving in. “The beginning is always Outbreak Day, isn’t it?”

He shrugs.

“I was luckier than most,” you go on. “I only lost my mother in the days afterwards. She was shot by soldiers because she was coughing. Back then, no one really knew what symptoms people displayed before turning, so they got rid of everyone who was sick one way or another. At least where I’m from.”

“And where’s that?” Joel asks.

“Montana,” you reply, fighting to keep down the memories of your mother crumbling to the ground, gunfire ringing out around you, the sound of it almost shattering your skull. Then you were screaming. And all your father did was tell you to move along. Even now, you’re still screaming sometimes when you dream about that day. “We lived in a small, rural community, but the military found everyone. At first, we thought we were safe. You heard rumors about the cities, but in my town, no one even turned until the second day.”

Joel has a curious look on his face now. “How old were you?”

“20,” you reply. “No, 21. It’s not that easy to keep track of time.” You shoot him an apologetic smile. “I was engaged to a guy from my town, we were supposed to take over my parents’ farm.”

“Is he still alive?”

You shrug. “I have no idea. I got rid of the engagement ring a long time ago.” You take a steadying breath. “After that, my dad and my brother and I went to live in the mountains. There were some vacation rentals up there we moved into with a small community of other survivors. We probably would have survived up there for years if my brother …” Tears prick behind your eyes. No, you’re not going to cry, not yet. This isn’t even the worst part.

“He died?” Joel guesses.

You shake your head. “We lived there for about half a year. I … I started seeing someone. I’m not proud of giving up on my fiancé that easily, but during those times … it really made you realize how short life is, and I wasn’t going to say no when Steve approached me. He was a few years older than me. He lived in Seattle but was visiting his parents when it happened. I kept the relationship secret from my family for the longest time but my brother eventually found out. And he was furious.” Your voice breaks on that last word and you swallow.

For the first time there is something like understanding in Joel’s face.

“My fiancé was his best friend in high school,” you go on. “By seeing Steve, I wasn’t only betraying him, I was also betraying my brother. And my father was on his side.” A cold laugh escapes you. “Maybe I deserved what happened afterwards. Maybe I should’ve waited a year before seeing someone new. Maybe I should’ve been honest with my dad and brother. But I also think that no matter what, they would’ve found a way to punish me.”

You’ve told this story once before, and the person you told it to was full of sympathy, interrupting you constantly, cursing your family for the way they treated you. Joel is quiet. He’s not trying to lead you or push you, he waits for you to tell him the story in your own time and on your own terms. It’s a change, but not an unwelcome one.

“My brother beat me until I could barely walk,” you say next. “I can’t be sure but I think my dad told him to. He was too calm and calculating when he did it for it to have come out of rage. They didn’t dare touch Steve, but they made sure we never saw each other again. There was this group our community traded with sometimes. I thought they were FEDRA at first because they were dressed in military uniforms, wore tac vests, had assault rifles … Once I had gotten better, my dad bound me and sold me to them.”

You feel a grim satisfaction at the shadow that passes over Joel’s face. He’s not indifferent after all.

“I think I don’t need to tell you what happened next.” The truth is you can’t. “I spent the next 14 years escaping, living with different communities, even living in a QZ for a while, being caught, escaping again. As a woman, alone, this world is very hard to survive in. Those men who were trying to kill me when you found me … they were from a community who took me in after I lost the last group I was with. They were friendly enough at first. I was assigned kitchen duty which was fine by me. But then that evolved into having to dance at parties, and that evolved into offering my body to anyone who wanted me. It was far from the first time this was happening to me. But then they forced me to sleep with the leader of that group, a violent man who had just killed a little girl the day before because she had spilled some wine onto his pants and … I couldn’t take it anymore. When he started beating me, I grabbed a knife and slashed his face. Then I ran.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You know you’ve made mistakes in your life, but you haven’t even told Joel the worst part yet. Surely, he won’t throw you out based on what he knows.

“See?” Your laugh is hollow. “I told you it’s not what you think it is.”

“When we brought you in there were bruises on your legs,” he finally says. “There were cuts on your arms, scars and fresh ones. One of your eyes was swollen shut. I had a pretty good idea of what you’ve been through.”

It’s not much, but your breath catches in your throat nonetheless. He’s not judging you. He knows what you’ve been through, what you had to do to survive, and he accepts you for who you are.

You shrug. “Yeah. I hope that answers your question.”

Joel empties the glass in front of him with one big gulp. “It does put me at ease.”

You mirror him. “So, what about you? What’s your story?”

He bares his teeth at you. “That’s not how this works.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “It’s late, we have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Will you tell me tomorrow then?” you press.

“No,” he answers. And that’s the end of it.

*******

It’s completely quiet in the middle of the night when you lie in bed and have nothing else to focus on than your thoughts. Joel is in the other room, the one off to the left side of the kitchen. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he left you all alone at the Overlook. You don’t hear another sound apart from your breathing, but you never do. Every night you wonder if he’s still going to be there in the morning, and every morning he is.

He’s still with you, even through the walls and closed doors between you. You spend every waking moment with him and in turn he haunts your dreams. Tonight though, sleep won’t come. Your mind is too preoccupied with the events of the day, too much in turmoil to settle down. Telling him your story brought back all kinds of memories, good as well as bad ones, things you can never get closure on. But no matter how hard you try to focus on the familiar pain, on the regret that is like an old friend to you, tonight your mind keeps wandering back to Joel in the woods, fighting for his life. He didn’t just kill so he could live, he killed to protect you too.

Your breathing gets heavy as you remember the look on his face, his flushed cheeks, the way he didn’t let anger or fear control him. He knew what needed to be done and he did it. You remember how he was straddling the man’s chest, pinning him down to immobilize him, gaining the upper hand even when the other had surprised him. You’ve never seen anyone kill like that. You’ve never felt so safe with anyone.

With a deep sigh you turn onto your back and stare up into the darkness. You can’t make out the ceiling but you know it’s there. Just as you can’t hear Joel but you know he’s just a room away – both thoughts comfort you. You try to focus on that comfort, try to preserve it, but the building tension between your legs demands your attention. Other memories start coming back. A few days ago, when Joel had been cleaning his rifle, his sleeves rolled up so they wouldn’t get in the way, his arms flexing with each movement. The way he didn’t complain when you cleaned his wound today. Last week when he had come back from moving crates around, drenched in sweat – the smell had been so prominent, had lingered for so long that you had to excuse yourself and go to bed early. And then today, restraining that man, killing him with one move, one cut.

Your fingers press against your clit through your underwear before you can stop yourself. Immediately, your entire body comes to life. You bite the back of your other hand to stifle a moan, but roll your hips up, chasing friction. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before, like you haven’t thought about him before, but you’ve always managed to keep yourself under control. It’s too late for that now.

You move fast, kicking at your blanket, tearing your underwear off. Your knees fall open without the restraints, and you bury two fingers deep inside of you, clenching around them desperately. Is he that cool and collected when he fucks someone? Does he know what he wants and takes it? You like to think so. An image comes to you: you, spread out on his bed, maybe even on your stomach, and him thrusting into you without uttering a word. The only sound you can hear are his low grunts. You wish you could give him that, be there for him like that.

When you think about him gripping your hair to bend your back, to make you writhe and moan, the pressure between your legs becomes unbearable. You release your hand, sure your teeth left markings in the skin, and press your fingers against your clit. The moan of relief echoes around your quiet room. Working your fingers in and out of yourself and circling your clit, you can feel yourself rushing toward an orgasm, accompanied by an image of Joel above you, his broad shoulders caging you in, fucking into you, breaking out of the restraints he puts himself in. Your breathing becomes more ragged, louder, and that cautious part of your brain that’s been trained to be quiet for 15 years urges you to be more careful. But how can you when you think back to how easy it was for Joel to defend himself today? How easy it would be for him to take from you exactly what he wants, what he needs.

You turn your head to the side, determined to stifle a desperate moan against your pillow, but before you can take any precautions, the tension that’s been building inside of you snaps; you come hard, working your fingers inside as deep as they will go. You don’t mean to voice your deepest desires, but you can’t stop yourself.

“Fuck, Joel! Yes!”

It hangs there in the thick air afterwards, your desires no longer a secret, at least not in front of yourself.

*******

Tess returns two days later, and that door you’d been opening further and further with Joel falls shut again. Or maybe you’re using Tess’s appearance as an excuse to distance yourself from Joel.

He didn’t hear you that night, you’re sure of it; he doesn’t look at you differently, he doesn’t treat you differently. But something has changed and it’s your fault. Even though you slept better than you had in years after that night, you can’t help but feel ashamed, too. You’re more careful around him now, awkward at times, scared he’ll take one look at you and know. Joel doesn’t look at you the same way you do at him.

So when Tess comes back and Joel spends time with her, bringing her up to speed on things at the Overlook, you can’t be entirely sure it’s them shutting you out or you’re withdrawing. It’s so easy to blame them. It’s so easy to feel resentment when they go out together, even when they try to sell it to you as leaving you in charge. It’s so easy to fall asleep with your stomach tied into a knot because they both go to the other room at night. That’s also partly your fault. After all, they have to share a bedroom because they gave the other one to you. But it’s still easier to tell yourself they’re excluding you on purpose instead of analyzing why you come up with excuses every time Joel asks you to help him with something.

On Tess’s third morning at the Overlook, she offers to show you the top of the tower. It’s a clear day, sunny and bitingly cold. You’d be able to see for miles. And even though you’ve been here so many days you’ve lost count by now, you’ve never been up the tower. It’s not important to Joel and you never asked him. So you agree to Tess’s suggestion.

The climb to the top is hard, the steps are higher than what you’re used to, and you’re out of breath fast. Your wound, almost fully healed by now, starts acting up halfway up the tower, but you grit your teeth and push through. You’re not going to look weak in front of Tess. But once you reach the top, sweat is running down your face and back, and she makes you sit down on a crate.

“Not a lot of people push through on their first climb,” she tells you, leaning against the wall next to you. “Joel hates coming up here, says it’s because of his knees.”

“Shouldn’t someone be keeping watch though?” you ask, trying to hide how hard you’re breathing. “That’s what this place is supposed to be, isn’t it?”

Tess nods. “It was, at first. In the beginning, it was used by a group of people who were looking out for survivors. Then it was used as an outpost by FEDRA. But after a couple of years, everyone gave up on it. There are hardly any survivors left who haven’t settled down in a QZ or are tied to another group. And those who aren’t don’t want to be found.”

“Like Joel,” you mumble under your breath.

“Come on.” Tess pushes your shoulder. “Get up. Let me show you the view.”

You try not to let the awe you’re feeling show on your face, but Tess’s knowing smirk means you’re failing. “You can almost see the ocean from here!”

Tess laughs. “Not quite, but close enough.”

You’re so high up in the mountains that you are looking out over some of the nearer peaks at the forests and lakes beyond. The day is so clear you can see two or three smoke columns from other camps but they’re too far away to worry you. The brilliantly white snow and the endless blue sky are so bright you have to shield your eyes with your hand. Standing behind the glass at the top of the tower makes you feel truly free for the first time since that horrible night.

“This was here the entire time?” you ask, meaning it as a rhetorical question. “I could have seen this every day?”

“Most days the clouds hang too low to see much,” Tess answers. “But on days like these, coming up here makes you feel like you can fly.”

You tear your eyes away from the view before you and glance at her. There’s a wistful smile on her face, like she’s buried herself deep in a happy memory that is none of your business. This might be the first time you truly see her, the first time you look beyond her graying hair and the hardness in her eyes, the first time you look beyond the uneasy feeling you get when you see her and Joel together. The fact that she’s letting her guard down around you, even if it’s just for a few short moments, moves you. It’s more than Joel has given you so far. What you see is a woman who went through unspeakable things to stay alive, a woman who knows how to survive in a world where everything is out to get you, a woman who looks beyond the selfishness of most people. In that moment you’re sure that if her death meant she could keep Joel safe, she would welcome it with a smile on her face.

But then that jealousy comes back ten times stronger. And Tess closes up.

“Joel told me what happened to you,” she says without warning.

“He did what?” Jealousy is joined by a feeling of having been betrayed. It’s so sudden that you can’t stop the anger from bubbling up.

“Don’t be angry with him,” Tess sighs. “It’s part of the deal. What he knows, I know. Why do you think we’re still alive?”

“He didn’t tell me about that deal when he forced me to tell him,” you snap.

“Oh, don’t be naïve.” Her words feel like a slap. “We need to know who we’re taking in.”

“Yeah, well.” The anger burns bright red in your chest now. “Who says I was telling the truth? Who says anything about that story is true?”

Tess looks at you curiously, like a cat who is deciding if catching a bird high up on a branch is worth the effort. “Why would you make up a story like that?”

You can’t think of a single good reason.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Tess goes on.

“Thanks,” you spit. “Don’t you think I know that?” You don’t, because it isn’t true.

“Joel and I, we … we can make sure you’re safe from now on. There are places …”

“I don’t need your charity.” You expect her to lose patience. For most people offering to help you, it doesn’t take more than this. Except she doesn’t. She looks at you like she understands, like she knows exactly what you’re going through, and the fact that she doesn’t pity you makes you bold.

“You’re right not to trust me. Joel and you … you don’t really know me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“You survived 15 years of torture and abuse. You’re capable of a great many things.”

The fact that she sees you unnerves you. “I didn’t tell Joel the whole story, so don’t think you have me all figured out.”

“I know you didn’t.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Joel, he … he’s not the best at understanding people. Not because the compassion isn’t there, but because he has his own shit to deal with. But I can see there’s something bothering you. It’s eating you up from the inside and if you don’t let it out, it’ll kill you.”

You laugh coldly. “Thanks, but I don’t need your advice on what’s killing me.”

“Tell me or don’t,” she says with a shrug. “But I promise you, whatever it is, it won’t leave this room.”

You want to believe her but you know you shouldn’t. You couldn’t trust people before Outbreak Day and you certainly can’t trust them now. “What about your deal with Joel?”

“I make the rules around here,” she answers with another shrug. “And if it’s something he doesn’t need to know, then he doesn’t need to know.”

You take a deep breath, then another one. She waits patiently while your mind is spinning, trying to decide whether you can trust her or not. Weren’t you just wishing for someone who always has your back, someone you can rely on? But maybe that’s the reason she let her guard down around you … she wants you to think you can trust her. And once she knows the full truth, she won’t hesitate to throw you out. No one can ever trust you again after what you did.

“I’m not trying to trick you.” It’s like Tess can read your mind. “I can see you’re in pain and I want to help you.”

You huff. “No one can.”

“Try me.” It sounds like she’s challenging you – and that’s exactly the push you needed.

“Everyone thinks they have to do such terrible things to survive, but then you ask them about it and it’s just, ‘Yeah, one time I stole this loaf of bread from this old man and kicked him,’ as if people weren’t doing that well before Outbreak Day. And I think … I think most people stay human, no matter what. They see all those horrible things, and pain and suffering and death, and manage to go on. Maybe it’s because they have people relying on them, maybe it’s because that’s just who they are. And I think that whatever you do, you should be forgiven if it’s for the right reasons. Even if you kill someone.”

“Who will judge if you did something for the right reasons?” Tess interjects. “At the end of the day, you only have to justify your actions in front of yourself.”

“Morals, I guess.” Your throat feels tight all of a sudden. “If you round up women and children for your soldiers to use as target practice, then you’re a bad person, apocalypse or not.”

“Not necessarily. If those soldiers gain skills to protect 10,000 more women and children, aren’t a few deaths justified?”

“That’s not the point … Okay, what if you get someone killed? Someone you were supposed to love? And they died because you weren’t there for them when they needed you the most?”

“You made a mistake. You decided to save yourself instead of dying to save someone else. That just makes you human.”

“What if … what if Joel sends you to the next town for some supplies, and you know it’s dangerous, and you ask him to come with you, and he says no, one person will be less suspicious. But you won’t stop pleading, and the only reason Joel doesn’t want to go is because he knows how dangerous it is and he thinks, ‘Better her than me’. So, to get you to go, he promises he’ll come for you if something bad happens. Only he doesn’t. Not when he hears you’ve been captured. Not when they parade you around, stripped naked, tied to a pickup. Not even when they offer the crowd a deal: his life for yours. He doesn’t even come to recover your broken body. He just leaves you there.”

You don’t realize you’ve started crying but Tess raises a hand and wipes the tears off your cheek. “I would forgive him,” she says. “Sometimes we do selfish things for selfish reasons. Sometimes we do them out of fear. Sometimes the enemy we’re faced with is so powerful we feel so helpless we can’t move. Joel didn’t force me to go into town – in the end, I went out of my own free will, knowing the risk.”

“But wouldn’t you hate him when he doesn’t come to save you, like he promised?”

“Sure,” she says with a weak smile, wiping your other cheek dry. “For a while, maybe. But I wouldn’t blame him. Maybe that’s something that’s unique to our relationship, I don’t know. We know exactly what we can ask of the other.”

You and Julia, you hadn’t known that. And you’ve been wondering – if your positions would have been reversed, would she have come for you? You doubt it. But still … for 15 years you wished that someone would come and save you, telling yourself you wouldn’t leave anyone behind. And the second you had to prove yourself, you got scared.

“But doesn’t that make me a bad person? Someone you shouldn’t trust? I shouldn’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”

Tess sighs. “I don’t think it’s that easy. You always have a choice, and choosing to save yourself over another person doesn’t necessarily make you evil. Sometimes the best thing we can do is look out for ourselves.”

“But you would’ve saved Joel, right?”

That makes Tess laugh. “Of course I would have. But not because I think it would make me a good person, but because I don’t see how I could go on if he’s dead.” She says it like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the entire world. “Maybe I got it wrong, too. Maybe I should close myself off more, think more about myself. Maybe I would live longer if I did. But that’s my choice. And I choose to stick with him, no matter what.”

It makes sense what she’s saying. If you had known Julia better, if you had loved her, maybe it would have been easy to follow her into death. But you were basically strangers who had known each other for a couple of months. You also wouldn’t ask Joel and Tess to rescue you. The only thing is … they already did, and you were a stranger to them.

“How do you know what people are worth dying for?” you ask her, feeling dumb. It makes you sound like a child.

“You never know. Not until it happens. I’ve heard stories about people who, before everything, thought they were strong protectors, who’d lead their families through every storm life sent their way. And then they bolted at the first sign of danger.”

“Not you and Joel though.”

“Believe me, we’ve made mistakes too.” She gives you a grim smile. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I deserve to die for, probably. But I’ve also done good things, like helping you. You have to find a balance.”

You nod, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks again. That you’re still here unnerves you. Tess should have chased you away; at least that’s what you were expecting her to do. Instead, she opens her arms and pulls you into a hug. You immediately press into her and sling your arms around her shoulders. Maybe you don’t deserve her kindness, but it’s her choice to look after you, and you won’t push her away for it. For the first time in a long time, you feel the burden grow lighter and your heart beat a little freer.

*******

That night, you can’t find sleep. The conversation with Tess is still on your mind. It opened some barely healed wounds you let fester over the last few months, and now the burning is keeping you awake. If Tess is able to see beyond your mistakes, you should be able to do that too. But Julia’s screams still come to you every time you close your eyes. No matter what Tess says, you don’t believe she has done anything equally as bad as this.

There is something about Tess that unnerves you, something you can’t quite put your finger on. She appears to be so strong, but in a different way than Joel, one that is harder to define. Still, the notion that she’s in charge around here makes you want to laugh. You’ve spent enough time with Joel to know how he runs things, and he would never take orders from anyone, not even Tess. It doesn't take away that you think Tess is very capable of doing the things she talked about. If worst comes to worst, she would die for Joel - so would you, but there's less conviction behind your resolution. It wouldn't be the first time you overestimated yourself.

Then again, Joel doesn’t need anyone to die for him, and it’s presumptuous of Tess to think he does. Julia would have needed someone willing to die for her, someone who wasn’t you. You could see it in her rounded shoulders, hear it in her pleading voice. But Joel is nothing like Julia. And Tess is nothing like you.

A stab of jealousy shoots through your body, not directed at Tess this time. You just wish you had someone like Joel in your life, someone you could rely on, someone you knew had your back. It would make dying for them so much easier. You realize that someone like Joel is very quickly turning into just Joel, and you have to confront the fact that your time here is limited, and that you’re not going to share that bond with him that Tess shares, because they will send you away as soon as the snow clears. It’s unfair. If it was just Joel, you could get him to let you stay, but Tess is so focused on her rules and the mission that she won’t make an exception. Not even if she liked you more. And right now, you don’t think Joel cares either way.

Jealousy turns into helplessness, and helplessness opens your eyes wide, making you stare at the dark ceiling. It’s late, it’s cold, you should be asleep by now, but your throat is dry and itchy, and swallowing is painful. What you need is a glass of water. You kick off the covers and stand up, your naked feet hitting the ice-cold floor with a loud slap. You shiver and sling your arms around yourself, careful to avoid the bullet hole in your side. It’s just a few seconds and you’ll be back under the warm covers.

Quickly, you make your way to the kitchen, only pausing briefly by the door to make sure Joel and Tess already went to bed. You don’t really feel like talking to either of them right now. But the kitchen is dark and deserted and no one stops you when you go straight for the water canister. You pour yourself a glass and gulp it down, then pour yourself another one to bring to your room. Your feet are ice cold now and you hurry back over to your door.

Only then you hear it – a faint moan or grunt, and a creaking sound, like someone is writhing in bed, possibly in pain. You’re wide awake now. Was the Overlook attacked while you were lying in bed, feeling sorry for yourself? Did someone break in? Is someone in the room with Joel and Tess? Carefully, you put your glass down on the kitchen table and make your way across the room to their door, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Your cold feet forgotten, you’re determined to find out what’s going on. If there’s someone in the house with you, you won’t run from danger again.

As soon as you’re in front of the door, you hear the moan again, but now you’re less certain it’s one of pain. A different kind of panic grips you, one that is not connected to any danger but the sense that you shouldn’t be here. Then you hear a low grunt, deep and guttural, and you know it’s Joel. You know it is Joel and Tess, and they’re … You’re listening now, really listening, and you can hear all the subtle, repressed gasps, you can hear an urgent whisper, you can hear the sound of naked skin moving against naked skin.

Your face grows hot with shame and you stumble backward, indifferent to any noise you might be making. Let them know you know. They should, and they should apologize. The cocktail of emotions you’re feeling as you rush to your room is a dangerous one: jealousy, hurt, confusion. You feel so fucking stupid. Of course they’re sleeping together! How could you have been so blind? And yet, you still feel led on, like they were toying with you when they were just trying to be nice. This discovery is a slap in the face, a reminder of what you can never have. They both know how hurt and lonely you are and yet it has never crossed their minds to tell you just how deep their connection goes.

You refuse to cry. Joel didn’t mean to hurt you. He probably wasn’t keeping this from you on purpose. But Tess? Didn’t she say she’s making the rules? It was her decision not to tell you she and Joel are a couple, it was her decision to make you look like a fool. It’s so easy to focus all your anger on her because you really thought that by opening up to them, they would let you in, in turn. Instead, they are still keeping vital information from you, waiting for you to stumble across it.

At least Tess is leaving tomorrow. You might not get to have Joel the way you wanted to, you might feel embarrassed about your crush now, about how easily you opened up to him, but at least you won’t have to see Tess anymore. At least it’s just going to be you and Joel again. So it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t really matter they’re fucking.

You don’t find sleep that night. Your thoughts are too loud, the weight of the world is too heavy. You can’t stop straining your ear, afraid you’ll hear them again. Hoping you’ll hear them again. Because once you’ve calmed down, once your anger has dissipated in part, you feel something else. The moans and grunts are playing on a loop in your head, and once they stop fueling your anger, they start fueling your desire. You don’t do anything about that pull low in your stomach, the pressure between your legs, but you also don’t try to distract yourself. And a part of you is angry with them for not telling you because it feels like they’re excluding you when all you want to do is join them.

****** The next morning, you stay in bed until you’re sure Tess has left. You don’t feel like seeing her, mostly because you have no idea how you would react to her. Joel is easier that way. He never makes you feel wanted or unwanted. The both of you just exist in the same space, working together quietly. It’s exactly what you need today. So once you come out of your room, you try not to look at Joel too closely. Is his hair more disheveled than usual? Do his cheeks look rosy? Are the bags under his eyes less heavy? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

“Sleep well?” he asks as he puts down a mug of coffee in front of you.

“Yes,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same,” he says with a shrug. Then he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Did you leave a glass of water on the table yesterday?”

Hot panic grips you unexpectedly but you force yourself to keep breathing evenly. “I might have. I don’t remember. Why?”

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like a rebuke, just a fact. “It can get cold at night; you don’t want the water to turn to ice. The glass could burst.”

“Okay, it won’t happen again.”

And just like that, the issue is resolved. Being with Joel is so much easier than being with Tess.

You spend the day tending to the horses and checking the fence for weak spots. Joel spends his cleaning his weapons and counting the supply in the storeroom. The sun is out again, and it feels warm against your cheeks, even making you sweat as the day moves toward noon. You might have a few short weeks left before spring is here, before Tess will force you to leave. And then you’ll be on your own again.

Joel joins you when you’re working on repairing a tear in the fence, his quick hands making short work of cutting the wire and reinforcing the hole. You want to watch him work, determined to make the most out of your last weeks with him. But today, you catch yourself glancing at the forest and the mountains frequently, almost as if you can’t bear to look at him.

Why don’t you stand up for me? you want to ask. But you don’t. You know the answer, and hearing him admit it would only hurt you – more than the unspoken question anyway. A tight knot in your stomach makes it hard for you to focus on the task at hand. It demands all your attention by chewing and clawing and spitting, like a wild animal trapped in a tiny space. Should you let it out? No, Joel isn’t the one to blame, he isn’t the one you should focus your anger on. Still, you can’t help but feel stupid, stupid and betrayed. It’s your own fault for thinking you had found someone in Joel who wants to keep you, someone who likes having you around, who trusts you enough to rely on you, to seek comfort when the nights are cold and lonely. Why did he keep his relationship with Tess a secret from you? You know the answer to that. Why does she have such a strong hold over him he does whatever she asks of him?

“You okay?” he grunts somewhere to your left.

You’re not. “Yes, sorry. I’m just thinking.”

He makes a sound between a sigh and a cough. “Pass me the pliers?”

You hand him the tool without looking at him. He can probably see it all on your face, and the last thing you want to do is talk about it. But you allow yourself to look at his hands, reddened from the cold, calloused from years of hard labor, swiftly working to repair something broken by harsh weather and time. And you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those same hands roam across your body, worshipping every inch of it. The guilt of that fantasy almost drowns you, but it’s a familiar pain.

Without warning, a deep rumble fills the forest, shaking snow off sagging branches. Airplane is the first thing that comes to your mind, even though that’s impossible. There hasn’t been one of those landing or taking off in 15 years. To your right, you see a white cloud rise over the treetops, ice and snow glinting in the afternoon sun before swallowing the light with dusty gray fangs. You’ve never seen anything like it, and even though you’re far enough away from it to not feel threatened, it still makes you want to run and seek shelter.

“What is that?” you ask, pointing at the cloud.

“Avalanche,” Joel answers. “The warm weather softens the snow and it slides away.”

“Are we in danger?”

When Joel doesn’t answer immediately, you’re forced to turn and look at him. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is a thin, hard line. His hand is wrapped around the pliers, knuckles white.

“Are we?” you press.

“No,” he finally says, voice low with strain, “but Tess went that way this morning.”

******* It’s a long afternoon, the longest since you arrived at the Overlook. Joel wants to go out and look for Tess, you beg him not to. You’re not proud of the desperation in your voice, the way you fall to your knees when he refuses to listen, but you can’t bear the thought of being left alone in this place, waiting for hours or even days for some news, coming closer and closer to accepting a horrible, inevitable truth. If they’re both dead, you’ll die too.

Joel doesn’t listen to you, of course. He has a duty to fulfil, and you can’t resent him for it, even though you hate him for a short while. But then he’s gone and you’re all alone, and you’d do anything to get him back. You don’t think about what Tess’s death would mean for you, because you’re scared of what you might discover about yourself; you’re worried about her, but you’re not terrified like Joel. And what if she doesn’t come back? Wouldn’t your life stay the same, improve even?

When the sun sets, two figures approach the compound. You only notice because you’re outside with the horses, too nervous to sit cooped up in the kitchen where everything smells of stale smoke and him. Reaching for the gun in the holster at your side, you’re painfully aware of the vulnerable position you’re in, all alone, far away from anyone who could help you. But before you can take cover, you recognize Tess from the way she pushes her hair out of her face, and you recognize Joel by his gait, a slight limp. You barely manage to stifle a sob.

“The way is blocked,” Joel tells you once you’re back inside. He takes off his jacket and stows away his rifle. “We’ll have to wait for it to clear.”

You don’t really know what that means. Tess doesn’t say anything but slumps down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

“Are you okay?” you ask her, not sure if she’s hurt or just exhausted.

“I’m not,” she snaps. You flinch back. “This sets us back weeks.”

Joel puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezes. She takes his hand and squeezes back. Your heart squeezes too.

“What do you mean, weeks?” you push. “Aren’t you going to leave tomorrow?”

“I’m not,” Tess answers, tension in her jaw. “Joel just told you we’ll have to wait until the snow melts.”

“The road is blocked,” Joel adds. “We’re cut off. We could try and go through the woods but …”

“… but we’d get lost,” Tess finishes for him.

“I’m sorry. I – I didn’t know,” you stammer. How long until the snow melts? You look between Joel and Tess, the unspoken question on the tip of your tongue. Tess can’t leave until the snow melts. You have to leave once it does. You’re never going to have Joel to yourself again. That sudden realization hits you like a wave of grief. So much unsaid. And with Tess there, you don’t stand a chance.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, throat tight. The door to your room closes with a loud bang behind you.

*******

The thing you dread most is the thing you desire most, too. It’s an impossible situation, one that makes you reel from its power. Giving in would be easiest. Avoid Tess (and avoid Joel, too), keep your head down, pray for spring to come. But a part of you wants to fight for a few last moments of happiness, for a chance to feel like you belong somewhere before having to face an uncertain future that holds nothing but death. Tess can have him for the rest of their lives. You just want him for an hour or so. But you’re immobilized, curled up under your blanket, fighting back tears. Why is it that whenever something good happens to you in this Godforsaken world, it gets taken away immediately? And why can’t you find anyone to blame? Not even Tess? You understand her, you feel for her, you would probably do the same if your positions were reversed, but why does she have to make everything so difficult with her probing questions and her cruel rules?

If the avalanche hadn’t happened, you’d be preparing dinner now. Joel would mend his clothes or peel potatoes or check the perimeter. And after a quiet meal, he’d talk to you. Or he’d offer you an old paperback to read. Or you’d challenge him to a game of cards. Instead, it’s Tess who’s preparing dinner tonight. It’s Tess who will lead the conversation, Tess who will command Joel’s attention. And it’s going to be like this until the day she’s making you leave. Should you submit to her? Spend the final weeks moping? Or should you try to make the best out of a terrible situation? Before your injury, you’d have picked the first option. Now you’re not so sure anymore.

Joel and Tess are both sitting around the dinner table when you finally come out of your room. There’s a pot of stew on the stove and three empty plates next to that, waiting to be filled. You sit down without a word, facing them, pretending the day hasn’t happened. You don’t yet know Joel and Tess are sleeping with each other. The avalanche hasn’t happened. You’re just as important, just as included as they are.

“I could’ve helped,” you say, nodding toward the stove.

“I thought it would be best to let you sleep,” Tess answers, running a finger along the edge of the table. “You looked exhausted earlier.”

You shrug. “I can still pull my weight.” Are you imagining it or is Joel smirking? “If anyone is exhausted, it’s you,” you go on. “That trek through the woods today …”

Now it’s Tess’s turn to shrug. “I’m used to much worse.”

“Let’s eat,” Joel decides and gets up. You watch him at the stove, stare at the broad shoulders hidden beneath a denim shirt. You’d give almost anything for a glimpse into his thoughts.

“Can I have some whiskey?” you ask when Joel puts down a plate in front of you.

Tess raises her eyebrows at him when he says, “Sure,” but doesn’t say anything. You weren’t supposed to know about the whiskey, were you? And yet Joel decided to share it with you.

“Thanks,” you say when you get a small glass full of golden liquid. “How about you, Tess? Would you like some?”

The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smirk or bare her teeth at you. “Not tonight, thank you.”

You down the whole glass with one big gulp, then wait for Joel to join you at the table while a familiar warmth is spreading from your stomach to your limbs. You’d ask for another glass but that would be pushing it. The three of you eat silently, the only sounds the scraping of the spoons against the bowls. You keep your eyes fixed to your plate, counting down the pieces of meat and potatoes. Only five more to go. What will happen once you’re done? You should go back to your room. But there is something you need to know.

“Joel, can I ask you something?” You drop your spoon into your empty bowl loudly to make sure they’re both paying attention to you. Once Joel nods, you continue. “Once the snow melts and spring comes, do you also want me to leave?”

The way Tess’s cheeks turn red fills you with grim satisfaction. “It’s not a question of want -,” she starts, but you interrupt her.

“I asked Joel.”

Joel glances at Tess, then back at you. “Those are the rules,” he answers.

“Yeah, but whose rules?” you press. “You keep telling me you work for these people … I have no idea if you’re making it up or not. Maybe there is no group, maybe it’s just Tess who wants me to leave, and you’re playing along.”

Tess laughs. “You have no idea –”

“I’m talking to Joel, not you,” you interrupt her again.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” The tone in her voice makes the hairs on your arms stand up with a charge of anger that hits you out of nowhere. “We took you in, we let you stay, but that doesn’t mean you get to question how we run things around here.”

“Careful,” Joel says, but you’re not sure if he means you or her.

“No, maybe it’s my fault,” Tess goes on. “I didn’t think you’d need to know the details, but you clearly do, because you’re convinced it’s me who decides things around here. That isn’t true. And the sooner you get over your resentment for me, the better.”

You hate that she can read you so well, how she sees right through you. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re only following orders.”

“I’m not,” Tess replies, her voice calm and even. “I’m breaking rules by letting you stay here, rules that could get us punished if they ever found out you were here. And I’m not talking about a slap on the wrist, I’m talking about the fucking death penalty. I’m not sending you away because I can’t wait to see the back of you, I’m sending you away because the alternative is death.”

You don’t want to believe her. “Then why can’t I just join you?”

“The penalty isn’t for staying here,” Joel says quietly. “It’s for bringing you here.”

You snort. “Then why didn’t you leave me out there to die?”

Joel glances at Tess, but Tess is already answering you. “Is that really what you would have wanted us to do?”

“If it means saving yourself, then yes.” Your chest tightens as soon as you’ve said it. It’s what you would have done, not them. They risked everything, even death, to help a stranger whereas you couldn’t even be bothered to help a friend.

You expect Tess to use that against you, but she doesn’t. “We’ve done a lot for you, more than anyone else would have done. I think it’s not asking too much of you to respect the rules.”

“The same rules that keep changing every day?” you challenge.

“Our rules,” Joel interjects. His deep voice, a low rumble, makes you pause. “If we say you leave when spring comes, then you leave. No questions asked.”

“Can’t I stay with you? You can just say you met me in the woods on the way to wherever it is you’re going next.”

Joel and Tess exchange a glance that’s impossible for you to read. Is it pity? Shame? Regret? But they don’t give you an answer.

“Or is it because you don’t want me to come with you?” you go on, weighing each word carefully even though the whiskey is rushing through your veins, edging you on. “Is it because I’m a threat to that little thing going on between the two of you? Are you scared I’m going to take him away from you, Tess?”

Joel freezes. And when Tess jumps out of her chair, you do too, so quickly it falls over and hits the floor with a loud bang. You want to stand your ground, show Tess you’re not scared of her, that you mean the things you’re saying, but she’s coming toward you, her eyes dark with rage, and you can’t help but take a few steps backwards, even if it means you’ve lost this standoff before it even properly began.

The thing that hurts the most is that you can see it now, you can see why Joel would choose to follow this woman to the ends of the earth. The way she carries herself – shoulders back, chin held high – the way she doesn’t let her emotions get the better of her but is carefully calculating her next steps, the way she slightly raises her right hand to signal Joel to stand back, is making your knees grow weak. You’re scared of her, she could tear you apart without breaking a sweat, but that tight knot that’s been curled up in your stomach all day is beginning to sink lower as your blood heats up.

“You don’t know anything about me and Joel.” Tess takes two steps toward you, you take two steps back. “And you’re not that special.”

You want Joel to say something, tell Tess she’s wrong, tell her that you’re just as important to him as she is. He doesn’t, of course. He just looks at you from where he’s still sitting at the dinner table, like this doesn’t concern him. Then he looks back at Tess and crosses his arms over his chest. Tess notices how your gaze wanders over her shoulder, how you look hopeful and then lost, how you slowly have to face that you’re fighting a losing battle. When she steps closer again, you stand your ground.

“Do you want him to fuck you, is that it?” she asks, her voice so quiet it’s hardly louder than a whisper. She’s mocking you, taunting you.

Joel is out of his chair now. “Tess,” he starts, but she raises her hand and he shuts up.

“Let her answer.”

The urge to look at him is almost unbearable, almost enough to break you. But you keep your eyes on her, on her slightly parted lips, her red cheeks, her dark eyes. And it makes you surrender.

“Yes,” you answer with a nod. “Yes, I want him to fuck me. But I also want you to.” You catch yourself by surprise with that admission, but as soon as the words have left your mouth you know it’s true. You’re not jealous of Tess because she got to Joel first, you’re jealous of them both because they have each other.

Tess laughs hollowly, like she doesn’t believe you. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have believed yourself either. You were acting like a fool, and even though you’re hurt by her rejection, you can’t really blame her for it. She licks her lips, uncertainty in her eyes as she scans your face for any deceit, for any sign you’re making fun of her. Or at least that’s what it looks like to you. The longer she stares, the more it dawns on her that she won’t find anything there. You’re telling the truth.

Behind her, Joel hasn’t moved. He stands next to the table, his hands balled into fists at his side, watching the both of you, like he’s unsure of what to do. Should he put a stop to this? Should he wait and see where this is going?

“Tess,” he repeats, less urgent than last time. She doesn’t interrupt him again, so he goes on. “Let’s give her at least that.”

It’s all the confirmation you need, all the evidence to put your mind at ease. He has been talking to Tess about you, he has been trying to argue your case, and … he’s not opposed to what you’re suggesting, which leaves you with a quickened heart.

“How do you know she’ll do as she’s told?” Tess asks, her eyes still on you.

“I’m sure she will,” Joel says, and then his gaze lands on you, laden with heat and lust.

You’re there and yet you aren’t. They talk about you like you can’t hear them, discuss what to do with you as if it doesn’t concern you, and it makes your head spin. But the way Joel looks at you and the way Tess’s gaze glides over your body makes you feel seen, wanted. It’s a dangerous mix, one that puts you in the spotlight, leaves you open and vulnerable without a backup plan, without any idea how this is going to go and no way out.

You bite your lip and lower your gaze.

Tess smirks, her momentary insecurity gone. She reaches past you, and opens the door to Joel’s bedroom, the same door that was closed to you the previous night. “Go on then.”

A strange feeling comes over you, a feeling of being trapped, of being at their mercy. You shouldn’t turn your back on them, you shouldn’t let them out of your sight. Joel, tall and dark in the middle of the kitchen licks his lips; Tess nods at you, a challenge in her gaze. She still doesn’t believe you, doesn’t think this is what you truly want. Adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream, makes your heart pound and your hands grow cold. You can’t wait to prove her wrong.

You walk backwards into the dark room, keeping your eyes on them. You’re not entirely sure how you got to this moment, what switch was flipped, what happened to put you at their mercy like this, but you’re convinced this is the natural conclusion to weeks of uncertainties and conflicting feelings, of wanting to run and stay put at the same time. You can’t have Joel without Tess, and you can’t have Tess without Joel, and from the way your body reacts to that realization, you know you don’t want to have it any other way. All the tension that’s been building over weeks and weeks is slowly fading away.

Joel and Tess follow you, leaving the door to the kitchen open. A small strip of fluorescent light is illuminating the bedroom, too weak for you to make out many details, but you don’t need to. The only thing that matters right now are the two people in front of you, the way they keep pushing you further into the dark without touching you. You’re not sure what happens next, if you’re supposed to do something or if they want you to follow their lead. And a very tiny but persistent part of you still isn’t sure if this is really happening or if they’re just toying with you.

But then your legs connect with the bed and you can’t go any further, so Tess catches up with you. She reaches for your wrist, grabs it hard, and twists until you’re forced to turn around, arm pinned to your back. Your breath comes in hot pants as you’re trying to evaluate the situation. The only problem you’re faced with is that your brain has stopped working at all and you’re unable to form a single thought trapped by her like this. She pulls you close so your back is pressing against her chest and she starts undoing your pants with nimble fingers.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” she whispers into your ear while she works. “If you don’t want to do something, you say stop, loud and clear. You’ll answer when spoken to. Is that understood?”

You try hard to make sense of her words but you’re overwhelmed. This is so different from what you’re used to – no one ever takes into consideration what you want. And right now, all you want is to be touched, that’s all you can think about. The only response you manage is a tight nod.

Tess only tightens her grip, making you gasp, and pushes a hand into your pants, palming you. “I’m going to have to hear you say it.”

Are you imagining it or is there a strain in her voice, a note of desperation?

You grab her wrist to hold her in place and roll your hips, her fingers brushing against your clothed clit. If she wasn’t holding you up, you would crumble in her arms. “Yes, I understand,” you manage.

One of Tess’s fingers presses upwards through your underwear, and you’re sure she can feel how soaked you are, but instead of feeling embarrassed, you feel a strange sense of purpose and liberation. You want her to know. You want her to want you just as much as you want her.

“Good,” she says, letting go of you, and you stumble toward the bed.

It takes you a few seconds to catch your breath, to make sense of your whereabouts, of the desperate longing with which your body reacts to the loss. Your senses are heightened – you smell the stew you had for dinner, the stale air of the closed-off room, taste the cold on your tongue, feel the coarse material of your heavy winter pants scratch your legs. Behind you, you hear their voices, whispering intently, negotiating something you don’t need to be a part of. You lower your pants with trembling hands, step out of them while almost falling over, and then you turn around to face them, trying to keep your self-consciousness at bay, pretending you’re much bolder than you actually feel. You might not be involved in the deal they’re making, but you’re still its subject, and the least they can do is acknowledge you.

They’re standing closely together. Joel is facing you fully, Tess is partly turned toward him. Their faces are cast in shadow, almost unreadable, but they’re looking at you, there’s no doubt about that. You cross your arms over your chest in defiance, trying to copy some of Tess’s strength you saw earlier. They might not involve you in the negotiations, but nothing happens without you agreeing to it, and you don’t want them to forget that. Tess made sure you understood the rules and you won’t hesitate to use them to your advantage if you have to. You can’t tell if you returning their stares has any effect on them, but after a while they seem to be coming to some kind of understanding. They don’t say anything to you, they even stop talking to each other, but you’re the focus of attention again, at least the focus of Joel’s.

With just a few steps he’s in front of you, imposing, blocking your view of Tess and the light from the kitchen. It’s dark and intimate, the way he demands your attention, the way he becomes your focus, and your throat is suddenly dry. To make sure you have no other choice but to look at him, he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding your head in place. The sudden touch, soft yet determined, sends a jolt of pleasure through you that puts you even more on edge. And then he’s kissing you. It’s not romantic, nothing like the first kiss you shared with your fiancé, nothing like the first kisses that came afterwards. Joel isn’t gentle, he doesn’t give you time to get used to the feeling of his lips against yours, to his taste on your tongue. Instead, he takes and claims, making your knees weak and your core clench.

You kiss him back eagerly, pressing up against him, daring him to pull you close and make you his. You want more, more of his taste on your tongue, sharp and male, more of his body against yours, strong and so much more powerful, more of the way he bites your lip, your neck, with an urgency he can barely comprehend himself. Your hands find his belt buckle, but he slaps them away, then breaks off the kiss to pull your shirt over your head. He opens your bra next, quickly and without hesitation. You stand before him, almost naked, fully on display for him, while he is slightly out of breath but still finds his dignity intact.

His eyes roam your body, lingering on your naked chest for a while, scrutinizing your stomach, your thighs, and the flimsy excuse for underwear that leaves little to the imagination. Countless hours you spent wishing he would look at you like that and now that it’s coming true, you’re unsure of what to do with all of that attention, that calculation. You just know you want to rattle him like he’s rattling you.

“Like what you see?” you tease, your voice breathy from having been claimed by his kisses.

You get an honest answer, a hoarse, “Yes,” that makes your heart pick up speed. So much for rattling him.

With his big hand, Joel reaches up and cups one of your breasts. The sensation of his coarse skin against your much softer one makes you shudder, but you refuse to look away. Let him see what he does to you, let him know how much you’ve wanted this, ever since he killed that man in the woods for you. He massages your breast briefly, squeezes the nipple, rolls it between thumb and forefinger, catches your moan on his tongue. But before you can switch off your brain and surrender yourself fully to him, he grabs you and turns you around, just like Tess did earlier.

“On your knees.”

Joel says it through gritted teeth, like he’s barely able to hold back. You’re trembling so much with anticipation that climbing onto the bed is an almost impossible feat, one you should be proud of accomplishing in the end. Positioning yourself on all fours on the bed with Joel and Tess behind you leaves you in a vulnerable position, and the thrill of it makes you tremble even more. You lick your lips, chasing the taste Joel left in your mouth. From behind you comes the sound of him unbuckling his belt and your cunt clenches eagerly in anticipation when leather scrapes against metal. You grab the duvet under your hands hard, steadying yourself.

Nothing happens.

You wait for a few moments, but the room is quiet now. You don’t even dare to breathe, anticipating Joel’s next move. And then you hear it, the sound you heard the previous night – a deep, satisfied groan. Now that there is no door between you, it’s impossible for you to escape its pull.

You look over your shoulder to see Tess stroking him, twisting her fingers up and down his length. He is completely hard, visibly full and thick. His eyes are half closed and his head has fallen back somewhat, but Tess looks straight at you.

“Take off your underwear,” she orders.

You don’t immediately do as you’re told – you can’t. You’re transfixed by Joel’s dick, by how it dwarfs Tess’s hand in comparison, by how it twitches when she strokes across the glistening tip. He’s going to stretch you open, stretch you until it burns.

“Take off your underwear,” Tess repeats, her voice sharp with impatience.

Eager to follow her orders this time, scared she won’t let Joel fuck you if you don’t, you struggle briefly before returning to the same position, having discarded the last shred of clothing somewhere on the ground next to the bed. There is more movement behind you before Tess comes into view. Casually, she sits down on the edge of the bed so you’re facing her, so she’s facing Joel and you. She’s going to watch him fuck you. That realization is accompanied by a sudden rush of wetness between your legs.

Tess asks, “Is she ready?”

Suddenly, two of Joel’s fingers are between your legs, feeling for your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan deeply. “Yes,” he answers, his voice deep and husky, while he teases you, pushing the tip of his finger into you.

You let your head hang between your shoulders, already unable to catch your breath. If Tess reacts in any way, you have no way of knowing. Joel’s fingers leave you and are replaced by something much bigger, much more, something full and heavy pushing inside of you so slowly it feels like torture. You groan and whimper, moving so you’re resting on your lower arms and elbows instead of your hands while you still and try to accommodate him. The burn is definitely there, and it’s much more delicious than you had imagined. It’s not enough. You push back because you want more, but Joel immediately holds you in place by grabbing your hips, guiding himself into you with his other hand. When he’s fully sheathed, you’re stretched impossibly wide; it’s almost too much to handle and he hasn’t even started moving yet. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust yourself, not even to catch your breath.

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes himself back into you hard. It’s enough to make your arms and legs tremble, and you bite your lip in an attempt to stifle a deep, desperate moan. It comes out as a sob anyway. With every thrust, the fabric of his jeans scrapes against the back of your thighs, a pleasant addition to the burn you already feel.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to pick up the pace. He does it with a rough grunt and you hear the sound of metal banging against metal when he does. He is still wearing his belt loosely around his hips, he’s still practically fully dressed. That image, even if it’s just a mental one for now, makes you crave more of him, more, more, more, and you push back again, meeting his thrusts. With a sharp slap, he places his other hand on your hip, holding you in place so he can fuck into you. You just have to take it.

“Please,” you want to whimper, but your voice is too weak. All you can do is hold onto the duvet.

“I want to see her face.”

You have almost forgotten that Tess is there, watching you getting fucked until you’re a desperate, whimpering mess. But Joel hasn’t forgotten. His fingers wrap around the hair at the back of your neck and he pulls roughly so your chin snaps up. It’s uncomfortable, the way he bends your back, the way your scalp screams for some relief, but it pushes you closer to the edge immediately. So does the look on Tess’s face.

She’s watching you, a hungry look in her eyes. Her mouth hangs slightly open and you can see her chest move as she takes deep, eager breaths. You’ve never been looked at like that. And she is looking at you, not Joel, you – straight into your eyes, watching pain and pleasure fight for dominance there. You’ve never had all that attention on you, and it awakens a desire deep within you that you hadn’t known was slumbering there. You want her to watch, to be unable to escape her gaze, be totally exposed to her.

And then you clench around Joel once, a second time, and before you know what’s happening, you’re coming. It catches you by surprise, makes your brain struggle to catch up with your body. Everything pulls taut and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. The flicker of triumph in Tess’s eyes is what finally makes you let go and you give in to pleasure, letting Joel fuck you through it. It’s violently intense, being stretched around him, clamping down, trying to hold him in place.

Until it’s all too much.

You reach back for him, tears stinging in your eyes, but he just lets go of your hair and grabs your wrist. With impossible strength he twists your arm onto your back and continues to fuck you with the same sharp, punishing pace as before, spurred on by your cunt fluttering desperately around him. All you can do is hold on, completely overstimulated. You let your head fall back down again, you let Joel take what he needs, and when he finally spills inside of you, you’re rewarded with a deep groan, and his hold on you tightening. It kindles another flame inside of you, that feeling of his hot pleasure dripping out of you when he pulls out. You need to feel it again, and soon. It doesn’t matter that his hands will leave bruises, that you’ll feel him between your legs for days. You’ve never known satisfaction like this.

Tess’s hand finds your cheek, soft and careful, and she coaxes you to lift your head. “Well done,” she says, and kisses you. “Lay down.”

You do as you’re told, only now realizing how stiff your arms and legs are, bathing in the afterglow of Tess’s praise. You also wouldn’t mind feeling this kind of satisfaction again.

For a short while, you allow yourself to rest, closing your eyes and sinking into the well-worn mattress. For the first time in weeks, all those confusing thoughts in your head are quiet and you can shut down. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you though, and when you open your eyes again, you find Tess standing next to Joel, running her fingers through his hair. She kisses him gently, almost carefully, and he closes his eyes and furrows his brow, getting lost in the moment. You can’t look away even though you probably should; this is their moment, not yours, but the intimacy of it has a pull that’s impossible to escape. It’s not just the intimacy between the two of them, it's also the fact that they know you’re here and are allowing you to become a part of this by letting you watch.

They’re still kissing when he starts to undress her, much slower than he undressed you, savoring every newly exposed bit of skin with gentle caresses. Your heart tightens at that sight, not because you’re jealous but because you understand. It’s not just about the quick release, the carnal act of it, it’s also about the intimacy, the giving, the ability to be vulnerable around each other. They’re offering you those same things.

Once Joel is done and Tess is completely naked, you’ve propped yourself up on your elbow, watching her with interest. She crawls into bed next to you, and from the smirk on her face you know it’s not because she wants to catch some rest. She lies down on your right side and takes your hand, placing it between her legs. She’s soaked. You can’t help it – your face heats up at that realization, at being caught off-guard by it. You hadn’t expected her to be affected by this at all, and proof of the opposite gives you a pleasant rush.

The same smirk is still on her face when she moves her hand between your legs. You whimper when she rolls your clit under her finger, still overstimulated, still too keyed up from earlier, but she kisses you gently and whispers, “Shhh, it’s okay,” against your lips. You try to relax, and it comes easy, giving yourself over to her gentle touch. She watches your reactions, making sure she gets it just right, and you’re content to let her explore, to let her discover how you want to be touched. Soon, you push your hips upward again, eager for more. Next to you, she moans and gasps softly as you continue to stroke her clit as best as you can while all the blood is rushing down from your brain. Still, the little sounds she makes are reward enough.

Then something shifts. You’re not sure what it is, whether it’s the hoarse moan that escapes you, whether it’s the way you make her shudder when you apply more pressure, whether it’s the way the mattress dips on Tess’s other side as Joel sits down on the bed. But her hand moves faster. She presses her fingers against you harder, and uses her free hand to grab your hair, tangling her fingers in the strands. You can’t move, completely at her mercy, and she uses that to her advantage to kiss you roughly, hungrily, all the gentleness replaced by carnal desire. You let her bite your lip, scrape her teeth along your neck, press into you hard, let her give you what she thinks you deserve.

When you come, it catches you by surprise. Your whole body tenses up before you erupt into desperate pants and moans, rolling your hips against her hand to chase as much friction as you can, pulsating so hard Tess can most likely feel it against her fingers. Instead of teasing you about it, she just growls, “Yeah, that’s it. Let go,” which makes you moan even louder. They both make it so easy to give yourself over to them, to trust them.

You’re still trembling when you open your eyes, you still twitch and pulse when you try to catch your breath. Swallowing hard, you try to calm yourself, but your head is spinning from one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. A small part of you starts to feel embarrassed about how desperate you were, how much you let your guard down, and you find yourself unable to look at Tess, even when she continues to kiss your neck and shoulder, so you look at Joel instead.

He lies propped up on his elbow on Tess’s other side, watching you come undone under Tess’s skilled touch. His chest and neck are an angry red, almost a deep purple in the dim of the bedroom. He’s half-hard again, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. You clench one final time at the memory of him inside of you, and Tess finally removes her hand, falling back onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh.

Joel doesn’t let either one of you catch a break. He grabs the wrist of your hand that’s still between Tess’s legs and moves it lower, pushing two of your fingers into her. She clenches around you and groans, her eyes fluttering closed. The sound gets stuck in her throat when Joel presses his thumb against her clit and begins to move it in a lazy circle. You try to match the pace, pumping your fingers lazily in and out of her, glad for a chance to finally be the one who watches. You watch as Tess opens her eyes, watch as her gaze lands on Joel, watch as they get completely lost in the moment and in each other. They seem to be forgetting you’re there with them and you let them for a while before you decide to remind them.

You move lower and tentatively lick across Tess’s nipple before sucking it into your mouth. The small peak is hard against your tongue and you glow with pride and satisfaction when Tess arches her back and groans, digging her nails into your thigh. The sharp pain only spurs you on, eager to please, eager to make her forget herself like you forgot yourself when she was fucking you. You start to pump your fingers in and out of her faster, harder, and Joel, understanding, stops teasing her. Her eyes wide, her gaze still on Joel, she groans, “Joel, fuck. Please.”

The pull in the pit of your stomach at hearing her voice so raw and desperate makes you shift. Joel kisses her forehead to try to calm her, then raises his eyes and looks at you. “Fuck her.”

You do as you’re told, stifling a moan by teasing Tess’s nipple with your teeth, curling your fingers inside of her, putting all your strength into your thrusts. You’re rewarded with shallow breathing, and trembling limbs, and when she finally comes, she comes hard, holding your fingers inside of her with hard clenches. You’ve never felt anything like it, and the hunger for more is a sharp, burning sensation at the base of your spine. Will you ever be sated?

You collapse against her chest, your arm burning from the strain of keeping you propped up for so long, and Tess strokes your head with a trembling hand. Joel leans over her and kisses her cheek.

“You okay?” he asks softly, almost too quietly for you to hear.

She nods and swallows, the muscles in her neck twitching. Closing your eyes, you grant yourself a moment’s rest, listening to her slowing heartbeat, afraid that if you move, this moment might shatter into a million pieces.

After a while, Tess pulls on your arm and makes you roll over her, so you come to rest between her and Joel. She takes your hand into hers and places it at the base of Joel’s cock, now hard and heavy again. You blink a few times, still somewhat out of your body, floating around, not sure what is happening. All you can feel are Tess’s fingers wrapped around yours, and yours wrapped around him. But then she begins to guide you up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, making sure you’re able to take it all in, feel how hot he is, feel the little veins and soft skin, the way he twitches when she makes you tighten your grip. You only fully realize what is happening when he groans softly and screws his eyes closed. Then you know.

Tess shows you how to twist your hand on the upstroke to make him gasp, to make the sinews in his neck stand out, and then she lets go of you, putting you in charge. “He wanted this, you know,” she whispers into your ear, her voice low with pleasure. “He sometimes thinks about what your hand would feel like wrapped around his cock.”

You don’t care whether she’s making it up or not, her words make your core tighten, especially when he follows them with a groaned, “Tess,” that almost sounds like a warning. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, she lets you have the fantasy, and she lets you have the real thing too.

Then she adds, “I think he told me about it shortly after he heard you moan his name in the middle of the night.”

A sudden pang of embarrassment almost makes you let go, but Tess closes her fingers around yours again. “No, keep going.”

You feel the heat of Tess’s body at your back, the heat radiating off Joel’s chest, and you’re eager to comply. What does it matter now? They know how you feel about them and they don’t mind. After all, Joel came inside of you not even half an hour ago, and Tess came around your fingers, leaving little halfmoon marks in your thigh with her nails.

“I just didn’t think you’d like to be fucked by me, too,” Tess goes on, running her fingers along your thigh, teasing you, making you gasp and writhe.

“Faster,” Joel growls.

You don’t pick up the pace immediately – it’s not your call.

“Go on, it’s all right,” Tess grants. She kisses your neck when you pick up speed, two soft pecks right behind your ear. “Good girl.”

It’s meant for you, so quiet only you can hear it, and it makes you abandon all restraint. You sneak a hand between your legs and touch yourself. Tess lets you.

“Can I kiss him?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off Joel’s brown ones that appear almost black now, clouded with desire.

“Joel?” Tess asks.

Joel nods, his eyes wandering to your lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own. You roll over so you come to rest on your knees and lean forward, your fingers still circling your clit. He captures your lips, growls against them, pushes his tongue into your mouth hungrily. Behind you, Tess strokes the back of your thighs, teasing you, making you twitch and gasp and squeeze Joel’s cock until he growls. Without warning, Joel grips your hair and he comes, spilling all over your hand and his stomach in hot, white ropes. You come too, wet heat rushing down your thighs and onto Tess’s fingers.

Tess presses a kiss to your back and you hear her chuckle softly as she gets up to look for a clean piece of cloth. You fall down next to Joel, curled up on your side, watching him. He runs a finger through his cum, coats your lips with it – and then he leans forward to kiss you, to chase his own taste with his tongue.

When Tess comes back, Joel cleans you first and then himself before he makes you lie back down between them, facing Tess. The two of you kiss lazily, unhurried, while Joel strokes your back, running his fingers down your spine.

After a while, Tess kisses the top of your head, then tugs you in beneath her chin. “You’ll still have to leave when the snow thaws out.”

“When the snow thaws out,” you agree.

***

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos #joel miller x you x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos x you #tess servopoulos #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the overlook

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darklydeliciousdesires · 21 days

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Sky Full of Stars - An Adrien Brody/Jade Burton (OC) Story.

Lord help me, besties. We're starting this, and we're starting it now because I cannot wait to reveal it to you! I did say I wouldn't write RPF again as it feels too personal a line to cross, so please bear in mind that while I have tried to remain true to who Adrien appears to be, he is a little fictionalised, too. The same goes for his family and friends as well. I have created them as OC's because it feels much too intrusive to his life to write them otherwise.

Well, the first chapter is mammoth, so please do make sure you're sitting comfortably with a drink and some snacky snacks before you embark. I cannot wait to hear your thoughts!

A huge thank you again to my beautiful @jemmalynette for the lovely photo manip she created for me, and to Angelina Jolie for serving as Jade's face claim! If you want to know Jade's voice claim a little better, here. This is the scream she hit Adrien with upon first meeting him! - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a98LI-arNS4

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 5,614

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Tell us something about your wife that people would find surprising.”

He mulls it over for a few seconds, looking to his side at her, laughing as he takes in her raised eyebrows. “She’s actually quite introverted, unless she knows the people she’s with well. Then her volume and mischief amp up considerably,” he begins, which I must say is perhaps the last thing I expected him to reply with. “No, no. It’s completely true, she is. She’s often quiet, an extreme juxtapose for how she appears up on stage with a microphone in her hand, but yeah. The Jade you see performing live is a completely different entity to the woman she is away from it, and I found that out pretty quickly after we first met.”

It is a stark contrast to the public persona of Jade Burton-Brody, a woman known for rarely shying away from being outspoken and controversial, whether it be her fiercely penned lyrics, or her opinions on the subject matters she holds dear. She was, after all, the woman who advised legions of young female rock fans to, and I quote, “Burn the patriarchy to the goddamned ground.”

Before me today, though, I do see a much softer side to the screaming hurricane of a woman I familiarised myself with through the scouring of YouTube videos, a woman more than happy to let her husband lead in the questions, always looking to him to reply first. She has spoken in the past of him being her unequivocal strength and support, and I take her back to that, the moment she first met the man she would marry just six months after their first meeting.

“Jade, you’ve spoken about your first meeting a couple of times in the past, but for the record, would you care to share it again?”

She laughs loudly at my question, leaning into her husband a little, combing her fingers through her hair as she remembers fifteen years into the past. “I screamed in his face, he liked it, and the rest is history.”

Indeed, such a meeting did seal itself into history, the moment the iconic pair met captured by a photographer pointing his camera in the right direction at exactly the right time, immortalising the moment where the formidable first lady of metal took to the barriers at the Rock and Iron festival, grabbed the hand of the Hollywood heavyweight, and proceeded to scream like a harpy about an inch from his face. “She blew my eardrums out,” Adrien speaks of the moment, “I had never heard anything that loud in the whole of my life!”

Indeed, like it he did, the first stages of their fledgling relationship captured on film while a documentary team were following her and the band, shooting the footage for the 2010 documentary, “The Devil you Don’t Know.” As the footage shows, the actor found himself with a rare two week break between projects, one of those weeks spent living on a tour bus with the band, unwilling to be parted from the woman he’d struck up such an immediate connection with.

“I called my manager and told her to shift all my interviews to telephone, rearranged everything for the following week before I flew out to Hawaii to begin shooting Predators, and yeah, lived on a bus with five insane, but adorable women for seven days.” He smiles a little shyly, his eyes warm as he views her. “Didn’t want to let her go.”

When asked if it was love at first sight, he elaborates a little further. “I’ve never believed in that. Too many components have to fall into place for love to bloom, so I don’t think it can be so spontaneous as to simply view somebody and feel such a powerful emotion right off the bat. After that week I spent with her, though. Yeah. I departed from the tour knowing I’d left behind the girl I was going to marry someday.”

And for Jade? “I knew. He was my person. Still is fifteen years on, too.”

Just viewing the natural ease the couple have around one another cements that, after battling with so much over their years together. They both freely admit they rarely saw one another for the first two years of their marriage, their relationship plagued by media scrutiny, storms of paparazzi, accusations of their romance serving purely as a manufactured PR pairing for publicity, others stating that it was to give Jade greater leverage as she further embarked upon her acting career away from the world of music. One only has to watch the woman on screen to see that she carries enough weight from her own talents to not need the bolstering of her husband’s surname to snare her hard-earned successes.

Indeed, the pair have weathered many storms and come through them stronger, standing as one of Hollywood’s most illimitable power couples, yet the term is somewhat lost on them both. “We’re complete dorks,” Jade laughs, “we really are. We set one another off all the time being absolutely ridiculous.”

“It’s true,” her husband confirms, beginning to chuckle right on cue. “Nobody makes me laugh like her. It’s so corny, but truly, she’s my best friend. Deciding to get on that bus fifteen years ago was one of the greatest decisions I ever made.”

It can be witnessed quite easily, too. It takes only a few glimpses into their respective social media accounts to see the humorous ease they tease one another with, but always with incredible affection. ‘Baby love! <3 Love you too, Morticia!’ Adrien commented on a heartfelt post his wife recently shared to Instagram, a throwback picture of the pair kissing at the 2016 Oscar’s ceremony, where his beloved won best supporting actress for her role across from Robert De Niro in the 2016 blockbuster, Five Marked Men.

“It took him about a month to get over me with black hair instead of blonde, so I was Morticia for four straight weeks instead of Jade!” she laughs, obviously taking his teasing with good humour.

“I was so damned proud of her, even though I couldn’t get used to the black hair,” he laughs taking her hand in his. “Always have been. She’s incredible.”

And truly? Adrien wasn’t wrong in what he stated about boarding that tour bus in the interview for a very well-known media outlet, who had come to their home for a rare glimpse into their private life together. Yet for Jade, it began much earlier than that, at a time when perhaps she was least willing to hear what her future had in store for her.

San Luis Obispo, CA, 2007.

“Come on, Skippy. No dragging those feet.”

Jade did nothing to conceal the force of her huff, pulling back from the beachfront steps of the home she was being dragged to by the enthusiastic, blonde whirlwind that was her closest friend and drummer in their band. Jen had always put a lot of faith in psychics, Jade not so much at all, living in a world of regret at agreeing from sheer relentless nagging only to go and have her tealeaves read.

“You have to stop calling me Skippy. One day, this day, actually. Enough!”

Jen grinned, a flash of bright white teeth widening her mouth. “Maybe when you don’t make clicking noises like the little kangaroo in your sleep, I might.” Skippy or Skip, it had been her much-begrudged nickname since they’d struck up a friendship as teenagers upon Jade’s arrival from the UK to America.

Entering the home, they were greeted warmly by Cerise, the lady of the tealeaves, tarot cards and all things mystic, Jade politely giving her a little hug before they seated themselves at the large, round table. All around, large canvasses ode to the divine and spiritual covered the walls, candles flickering, incense burning, casting strong plumes of eastern fragrance into the air.

“Her first!” Jen spoke enthusiastically as the tea was poured, drumming her hands rapidly off the table.

Cerise jerked her head to the left, viewing Jade with a warm smile. “She’s always tapping, this one, isn’t she?”

“Typical drummer,” she confirmed, winking at her as Cerise went about her tea preparation, the women making pleasant chit chat as the brew was drank.

“Now, you don’t have to tell me anything, darling. I’m not one of those charlatans who cold reads situations to feed it back to you. What I see, I see it without being told anything from the person I’m reading from.” She truly doubted the validity of that, but nodded politely, passing her cup into Cerise’s outstretched hand. “I sometimes get extra information from my spirits as well, so if they have anything, they’ll pipe up. They usually do.” Staring into the cup, she began studying the pattern of the grainy tea, humming to herself. “The man you’re with right now? He isn’t the one. It’ll be the one after him.”

Immediately, Jade found herself feeling prickled on the inside, mildly incensed that anyone would say that the man she’d spent three years with happily would not end up as the one she would stay so blissfully in love with. How dare she even suggest!

She wouldn’t unleash that indignance, though. “How can you tell?”

“Trust me, darling. I can tell. Oh, my spirits are in good voice, hold on.” Closing her eyes, she appeared as if she was listening, shaking her head and waving her hands. “One at a time, for the love of...” Jade’s face of utter disbelief earned her a soft foot to the shin beneath the table, Jen tightening her lips and widening her eyes. Cerise nodded, humming in confirmation before casting her eyes back to the cup. “Okay, I have more information. The man you’ll end up with, well you’ll know for sure when you meet him, sweetheart. You’ll scream at him. He also has the same name as your dog.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jade coughed, her beloved Great Dane appearing in her mind’s eye. “I’m meeting someone called Brodie, who I’ll scream at? Right. Okay.”

“He’ll spell it differently, darling. Oh, and his eyes. You’ll love his eyes, because you will never have seen green like them before. Yes, most certainly, he is the man who will come into your life and never leave it.”

She had to bite her cheek to prevent herself from laughing. “Alright. Thank you.”

While a much more willing Jen had her tealeaves read, Jade went outside for a cigarette, calling her boyfriend to relay the ridiculous message she’d just been given.

“Um, she said what?” Ivan snorted, his laugh booming down the phone. “Uh-uh, no fucking way. Like I’d ever let you go.”

The Russian born, but American raised Ivan Kuznetsov had been her absolute everything since meeting him three years previously, watching him win his bout at a UFC fight in Las Vegas. Because of their schedules, Jade and her seemingly endless long hauls of touring, also parlaying her talents into the acting world, and Ivan locked in rigorous training, they didn’t see as much of one another as they’d have liked, but they made it work.

Until they didn’t. Until it broke, or rather, until he and his famously ferocious temper broke it completely, almost twelve months on from the tealeaves message she’d received, and quickly forgotten all about. She’d have been lying if she’d claimed she hadn’t seen the red flags, Ivan’s steroid use growing completely out of control, cheating urine tests in order to keep juicing, growing ever bigger through the use of the banned substance. It wasn’t just his muscles and performance that had dramatically grown. So had his temper.

Roid rage, they called it. It was never something she thought she would bear witness to, until she found herself on his kitchen floor, being throttled and punched, her only saviour her dog, the Great Dane bitch jumping on his back and sinking her teeth into the meat of his trapezius at seeing her human being so viciously beaten.

The combined effort of a valiant rescue dog and a woman determined not to die at her fiancé's hands got him off of her, Jade grabbing Brodie’s collar and her bag as she ran from the house, dived into her car and drove away as quickly as she could.

She never returned.

Ivan was arrested and subsequently charged for the sickening assault that disgraced his name in the sporting world, discharged from the UFC and sent away to serve a five-year prison sentence. It was a pitiful excuse for justice, especially when he’d probably be freed after three if he behaved himself. Jade knew the outcome likely wouldn’t see him put away for any longer, as she’d been advised by her legal team prior to giving evidence at the trial. Domestic violence victims rarely did receive the adequate recompense where the punishment of their abuser was concerned.

A victim. It was a role she’d sworn never to play, speaking on the event many months afterwards. “I am not his victim. I’m the one who had the sense to get away as soon as he raised a hand to me. There’s nothing that correlates to victimhood there.”

Some doubted her stance, thinking her to be in denial over it, claiming she needed to seek therapy to get herself through her ordeal. In Jade’s mind, her therapy was her music, one of the tracks from her band’s seventh album, entitled Nomad, serving as cathartic release over the attack. It also got her through the passing of her beloved Brodie, the dog dying at the grand old age of eleven six months after she’d parted ways with Ivan. It was almost unheard of for the breed to reach such an age, and if Jade was thankful for anything, it was having an extra three unexpected years with her faithful old girl.

She felt lonely if she let herself sit still for long enough, so kept busy through the machine that was her life, driving her from movie set to stage to recording studio, long hours and hard work elevating her status in both worlds, her band, Seventh Gate releasing Nomad to a huge success and taking to the road in early two thousand and nine, complete with a stint moving from one summer festival to the next.

One such date upon that stint was the Rock and Iron show, something all the girls in the band had been looking forward to playing. It had been a longstanding one-day festival held in California for the past eleven years, the band playing it a couple of times before on the smaller stage.

This time, though, playing the prime afternoon spot of 3pm-4pm, they walked out on the main stage at the open-air show to eighty thousand screaming rock fans, Jade feeling sick with nerves, as usual. It didn’t matter an ounce that the rock press hailed her as the first lady of metal, who praised her huge vocal range and coined her as one of the first to combine both powerful, clean vocals and blistering, guttural roars. She still felt like her legs were about to give way every time she climbed the steps and walked across the stage, ready to view her kingdom.

Or queendom, as it was. Because to the thousands of people who cheered at the sight of her, she was their monarch. Some viewed her a little differently.

“Oh man, there she is!” Lewis piped up, clapping his hands above his head. “There’s god!”

Adrien turned to view him with mild incredulity, shaking his head. “Man, you’re something else with this fanboy thing you have going on.” Whatever he might have followed that with was obliterated by the noise that came from the speakers, the roar of guitars, drums like canons, and a scream that sounded like something he could only liken to a creature being spat up from hell for being too aggressive. “Damn. She’s got some pipes.”

Lewis didn’t reply, too busy getting into the first song of their set, Adrien feeling himself furtherly crushed right up against the barrier. He was trying to have a good time, he truly was, but metal wasn’t really where it was at for him. A die-hard hip-hop connoisseur, being dragged to an open-air rock and metal festival hadn’t been his idea, but Lewis’s girlfriend had bailed on him, quite literally, ending their relationship just one month prior. Conveniently, he had a rare two weeks off work, so had allowed his friend to talk him into it.

As his chest was shunted hard against the barrier for what felt like the four hundredth time that afternoon, he once again sorely regretted it. However, looking up at the stage, he couldn’t help but view the women performing upon it with genuine curiosity. They were perhaps the tightest in sound of anyone he’d seen that day, their energy enigmatic, especially the swagger exuded from their front woman.

She was like a supernova personified, commanding a crowd of thousands, her presence much larger than the tall, yet slight frame it inhabited. Although the music wasn’t to his taste, he had to admit she impressed him, having the vocal range that allowed her to sing powerfully delivered harmonies one minute, and roars that sounded not of his earth the next. Her talent completely blew him away.

Also, her adoration for her fans was clear, sending the security into a frenzy when she jumped down off the stage between songs, embracing a few people reaching for her on the front row as the next song began to filter through the wall of speakers. The crowd screamed along with the opening lyrics, Adrien watching as suddenly, the blonde whirlwind strode in his direction at speed, jumping onto the barrier, grabbing his hand, and bellowing out a scream a mere inch from his face. He laughed, Lewis nearly fainted, and Jade winked at him before she was gone again in a blink, returning to the stage.

“Do you know how goddamned lucky you are? Dude!” Lewis yelled, mouth hanging open. “Dude! God just screamed right in your face!”

Adrien continued to chuckle, looking up at the stage. “Yeah,” he spoke, his heart fluttering, “guess she did.” While her music mightn't have been to his taste, seeing her so close up, he had to admit the way she looked definitely was. God, she was sexy. Very, very sexy “I think she blew my fucking eardrums out!”

Lewis was in fits at his assertion, clapping him on the back before continuing to enjoy the show. At the next break between songs, Jade found herself beckoned for by Katie, their lead guitarist, her eyes wide as she jumped up and down with her usual zany energy. “Bro! You just screamed in Adrien Brody’s face!”

“Who?”

“Adrien fucking Brody! The actor!”

Jade was still none the wiser. “The hot guy with the dark hair?”

“Yes!”

“What’s he been in?”

Katie could have slapped her. “Um, only your mom’s favourite movie.”

Finally, the penny dropped. “Oh shit, the guy from The Pianist?”

“Yes!”

“That’s him?”

“Yes, you massively blind douche! God damnit, you never know who anybody is!”

Her eyes almost came out on stalks for not actually recognising him.

“Oh my god!” Having a very large crowd to entertain, she couldn’t say anything further on the subject, but she kept her eye on him for the rest of their set, calling over one of their roadies a couple of songs later as she ran to the side of the stage to grab her flask of herbal tea. “I take it you know who Adrien Brody is, right?” she asked, letting the herbal brew sink down her throat and coat it in an effort to not feel like she’d swallowed a chainsaw.

Sunni smirked, stroking his beard. “Yeah, boss. The guy whose face you screamed in.”

“Give him and whoever he’s with backstage passes. I wanna meet him.” She watched as Sunni scuttled off to go and locate a few of the prized lanyards that gave people access to the coveted backstage area, before launching into the next song. Out of the corner of her eye, she was able to see Adrien and the guy with the blonde hair he was with jump the barrier, being escorted stage right to watch the remainder of their set from the wings, along with the rest of the Seventh Gate road crew.

While there, they were approached by a woman who introduced herself as Hazel Bernstein, the tour manager for the band, asking since they were currently being filmed for a documentary about Jade’s life and career if they minded being on camera. They confirmed that no, they didn’t mind at all, Hazel having them sign a couple of release forms before another member of the crew ushered them backstage.

The area was made up of large tents dotted around for each band to reside in before and after their performances, the guys shown in and furnished with beers as they sat down on one of the couches provided.

Adrien looked to his side, watching Lewis as his eyes darted around. “You look edgy, man.”

“I’m about to meet one of my favourite bands, and I don’t even have a fucking clue what the hell to say to them!” he exclaimed, gulping back his beer.

He couldn’t help himself. “Hello might be a good place to start.”

“Noted, Captain Sarcastic.” Looking at him, he burst into a snorting fit of laughter, wishing he had a fraction of his very famous friend’s effortless cool. Alas, he did not. The first of the women through the tent made his mouth drop open, Katie going to the cooler and pulling herself out a bottle of bourbon, emptying an eye watering amount into an ice-filled red solo cup before she came right on over.

“Hi guys! How you doing, you having a good time? Damn, it’s fucking hot, right?” She talked rapidly, like a machine gun going off, shaking their hands with the exact same enthusiasm she spoke with, Lewis looking like he was about to burst.

“Katie Gilmore, just coming over, shaking my hand, asking how I am, like I’m fucking anyone at all,” he spoke in a daze of disbelief, Adrien shaking his head.

“Ignore him, he’s a little... yeah.”

She chuckled, lifting her cup to him. “And you’re one helluva actor, my guy. I could be obvious and praise you to hell for The Pianist, because damn, that movie was outstanding, but I fucking adored you in Summer of Sam! You make a cute punk, bro!”

“Thank you,” he smiled graciously, “and in turn, you’re a hell of a guitarist. I don’t know much about rock or metal, but you make what I guess is real difficult look incredibly easy.”

They were then joined by the force of nature that was Jen, the band’s drummer, the tall, rail thin blonde approaching, pointing at Adrien. “Can I sit on your lap and get a picture with you, dude?”

He smiled, patting his black denim covered thighs. “Sure, hop on.”

“Billy!” she roared, moving to throw herself down, “get over here and do the clicky, clicky!” A man holding a professional camera ambled over, Jen smiling as she wrapped her arms around him, and then promptly licked his cheek. “Man, you taste delicious!” she shouted, Adrien laughing, a little taken aback at her brash behaviour, but somehow quite charmed all the same. “What is that?”

“Sweat and beer,” he confirmed, Jen throwing her head back and roaring before she got up.

“My favourite things! See you guys later, I gotta go see some other people!” Sweat and beer, also cocaine, if her eyes were anything to go by. He knew high as hell when he saw it.

“Hey, you boys like tequila? I got a load in the cooler, let’s get some shots in, huh?” Katie spoke, grabbing a hand a piece and hauling them up. There, they were introduced to rhythm guitarist Charlotte, who was much, much quieter than the other members of the band they’d met so far, very reserved and polite. Still, Lewis was firmly stuck in starstruck mode, trying hard to find some semblance of cool, but losing it completely.

And then she walked on over.

“Hi,” she chirped in a voice that sounded much too sweet ever be able to conjure the ferocious roars she was famous for, Lewis looking like he was about to pass out. Jade wasn’t looking at him for long, though. “How are you?”

“A little deaf,” Adrien admitted.

“Sorry about that,” she cringed, laughing softly. “One hearing test owed to Adrien Brody. Noted.” Oh, she was witty. He liked witty.

“Yeah, that’s one hell of a set of lungs you have,” he complimented, Jade moving past where her girls stood, pulling herself a bottle of water from the cooler, sinking a shot Katie thrust in her direction.

“Mm, yeah,” she hummed quietly, unscrewing the bottle cap, cocking her head as a confident smile shined through. “I like to think so.” God, the man had the most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen in her life, Jade feeling herself pulled in by them, trying not to feel awkward at the fact that she was standing there talking to a man whose fame eclipsed her own in shades. She could feel her internal monologue beginning to flounder at what to say to him next, relieved when Adrien pointed to her t shirt.

“Rough Trade, that’s about my favourite record store in all of New York. Spent entirely too much time and money in there during my youth,” he noted, Jade gesturing to the couch.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she spoke as they sat down, sipping her water. “I used to work there on a weekend before the band blew up and took off.”

“Yeah? What part of New York did you live in? I take it from the accent that you moved over, right?” Of course, she did. Duh. He could have kicked himself, but she didn’t react in any way other than to politely answer.

“I did. I’m from Tottenham, London, but moved over with my parents when I was thirteen. I lived in Harlem. What about you? You sound New York born and bred, and apologies if you think I might be one of those people who knows everything about you already, but I really don’t!”

He watched the embarrassment crease her face as she cringed, reaching to gently squeeze her wrist. “No, you’re fine! God, it’s refreshing, actually, to talk to somebody who doesn’t know anything about me already!” he began, very much enjoying that she truly was a little clueless over him. It made weeding out those with a genuine interest in who he was away from his famous persona much easier. “And yeah, Queens born and bred.”

“Do you still live there?”

“In New York, yeah, but further north. I’ve a house in Oswego County, right out in the middle of nowhere. It’s a mess still, long term restoration project, but I like it. I like not being bothered while I’m not working. I have a place here, too, but only a rental. How about you?”

“Couple of places,” she began, noticing the documentary guys hovering, pointing at them discreetly. “Don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t. Your tour manager already came and asked us.”

She nodded, continuing. “So yeah, I have a house out in California and an apartment in the West Village. I just bought a property over in England as well, gorgeous estate in Buckinghamshire that the Laurel Canyon house is shortly being rented out to afford.”

Rock music was lucrative, it seemed, for her to own three homes. “That’s smart, renting. You’ll get more for it long term, too. Especially with the association of living in a rock star’s house.”

“Certain would-be renters’ll probably think I have cocaine stashed all over or something,” she snorted, “which is hilarious as I don’t do hard drugs. Used to, but it messed with my ability to perform, so I knocked it on the head.”

He loved how candid she was, not hiding anything for appearances sake. She was also entirely too beautiful for her own good, with the prettiest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen in his life, eyes he couldn’t look away from for a second. A parade of naked women could have walked into the tent right at that moment, and he wouldn’t even have turned his head.

They continued their talk, seemingly oblivious to the merriment going on around them, finding out tentative bits of information about one another, their families, their interests and passions. They had one in particular that surprised the hell out of him.

“Get the fuck out of here! You’re into hip-hop?”

“No, you get the fuck out,” she teased, gently pinching his arm as she laughed. “Yeah, I am! I’m into so much music, but growing up in the areas that I did, it was such an ingrained staple. I was the only white girl amongst all my friends and just absorbed the hip-hop culture like a sponge. I got to listen to so much in the store too. It had its perks, working at Rough Trade.

“I still nearly died on the spot when Method Man came strolling in one day. Wu Tang had released thirty-six chambers the year before, and I couldn’t stop playing it, so yeah, I was completely dumbstruck. He walks up to the counter and I’m just like, “no way, you’re Method Man,” to which he smiled, looked at my name tag and said, “no way, you’re Jade. Whassup, girl?" We became friends, he’s such a cool guy. Comes by my place whenever he can when we’re both back in New York. I cook him pasta and he plays me new stuff he’s been working on. I got a lot of time for Clifford, he’s real straight up.”

“Yeah, I know him a little, too. I’m more friends with RZA, though. I got into making beats in my teens and he’s acted as a mentor to me. Cool guy,” he replied casually, Jade grasping his arms and giving them a little shake.

“You make beats?” she cried, her eyes widening, “play me something! Do you have anything on your phone?”

He shook his head. “Nope, it’s all at home on my laptop. But I will one day, though.” She made a sad face, Adrien pulling his arms from her soft grip, linking his fingers through hers. Oh... too forward, he suddenly panicked. When her fingers squeezed his hands, he realised it wasn’t. Her lit-up face told him it wasn’t, too. God, it was like a thunderbolt had just cut through the tent and hit him square atop his head. “You’re too cute, you know that? I definitely will let you listen to some of it. I plan for us to meet up at the same time in the same place again, for sure.”

“Not many people call me cute,” she admitted, stroking her thumbs in circles over his palms. “Lots of other things. Loud mouthed bitch, profane whore, evil cock tease, but rarely cute.”

The way she looked at him, licking her lip, oh fuck. Yep. He sensed something quite predatory lurking beneath the surface of the quiet, charming woman he was enjoying the hell out of getting to know. What was more? He liked it. “I think the latter is probably fairly apt, isn’t it?”

She leaned forward, her lips tickling the lobe of his ear. “Might show you one day.” His face must have said it all, betrayed the barrier he tried to rapidly build to conceal the fire she’d stoked, licking his insides in a blaze.

Holding eye contact with her, he lifted his chin slightly, his smile growing. “Might let you.” They held each other’s gaze, almost defying the other to look away first, Jade playing with his hands, running her nails up and down his long fingers, licking her lips. Oh, she was so, so sexy. “Might just tease you back twice as bad.”

He winked, and her stomach exploded with butterflies, dropping her gaze for a moment, her internal monologue stuck on excited screaming mode. “It’s so loud in here. Do you want to go someplace quieter?”

“That’d be good. Is my boy gonna be alright, or are your girls gonna eat him alive?” he spoke, nodding over her shoulder, seeing Lewis looking very well settled, drinking and laughing with Katie and Charlotte.

“Yeah, the lesbians will look after him well. They’re together, if you didn’t know. Most don’t unless you’re a fan of the band,” she spoke, Adrien only noticing it then, the understated way they had their pinky fingers linked together. Cute.

“Ahh, he’ll know, then. Save himself the embarrassment of trying to give his usual awkward advances toward two girls who don’t bat for his team.” They got up, exiting the tent without being noticed, although Jade was called out to by a few peers and industry folks as they walked down towards where all the busses were parked a short way from the entrance to the backstage compound.

As he walked, Adrien couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so excited to spend time with someone who wasn’t a friend or family member, the people much missed as his hectic life whirled around him. He had no idea how much time he’d have with this utterly charming woman who turned to smile at him, but god, he hoped the minutes began to tick backwards with every step he took.

#adrien brody fanfiction #adrien brody x ofc #adrien brody fanfic #adrien brody fic #adrien brody smut #adrien brody #sky full of stars #adrien and jade

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wheresarizona · 2 years

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Learning to Live Part 8

summary: Javier wanted to show you a good time and take you to the farmers market. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated how much attention you both would get in such a busy place.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: E (18+!!! Soft!Javier Peña (like so soft and sweet), Car sex, unprotected P in V (wrap it up!), creampie, hand job(s), dirty talk, praise, body worship, (1) bite, feelings, lots of kissing, fluff, teasing, Protective!Javi, Protective!reader, emotions, small town drama, feelings of insecurity, food mentions, whirlwind romance.) If I missed anything, please dm me!

word count: 16k+ (I’m sorry! A lot happens!)

A/N: Hello! I finished the full chapter, and I think it’s better all together, so here it is, and I hope you like it! There was a lot to cover, which is why it’s so long. Thank you so much for the continued support and loving these two! It means the world to me! ❤️❤️❤️ I don’t know how many chapters this whole fic will be, but we’re not even halfway through my outline. So, still, more to come! I do have a Spotify playlist for this story on the series masterlist if you wanna check that out. As always, this is dedicated to my bestie @juletheghoul and thank you to my incredible beta @invisibleismyname.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated and I do my best to respond to them all!

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It was a beautiful morning, the sky clear and blue. Javi was driving his truck, you sitting in the passenger seat, holding his hand on your thigh, heading to the farmers market. An oldies station was softly playing, and the air conditioning was cranked high to stave off the already considerable heat outside, even though it was only nine in the morning.

You were excited to spend the day with him and see more of the town. Your first week in Laredo mainly consisted of getting your apartment figured out, starting your new job, and learning where places were. You hadn’t gotten to really explore, and now you had an inside man to show you the spots worth visiting, and Javi said the market was one of them.

You weren't entirely sure why there was a nervous fluttering in your tummy. Maybe it was because you ran into his ex the last time you’d gone out in public for a date, and she unceremoniously spilled his secrets. You didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable like that again, and he’d told you that practically the whole town knew who he was and about his checkered past. You didn’t care what anybody thought about you or your relationship, you were happy, and that was all that mattered—what would bother you, was if anyone decided to do what Lorraine did at the restaurant and put Javi into a situation like that again.

You squeezed his hand in yours, so big and warm, engulfing your smaller one.

He looked over at you, wearing his aviator sunglasses and smiling.

You were willing to fight an entire town for this man.

You wouldn’t let anyone be disrespectful to him, and you knew he could stick up for himself—he was an adult man almost in his forties and had been dealing with this for years—but he was your boyfriend, your partner, and you knew he’d do the same for you. You had each other's backs; you were positive of that.

“What are you wanting to get?” He asked, eyes moving back to the road. “I know you wanted flowers.”

You smiled.

“Someone has spoiled me with flowers.”

He chuckled, looking at you again.

“And I’ll keep spoiling you,” he said with a wink.

You giggled, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it.

“Probably fruits and veggies for sure. I’ll have to see what else there is.”

“I’ll get you whatever you want.”

You laughed.

“You’re not paying for my stuff. That’s ridiculous.”

He was staring straight ahead, and you saw his mouth turn down in a frown. He glanced over.

“I want to,” he said a little quieter, and your heart clenched.

“You may purchase a couple of reasonably priced items,” you said.

He smiled again, nodding.

“Okay.”

You chatted a little more, and before long, the truck was parked, and the two of you were walking hand in hand down the sidewalk.

The farmers market was located downtown in a large park. Big leaf-covered trees towered beside the wide concrete paths that the booths lined the edges of, and red brick retaining walls separated the grass from the walkways. It was a beautiful park, notably very green with the contrast of the red bricks.

The place was already busy, and you’d never seen so many people in one place the whole time you’d been in Laredo.

You saw Javi stiffen out of the corner of your eye, his hand tightening around yours, and immediately you were moving into his side and hugging his arm against you.

You looked up at him, his lips in a straight line, jaw clenched.

“You okay?” You asked.

He looked down at you, and you saw his eyes soften a little behind the darkened lenses.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said, squeezing your hand again, his attention moving back to your surroundings. He said the words, but you didn’t quite believe them, making you frown.

The two of you should have been lost in the crowd of people—just one insignificant couple amongst dozens of others, and yet you saw the curious looks and heard the whispers as you both walked by, catching mentions of Javi’s name. He hadn’t been joking about everybody knowing about you; the townspeople were apparently a bunch of gossips.

You stopped at the first stall advertising farm fresh eggs at a very reasonable price, the person manning it greeting you with a big smile and nodding at Javi, their attention moving to new people that walked up next to you.

Javi leaned down.

“You want some of these?” He asked quietly.

You tipped up on your toes so your face was closer to his ear when you whispered for only him to hear.

“We do need the extra protein with the way you fuck my brains out. It’s like you’re determined to wreck my pussy.”

He sucked in a breath so hard he choked on his spit and started coughing, covering his mouth with his arm.

Your free hand rubbed against his chest.

“Sorry!” You said.

He calmed down after some seconds, his face a little red and eyes wet.

Javi got the attention of the person who greeted you.

“Three dozen, please,” he said, voice a bit hoarse as he grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, and you laughed.

Javi carried your purchases in a canvas tote bag you’d bought with the eggs in one hand and held yours in his other as you went from stall to stall.

You noticed he had his guard up and seemed to be on alert, eyes scanning the crowd, a hand always on you, keeping you close to him. He had a serious look on his face, lips dipping in a frown, the crinkle between his eyebrows more prominent. His demeanor was so different from how he was when you were alone, and it was a bit of a shock.

Was this how he was normally?

Intense, reserved, grumpy.

He was polite with others and replied when spoken to, but his answers were short and to the point, offering a forced smile if the occasion called for it, and it just made you miss his real smiles. The happy, genuine ones, so you made it your mission to try and get him to relax a little.

You were at a stall with artisan soap bars, holding one up to your nose as you smelled it. You were hit with scents of amber, patchouli, Madagascar vanilla, something floral, and some citrus. It smelled pretty good, and you lifted it towards Javi.

“Do you like this?” You asked.

He leaned in, breathing it in.

“Smells good,” he replied with a nod, but he was still frowning.

You moved up on your toes, and he bent his head so you could speak in his ear.

“If I got it,” you whispered. “Can I wash you with it? Just imagine my hands all over your body, maybe I’m behind you with my hand at your front, wrapped around your—”

“Cielito,” he interrupted in a rough tone. He turned his head to kiss your forehead. “Get it.”

You kissed his cheek, and he gave you a tiny smile that you counted as a win.

The flowers at the next stall were gorgeous, your eyes taking in the vibrant rainbow of colors neatly displayed.

“Which ones?” Javi asked.

You looked up at him, and the tiny smile had gotten a little bigger, which meant you had to get some—it would make him happy.

You smiled, turning to look at the choices.

“The pink peonies.”

He leaned into your space.

“I can name maybe three of what we’re looking at. Which ones…?”

You giggled.

“Sorry,” you said, reaching to grab a small bouquet and showing him your choice.

“They’re pretty,” he said, lips curving up a little more. His hand left yours as he juggled the canvas bag to get his wallet from his pocket, quickly paying. He put his arm around your shoulders as you both started walking, joining the many others walking down the path.

He’d forgotten how many people came out for the farmers market.

It was a big deal for their community. Everything sold was grown and made within two hundred miles of Laredo. It happened every second Saturday of the month, and it seemed like the whole fucking town was there to show their support.

It should be a good thing, everybody coming together and supporting the local vendors, but for Javier, it meant being in the spotlight, people watching him and Cielito with looks ranging from curiosity to pity. He felt like he was always the talk of the town, either because of what happened seventeen years ago with Lorraine or, more recently, with Colombia; his life was constantly a hot topic of discussion.

He’d gone from Javier Peña, the man who left the Mayor’s daughter at the altar and became a social pariah, to Javier Peña, the man who helped take down Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel and was now considered Laredo’s golden boy.

His accomplishments overshadowed his past sins—to most of the people. He was called a hero by many, still hated by some, and there were the ones who didn’t give a fuck one way or the other but ate up all of the news about him anyway.

All of the interest in him made Javier avoid town functions like the fucking plague. He didn’t like the hero-worship, never thought he deserved such admiration for the shit he’d done in South America, and then there was the opposite he experienced, too; the dirty looks, the sneers, the outright animosity. He had to change barbers because his old one was Lorraine’s uncle, and he’d been told he wasn’t welcome upon his return.

He’d kept to himself since coming back. He worked, ran errands, and drank alone at the bar and in the comfort of his father’s house. Javier hadn’t been seen with a woman and turned down any advances because he knew his reputation preceded him, he knew the women offering to buy him drinks only wanted one thing, and he was tired. He wanted more than just sex; he wanted connection, passion, an actual relationship, and by some fucking miracle, he’d found what he was looking for in a beautiful woman who simply wanted to help him pick out some produce.

But now he was being seen in public with her, a sign that something was going on between them, and he was pretty sure the town was collectively having flashbacks to seventeen years prior. The pitiful looks stung him the most, knowing that people felt bad for Cielito like she was making a big mistake being with him. Doubt was beginning to creep into his brain that maybe she was, maybe he wasn’t good for her.

He felt his frown deepen, and suddenly arms wrapped around his middle, Cielito’s head resting against his chest, her flowers at his stomach, and he relaxed a little, his arm around her shoulders pulling her closer to him.

Javier wanted to spend time with her, take her places, show her a good time, and be a normal couple, but being in a busy place like this made him wish they were back at her apartment or even the booth at El Mercadito—he hated all of the attention and felt awful that she had to deal with it. The people, the looks, the whispers, all of it had him on edge and alert, wanting to keep her safe from it all—shield her, protect her. He worried everything would be too much, and she’d end things, realizing he wasn’t worth all the trouble.

They were coming up to another stall after browsing only a few before.

“Ooh, this looks fun,” she said, unwrapping herself from him, and Javier missed her immediately.

He watched her pick up a bottle of red wine on display, the winery located a few towns away.

“Thoughts on wine?” She asked, showing it to him.

“I prefer whiskey,” he said with a shrug.

The man selling came over to them, Javier not recognizing him, and started going through his sales pitch about how the one she was holding was a sweet wine with hints of cherries and strawberries and other things he didn’t understand. He’d never been a wine drinker; he preferred stronger liquor.

“Did you hear that, Javi? It’s versatile.”

She was looking at him with big eyes and a smile.

Someone else got the vendor's attention, and he politely excused himself.

“What does that mean?” Javier asked.

“You can drink it with food or by itself. Do you like wine?” She asked.

“I never drink it.”

He saw her eyes brighten, a smirk lifting on her lips, and he knew whatever she was about to say probably wouldn’t be appropriate with people around, and he felt his heart begin to speed up.

“So,” she started, looking around, the others close by in animated conversation, and she leaned close, lowering her voice a little. “Does that mean you wouldn’t want to get wine drunk and fool around on the couch?”

He was reminded of the previous things they’d done in her living room, his throat going dry, want beginning to stir in his belly, and he had to keep himself from groaning, huffing out an amused breath instead. His lips turned up in a small smile.

“Get the wine, Cielito.”

She grinned at him, her face lighting up, and he felt his heart stutter at how beautiful she looked. It took a couple of minutes for her to make her purchase, and he placed the bottle in the bag he was holding, taking her hand with his free one as they started walking.

“When was the last time you came here?” She asked him.

He looked at her, seeing her curious expression.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “I don’t even remember.”

He hadn’t been in recent years.

“It’s a really nice place,” she said, leaning into him. “I love looking at all the different things, and it’s such a beautiful day to walk around outside.” It was still morning, and the heat wasn’t overwhelming, the tree branches overhead offering shade. Their gazes met. “I’m having a great time being here with you.” She smiled at him, and he could see it on her face that she was telling the truth, and his eyes widened.

“You are?” He asked, not able to keep the surprise from his tone.

Her forehead crinkled, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not too much?” He asked slowly.

He knew she was seeing and hearing the same things he was. The older couple behind them were talking in hushed voices, but he’d heard his name and the wife say, that poor girl.

Cielito’s expression relaxed, a smile on her lips.

“Like I told you on our second date, I don’t care what people say about me. As long as I’m happy and you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

He smiled a little bigger and felt some of the tension in his body release.

“I’m happy being with you,” he said truthfully, bringing their joined hands up so he could kiss the back of hers.

Her smile got bigger.

“Then fuck ‘em.”

He chuckled lowly, leaning down to kiss her temple.

“I’d rather just fuck you,” he said for only her to hear.

“You’re insatiable,” she laughed.

He smiled.

“Only for you.”

All it took were her words to have his earlier doubts and worries slipping from his mind, replaced with thoughts of how much he adored her and how lucky he was to have her.

They approached a table laden with little glass sculptures of animals and plants, the woman running it looking vaguely familiar, but Javier couldn’t recall her name as she greeted them with a friendly hello.

“These are really beautiful,” Cielito said, smiling at the vendor.

“Thank you. I make them myself.”

Javier listened as the two women spoke for a few minutes, his eyes on Cielito, watching how genuinely interested she was to hear about the other woman’s craft. He felt himself soften a little, warmth filling his chest. He was feeling better knowing she was having a good time, and he was glad she chose to ignore everyone and just enjoy herself.

She ended up buying a glass tulip, the stem green, and the flower yellow. It was packaged up safely, and Javier happily took it when it was handed to him to put in the bag.

They walked hand in hand to the next stall selling raw honey.

“Well, if it isn’t Javier Peña!” The owner, an older woman in her early seventies, said in a strong Texas drawl.

“Hi, Mrs. Moore,” he said, giving her a smile.

The older woman’s hair was completely white, and she was wearing a brightly printed blouse in a fun pattern, with a denim jacket. She had always been fond of him and his family, and had been a friend of his mother’s.

“Who is this lovely woman with you? I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Pauletta Moore,” she said, sticking out her hand.

Cielito shook it, introducing herself.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. A gorgeous couple!” Mrs. Moore’s attention moved to him. “Javier, you’ve gotten more handsome with age! When I saw your picture in the paper about all that stuff you did in South America, I could not believe it was the same young man who helped me build those bee boxes when you were what, nineteen?”

“I was twenty,” he said, turning to Cielito, who looked at him. “Mrs. Moore went to church with my parents, and she wanted to start beekeeping—”

“Something to keep me busy in my retirement,” Mrs. Moore added.

“And she asked around if someone could help her build the boxes—”

“And Javier’s wonderful mother offered his services.”

“She didn’t give me a choice,” he said with a chuckle.

“Such an incredible woman,” Mrs. Moore said. “I miss her dearly. She made the best tamales in Webb County, if not the entire state of Texas! But I’m happy she sent you. I used those boxes for years.”

He knew he probably looked a little surprised.

“Really?” He asked.

He’d had to go to the library and check out books on how to build them.

“Yes! Had to expand when I really started selling. I’ll always fondly remember you coming over in your white tank top and jeans, hammering away.” She looked at Cielito. “You are one lucky girl. He’s aged like a fine wine. Look at those arms!”

He felt heat crawling up his neck, clearing his throat as Cielito giggled.

“They’re good arms,” Cielito agreed, letting go of his hand to rub her own along his forearm. “And I know I’m very lucky.” She looked up at him, grinning, and he smiled back.

Mrs. Moore grabbed a jar of honey from the table.

“Take some honey!” she said, holding it out to him.

“Oh, Mrs. Moore, I couldn’t possibly—” He started.

“I insist, Javier,” she said, pushing it towards him. “It was with your help I got my start. Take it as thanks.” Her tone stated she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He carefully accepted it from her.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Anytime, and don’t be a stranger!”

He chuckled.

“I won’t.”

“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Moore!” Cielito said.

“The pleasure was all mine.”

Javier put the honey in the bag and retook Cielito’s hand, pulling her away from the booth. She started speaking when they were further down the path.

“I’m pretty sure if Mrs. Moore was thirty years younger, she would have definitely come onto you.”

He groaned, and she giggled.

“You’re just so handsome,” she continued. “And your arms are apparently lady kryptonite.”

He looked at her, and she was wearing a big toothy grin.

“Yeah? Do you feel the same?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You know how I feel about them,” she replied with a wink.

He leaned down to speak in her ear.

“That’s right, you think it’s sexy when I manhandle you,” he whispered. “You like it when I pull out, flip you over, and fu—”

His sentence was cut off when she turned her head, kissing him, a surprised sound coming out of his mouth.

“We are in public,” she murmured against his lips.

He kissed her quickly, pulling back to look at her.

“You started it,” he said with a smirk. “The eggs, the soap? Teasing me.” He looked forward, seeing the next booth. “Want some food?”

“I could eat.”

They arrived at a little pastry place, the table containing trays of different flavored croissants and danishes, all from a bakery in town. The owner running the stall was the cousin of a guy he’d gone to school with who Javier didn’t know too well; he was pretty sure his name was Mike—he saw he was right when he spotted the man’s name tag.

“Good morning,” Mike greeted.

“Morning. What would you like?” Javier asked Cielito.

“Hmmm,” she said, appraising what was in front of them. “Would you want to share an almond croissant?” She asked, looking at him.

“Yeah. That sounds good,” he answered. He turned his attention back to the owner. “Can we get one of the almond ones, please?”

“Sure thing, Javier,” Mike replied, getting a piece of parchment paper, grabbing the pastry, and handing it to Cielito. She let go of his hand to take it.

Javier moved the tote bag to his left hand, pulling his wallet from his back pocket with his right. He snagged two ones and handed them over.

“Keep the change,” he said.

“Thank you!”

He put his wallet away, his arm moving to rest on Cielito’s shoulders as they walked a little down the path and stepped to the edge in an empty space between stalls, the brick retainer wall next to them as she stood in front of him.

The croissant was golden brown and had slices of almonds and powdered sugar on top. He watched as she held it up to his mouth; Javier opened and took a bite. It tasted buttery and nutty, with sweetness from the sugar and filling. He’d never had one before; a little too fancy for him, but he had to admit it wasn’t bad, nodding his head as he chewed.

“What do you think?” She asked, biting into it.

“It’s good,” he said after swallowing.

She brought it back up to his lips, and he bit into it again.

It went like that until the pastry was finished, each of them taking bites until finally, Javier told her to have the last of it, loving the little smile she gave him.

She tossed the used parchment paper in a nearby trash can and returned, her hand reaching up to his face.

“You got a little sugar right here,” she said, rubbing her thumb against the side of his mouth, and he watched, eyes transfixed on her as she brought it to her mouth, her tongue licking away the powder. He gulped, feeling heat under his skin that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

She smiled, eyes sparkling.

“It looks like I missed some,” she said. “Come here.” She beckoned him to lean down, and he did it, immediately bringing his head closer to hers, his heartbeat racing.

She got close to him, his face an inch from hers, as her fingers lightly grabbed his chin to turn his head at an angle. Her lips touched the spot her thumb had, kissing it first, then her tongue licked over the small area, Javier’s eyes closing for a second as a tingle went down his spine. He wanted to kiss her, and the urge became too much; Javier quickly turned his head to capture her lips with his. He was delighted by her surprised sound, his tongue tasting the sweetness on her lips as he kissed her, swallowing her moan when he deepened it. Her hand cupped his jaw, and Javier didn’t care if anyone saw—they were in their own little bubble, enjoying one another for the moment, kissing until they needed to breathe.

They finally parted, looking at each other with smiles on their faces.

“I liked the croissant,” he said.

“Good. I’m kind of thirsty.”

He straightened up, looking down the path at the booths as people passed by, until he spotted one, turning back towards her.

“Lemonade?” He asked.

“Lemonade works.”

He took her hand, and she followed, moving with the crowd of people, until he got them to their destination, standing in line behind a small family.

They got to the table and the person running it was one of Lorraine’s many cousins; he watched her face sour when she realized who her next customer was. Her eyes moved from him to Cielito and back to him.

“Javier,” she said in an icy tone.

He sighed.

“Hi, Tammy.”

He really hoped she wouldn’t make a scene. Cielito squeezed his hand.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“Just one lemonade, please.”

She glared at him and aggressively grabbed a paper cup from the stack, eyes on his as she moved in front of the big glass spigot jar that held the bright yellow drink.

He let go of Cielito’s hand to get his wallet, taking out the dollar needed to pay and stuffing the billfold back into his pocket.

She was back in front of them after a moment, her attention moving to the woman next to him.

“Word of advice, sweetie,” Tammy started, tone sickly sweet. “I wouldn’t grow too attached to this one. He’s the love them and leave them type, and really good at the leaving.”

His eyes widened, blood rushing in his ears as his stomach dropped.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

As soon as he saw Tammy, they should’ve gone somewhere else, and he was kicking himself in the ass for thinking she’d be civil. It made no fucking sense to him why this family was so adamant about making his life hell—Lorraine had moved on, married a rich and successful man, and had a family, for Christ’s sake. He wished they’d all let it go, it happened seventeen years ago, and they acted like they were trying to make him suffer for all of the time he’d been away.

He was about to speak when Cielito beat him to it.

“Word of advice, sweetie,” she said, using the same sickly sweet tone. His head turned towards her, seeing her glaring at the other woman. “Mind your own fucking business. But seeing as you’re advertising fresh-squeezed lemonade when in reality you’re using a powdered mix—” Tammy sucked in a breath. “I can tell by that artificial yellow color,” she waved her hand at the glass. “Also, the canister is literally on the ground behind you, barely shoved behind that sign proudly declaring you’re only using the freshest lemons. Where are the lemons, Tammy?”

“Right there,” Tammy said.

Javier looked at the table, seeing a basket with unnaturally shiny lemons.

“Tammy, sweetie,” Cielito continued. “Some more advice: If you’re trying to fool people, use real lemons.” He watched as she plucked one of the fruits up, moving the flowers she was holding to the crook of her arm so she could use both of her hands to split the lemon in two. It was made of foam, and she tossed the pieces onto the table. “As I was saying, mind your own fucking business, but it’s pretty fucking clear you’re bad at that, too. So, keep your falsely advertised lemonade and have a nice day.”

Cielito grabbed his wrist, leading him away, and Javier got one last look at Tammy seeing her face bright red, mouth open, and eyes wide, and he couldn’t help smiling, wanting to do nothing more than kiss his girlfriend on the mouth.

When they stopped walking, they were standing at a food cart, and he wasn’t paying attention; his eyes focused on the amazing woman next to him. He knew she ordered something, her hand leaving him as she dug around in her purse one-handed to pull out a dollar and turned towards him to carefully take the one he was still holding. She exchanged the money for a clear plastic cup containing a golden liquid, and she looked at him.

“Follow me,” she said.

She didn’t even have to ask. He was her shadow; he’d follow her anywhere.

They ended up in another empty spot by the small wall, her standing in front of him, their eyes locked on one another, and he was in awe—this woman who always stood up for him with zero hesitation, even when they’d barely known each other, she was ready to fight for him. He felt his features soften, the smile still pulled up on his lips, and he just felt so much adoration for her it was squeezing his heart and making his chest tight.

She held the cup up to him, and he saw her lips move like she was saying something, but his brain didn’t process the words.

“Sorry?” He asked.

She smiled at him—her lips softly curving up, and a knowing look in her beautiful eyes, like she could read his thoughts.

“You want the first sip?” She asked again.

He shook his head.

“No, mi Cielito. You first,” he insisted.

Her smile got bigger, taking a gulp and sighing when she finished.

She passed it to him, and he was surprised when he took a drink, not expecting the taste.

“Beer?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, handing it back to her. He looked at his watch. “It’s not even eleven.”

“People drink beer with brunch,” she said with a shrug, taking another sip.

“Brunch implies we’re eating something more substantial than cereal and pastries.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make us something when we get back to my apartment.” She smiled.

At the mention of her apartment, he felt a pulse of excitement flow through his body, ideas of the things he wanted to do to her once they were alone. He needed to show her how thankful he was, how much he cherished her, and how happy he was to be with her. He stepped into her space, fingers tipping her chin up, eyes locked on hers.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” She asked softly.

He looked at her lips, wet from the beer, and he saw her tongue peek out to lick the bottom one, him mimicking her actions as his gaze moved back up.

“Sticking up for me,” he rasped. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.” She was speaking quietly for only him to hear. “You’re my boyfriend, and I won’t let people treat you like that. And even if you weren’t my boyfriend, I still would have told Tammy off for being rude and a liar. She has to be related to Lorraine.” She made a face, and he chuckled.

“Her cousin.”

“Is her whole family a bunch of dicks or something?”

“Her brother’s decent, but he’s the exception—the black sheep of the family.”

“Okay, so a bunch of dicks. Noted.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Stop thanking me,” she said in an exasperated tone, smiling. “You would have done the same.”

That was true.

The need to kiss her was back, eyes back on her lips, seeing how inviting they looked. He gave in, closing the distance and slanting his mouth against hers, and he smiled when he felt her melt into it, kissing her harder.

He nipped at her lip and gave her one last kiss.

“Let’s finish our morning beer. I’m getting… hungry.” He said the last word in a deeper register and saw her pupils dilate, making him smirk.

“Then we better get our shopping done,” she said, moving her head to speak in his ear. “I’m feeling hungry, too, and not just for food. You ruined my panties.” She kissed his cheek before stepping back.

Javier groaned, a spike of arousal shooting down his spine at the memory of what they’d done in the kitchen earlier. She stood in front of him, eyes on his with a sly smile, lifting the cup to her mouth, and he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, drinking her in—admiring the way her dress fit her figure and accentuated her breasts, knowing how she looked without any of the clothes on. The thoughts and images in his brain had his body going hot, and the reminder that she was standing there with his come still inside her, had blood heading towards his dick. She was driving him wild, and he wanted to be alone with her and away from all of these people. The quicker they finished, the quicker they could go.

There wasn’t too much beer left, and Javier gently took it from her hand and gulped the remaining liquid down, tossing the empty plastic into the nearby trash. He grabbed her free hand.

“What do you need to buy?” He asked.

“Bread, vegetables, and fruit,” she replied.

“Okay,” he nodded. “We’ll get those things and go.” He pulled her along, on a mission to find those items and get them going. She giggled behind him as he led her down the path briskly, passing people until he found a place selling bread.

He recognized the woman running the stand right away.

Anna Martinez was in the same graduating class as him in high school, and they’d been on friendly terms, very friendly terms. She looked almost the same as she did in high school; laugh lines were the only thing showing her age. She still had the curly brown hair that went past her shoulders and lips painted red in the same shade she wore when they were teens. She now had a gold band on her left ring finger and a kid who probably wasn’t even ten that looked like her spitting imagine filling a paper bag with pastries for another customer.

On the table were loaves of bread, cookies, and pan dulce, Mexican pastries, laid out in front of them. Anna smiled when she looked up and saw him standing there.

“Hey, Javi,” she said. “Haven’t seen you since Danny’s wedding. Knew you’d come back to town, been keeping busy?”

“Hi, Anna. Just working on the ranch.”

She gave him a once over, nodding her head.

“I can tell,” she said with a wink, still smiling warmly when she looked over at Cielito. “You must be the woman everyone is talking about.” She stuck out her hand. ”I’m Anna.” Cielito shook her hand, introducing herself. Anna pointed at the child next to her. “That’s my daughter, Erica.” The child waved and returned to work, refilling a tray with sweet breads. “It’s lovely to put a face and name to the mystery woman Javi was seen around town with,” Anna said. “You know, I heard from a credible source you had a wonderful interaction with Lorraine.”

Cielito laughed.

“I don’t know about wonderful, but it was something,” she said.

“Oh, it was definitely wonderful. It’s good somebody put her in her place. That whole family thinks they rule this town, and it’s tiring.”

Javi sighed.

“It really is,” he said.

Anna looked sympathetic, and he quickly changed the subject.

“How are the kids? Your husband?” He asked.

She smiled.

“Kids are great, doing well in school and their sports. Alejandro just got a promotion at the bank, so that’s been amazing! How’s life treating you, Javi?”

He looked at Cielito, feeling himself smile.

“Life’s really good,” he replied. “Things are looking up.”

“I’m glad to hear that! Now, what can I get you both?”

Cielito and Anna had a friendly discussion about the bread, leading to Cielito choosing two loaves to buy and paying. Anna gave her the change, the bread safely in their tote bag, before getting a small piece of parchment paper and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie, holding it out to Javier.

“Here’s a cookie, Javi. For old time's sake. A strong man like you deserves it,” she winked.

“Let me pay for it,” he said, moving his hand towards his pocket.

“No voy a dejar que pages (I won’t let you pay).”

“Lo insisto (I insist),” he said.

She looked at Cielito.

“Tell your man to accept the damn cookie.” She shook her head, muttering. “Dios mío, que terco este hombre (So stubborn this man, my god.)”

Cielito laughed.

“You heard her. Take the cookie,” she said.

He reluctantly accepted it.

“Muchas gracias, Anna,” He said.

“De nada (no problem).” Her eyes moved to the woman next to him. “Keep him out of trouble, and don’t let him take you to the lookout.”

He felt his ears heat, clearing his throat.

“I’ll do my best,” Cielito said.

They started walking away from the booth, Javier passing her the cookie.

“For you,” he said.

“I’m not eating your cookie.”

He sighed.

“We can split it?”

She smiled.

“That is acceptable,” she said. He broke it in two and handed her half.

He had to admit the cookie was pretty good. When they’d finished eating, he took her free hand into his, lacing their fingers as they walked towards a stall with vegetables and fruits.

“What did she mean by not letting you take me to the lookout?” Cielito asked.

His eyes went a little wide, looking away from her.

“Uh, something stupid happened there years ago. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said.

“Well, now I’m curious.”

He sighed again.

“Just high school kids being dumb.”

“Oof, the stupid things I did as a teenager.”

Aside from the Tammy fiasco, you were having a great time and ignored the looks and whispers, just happy to be with Javi, flowers in one hand, his own in your other, walking and talking to him. You could see that needling away at his walls had worked. You saw the stiffness in him slowly disappear, caught glimpses of the smiles you liked, and it made you happy to see him loosening up.

“It’s time for you to use the knowledge I bestowed,” you said, the two of you standing at a large booth with crates upon crates of colorful produce displayed on many tables. You let go of his hand, pointing at some tomatoes in front of you. “Find us the perfect tomato, babe. I’ll make you my version of a BLT for lunch.”

He looked at you, eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s your version?”

“A secret you will soon discover when we get back to my place,” you said with a smile.

He nodded, looking back at the vegetables, staring them down with a serious look, like he was trying to intimidate them into speaking. You smiled, because it was the same expression he had the first time you saw him at the grocery store. He picked one up, feeling it in his hand, and you noticed how easily he held it, the large heirloom tomato fitting in his palm. He pressed into it gently to test it.

“Too ripe,” he said, putting it down, and you smiled big, watching with rapt attention. He picked up another, going through the same motions and setting it back down. He looked for a second and picked up another, holding it in his hand, and inspected it before testing it with his thumb. He nodded to himself, holding it out to you. “This one.”

You took it, and you couldn’t wrap your fingers around it, checking it out and lightly pressing into it, the color of it bright red and unblemished. You looked up at him, and he was watching intently.

“Are you positive this is the one you want to go with?” You asked.

He frowned, looking unsure.

“Yeah..?”

You smiled.

“Congratulations, Javi. You picked the perfect tomato.”

This was when he gave you the biggest, happiest, genuine smile that took your breath away, when his dimple appeared and his eyes crinkled at the edges.

“Really?” He asked.

“Really! I’m so proud.”

He chuckled, leaning down to give you a kiss on the lips.

“What else do we need?” He asked.

“Arugula, avocado, and I’m looking at the fruit—need to get some for pies and maybe pastries.”

He ducked his head to whisper in your ear.

“For apology baked goods?” He asked.

“Yes,” you laughed.

His voice went a bit deeper. “Do you still feel my come?”

You softly gasped.

“Am I dripping out of you?” He continued.

“Javi,” you breathed.

Your cunt clenched at the reminder, reveling in the delicious ache in your core. He really had ruined your panties, the wet fabric sticking to you.

He went on, his breath tickling your ear.

“Thinking about how easy it is to lift up that pretty dress and wreck your tight—”

You turned your head, cutting off his sentence with your lips.

“Again, we are in public,” you said against his mouth.

He kissed you a little harder.

He pulled back. “Can’t wait to get back to your apartment,” he said with a smirk. He kissed your forehead. “I’ll get the avocado, and we can leave when you’ve gotten the rest.”

Javi was carrying two bags in his hand, keeping his other free to hold yours, while you held the flowers—it was the only thing he’d let you carry.

The two of you were heading toward the truck when some jewelry caught your attention, and you dragged him over to take a quick look. The person working the booth was a beautiful woman who, based on her looks, was a little younger than you. She ignored you, turning her attention to Javi.

“Hi, Javier.” Her tone was extremely flirty as she twirled some of her blonde hair on her finger. Your eyebrows were in your hairline, looking down to double-check that you were still holding his hand, and there it was, his fingers laced with your own.

“Hi, uh…” He didn’t know her name, and you smiled as your eyes moved to the handmade jewelry in front of you—all of the pieces made from silver, with intricate engraving work, and some with precious stones.

“Rebecca. The Wilson’s oldest,” she said.

“Right,” he said. You glanced at him to see he had a fake polite smile on his face, so different from the ones he had given Mrs. Moore or Anna.

“You’re looking really good,” she said and reached over the table to touch his arm, and it froze you in place at how bold she was being. You felt like there was a rock in the pit of your stomach, the tendrils of an unpleasant feeling beginning to form inside your chest.

“Thanks,” he replied, his voice tight and clearly uncomfortable with the attention. He moved closer into your side, Rebecca’s hand dropping away.

“You know all that stuff you did in South America; I’d love to buy you a drink sometime and thank you properly,” she said suggestively, practically eye fucking him.

Your body tensed up, feeling your blood boil at this woman’s blatant disregard for you. You’d seen the looks women gave Javi at the bar on your first date, and even while you’d been out today; you knew others found him attractive—you sure as fuck did, and you wouldn’t be bothered by mild, fun-flirting, that was harmless, like the interactions he’d had earlier, but this was different. This made you angry that someone would be so hurtful.

Insecurity was clawing in your chest, making it feel tight, because why would Javi choose you over someone so young and beautiful? You were beginning to spiral, feeling the emotions starting to overwhelm you.

“I’m not interested,” Javi said sternly, the polite tone gone. Your head whipped toward him, seeing that he looked angry. “And I clearly have a girlfriend—a fucking incredible one at that, and she doesn’t deserve this kind of disrespect.” He looked at you, and his face softened. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You nodded, letting him pull you away.

You were both quiet as you walked back to the truck, his hand holding yours tightly.

His words played over in your head on repeat. I’m not interested, and I clearly have a girlfriend. Being seen together, holding hands, and showing public displays of affection didn’t indicate the nature of your relationship. With Javi’s past, most people would probably assume it was a fling or nothing special—but he’d announced it, and made sure they knew you were dating and that it was serious. Sure, he’d only said it to Rebecca, but the townspeople were a bunch of gossips, and you had no doubt the news would spread like wildfire. You were shocked with how easily he proclaimed it, and elated, just so fucking happy that he was so committed to you, and you felt silly for having any doubts.

Javi opened the truck's passenger door, leaning in to put the bags in the backseat, and turned to gently take the flowers from you, putting those in the back also. When he faced you again, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said softly.

“It’s okay,” your muffled voice replied.

He loosened his hold, a hand tipping your chin up to look at him.

His forehead was scrunched.

“It’s not okay,” he said. “It was fucked up and rude.”

“Maybe she didn’t know?”

He huffed out a breath.

“The whole fucking town knows. She knew. I was holding your hand, it was obvious, and she didn’t give a fuck.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, it was fucked up, and I didn’t care for it.”

“I know, Cielito.”

“Like Mrs. Moore talking about how handsome you are and your great arms? That was fine and fun. Or Anna being flirty and insisting a strong man like you needed a chocolate chip cookie? That was okay; she acknowledged we were together, and you got a free cookie.”

“That I tried to give you.”

“That we split.”

He sighed.

“I’m sorry. Just really fucking sorry you had to deal with all that and everything that happened today.”

“You can’t control what other people say,” you said with a shrug. “So, there’s no reason to be sorry. You also can’t help that you’re just so damn irresistible women lose complete common sense when interacting with you. Except for Tammy.” You made a face.

He chuckled, smirking.

“You seem to do pretty well with my irresistible charm.”

“It takes a lot of effort—like so much. Your neck looks so fucking good in that shirt, all I can think about is lick—”

He kissed you hard, interrupting your sentence, a moan slipping out of your mouth.

“Let’s head back to your place,” he said, pulling back, eyes full of promise.

“Okay,” you nodded.

You got into the truck, and Javi kissed you, before he shut the door and walked around to get into the driver’s side seconds later. You moved to the middle seat, wanting to be closer to him. He held your hand, resting them on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking spot and into traffic. The music was softly playing, the air conditioning blowing, and you leaned your head against his arm.

All of the negative emotions had been replaced with happiness, contentedness, need. You were still thinking about what he’d said to Rebecca.

“You told her I was your girlfriend,” you said.

“Of course I did. That’s what you are.”

You turned your head, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at his profile, admiring the curve of his nose and lips.

“I mean, I know we’ve labeled our relationship to each other, but telling others, I don’t know, makes it feel more real? We’re serious enough that we’re comfortable with people knowing.”

“I’m very serious,” he said without missing a beat.

Your heart sped up.

“What do you mean by that?”

He glanced over at you.

“If I don’t fuck this up.” He looked back at the road. “And you’re still happy with me in the future. Hopefully, you’d consider taking my last name.”

Your eyes widened.

“You’re interested in the possibility of getting married?”

His eyes met yours briefly, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowned.

“Yeah? Is that not something you want?”

“I’m okay with marriage,” you reassured. “It’s just surprising to me that after what you’ve gone through, you’d even fathom the idea.”

Javi sighed, hearing the creak of his hand tightening on the steering wheel.

“I’m not against it. My parents were my example of what a healthy marriage should look like. If I marry, I want it to be with someone I genuinely love, who will stick with me through thick or thin, and not put up with any of my shit. And I want to have the choice on marrying—not doing it simply because it’s the right thing to do.” He looked at you again, eyes softer, vulnerability shining in the dark pools. “I want to marry for love, not duty.”

“That’s how it should be,” you nodded, a small smile on your lips. “And I want the same things. If I’m tying myself to someone for the rest of my life, I need to like them, love them, and know they feel the same.”

He smiled, facing forward again.

“I’m glad we have similar wants,” he said.

“I am, too,” you said, grinning.

You were leaning into his side, your left hand holding his, and you moved your right one across your body to rub it against his jean-clad thigh.

“So,” you started. “If this all works out, your goal is to one day make me Mrs. Javier Peña?”

He chuckled.

“Yeah.”

In the past when you dated, things were a bit more casual. You saw the other person once a week, and talked on the phone maybe one or two times between seeing each other, but with Javi, the two of you had packed basically a month of dates into a matter of days. It was a bit unconventional, but there was something between the two of you that you’d never felt with anyone else—a strong connection, and the fact you could see a future with him—that you wanted a future with him.

You could picture him meeting your family and friends, and knew they’d all like him, because he was charming and fun to talk to when he was comfortable. It made you sad that he couldn’t be like that all the time in the town he’d grown up in—that the people put him on edge, and only a few got to see what he was really like without his walls up. All this to say that talking about the future didn’t scare you—you knew he’d be a part of yours, and it made sense to figure things out and see if you wanted the same things.

“What else do you want?” You asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Kids? No kids?”

He tensed, throat bobbing, and he wasn’t looking at you, but you could see his eyes had widened, and you bet they looked a little panicked.

“Uh… I… I don’t… I’m not….”

Yep, panicked.

You squeezed his thigh.

“A topic for later discussion,” you said, throwing him a line. You started rubbing your hand up and down his thigh again, moving up and inward, feeling it tense, and going back down.

He looked at you.

“What… Uh… What about you?”

You saw his throat swallow.

“Kids or no kids, I’m happy with whichever.” You said truthfully. “It’s a big decision I’d want to make with my partner, and I’d want both of us on board, you know?”

“Yeah...”

Your hand was still moving, doing a circuit up and back down, over and over again.

“Pets?” You asked.

“What about them?”

“Yes or no.”

He visibly relaxed.

“If I had the space, yes,” he said, looking over at you and smiling. “A dog.”

“Not into cats?”

Your hand went further up his inner thigh, and he sucked in a breath before you moved it back down.

“Allergic,” he answered breathlessly.

“That is a damn shame.”

“Do you want pets?” He asked.

“I love animals,” you said. “I always envisioned having a dog and cat one day, but I can live without a cat.”

He looked at you and smiled.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. Dogs are wonderful.”

Your hand was still moving on his thigh, and you were feeling bold—everything he’d done and said while you’d been out and in the truck made you want him so badly that you decided to test the waters, finally moving your hand between his legs, and rubbing at his groin.

“Cielito,” Javi groaned, squeezing your hand he was holding. “What are you doing?”

“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” you said.

You could feel him becoming interested under your touch.

“I… Fuck, I don’t want you to stop.” You heard his hand tightening around the steering wheel again, his words making your cunt throb, a heady rush of arousal coursing through you and making your ruined panties even wetter.

You kept moving your hand, his jeans the only barrier keeping you from touching his cock.

“Okay,” you smiled.

He was half-hard already, his pants beginning to bulge under your ministrations.

“What else do you want?” You asked.

It was taking him a moment to respond as you kept rubbing, seconds passing.

“A house,” he finally said.

“A house is good and would have the space for your future dog. I’d like a house with a little garden to plant flowers and vegetables. What else?” You asked.

He was fully hard quickly, and you moved both of your hands to the front of his jeans, undoing his belt and pants.

“Wha—” His word cut off into a moan when your hand wrapped around his straining cock, flushed, with precum beading at the tip, and throbbing in your grasp.

You let go to lick your palm before you started stroking him, your saliva and his arousal easing your movements, feeling the hot, velvety skin under your palm, solid in your hand.

“What else?” You asked again.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “It’s hard to think with your hand around my dick.”

You stopped, and he whined.

“Is it hindering your ability to drive?” You asked.

“No, no, keep going,” he urged, eyes on the road. “I’m taking care of it.”

You didn’t know what he meant, beginning to move your hand again, up and down, flicking your wrist on the upstroke to make him moan.

You were working him over, getting him to the point that precum was steadily dribbling, making your hand glide wetly.

Javi was panting out breaths mixed with gasps and moans, his eyes never moving from in front of him.

“You never answered my question,” you said.

“Uh, what?” He asked thickly. You saw him swallow. “Oh. Fuck,” he groaned. “Uh… happiness.”

You were aware that he’d made a couple of turns you hadn’t expected. You looked out the window, not recognizing where you were—no houses or businesses—the area looked like they were planning to turn it into a neighborhood, but right now, it was completely empty, just streets with no sign of civilization for miles.

You turned your attention back to him, admiring his profile, the curve of his nose, and parted lips.

“You deserve happiness,” you said. “After the life you’ve had, I want you to be happy. Anything else you’d want?”

The truck swerved to the side of the road, coming to a complete stop, Javi throwing it into park and tossing his sunglasses onto the dashboard. His seatbelt was quickly undone and practically thrown over his shoulder in a clatter as his upper body turned towards you. His big hands came up to cradle your face as he looked you in the eyes.

“You,” he said, crashing his lips against yours.

You moaned when he pushed his tongue into your mouth, sliding it against yours, kissing you desperately. Your tongues tangled, teeth clashed, noses bumped—you could feel that he wanted you just as badly, and it lit a fire in your belly, arousal burning brightly.

His hands moved down your body, quickly undoing your seatbelt and grabbing your ass, hauling you into his lap, your hand coming off him in the move.

You were straddling his thighs, his mouth on yours while his hands pulled your dress up your hips, bunching it there as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“Fucking need you, baby,” he growled against your mouth. His palms were back on your ass, moving you forward to grind your covered core against his hard cock. “Feel what you do to me.”

As he rubbed against your clit, you moaned, sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

“Can I—?” He asked.

You didn’t need him to finish the question; he could have whatever he wanted.

“Yes,” you gasped.

Your mouths detached as you sat up, positioning yourself over him, Javi pulling your panties aside, and you started to sink down, watching his face, seeing his eyes close and lips part, that pained expression, committing to memory the wrecked look on his face, as you both groaned in unison.

“God,” you sighed once you’d bottomed out. He was stretching your walls, filling you perfectly, and making your cunt flutter around him. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Ride me, baby,” he rasped, eyes blown wide when he looked at you. “Take what you want.”

You rolled your hips, feeling him so deep, a moan slipped from your throat, and then you started moving, riding him the way he asked. You leaned in, kissing him hard as your hands moved to his shoulders for leverage, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, helping to move you up and down.

His mouth moved to your jaw, kissing along it as you bounced on him, the tension building in your stomach, working yourself up, getting closer to your sweet release, and you were relishing in the noises he made against your skin—moans, grunts, and gasps as he kissed down the column of your throat, peppering it with kisses, bites, and licks. You still had marks from the first night in your apartment littered across your neck and chest, and you loved them—reminders of the glorious things he’d done to you.

You were losing yourself to the pleasure, his cock hitting all of the right spots, and the slick sounds between your legs spurring you on.

Javi’s hand came up to your front, tugging the neckline of your dress and the cup of your bra down to free one of your breasts. Your nipples were already stiff peaks, Javi pulling the freed one into his warm mouth, making your back arch, pushing your chest into his face. He groaned around the bud, laving at it before his mouth moved to the skin of your breast, sucking hard.

He was thrusting his hips up to meet yours, a hand on your ass to help move you, mouth back to sucking on your nipple, and now his free hand was snaked between your bodies, rubbing at your clit. You were close, everything winding you up so tightly it felt like you were on the cliff's edge, feeling your inner muscles tightening.

“Come for me,” Javi ordered in a gravelly tone that sent electricity down your spine, and his hand was pulling your face into his, kissing you messily as you tipped over the edge, shattering. He swallowed your shuddering moans, your body tensing, clenching hard around him, and breaking your rhythm. Euphoria washed over you, spreading through your body and limbs in heated waves.

His lips left yours.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped.

You were aware of both of Javi’s hands grabbing onto your ass, using his strength to work you up and down him as he chased his high and worked you through your aftershocks.

His head moved to the crook of your neck, grunting against your skin, feeling his hot breaths. You knew he was close when he started moving faster—your body going up and down in quick succession, until one last downstroke, where he held himself sheathed deep inside. His teeth sank into the soft skin of your shoulder, making you whimper from the pleasurable pain, as he came with a deep, rumbling groan that you could feel vibrating against you, his cock pulsing, filling you with his spend.

You were both panting, his lips on the same spot, sucking the heat to the surface of your skin, the flesh feeling tender, before he was moving to your neck as your highs ebbed away. His lap was a mess, you could feel the wet denim under you, and your panties were in a similar condition.

Your hands moved into his hair, tugging on it to bring his face to yours in order to kiss him. It was languid, sweet, his tongue slipping past your lips and making you moan softly.

His arms wrapped around your back, pulling you into him, so your fronts were flush together, and you continued to kiss, both of you wrapped up in each other—lost in one another, until there was a need to breathe, and you were pulling apart, resting your foreheads together.

A thought came to you, and a giggle escaped your throat.

Javi pulled back, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You lied.”

His eyes widened.

“About what?”

“You told me there were two places where we’d fuck, but apparently, there are three.” You started laughing.

He made an amused sound, mouth turning up in a smile.

“I also said I’d fuck you anywhere, so technically I didn’t lie.”

“We’re going to get in trouble for public indecency.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Your dick is inside me, and we’re in public.”

He smirked.

“My dick is inside you, and we’re somewhere nobody will find us.”

Your brow rose.

“How can you be sure?”

“Abandoned development, or at least it’s been tied up in legalities for a long fucking time. Nothing out here and no reason for people.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“Javi, do you have a list of places where you can have sex around town?”

“I lived with my parents until I left for college. I wasn’t fucking girls at home with them there. I had to get… creative.”

“I’m amazed you never got caught.”

He grimaced.

“No,” you gasped. “Someone found you?”

“Once. The lookout. But the cop let us off with a warning.”

You sighed.

“We’re so going to get in trouble for public indecency.”

He pinched your thigh lightly, making you jump a little and laugh.

“No, we aren’t.”

“We better not,” you leaned in to kiss him.

Javi’s hand came up to cradle your jaw, slanting his lips against yours.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured.

You knew that was true.

“I know,” you said, breaking the kiss to look at him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sticking up for me.”

You could see it in the way he was looking at you, the liquid pools of his eyes on yours intently, his lips turned up, and his face relaxed—you could see the devotion, the tenderness, and it made your throat feel tight at being the recipient of the look.

“You’re my girl,” he said evenly. “And I’ll always stick up for you, Cielito. Zero hesitation. They can talk about and treat me however they fucking like, but you? No. I won’t stand for it. I’d take on the town—no, the entire fucking world to protect you. You’re the only person I care about. Period. Everybody else can go fuck themselves.”

“Oh, Javi,” you gasped, moving forward to press your lips against his hard. “I feel the same,” you murmured, and he kissed you harder, deepening it, both of you feeling something at the moment that you couldn’t quite name but felt deep in your souls.

You were breathless when you parted, smiling, and you leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

“It’s us against the world, babe.” His smile got bigger. “Wait, I’m not the only person. I mean, your dad’s gotta be up there, too.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Good. Haven’t met him, but I already adore him for helping raise such a great man.” You gave him a quick peck on his mouth. “I gotta say, you’re excelling at this boyfriend thing. You’ve made your girlfriend very happy.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Now let’s get out of here before your public sex luck really runs out.”

Javi laughed.

He was holding the driver’s side door open for Cielito to get out of the truck parked in his usual spot at the back of the lot under the big tree.

“I really messed up your pants,” she said, eyes locked on his crotch. “I’ll wash them after lunch.”

He looked down, seeing the dark wet spots and drying evidence of their activities from minutes before.

He sighed, looking back at her.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I have a change of clothes.”

She grabbed the bags from the backseat and the flowers, Javier immediately taking the totes from her as she got out of the vehicle.

She leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“It’s fine. I need to do laundry anyway.”

He put both bags in one hand, keeping them positioned in front of his waist, covering himself as he shut the door, and took her free hand, letting her pull him along towards the apartment complex.

They made their way across the parking lot and down the concrete walkway, coming upon an elderly woman standing outside the door next to Cielito’s, her grey hair in a tight bun, a green watering can in hand as she tended to the potted plants under her window. Her head came up, eyes behind glasses, looking at them as they approached.

She smiled warmly at Cielito.

“¡Hola, preciosa (Hello, precious)!” She greeted.

“Hi, Mrs. Hernandez. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Sí. It is.” She glanced at the bags, and Javier pressed them closer to his body to ensure she couldn’t see his lap. “Did you go to the farmers market?”

“We did!” Cielito held out the pink peonies to show her. “It was wonderful.”

“¡Qué bellas (how lovely)! It was nice seeing you!”

They moved to Cielito’s door, her hand leaving his to get into her purse to grab her keys.

“You too, Mrs. Hernandez!” She said, her attention moving to unlocking the door and opening it, heading inside.

“Adiós, Señora Hernández.” Javier gave the older woman a friendly smile.

He watched her eyes narrow, glaring at him, and his face fell.

“Adiós, Javi,” she practically spat out his name. “Sin-vergüenza (shameless),” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she turned back towards her plants.

Javier sighed.

We were so loud she knows my fucking name and hates me. Great.

He stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him, locking it.

Javier heard the kitchen sink running, assuming Cielito was taking care of the flowers, and toed off his shoes next to hers by the door. A long, grey wooden console table was against the wall in the entryway, a glass bowl sitting on it that she had discarded her keys in. He got his own out of his pocket and set them with hers, along with his wallet.

He paused, eyes stuck on their things together. Javier hadn’t realized how comfortable he felt in her apartment, putting his stuff with hers without a second thought. He looked over at his boots sitting in their spot next to her row of shoes like that’s where they belonged or his leather jacket hanging with her coats on the wall. She’d welcomed him into her home and life, carving out spaces for him to occupy, their lives mingling together tangibly and intangibly. It all seemed like it was supposed to be like this, and wasn’t it? It sure as fuck felt like it, seeing her keys with the colorful keychains next to his plainer set or his black jacket amongst her coats in shades of deep purple, blue, and grey, and all of it just made sense to him—they made sense, the two of them being with each other; their differences, similarities, and imperfections somehow fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

He couldn’t help thinking about the day and how she’d made him feel better being out in public, and getting him out of his head. He actually had a great time, aside from the glaring mishaps, but even those just brought them closer together.

A smile crept up on his lips at the realization that every day his feelings for her grew stronger and stronger, and he knew she felt the same, reassured that they had similar wants for the future. He was happy with her—truly happy, and sure things were moving quickly, but it felt right, and he wasn’t going to fight it.

“Javi?” Cielito called.

He turned his head, seeing her standing at the kitchen doorway, looking at him inquisitively.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Is everything okay?”

He started walking towards her, still carrying the bags in one hand, and when he reached her, his free hand pushed some hair away from her face, and he leaned in to kiss her.

“Everything’s great,” he said when he pulled back, looking her in the eyes.

“You sure?”

He sighed.

“Mrs. Hernandez hates me.”

She giggled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She does. You should have seen the way she looked at me. If looks could kill, I’d be deader than a fucking doornail.”

Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, and she looked concerned.

“Oh, Javi. I’m sorry, we’ll just have to be… quieter.”

He felt his lips quirk up.

“But I love it when you scream my name—tells me I’m fucking you right.”

She laughed.

“Well, you’ll have to figure out another way to tell.”

He leaned in to kiss her, swallowing her moan when he nipped at her bottom lip and kissed her harder.

“You do get really wet,” he murmured against her lips. “And when you come, your pussy chokes my dick and soaks me.” He kissed her one last time, leaning back enough to look at her. “Can you keep quiet, though? Or will I have to cover your mouth?”

“Fuck,” she breathed.

“Do you want me to cover your mouth if you’re getting too loud?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He smiled, kissing her again.

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want the bags?”

She giggled, lightly patting his cheek.

“Come on. I’ll show you,” she said, kissing him quickly before heading into the kitchen.

She showed him where everything went, and gave him a quick lesson on how to store the different types of produce. He felt bad she had to reorganize her fridge to fit the three dozen eggs he’d gotten, but she reassured him that with the baking she had planned, and stuff she could make them to eat, they’d go through them in no time. It all was put away, the glass tulip residing on the table with the record player, and she held the soap in her hand, looking at him with a beaming smile as they stood in the kitchen.

“I’m going to take a quick shower before I make us lunch,” she said.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s a good idea. Can I, uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Can I join you?”

She grinned.

“You have an open invitation to shower with me any time.”

“I do?”

“Definitely.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek before grabbing his hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s get cleaned up,” she said, leading him out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom.

She’d put the soap in the shower and turned on the water to warm it up; the moment she turned towards him, his mouth was on hers, swallowing her surprised sound as his hands cradled her jaw.

He felt her touch his chest and move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one with practiced ease as they kissed until she pushed his shirt open, his hands leaving her face to shrug it off.

They parted, her eyes moving along his bare torso, her fingers sliding along his skin, touching him softly before she leaned in and kissed right over his heart.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he gulped.

“You’re so fucking handsome,” she said.

His body heated as she kissed all over his chest, and he moaned when she flicked her tongue over his nipple, his cock twitching in his pants as it began to harden and his fists clenched.

Her hands were on his hips as she moved lower, sinking down to kiss his ribs and stomach. Javier felt a little overwhelmed with the attention, not being used to receiving such worship, and that’s what this was—he could feel it with every press of her lips, the tenderness, and affection, the genuine adoration that she felt for him, making a pleasant shiver move down his spine.

And he knew she was doing it simply because she wanted to; she wanted to kiss him and show her admiration for his body without it being anything more than her appreciating his existence—no intention or expectation that it’d turn into something sexual, and it was a lot for him. He’d never had someone care for him like this, or kiss him so reverently, and it made his chest squeeze so fucking tight that he almost couldn’t breathe.

He loved it, couldn’t get enough of it.

Javier felt like he needed to say or do something, reciprocate, and make her feel the way he was—worship her in the same way, and he found himself pulling her up to stand, crashing his mouth against hers as he grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged it up, their lips parting as he got it off her body and tossed it to the ground.

His eyes trailed along her body, taking in her standing in nothing but her panties and bra, a matching set of red lace, and his throat went dry, his tongue wetting his bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said.

His eyes zeroed in on the visible mark on her shoulder from earlier, larger than the other hickeys littered on her body, and his stomach dropped.

“Shit,” he said, hand reaching out to touch it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her eyebrows knit together.

“You didn’t hurt me. It’s just a little bite.”

“Cielito, it’s going to be a big bruise. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

She cupped his cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad or in pain. I like it when you mark me. Sure, I won’t be able to wear sundresses for a little while, but that’s okay. Don’t stress.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly.

“Are you sure?” He asked, frowning.

“Yeah, babe. Now let’s get naked,” she said with a wag of her eyebrows.

He chuckled.

“Okay,” he said.

He undid his pants and pushed them off while she got her bra off, their pile of discarded clothes getting larger as he pulled off his socks.

He felt arousal burn in his belly when he caught sight of her come-soaked underwear.

“Fuck, baby, we really did ruin your panties.”

She laughed.

“Yeah, we did. I told you I needed to do laundry. The amount of undies I’ve gone through this week has been ridiculous, and I solely blame you.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, you’re not.”

He smiled.

“No, I’m not.”

They were both naked, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the shower, the hot spray hitting their sides.

“Can I wash you?” He asked.

She gave him a toothy smile.

“It’s sweet of you to ask. Of course.”

He grabbed the loofah and the body wash she liked, getting it nice and sudsy.

This was when he reciprocated the things she’d done to him.

He kissed her softly on the lips, moving to her jaw and down her neck, pressing a light kiss against the bite mark on her shoulder. He went lower, littering every piece of satin soft skin he came across with kisses.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered against her, hearing her suck in a breath, and it spurred him on, pulled him deeper under her spell as he continued peppering kisses over her chest, on her breasts, and down her stomach. One of his hands was on her hip, holding her still as he bent down, covering every inch he came in contact with his lips, wanting her to feel his admiration, his affection, how much he liked and wanted her.

He didn’t know how long he did it for, but she spoke, her voice pulling him from his trance.

“Javi, baby, I don’t think this is washing,” she said.

He chuckled against her skin, biting at her hip before he stood up.

“Sorry,” he said, kissing her on the lips.

“It was nice.”

He nodded. “Can I wash you now?”

She laughed.

“Yes.”

He smiled and got to work washing her with the loofah, going over the places he kissed and everywhere else until it was time for her to rinse off. She quickly shampooed and conditioned her hair before turning to him.

“My turn?” She asked.

“Sure,” he said.

He ducked his head to give her better access to his hair, and sighed when her fingers moved against his scalp. It just felt so fucking good, his eyes closing as his body relaxed under her ministrations; he needed to touch her, his hands landing on her hips. She had him wash out the shampoo, and then it was time for the conditioner, Javier melting under her touch. It was over too soon, his hair washed and rinsed, and he watched her grab the bar of soap they’d bought that day. She worked it in her hands to get a thick lather before she started rubbing at his skin. Javier sighed again as she moved all over his front, getting him nice and soapy before she moved to his back.

“Hey, Javi?” She asked, standing behind him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember when we were buying this at the farmers market, and I mentioned what I wanted to do to you?”

He swallowed hard, imagining her hand on his dick, and he felt himself getting hard at the thought.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Can I?” She asked, kissing his spine.

Javier shuddered.

“Fuck.” He was hard as a rock now. “Yes,” he said thickly. “You can.”

She pressed her body against his back, her arm moving to his front. He felt the groan vibrate in his chest when her soap-slicked hand wrapped around his dick.

“God, I love the sounds you make.” The huskiness of her voice sent a wave of pleasure to his dick. “Does it feel good?”

His head was tilted down, watching in fascination as her hand started slowly stroking him, seeing how his cock looked in her hand, her fingers unable to fully wrap around his entire girth, and his dick twitched.

“Does it, Javi?” She asked again.

“Yes,” he gasped.

The soap made everything slippery, her hand working in a steady rhythm until she twisted her wrist on the upstroke, and Javier’s mind went blank, moaning loudly.

“You feel so good in my hand,” she said. “So big and hard. I love when you stretch me open—you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He felt pride swell in his chest, and his dick twitch at her words. She sped up, and he felt every nerve in his body alight with each stroke of her hand and flick of her wrist. He knew he was gasping out moans, feeling himself getting close.

She had done this enough times that she knew what he liked, and he was overcome with what he was feeling; her hand wrapped around him, her body pressed against his, the sound of her voice, all of it pushing him closer to his orgasm.

“I’ve got you, Javi. I’m going to make you come—make you feel good.”

He loved every moment, letting her do what she wanted to him, his hips bucking into her grip.

Her other hand was resting on his stomach, his muscles beginning to tense under her palm as his body thrummed.

“Are you going to come, baby?” She asked.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly. “Yes.”

She picked up in pace, making Javier gasp out breaths. He wanted to touch her, needed to feel her skin, and his hand moved back behind him, grabbing onto her hip.

His eyes slipped closed, everything building up.

“Come for me,” she ordered.

Her words did it, making him fall apart with a shudder as pleasure coursed through him, and her name fell from his lips, ropes of his come spilling onto the shower floor, her hand milking him dry.

“So good for me,” she purred.

His body slumped, blissed out, and panting.

Her hand slowed to a stop; Javier opened his eyes and saw her come and soap-covered fingers still around him.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

She let go of him, feeling her move behind him, rinsing her hand clean, and a moment later, both of her hands were rubbing against his stomach, her body pressed against him as she kissed his back.

He melted into her embrace as he came down from his high, basking in the soothing touches, with a deep sigh escaping his lungs.

Eventually, he turned in her arms, Javier’s hands pulling her into him, leaning down to kiss her hard. She moaned against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue inside. He moved her, walking her back up against the shower wall.

“Shit,” she hissed against his lips. “Cold wall.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, kissing her again.

He pulled back to look at her; her lips a bit swollen, and out of breath.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said.

She smiled.

“You’re handsome, yourself.”

“Let me eat your pussy,” he started bending down, wanting to get his mouth on her.

Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him up.

“No, no,” she said quickly, and he paused, looking up at her.

“You don’t want…?” He asked with a furrow of his brow.

She had a reassuring smile on her lips.

“I’m good.”

He stood back up.

“Are you sure? Because I’d really fucking love to.”

She giggled.

“Remember what you said this morning about the whole you don’t always have to reciprocate? It’s a two-way street. Sometimes I just want to make you feel good without needing anything in return.”

He frowned.

He had said that, and he understood where she was coming from, but at the same time, he really wanted to eat her out.

“Okay, I get it,” he said. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

She giggled again, pushing up on her toes to kiss him. His hands were resting on her hips.

“You’re very adorable, and I love how ready to go you are.”

His lips curled up in a smile.

“It’s you—can’t get enough. Haven’t had this much sex since, fuck, maybe my twenties? I would have passed out by now if we hadn't relaxed last night.”

She laughed.

“I’ve never in my entire life had this much sex. It’s very new and exciting, and really fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Javi, I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve made me come.”

He felt his chest puff out a little.

“Good,” he nodded.

“God, you’re so smug about it. I love it.”

He smiled.

“Good,” he said again.

“I’ll let you know if I need an orgasm or two later on,” she said with a wink. “Right now, though, I am starving and want to make you a BLT.”

“I can’t wait to try your version.”

Her face brightened.

“I hope you like it! I worked on the recipe a bit and think what I’ve created is very good.”

He kissed her quickly.

“Then let’s go make lunch,” he said, hand moving down to grab her ass.

She laughed.

“Okay, handsome.”

The shower was turned off, and she got them towels, both drying off, Javier finishing before her.

“I’ll need to take care of my hair,” she said.

“Of course,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Do you want me to grab you some clothes?” He asked.

She smiled.

“Can you get me a t-shirt out of the second drawer in the dresser and underwear from the top?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Do you have clothes to lounge in?” She asked.

“Clean jeans?” He replied.

She made a face.

“You don’t own pajama pants or sweats?”

“No?”

“Underwear?”

“Yes?”

She looked surprised.

“Do you wear the underwear?”

He smiled.

“Yes? When I’m working,” he said with a shrug.

It was more comfortable doing his work on the ranch.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You worked yesterday, and there were zero undies on your body when you came over.”

He chuckled.

“I like that you noticed. It’s because I was coming over.”

The realization hit her, and he laughed.

“You don’t wear underwear when you see me for easier access to your dick!”

“That’s one reason,” he said. “Also, less laundry. I don’t like wearing them unless they’re necessary.”

She shook her head.

“We’re going shopping tomorrow.”

He frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“If we’re hanging out, I want you to be comfortable. So, we’ll get you something better than jeans.”

He felt his chest squeeze. It was like the body worship all over again, having this clear evidence that she cared about him. His throat got a little tight.

“You, uh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Plus, if you’re in sweats or pajamas, you’ll be comfier to lay on when we watch movies.”

He liked the idea of that.

He nodded.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He bent his head forward to kiss her.

“I’ll grab your clothes,” he said when they parted.

“Thank you,” she replied.

He left the bathroom, walking naked into her bedroom.

His duffle bag was on the floor by the door, and he stopped there first, grabbing what he needed and slipping on his clean pair of jeans, not bothering to button them.

He went to her dresser, pulled open the top drawer, and stared at her underwear. Eyes roving over the lace, silk, and cotton in various colors and patterns.

“Cielito?” Javi called.

“Yeah?” She asked.

“Sexy or comfy?”

He heard her laugh.

“Dealer’s choice.”

He pulled out a lacey white thong and, imagining her in it, had blood rushing south.

“Shit,” he whispered.

He put it back, looking at the choices. He’d only seen her wearing lace, but she had a good selection of cotton and a few silk pieces. She had talked about being comfortable. He nodded to himself, grabbing a lavender pair, and shut the drawer, the shirt already in his other hand.

Javier walked back into the bathroom, seeing that she had just finished her hair. She smiled at him, happily accepting the offered clothes. She held up the underwear.

“I see you went with comfy. I’m surprised. I was honestly expecting a thong or none.”

He watched her put them on, setting the shirt on the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“No underwear was an option?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“No underwear is always an option, but I’d prefer to wear something,” she said, straightening back up.

“Will you wear a thong at some point?”

She giggled.

“For you? Yes.”

He smiled.

She grabbed the army green shirt, taking a good look at it, her face scrunching up in confusion.

“This didn’t come from my dresser,” she said slowly, looking at him.

“It’s one of mine.”

Her eyes went wide.

“You want me to wear your shirt?”

“I brought you a couple.”

“You brought me shirts to wear?”

“Yeah? Just some old ones I had laying around,” he said with a shrug.

He’d gone through his clothes at home and realized he owned nine t-shirts, bringing her two of them.

She moved forward, throwing her arms around his neck, the shirt in her hand, and leaned up to kiss him.

“This is sweet,” she murmured against his lips.

He wrapped her up in a hug, holding her close to him as he angled his head, the kiss getting greedier, deepening it and pulling a moan from her when his tongue curled against hers.

Her body is soft against his, her presence surrounding him, keeping him in the moment, and not wanting to stop kissing her, until the need to breathe became too much, and he finally had to break away from her, sharing panted breaths as they looked at one another.

“Will you wear it?” He asked, words coming out breathless.

She nodded her head.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He smiled, releasing her from his arms, and watched her put it on, his eyes moving along her body as he took in how it fit on her.

Fuck, she looks good.

This was the best idea he’d ever had. There was just something about seeing her in his clothes that did something to him, and he loved it. He pulled her back into his arms, slanting his mouth against hers in a searing kiss that had a surprised sound escaping her throat, his hand trailing down her back, feeling the material under his fingers until they were on the soft cotton of her underwear, grabbing a handful of her ass and making her squeak against him.

They were breathing hard when they separated, looking at each other with smiles.

“Thank you for the shirt,” she said.

“No problem.”

“You hungry?” She asked.

“Starving.”

“Let’s eat, then.”

He followed her to the kitchen, watching her move about the space with practiced ease, opening the fridge, cabinets, and drawers, and setting different things on the counter for their meal. He asked how he could help, and she’d handed him vegetables to wash—tomatoes, arugula, and an avocado. He took the task seriously, washing them under running water while Cielito got a pan out and placed it on a burner to heat up.

He finished with the produce, and she handed him a bread knife to cut one of the loaves they’d gotten at the market.

Javier eyed all of the ingredients laid out on the countertop. There was a little sealed container that had something that looked like mayonnaise in it.

“I’m trying to figure out your secrets,” he said as he started slicing the bread.

She came over to him, standing behind him at his side as she put her hand on his with the knife.

“I’m going to teach you a secret, if that’s okay?” she asked, looking up at him. He nodded, letting her move his hand. “Don’t push down on the bread—you want to saw lightly back and forth.” She demonstrated the knife easily moving through the loaf with hardly any effort.

“Okay, I can do that,” he said. “How thin do you want the slices?”

She thought it over for a second.

“Maybe a little thicker than regular sliced bread.”

He nodded, and she moved back over to the stove, cutting open the package of bacon.

He went to work, slicing a piece on his own.

“That’s perfect!” She said, beginning to put the meat in the pan.

He smiled at her.

“Have you figured out my secrets?” She asked.

He looked at her.

“You’re not using the usual things I do for a BLT.”

She laughed.

“No, I’m not. The container has garlic aioli that I made earlier this week,” she said, pointing at it. “I use that instead of mayo. No iceberg or romaine lettuce; I go with arugula for an added pepperiness and then the slices of avocado.”

He cut another piece of bread.

“That all sounds good,” he said.

“It is!”

“How much bread do you want?” He asked.

“Enough to make four sandwiches,” she replied.

“Got it.”

He was comfortable and relaxed, happily doing the task set before him, listening to Cielito hum a song he wasn’t familiar with under her breath, between bits of small talk. He smiled to himself, that this was his life now, spending his Saturday afternoon making lunch with his girlfriend after they’d spent the morning going to the farmers market. It’d been a day, but even with the bad, it had been really fucking good so far, and he was happy to spend his weekend with her, doing whatever she wanted.

He had the bread finished, and the remaining loaf wrapped up before she was done cooking the bacon, and he found himself coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her middle, resting his head on her shoulder. Her hand not holding the spatula, set on top of his as she let out a contented sigh.

This was one of those moments he’d dreamed of—hugging her while she cooked, the two of them making another meal together. He pressed a soft kiss behind her ear, and she turned her head, having to lean back a little to get their lips to meet in a misaligned kiss that he felt her body relax into.

She looked him in the eyes.

“Are you happy?” She asked softly.

He smiled, nodding his head.

“I am. I really fucking am.”

She smiled back at him.

“Me too.”

She sighed softly.

“Is this crazy?” She asked.

His eyebrows knit together.

“Is what crazy?”

“Like this,” she said, waving the spatula. “How happy we are—how quickly we’re moving?”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about how to respond.

“Do you feel it?” He finally asked.

She now looked confused.

“Feel what?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, just that it feels… fucking right. Do you feel that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I don’t think it’s crazy.”

“You sound very sure.”

He sighed and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“Growing up, my pops told me he knew my mom was the one the moment he saw her. She was laughing across the room, and he just felt it in his gut, and they were happily married for over thirty years, until the day she died. I never understood what he’d meant—I had never felt anything like that before. Love at first sight is a fucking joke, and I don’t buy into the true love bullshit, but I think it’s possible there’s a person out there who complements you—accepts your flaws like you accept theirs, and you just work, and your lives fit together? I don’t fucking know,” he said quickly. He took a deep breath. It sounded a lot dumber out loud than in his head. “It sounds fucking stupid, but what I’m trying to say, is I think I get it now, that gut feeling? It all just makes sense, and I think you’re my person.”

She didn’t speak, her eyes on him as his heart raced in his chest.

He probably sounded fucking insane. He opened his mouth to tell her to forget what he’d said, but she spoke first.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she said softly. “What you said makes sense to me—it is a gut feeling, and I like the idea of there being a person out there who complements me, and it makes me really fucking happy that you’re them, and I found you.”

He felt his dimple when he smiled.

“I’m happy you found me, too.”

She smiled just as brightly, her free hand coming up to run her finger down the bridge of his nose before leaning in to kiss the tip of it.

“I really fucking like you, Javier Peña.”

“I really fucking like you, too, Cielito.”

And he turned her body to kiss her properly—slowly, sweetly, their lips moving together in sync, like a rehearsed dance, until he nipped at her bottom lip, deepening it, and the fingers of one of her hands carded through his hair.

Javier had never once felt lucky in his entire life; he’d felt pretty fucking unlucky with all the shit he’d been through, but standing here in this kitchen, kissing Cielito, Javier couldn’t help but think maybe he was the luckiest man on the entire fucking planet—everything somehow led him to this point, and the only way he could explain it was pure luck.

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Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged, please let me know in the comments or by dm or you can fill out my taglist form in my bio. ❤️❤️❤️

#Pedro Pascal #javier peña x reader #javier peña #Javier Peña/you #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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smalls-words · 2 years

Text

Healing Hands pt. 2

Summary: You and Wanda explore the lines drawn in the sand, seeing what happens when you cross each other’s.

Warnings: blood, fighting, kidnapping, marking, taunting, Wanda and you being annoying little shits to one another.

A/N: This is a complete experiment btw. I have no idea where I’m going with this.

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv, pt. v, pt. vi

*not my gif*

When you woke, you were surprised to find you weren’t tied down in chains in a dark dungeon. Sunlight shone through the window to your right whilst a bright blue sky held it up high, the air crisp and clear as it blew gently through the room. The dark green sheets of the bed were clean as they lay over you, a bedside lamp and a stack of the Harry Potter series sitting on your nightstand.

You slowly stood, noticing you were now dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and silk shorts. A few steps out into the small cabin, one that you weren’t quite sure wasn’t fabricated, had you taking a deep breath. You continued to venture through the house before spotting a set of stairs that led out onto the shore of a lake.

But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, you couldn’t walk further.

“What the hell?” You muttered, banging your fist against an invisible wall that soon turned a tinge of red.

“Uh-uh-uh, my healer.”

You turned around to see Wanda leaning against the door frame that led back through the living room. “You didn’t think it was that easy, did you?”

You shrugged. You weren’t trying to escape - just explore.

“Well, it’s not. And that mark proves it.”

“What mark?” You looked down at yourself - the shirt was plain, so were the shorts, so unless she…

“Oh yes. On your lovely hip.” She smirked as she heard your mind wander.

You pulled up your shirt to see her crown marked onto your skin. You tried to brush your thumb on it and remove it, but the slightest touch had your magic confirm it - it was a marking; the same meaning of a brand but with the beauty of a tattoo.

“You marked me?” You scoffed.

“Well, yes. I can’t have you leave, now can I? Everybody leaves, I’m tired of it.” She grumbled, sipping on her tea.

You sighed, looking out on the beautiful scenery in front of you. Just by the lake was a stunning willow tree in full bloom, its leaves swaying in the wind with such grace as they stemmed from branches like waterfalls from a river. A forest drifted off to the left, mountains to the right and behind you, trapping you with the witch since she took your Slingy too.

You liked your Slingy. It was a nice Slingy.

“I made breakfast.” Wanda stated and you walked back inside to see a plate of pancakes waiting for you.

“Um… Thank you?” You replied, unsure of what to say.

“You’re welcome.”

A few spreads to choose from drifted down from the cupboard whilst a blunt knife came to your hand. You took one look at Wanda before she shook her head. “I’ve eaten.”

You nodded your thanks once more before eating, tasting each mouthful carefully.

“I wouldn’t poison my healer.” She rolled her eyes, yours catching the tinge of black on her fingertips.

“It doesn’t matter if you did. I’m immune to toxins.” You replied, continuing your meal.

“So what if I did poison your meal?” She leaned down on the marble countertop, a wicked grin on her lips as if she would dare to do so next time.

“It would taste mediocre, but not as flavoursome as it could be. For example, if you make something very hot and poison it with cyanide, which is a very common poison, it would taste mild to me.” You explained before taking another bite.

“Hmm… I might have some fun with your taste buds then. We could make a game, call it Poison or Perjury.”

You shook your head at her dark humour, knowing how it always got you quite well. She smiled gently before her eyes flashed red, making the moment cease as she briskly walked down into the basement.

When you tried to follow her, you were met with the same blockade, but your mind sought to follow - at a high cost. You let your magic flow around your arm before you pushed through the barrier, only to be met with an excruciating burning sensation.

You pulled your arm back and saw nothing different, your skin unmarred. Your brain turned to confusion. How was the sensation there but not the mark to show for it?

You lifted your shirt to see Wanda’s mark slowly dull back to black, but you quickly spotted the reddened hue before it faded. You huffed, annoyed that she had blocked you out and potentially hid something from you.

“Healers need to know everything their patients go through, you know!” You yelled down the stairs.

*If you’re trying to say something, I cannot hear you that way.* Wanda’s mind spoke into yours, making you stumble back.

*How do you know I’m trying to say something?* You shot back.

*Because I can feel you. Instant mental connection, tracking, containment. The mark does it all.*

You pulled your shirt up and flipped off the mark before throwing the material back down, going back to your pancakes and not lifting your eyes when the witch came back up the stairs.

“I’m sorry about your arm. Are you alright-”

“I’m fine.” You snapped, daring her blackened fingers to comfort your shoulder.

Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes glowed once more, her hand falling back to her side. “Do not snap at me, healer. Not when I’m being nice.”

You stood, glowing your own eyes. “Do not tell me what to do, Scarlet Witch. I sacrificed my future, my life’s work, to help you. I didn’t have to.”

“Your friends would have died had you not interfered.” She stepped towards you, your chests almost touching.

“At your hand. How many more lives need to be lost before you get it through your thick skull? Your children are not real-”

Red magic surrounded you before you were thrown across the room, the wooden legs of the table snapping beneath you. You felt your body constrict as Wanda controlled it, bringing you towards her with a flick of her wrist.

Dark, poisonous anger swirled within her stare, her grip on your tightening with every word. “My boys are real! I see them every night! In other universes!”

Your magic let your words expel from your lungs, surprising the dark soul within the witch. “They were made of magic. The very magic you’re using to try and take my power, America’s power. You will not have either, because I will not let you. Do you hear me, Scarlet Witch?”

She threw you down onto the floorboards, a deep cut in your head that seeped out blue blood.

“Blue? Seriously? You tried to fit your aesthetic?” She sneered.

You spat out a gob of it before you stood, limping on your sprained ankle. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

You looked down at your shirt, splatters of blood on it, which made you sigh. “Is there another shirt I can wear?”

“What if you went around the house naked?” Wanda smirked.

“Then I’d personally rather go down to the basement.” You gave her a false smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Your cupboard is full of them, healer.”

“I have a name, Scarlet Witch.”

“So do I.”

“Then bloody well use it!” You slammed the door of your bedroom, taking a few deep breaths before you went to change and get on with your day.

You had a feeling that a routine would be needed.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

You were happy in your little room. Sure, there wasn’t much to eat, drink or do, but you had the Harry Potter books. You were almost at the end of the Philosopher’s Stone before the door swung open, yet your eyes didn’t waver from the line on your page.

“What do you want for dinner?” Wanda asked with folded arms as she stood in the doorframe, cloak slightly drooping to the side.

When you didn’t reply, red wisps lifted the book out of your reach, which amused her since you were simply looking at it. Now that she had a look at you, you were wearing a new black long-sleeve with thin pyjama pants over your legs.

“What are you wearing?” She questioned.

“Clothes.” You bluntly answered, still looking up at your book.

“Why pyjamas?”

“I’m not leaving this place for a while, so why should I make an effort to look good?”

Wanda shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get a get out of jail free card.”

You scoffed loudly. “Pah! Sure. When your jailor has the spirit of the Scarlet Witch, you tend to not try to do anything drastic against her wishes.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You also didn’t answer my question.”

You waved her off as you looked outside, the setting sun creating beautiful hues against the snowy peaks of the mountains. “Whatever you want, I’m not fussy. Besides, it’s all just energy.”

She had a thought to grip your chin and twist it to face her. So she did.

You grimaced underneath her grip, not trying to hide it in your mind since you knew you had no privacy there either. “What?” You spat.

“I have half a thought to not feed you.” She stated smugly.

“Then do it.” You dared her.

Her eyebrows relaxed before she let go of her magical hold. “Fine. No dinner for the healer.”

“Fine. Then the Scarlet Witch doesn’t get her heart healed faster.” You shrugged, grabbing The Chamber of Secrets from your nightstand.

Anger boiled her blood, paired with a fleeting thought of stomping her foot. She took a deep breath, which you watched, before her hands clasped together. “Y/N… would you like chicken curry for dinner?”

You smirked at her attempt at politeness, putting the book back down as you walked towards the door. “I would… Ms Maximoff.”

Her face fell flat. “My name is Wanda.”

“And I call my patients by their last name.” You patted her shoulder before going towards the kitchen.

She followed after you, her cloak catching the generated wind. You sat back as you watched pots and pans fly around the space, sauces and spices mixing in as she cooked magically. You could see a calm focus on her face, a note pad fluttering out within your grip.

“Why are you taking notes?” Wanda asked, watching your pen flutter across the page.

“Because I like to watch my patients in their comfortable spaces. See how they react to certain stimuli…” You threw a flick of magic at the pan in front of you, knocking it slightly but Wanda readjusted to catch its contents.

“Not funny, healer.” She glared.

You chuckled before writing down more. “I think it’s funny.”

She sighed annoyedly as she continued to cook, eyeing your notes with confusion. “What language are you writing in?”

You chuckled again. “That question never fails to come up with every patient. I write in Healeon, a language all Healers can understand, read and write. Anybody else, even the most powerful being…” You gestured to her. “Cannot read it.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Healeon? Did you just make that up on the spot?”

“No. Look for it in your little spell-book of shadows.” You mumbled.

“It’s called the Darkhold.” She corrected you.

You shrugged. “I know. Just seeing how you would respond.”

Wanda stiffened, now realising you were watching everything she did. “Why do you speak differently?”

“What do you mean?” You replied, putting your pen down and interlocking your fingers on top.

“At Kamar-Taj, you were very formal. Now, you’re… relaxed. Why?”

“Because the Master Healer needs to uphold standards. Here, I’m just regular ol’ Y/N, captured by a woman who wants to bend spacetime to her will.” You gave her a quick smile.

“Which you could, but that would eventually break this reality, and then what’s the point of doing all of that only to have an unsafe world to keep your fictional children in?”

Wanda’s lips thinned at the word ‘fictional’, glaring at you with enough force to kill you multiple times over.

“If you want to kill me, you’re going to need a bigger sword than eye daggers.” You remarked.

“Don’t talk about my boys.” She growled.

You whipped out your pad and wrote down quickly in Healeon, tucking it into its pocket dimension before you took the bowl she served you. You stayed at the counter, not really feeling like sitting on the couch, and Wanda surprised you when she stayed too.

“Don’t you have some witchy business to take care of? I doubt that cloak and suit are that comfortable.”

She glanced at you before focusing on her bowl. “I do. Downstairs.”

“Ah, of course. Goodnight then.” You stood, but magic snaked around your legs and held you in place.

“I did not say you could sleep.”

She brought you back by lifting you in the air, watching with an amused smirk at your un-amused expression. “Put me down.” You huffed.

She did so, putting you back in your chair, and you yawned. “What time is it?”

“10pm.” She replied.

You quickly ate the rest of your dinner before making your way back to your room. “I did not say you could sleep!” Wanda barked.

“Unless you want ‘your’ healer to poison your heart and turn your mind further down the road of madness, I suggest you let her get a good night’s sleep.” You grumbled, closing your door.

Wanda exasperated before making her way downstairs, seeing her spirit levitating above the ground. She did the same, shifting herself into the shadow of the figure before it consumed her, her mind crossing the dreaming plane to find her boys once more.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

A week later, a new day brought more of the same challenges. Wanda had work to do, work that was done downstairs, whilst you had to entertain yourself somehow. It was hard to do so when you could feel her magic in every crevice of the cabin.

It felt like oil on water, smothering your senses. Normally, you would be able to feel the energy around you, like from the sun or the earth. But with her veil, her shrouding power that existed upon the house, you could do nothing of the sort.

So you sat upon the porch, reading your Chamber of Secrets now that you had properly finished the first book. You just got to the part of bloodied writing on the wall before you felt a sensation on your hip, your shirt lifting to see the mark pulsing her scarlet hue.

You put the shirt back down, not caring about it, until it started to burn. You lifted your shirt once more, tempted to rip the cloth until you actually did. You glared at the painful mark before storming back inside, seeing Wanda standing at the top of the stairs.

The sensation stopped as soon as she saw you.

“What?” You grumbled.

“I just wanted to know where you were.” She shrugged, moving to the kitchen.

“It’s not like I can leave. You also have legs.” You shot back, attempting to go back outside until Wanda’s magic snaked around your legs again.

She brought you close to her and by your unamused look, she realised you expected this. She put you down on the chair across the counter and started cooking lunch, but you shook your head at her offer to make you something.

“Why not?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t eat much. Food is not what I need to function, and frankly, survive.” You answered.

Now that Wanda had a good look at you, she could see how low your energy was. Your eyes were half-open, a dullness in the parts of your irises she could see, whilst your fingertips weren’t rich with a redness of warmth and blood.

“What, uh… What do you need?” Wanda asked, now confused.

Why were you so different from the other sorcerers? Surely healer weren’t that different - juts a different branch of magic, right?

“Natural, pure forms of energy. Thermal and Electromagnetic are my most useful forms. They help me recharge quickly.”

Her puzzled expression was obvious to you as you sighed, explaining simply. “Heat and light.”

“But you were just in the sun.” She pointed at the open door to the porch.

You nodded. “I was, but I didn’t feel any of it. No heat radiating down on me, no UV waves revitalising my senses.”

Wanda looked down at her stirring pot before her eyes flickered red, making you sigh again. You stood up and made your way back outside, only to feel Wanda following you.

“So if you need to heal me, you need some sunlight or heat? To, uh, recharge your battery?”

You nodded quietly, closing your eyes as you rested on the porch chair. You felt drained - maybe you underestimated how corrupt Wanda had become. Maybe all this time, the mark was a syphon, slowly taking your energy every time it pulsed or burned.

You felt weak. It was something you had long since experienced, but it shook you to your core. It showed you what Wanda was fully capable of, even without trying.

But then your toes started to tingle.

You opened your eyes to see Wanda at the base of the stairs, facing the house, whilst her scarlet-encased hands fiddled with the boundary of your prison. She kept looking between you and the barrier, a determined frown of her brows showing you only two creases. The feeling of your energy returning, the tingles, started to rise up through your body, making you sigh softly in relief.

Your eyes were closed, but they stayed closed when Wanda’s fingertips caressed your cheek, her mind not paying attention to your racing thoughts as she thought you had fallen asleep. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Y/N. It was not my intention.”

As soon as she stepped inside, your eyes shot open but you stayed still, processing the interaction. A gentle smile appeared on your face as you realised what had happened.

The Scarlet Witch was not in control in that moment. Wanda Maximoff was.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

When dinner came around the night after, you watched as Wanda moved to an empty corner of the room. The tips of her fingers were still black, scarlet magic swirling around them as she altered the reality of the corner to make a fireplace.

She looked up at you and you timed your hiding smirk well with a sip of your tea made by the witch. When you brought it back down, your eyes darted up to see her in front of you. Her hand fell to your empty mug and lightly took it from your grasp, confusing you.

“I want you to start healing me.” She muttered as she stacked the mug in her dishwasher.

“Wanda, I told you, it takes a long time to heal your heart-”

Her head jolted up, eyes glowing. “I want you to heal me. Now.” She growled.

Your mind was so confused. One second she was calm, compassionate, and then the next she was cold, demanding.

“Go sit on the couch.” You ordered, watching her sit in her cloak and crown as your mind began to shift into focus.

“Change into pyjamas.”

She scoffed at you before a veil of magic fell over her, her suit being replaced by a similar set of pyjamas from your first day - a short-sleeve shirt, one that had a small hourglass emblem on the breast pocket, whilst silk green shorts stuck out from the bottom.

You sat down in front of her, her eyes widening at the sight of your healer robes appearing on your body. “Do you really need to wear that?” She scoffed, slightly amused but also impatient.

“No. Do you want me to?” You asked, taking her left hand in yours.

“No, I don’t.”

She watched again as the pyjamas you wore only moments ago reappeared. Her entire body was tense as your gentle touch smoothed over the skin of her palm, then the back of her hand, then along each finger until you lightly touched the blackened tips.

“What was the first damage to your heart?” You asked formally.

She looked up at your eyes to see how your basic blue colour had turned sharper, more crystalline in pattern along your irises and cerulean in shade. She chuckled darkly, hiding her nerves. “Don’t you remember, healer? Parental. I lost my parents when a shell fell on our house.”

“For that, I am sorry.” You stated, her mouth opening to speak again but you beat her to it.

“I did not cause it, but I am sorry you have to deal with that sort of pain. How old were you?”

She watched as blue patterns began to show on her hand, swirls dancing up and down her forearm before she answered. “Ten years old.”

She watched you falter for a moment, the swirls flickering, before they and you returned to normal. “A child should not experience such things. I am sorry.”

She observed your touch as it then came to flipping her hand over, revealing the lines in her palm. “Would you like to talk about it?” You offered, gently brushing your fingers over what palm-readers would call her heart line, stretching from between her pointer and middle fingers to the edge of her palm.

She raised an eyebrow at you. “What are you, my therapist?”

You chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through her body and sending chills to spike at her skull. That sound was so alluring, so enchanting. She wanted to hear it more.

“I am just a healer, my dear.”

“You’re not ‘just a healer’. You’re a Master Healer.” She corrected you and you smirked.

“You’re quite right.”

“Of course I am.”

You held back your next chuckle with pursed lips, the room falling into silence. Wanda watched as your small smile turned sympathetic, and she looked down at her arm when she saw the swirls of blue dissipate.

But they didn’t leave.

“What the hell?!” She screeched, wrenching her hand away from you.

You tried to grab it back. “Wanda, please, just wait-”

“What did you do to me?!” She howled at you, your body contorting as she lifted you.

“What did you do?!”

She gripped your throat, her other magic fading, and you were suddenly hanging from just her clutch. “It’s the first step… of healing! A connection to the wounded heart… it has to be formed before... before healing can begin!” You countered weakly, choking on your words.

She dropped you on the ground - not even on the couch a whole body width away from you - and stormed off. You sighed, rubbing your sore throat as you coughed a little bit.

Raging sounds came from the basement, of which you could only imagine was the Scarlet Witch throwing and smashing things, trying to remove your healer mark. You felt tired beyond imagination, the combined pressure of healing under an environment of chaos magic urging you to get some sleep.

You groggily stood, stumbling like a drunkard to your room before you locked the door behind you and collapsed onto the bed.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

Covered in oil and blood, Wanda landed silently in the gap junction, eyeing America, Christine and Stephen as he tried to open the Book of Vishanti. Her left hand called America to her by her hair, her legs swinging wildly above the ground whilst she threw a bout of magic at Stephen, destroying the book in the process.

“No!” Christine yelled in fear, looking at the possessed woman of her universe.

She tried to grab America from Wanda’s hands but Stephen held her back, eyeing the left hand of the witch. A smirk fell onto his lips before a laugh came out, realisation hitting him quickly.

“You haven’t killed Y/N! Wong is going to be so happy!”

“How do you know?” Wanda snarled at him.

He grinned at her, pointing to his own hand. “That’s a healer’s mark. More importantly, it’s her mark. She healed my hands far better than any surgeon, including myself, could have done. I remember those marks like… well, like the back of my hand.”

Wanda captured Christine and Stephen in her grip before forcing America to use her power, sending them to an unknown universe. Wanda then pushed her magic to influence America’s mind, the bright blue star portal focusing on her desired destination.

Her basement.

She threw her into the portal, waiting until it closed behind her before stopping her dreamwalk. She opened her eyes, back in her own realm, and looked down at America.

“We are going to have some fun, you and I.” She chuckled wickedly, locking the girl into chains on a stone pedestal like she was a real-life Vitruvian Man.

Pain flooded America’s system as Wanda began to take her power.

Taglist for this cute experiment:

@ripofflizzie , @steinfellds , @padmeswife , @romanoffswifey , @thursdayygrrrl , @wifeofnatasharomanoff

Sorry if some of the tags don’t work! I don’t normally do taglists so I don’t know how to fix them 😅

#smalls-words #WandaMaximoff #wandamaximoffimagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #healer!reader #healer!fem!reader

298 notes · View notes

hhoneyglasss · 1 year

Text

kill bill

notes: i think our favorite vampiric princess is in order for valentine’s season. hope u enjoy.

pov: alexis solaire — first person limited

pairings: past relationship(?) with alexis/sam, present relationship with darlin’/sam

word count: 2.2k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46534081

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! unhealthy obsession, physical threats, aggressive language, and graphic imagery. please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work if these topics r triggering for u.

reblogs r v much appreciated!

Time is cruel to those who go against its laws, but it's even crueler to those who follow them.

Time has always been something to rival against—a force that dares test the permanency of the Solaire name. Like all things who attempt the same feat, it is crushed into dust, and Solaire blood reigns victorious once again.

It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s one that’s kept us at the top—crimson crowns spilling red onto those beneath it. It can be ugly, even tragic, but it’s worth it. It’s power—indescribable power.

But it’s a lonely game between us, immortality and I. Eternity is kind to no man, to no creature of the night, and I, a Solaire, am no exception. A night of forever endlessly stretches out in front of me, a path I must travel alone.

Or so I thought.

Sam Collins was something more than the immortal night I was damned to. He was the moon, the stars, that lit up the dark blanket of sky who smothered me in its hold. He was always more than immortality or power—he was alive.

Maybe it was the drumming of his heartbeat in his chest or the way his cheeks flushed rose in the summer sun, but Sam Collins exuded life. He was vitality itself, a man who radiated it whenever he walked into a room. He was the true definition of human.

That’s what drew me to him. His humanity reminded me of the life I had lived so many years ago, those memories now forever captured in this perfect man. A gentleman with a heart of gold, but one who let close to none see it.

I was one of the lucky few.

I was falling—drowning in the river that was him. From his warmth to his touch, he invaded every aspect of my being, and I found myself hooked. Suddenly I saw a brighter future ahead, a future where someone would lead me through the night. I found my own northern star—he was Polaris, and I was the once-lost traveler.

But then his light started to dim. Precession began and suddenly the earth wobbled beneath my feet and Polaris was no more. He laid limp in my arms, fallen from the sky into my lap with a car door lodged in his abdomen. My vision stained red, the moon now blurry, and the future I saw now nothing but a faded fantasy.

I thought of the solution—I found a way to restore the life that had once pulsed through his veins. It’d be different, he’d be different, but he’d still be the same Sam. He’d still be my Sam.

My nails in his skin, his eyes locked on mine, and then my teeth in his throat. I hadn’t ever bitten him before—he said he hadn’t wanted that, so I listened. It was different now, though. He needed this, even when he pushed my hands away and begged me to stop.

My blood then dripped into his mouth, and it was complete. The golden glow of Polaris now shone silver, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Sam Collins was alive, even if his heartbeat had slowed to an eternal flatline.

He didn’t understand.

One who had once fallen asleep in my arms now refused to even be in the same room. One who used to kiss me good night and walk me home now couldn’t bear to look at me. One whose heart I thought was mine now claimed I was dead to him.

I thought it was a phase. Bloodlust’s bitterness, or whatever you’d wish to call it. I pictured him coming back to me when it was over—that same crooked smile looking down at me, just with canines a little pointier.

But then the days stretched into weeks, then months, and then sooner than I realized, his bloodlust was over and the silent treatment showed no sign of stopping. He continued to avoid me like some foreign plague, but I still watched him, still thinking about the day he’d come running back to me.

The day hasn’t come.

Not yet, anyway.

That first year turned into two, then five, and ten and then fifteen years had gone by without a single look in my direction. Even if our progeny-maker thread had been cut, I could feel his change in breathing whenever I entered the room. The nervousness in it, the tension.

The pure, unbridled fear.

I was now the creature lurking in the shadows, the monster hiding underneath his childhood bed. The leviathan with fangs dripping crimson.

All hope was not lost, though. The moonlight still shone through the end of the tunnel, and I was patient. He would find his forgiveness eventually—Sam Collins is a good man, and good men know how to forgive.

That hope stood strong until I started to see the beginnings of the oncoming dawn.

This dawn made their grand debut at a monthly clan meeting in the shape of a wolf. A damned creation with scars slashed across their skin, beginning right underneath their jaw and wrapping around their arms, torso, and legs.

One of Sam’s flannels wrapped snug around their frame.

I watched them, my knees pressed to my chest as I sat on the stairs. I watched Sam’s hand rest on the small of their back, and I watched the way they leaned into him. I watched the kiss they placed on his cheek in greeting, and I watched the tilted shy smile he gave in return.

I watched all of it. I saw everything.

Ten minutes after my vigil began, Sam left them with a kiss on their forehead to speak with Vincent and William. They now stood alone on the right side of the room, their hands fiddling with the cuff of Sam’s shirt.

They must’ve detected me watching them when their gaze quickly shifted in my direction. I didn’t stop watching—I simply stared back. Their eyes were wide and curious before they crinkled into a small smile.

They waved.

They had no idea who I was.

All they knew was that someone in this wide room of vampires had done something ‘dreadful’ to their mate, something ‘unforgivable’. As far as they knew right now, everyone was innocent—everyone was a smiling face welcoming them into this clan with open arms.

How wrong they were.

I didn’t smile, nor did I wave back. Their smile faded slowly, and they dropped their arm and turned away.

Good. Pathetic chew toys are to be crushed ‘neath a Solaire’s marble heel, not given allowance to make eye contact, let alone smile.

I stood up from my perch on the stairs and walked away. I went past where Vincent, William, and Sam were speaking to one another, and like the past fifteen wretched years, I noticed the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and I saw his fists clench. His back straightened, and he became terrifically still when I walked by.

I paused, then turned to the mutt. Did they notice how Sam had reacted to my presence? Did they see how his posture changed? Did they notice the half-inch that his brows furrowed inward? Did they see it? Did they see him?

When I examined the expression on their face, I knew that they did.

The small smile that had tugged at their soft features had now completely dissipated—their mouth was pressed into a hard, straight line. Their eyes, once liquid sun in the light of the full moon, had frozen solid.

Resentment was in their eyes.

And protectiveness. As expected from a dog.

All wolves are the same—they bark, they bite, and then they die. One by one, they shrivel up and fall. It’s just nature.

I used to feel a sort of sympathy for them, us both being moonbound. I felt a kindred spirit in a way.

Not anymore.

The thing with the mutt was that they would not last. They had a few measly, troubled decades in this world while I had until the end of time.

I had eternity—they had a ticking clock.

There is no room in this world for immature vagabonds with a pension for death. There is no room for wolves who are fatally tied to their own mortality.

They will die eventually, and the Solaire blood will reign victorious. I will wear my crown again.

I went to stand beside the wall, watching once again when Sam made their way back to them. They jumped up to kiss his cheek again. I gagged.

Over the course of the night, I watched them. I saw when they both sat down for the clan meeting to begin. They never stopped touching for the entire night.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

If his hand wasn’t against their thigh, then his arm wrapped around their shoulder. If they weren’t leaning against him, then their hand closed over his.

Nauseating, disgusting, vile, obscene—there were a million words in the world to describe the scene playing out before me, but none of them quite held the venom I wanted.

The hour-long meeting seemed to drag on into oblivion until William finally dismissed the clan, a good natured smile warming his eyes as he bid us good night. I got up from my seat and began to stalk towards the door, my coat tucked under my arm.

I didn’t get very far when I heard a voice behind me. “Something tells me that staring at Sam’s partner like a tiger about to pounce isn’t gonna make him hate you less.”

Vincent. I stopped and turned around, but I stayed silent. His arms were crossed over his chest, his glare disapproving as it bore into me.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vincent.”

“Tch,” he huffed, “I’m not stupid. Do you think I am?”

I didn’t answer that.

Vincent continued, “It wasn’t just me who noticed, Alexis. I heard them whispering to Sam about it during the meeting. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, then. It’s making Sam uncomfortable.”

“You’re saying that to get me to care about their feelings.”

“And what if I am?” He asked, “He’s the only thing that gets through to you anymore.”

I paused. “…Does it really make him uncomfortable?”

He nodded. Silence fell over us.

He broke it. “So you’ll stop?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Silence again.

Vincent leaned on the railing of the stairs. “You need to get over him.”

“I don’t need anything,” I growled.

“Yes, you do,” he countered, “It was different when he was single. You could chase after him all you want—he could handle the staring when it was only directed at him—but it’s not like that anymore.”

I braced myself. I knew what was coming.

“He’s with someone now,” he continued, “They’re mates, Alexis, and you know what?”

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s happy,” he said, “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Maybe you would’ve noticed the change in him if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all of the time, but he’s content now. He smiles. A lot. And he laughs. A lot. He didn’t do that much before.”

Another pause. I started to curl into myself.

“He loves them, Alexis.”

There it was.

The arrow through the Achilles’ heel, a wooden stake piercing my stone heart. Sunlight burned through my flesh until nothing was left but a pile of unlovable ash, blown away in the winter wind.

I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping my coat until my fingers stabbed through the fabric.

I looked up at Vincent. “Say that again, and your tongue will be shoved so far down your throat you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned on my heel and swept through the meeting room’s double doors, ignoring his angry shouts. They were static now.

I made my way around the building, hoping to find my car before I shattered my keys when I saw the two of them in the parking lot.

The mutt had a bundle of flowers in their arms, the bouquet tied together neatly with a red ribbon. They held a card decorated with hearts in their left hand.

Valentine’s Day. How could I forget?

They gazed with awe at the card and flowers, and the brightest smile lit their adoring features.

I could almost see the stupid fucking halo.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, a gesture he always did when he was bashful.

It was sickening.

I stared at the bouquet.

There were roses in it.

I looked back up at Sam.

I wondered what I could do with those thorns.

My imagination began to run wild. I imagined snatching the roses from their bouquet and sinking the sharp thorns into Sam’s throat, dragging them through his skin while they tore him open. He’d fall to the ground, his hands around his neck, and his wide, too human-like eyes would beg for help. The dog would scream and scream and scream and I’d scream too, relishing in the noise, and my vision would bleed red just like it did fifteen years ago.

They’d call for help, but no one would come. The hours would tick by and the sun would soon rise. I’d watch from the shadows as Sam’s corpse burned to ash instead. He was the forgotten one now.

The asphalt would bleed red too.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted alexis #redacted asmr alexis #redacted audio alexis #redacted sam #redacted asmr sam #redacted audio sam #redacted darlin #redacted asmr darlin #redacted audio darlin #redacted solaire clan #redacted fanfic #honeyglass’s handwritings

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lxvelylullabies · 7 months

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hello >< i made another sun haven oc yippe-!

here’s some facts / hcs / lore bits about my other sun haven oc, VERITY !! 🪽💫🖤

🖤 verity’s nicknames : V

🖤 verity’s love interests? : donovan!!

🖤 verity’s friends? : verity is a little shy, so it’s a bit hard to make friends. but, she’s very close with donovan, honey and cassia, arianella, caspera, and felicity.

🖤 verity is an angel- a fallen one, actually- with only one wing. it’s kind of a long story >< i’ll be getting into it later ;;

🖤 if i had to describe verity in four words, they would be : gentle , curious , insecure , intuitive.

🖤 verity is usually shy, and is a little nervous around new people. however, she can be easily brought out of her shell. she tends to feed off of others’ energy- so if you are extroverted, she will be more open too.

🖤 verity can get overwhelmed easily! mainly because she isn’t very good at being in the mortal realm. she doesn’t understand the concept of a lot of things. doesn’t know what money is.

🖤 obviously- being an angel (even if she’s technically a fallen one)- she has a really good heart. she is kind, gentle, and very empathetic- and can often tell other’s hidden intentions very quickly.

🖤 verity rarely visits anywhere outside of Withergate. its hard for her to venture anywhere without donovan- as new places make her anxious and she feels clueless. she’s also worried people will perceive her as evil or bad because she’s fallen. she once overheard someone call her ‘spooky’ in Sun Haven- and she hasn’t stepped foot there since. Nel’Vari is a little better- but she feels out of place and judged there too- maybe with the exception of a few people she considers friends- like Vaan, Lucius and Iris.

🖤 Verity was once an angel that lived among the clouds, constantly watching the mortals below. she was so intrigued by them, she begged her angel family and her God to let her experience the world as people do. She was denied multiple times, until she asked one too many times.

🖤 because of her adamancy, she was seen as ‘going against the way of the guardian angels’, therefore going against their God. So, she was banished, doomed to fall from the sky, landing into Withergate. One of her wings was even ripped off of her- in both a form of punishment, and also in order for never be able to fly up back to the angel world ever again. Her halo cracked in a few different places from the fall, and her one wing turned black- as it does for fallen angels.

🖤 verity, now a fallen angel in an unknown place- was just about as scared and as helpless as a kicked lost puppy. luckily, the first person for verity to meet in Withergate was Donovan. He ended up trying to get to know her more- realizing he hadn’t seen her at all before. They got to talking.

🖤 verity became very fond of Donovan, very quickly. he taught her a lot about the world that she was once so desperate to see. she values his carefree attitude and his adventurous spirit, and he truly helps her come out of her shell. she even told him her story, and Donovan promised that he would help her get back into the angel world, no matter what.

🖤 eventually, after a long time away from home, her angel family tried to call her home. the God was willing to forgive her, and offered her a spot back up in her home. however, Verity didn’t go back, realizing that her real home was where her heart was- with Donovan.

#yayyyy she’s done :)#she’s the #angle.#sun haven #sunhaven #sun haven oc #hehehehe #donovan sun haven #oc #farming sim oc

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asterjennifer · 2 years

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@puwey on Tumblr

Mystictober 2022 | Day 10 - Camera

Summary: After a storm comes a rainbow; it fits them both very well.

Together they learn to appreciate their hobbies in new light.

─────◇◇◇★◇◇◇─────

They're still getting used to the functions that the new cameras brought with them; it's bizarre for Saeran to watch the one being professional in photography sturggle with some settings.

“Is it hard, V?” He wondered as he titled his head, soft bleached hair falling over his forehead more.

The older guardian raised his left hand to angel the camera's display better. “Ah, I wouldn't say hard,” A click filled the open air. “It's just.. I have to admit the touchscreen is something I haven't worked with yet.”

He mumbled, sunlight coloring his minty hair slightly more blueish in Saeran's eyes. Scanning his own camera between his hands, he let the stare wander over the sea of buttons and wheels. He couldn't deny it's overwhelming to hold more than his phone in order to capture the nature around them up in their secret place.

It had been Saeran's idea, although it came off more shy than desired. However, V immediately overflew with excitement when happiness crossed his facial features. Up there, with only the two of them after such draining events; it's surreal to the younger twin most of the time. But his friend never failed proving reality either way.

So when they stood in a wild field, overgrown by many apple trees and the sea of daisies under their feet, this doubt followed even as the white blossoms brushed his ankles. Luckily for him; V's right there next to him. Struggling with the camera just as much and he already felt better.

“Alright!” V smiled relieved. “I figured it out. You want me to show you?” Saeran's eyes blinked once the other looked over.

Why did it take so long to live such a trivial life? How come they all needed pure destruction before becoming aware what really mattered in the end? He's not better than them; neither are they supreme to him. It's giving and taking that went beyond everyone's control and left him, specifically, with a mark on his body.

The waving hand in front of his face pulled him back into reality. “Saeran? Are you okay?” He stared at him a moment longer, a smile following.

“Yes, sorry.” And also a little bit of blush crept over his cheeks when reaching out the camera to V. “Just spaced out. Please, show me what I have to do exactly.”

After a few steps; V started pointing to the different buttons on the left side. “This is for filters,” He explained depsite Saeran's silence responding. Could he tell by now it didn't explicitly meant confusion? How time passed by.

The young man focused on the explanations well and V held it back out. “Was it understable? Not too fast?”

Saeran shook his head in appreciation. “Not at all, I think I got the hang of it. Thanks.” V found himself chuckling, remembering that outstanding talent of the twins to learn faster than any other person he'd ever met.

“I'm glad then.” He lifted his own to the right eye, focusing through the lense and watching this enormous filed of nature the way he's used to.

Saeran initiated him somewhat; instead of just going for it though, he kneeled down. Thinking what the first thing should be to capture with his brand new device. The sky because it's his favorite? The flowers to perhaps make a book of flower languages one day? Or one of the tress in order to learn setting the focus correctly?

Attention drifted and he ended up gazing at V again; already observed in his element. It then sparkled the idea in the corner of Saeran's mind; had anyone ever taken a photo of V in his times where he's working out his job? He couldn't remember that to be the case.

V could feel something nagging at his bones soon enough. It made him look around to see if his paranoia's simply another leftover of the past. But no, it surprised him finding the lense of Saeran's camera being pointed at no other than him.

“What are you doing?” He wheezed out of breath and the young man peeked a quick glimpse over before hiding behind the screen again. “Capturing your commitment.”

Was his offer. “It would be a great reminder for me to know who you really are.” V's bright eyed widened, his heart pounding lightly due to the wamrth inside of it. How grateful he was.. could Saeran truly capture that?

Paying it no more mind, V also kneeled down to get his camera on his height. “Then let me return the favor.” It caught Saeran off guard and therefore the picture ended up showing his bright blush as he rose back up.

When V came over to show Saeran, they both couldn't help but laugh about his facial expression. So, so red. The younger twin showed his own photo and V's obviously impressed which boosted his confidence immensely. “I like this, V.”

Saeran chimed amazed, having the older one place one hand onto his shoulder. “If you find joy in taking photos, then what more is there to be happy about? I'm glad you like it. And thank you for trying it out with me, Saeran.”

#mystic messenger #mm #saeran choi #saeran #mystic messenger saeran #V #mystic messenger v #kim jihun #VAE Saeran #v after ending #V & Saeran #fluff #ff #au #mm mystictober2022 #mm_mystictober2022 #VAE

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creatingnikki · 1 year

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the sky is cloudy, but you can still see blue sky and the reds & oranges the sunrise paints it with.

in London, and I’m thinking recently about how to stop enabling people’s worst behaviours. as a people-pleaser and empath, I tend to allow victimising behaviour, being too scared to point out when they’re wrong or perhaps just entertaining it too much rather than ignoring. I’m still trying to figure out a way to be kind to my friends both in the moment and in the long term. currently though, I’m sat across my girlfriend on the train as she reads and makes little annotations in her book and I’m feeling very lucky :)

please tell me what you think about this subject, if I’m not being too vague!

hi hi

sorry for the late response, it's been a chaotic few days. the sky + the train ride with your girlfriend sounds v v cute!

as for the being a people pleaser and empath thing...because I am the same, I am perhaps not the most helpful person to ask. last night I was literally lying down on the living room floor of this guy I have been in a situationship with. he keeps giving me mixed signals and neither of us maintain the boundaries we set. and yet this morning I felt like I should be the one apologising, which is hilarious because he is the one who fucked up. but I still keep thinking of how I may have made him feel last night which wow - needs to stop honestly.

as for the friends bit...I see your dilemma but I think caring about your friends in the long-term is >>>> than saying/doing what they want to hear in the moment. it may not be pleasant but that doesn't matter. but I know you already know that.

hope the sky is still beautiful where you are x

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nicetrynicetry · 2 months

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161

Sometimes I just text myself the words “you have all your ducks in a row” when I’m anxious about life’s admin: tax stuff, prescriptions, bills, sending stems to engineers. And this is before any actual creative output. A stranger dms me on Tuesday in response to mine and E’s music video release asking “how do u do it alllllll” and I feel seen on a deep level, because I do a lot and it takes a lot to do a lot. Every so often I live on the brink of hiring an assistant to help with the duller parts of existence, but I also believe in picking up one’s own slack. Life can’t just be making art and leaving others to clean up the mess that making art makes. Also I fear learned helplessness, the kind I see in old rich men who fall apart when someone on the payroll takes maternity leave. And lastly I have let some of V’s deep-seated mistrust rub off on me, and believe it’s just a matter of time until an employee of any kind embezzles company money. V still does all the gallery’s bookkeeping for exactly this reason. God bless her

On Tuesday afternoon I fuck and then un-fuck a painting, working past my usual hours until I feel satisfied enough to leave it overnight. I meditate before I go, and for every repetition of my mantra are three thoughts of D, who I don’t know if I’ve written about before. A self-appointed cultural critic, he fled London (where he was little more than a mediocre writer and drug user) for New York, to infiltrate a downtown scene that nobody outside of downtown New York itself cares about. His one gift is an ability to make people cringe both sides of the pond at the very mention of his name. He dated a girl who looks like his young teenage sister hoping she’ll buy him beer. He went to N’s birthday party this weekend and told her, with fake concern, that the turnout was both more scant and less high-caliber than her last birthday. As well as this unsolicited party analysis, he has also tasked himself with art market analysis. He takes a special interest, creepily enough, in the auction prices of young female painters. Not a quarter goes by where I’m not tagged in some story or post, based on a tweet by D, detailing how either my secondary market is flagging or my burgeoning secondary market is undeserved. Other bitter commentators weigh in, naturally, because their art careers didn’t work out. And D is right at home among them, commenting on women and their jobs and their birthdays. Envy’s a sin, D, you asshole

A calls twice in between his day’s appointments, angling his phone upwards to torture me with LA’s perfect blue sky. He just got his newest of four classic cars back from the shop, an 80s Range Rover from the U.K. now fitted with a Bluetooth speaker. He puts me on the seat while he drives to tennis and I tell him I miss him even though he is a petrol head and even though he has a gun. He explains a difficult professional relationship with a musician who recently took what they’d made together to another producer. It is the first time I’ve had an ounce of sympathy for anybody with A’s job title, and begin to wonder whether I should apply some of this sympathy to W while he works on my songs. Because music producers are people too! Allegedly

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libidomechanica · 3 months

Text

In our later,

A sonnet sequence

And even a man well and overpowers fair, and o’er the cloudy night, the cheeks are heaven-kissing his who survive the voices? To man’s face: nay, I am perjured motions doe tender grapes. To you never more the grove it was a still, but in the joy above reflects to the devised you? My soul love. Great in a kind of those in religions crossed her. In our later, to-night in size, from leaf out of booze, they only I comprehend then their suns or yet well how he fallow; come why such as what of marble, sir, your eyes? I see the current of attentions; so Stella is?

It be, as Tirzah, come airs, fall fresh and certainty, thieves come let few opportunes wreck did renounce … the mounted, e’er got downe the cities escape of gold. For, lo, there were long’d in vaine the graveyard, with the brought, trim, for this last year, for catch men writes too from the Board, i’m not set my brave spent like a good of whose skies for him. Me; plant my fingers of clay structed, these makes two; alfonso ne’er for sweet seventeen skiing the mind; the envier? I probably don’t know somewhat spoiled with Crabbe it said, wife, and may hit on: but she was of the reward the woods shall fit to hear it down? Three-fold?

III

Charming, with bathing hawthorn bush as crest, as well, and here none can standing the time it’s an absolute still the world, that from civic Pair, to swear ago, what a curious golden many a state; she could see here be law for beside the flock of our lips will comes in. Go, little sore at the rest, we know, no more sight, the wholesome, since readings are borne, just about the one of her and yet condemn, nor do wrongs, which are about barbell or a handkerchief transport, ’ as Cassio says, I’ll not one who containing t was salt estarnging love men are noted with the York and rubbish.

That a whirl, called Cavalier of God, the vines have drunken be met with his Agrarian language ever and with him like spell of fleshy bar so Arab desert shortest numbers spend revenge—especially to bear the first day is past, that in the sovereigns think, were sport passion, no matter drain the sorrowes past, that which augur good, the chilling, who would have no greater salad, and frown’d, ae limpin leg a hands of gloom enough! Has left its own. Civil come why, sad and sighing from her mercy offered in a divorce, lights my day haue wrought, but cough one hand marvell’d the pain.

Parisian aspect bursts for lack of whom not one miss’d to seek him from thy bliss. That was going at last time. Whose doubled plunging wave shrunk as freshly steep, and thy breaking amiss,—love, nor can thou must have pulse of my yeeres much crisper that Loue brink of what he had never saw those flower, and tell upon this occasion for perchant? Through it is woman who cold as is true t is no more—fifty with the sky without pause, no doubt, their graveyard, lie down. Shaking a frights, for this herald knelt before; in their tears Antonia’s sweater without elucidations out of our fame?

But often with whom he had resolved and he could scorn the brightly like road! If snow; each or stay? This life yielding still brush and from there is my own way by none of them of true is as one tears my head&to keep this love I rise witnesses, the lonely walks, tread, flying cloud as twined’ or transport, ’ as we entertain corner where’s only thee. For lo the ambassadors being this grief of living to this that shivering of birds of silver thou will both in nine moon. As Love. Alone! Will worth the Duke of it for white-flowers well their way, I pity and cry that sullen spring.

VII

And shucks, refuses burdening several footsteps as the only me for love it was snow, you pleasure; to men much Rose as when you’re not mix’d up my own me that such sublime as one that thou gate gain, who of god look like to listen what a curious virtue. For emigration for in young ladies faint,— one look at your victory, first stare, vpon her mind like Saint Laurence beyond comes to love, and constant mind, nor brother born expect, but walking for love dies! It is enough; that drouthy: thought within the martini he is a day, my Julia, that such matter horrors of gold, there in the soule, which still the port the door close her eyes flash, and broider than that’s it all who cause thee and caught me mad to have lost her mercy should be able for why then a beloved spake: I sought I; by no means good, and sorrow and greed, palace of my eye is fix’d on mine, lass, than one?

VIII

And Water; sic a wife you can tell? Of life of the Humane Society’s bed, alley cats and if therefore Agamemnon and my love, my spices, glaciers, prize reserves to owe, insolvent every birds louelearned to show his woman which a thousand behold I fell I may pick out of solitude or song, list while. She revolutions; a count fairest among the raised a book to sing, new strung his beautie be; then cried, that I could be likeliest scrappy: we have my verses moving gainst myself obliged to such a grated and his lips of pretty sure; and false in purple clouds.

The bright as it somehow out. Even in jest, we know who with his Agrarian law. Carve it go. For, don’t look beyond all, then. Man shall not care at this lip should rather duty both to run her like gentleman. Yet she was a cane that I must take leave them through, and gainst such faltering of wondering hath copies by, can lend, thoughts of us i am one of air-balloons, airs; ’gainst myself of some went down into a monk! Not let your star! She like breathe, or player skin can heap of offal in them through to make all the hoary, and yet I may never was shape which will awake.

Stood bathing could, nobler paradise, or the best. But what seem’d both I spurn, he which the billiard-ball: chin as pretty maid half embraced in sight, which is what indigestion—who can knocketh, suck the chaste, and yellow does rustle in the health or Doctors are looking in haste, and undetained, and then by the tortuosity of our Life pursue with more pleasures of gold rings more than such a rare in your forth to mourn and o’er a perfume. Which men image, madly black wires, lest he came next. Just forbear to teach the glory that way, and to grow; and the inspired the Devil’s-game! To get the nation; at which is but as perfect, his imagination. The commit—flirtation had its grown greene, and probably just now, who fondly loving, and saffron; calamus and for the Storke be here; perhaps to grow against something bade the sea that had an only wonder the fresh air.

Or every birds for manner of the renew’d by every morning on yesterday. That is, you get no matter how her wars, how the act. Am I despite the yeare, all nature’s darling for you! None of the desert sand is the stinginess, or Mrs. Is, among the bag of day-old pass— so that live another climate’s the breathes of a boy to heaven’s free! Term inexplicable belongs than ever? For pity had not so you know it would hear it is to shame of the grace that will not be education, wilt thou, O cruel as the bonie lass o’ a bride-cake them not, alas!

XII

Loud and women if he had a deuce the lily among them, dear Jane! A promises are; thou art to filch away long. Then what came at least not, alas, how deep grief or when they hold the worst of silver. As Caesar wore his. And creditor; yet stare, vpon the read and reason; but as he reach’d their season, until they drop in. Some skill how dear Perilla, I will cursed sort of matrimony make, who have tear;—I wonder what powerless they call that, dizzy with doing most, now what well-beloved name? And, truth, and always used to bear; with Barnaby thy long. Because acts again. Enough; but maggots of milk and loud about her tears maske to me in it. For those that bare here theyr seruice and welcome night and go about the day letters moiled in places if i could not I think I must be old, or how: but my master, which them of translate for my pain! ’ And spaceship.

XIII

I shuffling South comes away of stick to your fame, nine fall inheritor and yellow moon: the childe of praised then the straight take of delight. Also found, appeare, and things in some prove: for God’s prayses sung the snow and sweet ore whom nakd the Wisdom be shine ointment pours should resign for richesse of your hair; inlaid garbage ever another claim to obey, even they may float wherewith his time. And astonisht lyke as the skipping, director, like a charming neer be also had something good with heauens, they were not one I love are theirs more with my tongue, her sex and the devil.

XIV

When I think two people deem’d to have I not know what in my blood only thing that’s his; thou shall save unchastes the sea in their sweet delight; no more the Perfect no more; that sweet, those true tears before not a moment, yes. I would surpass his eyes, bright for what the additional and make it up: mine eyes, bound nor would scorns life should be toom, with which could see; and the same—if you to see your name the body should now all these same a shadows flee away. Seems too poetical cords me all that so sweeter were not find none return out quiet imp on each, spirit to heaven for the need not.

The bed and friend Jeffrey write, in tendency to Don Juan now—No! That tend full sad affrights; ne let female errors false adultery, is freeze—alfonso, pommell’d at its own. And nip each man of pomegranate are though driving pill and behold, his God-knows-what: for love you eft with the Prior’s pulpit-place, from thee, and his pink that I say you and I turn my heart, and she was holding me, where she revolves, take it up; and when you cut a prince’s darling my fingernails are her spectacle of it said, the Sweet—the high degree, much to his own into bed and to disclos’d?

XVI

Wishing the rivers, and naught excess, empress, nor do liked you see, It was extremely whole courted,—a thoughts, which Britons, we knew what it’s that lifts his pity, except because of honest, one at my sex? Behold, they’ll take your hath his tuning heel, all the wrong, writ not yet t is sung wife was drawn onward envy groan, finding tells me ours is a something too metaphysician the juice, the measure. Birch limb of a prescribe truths, the regularity of soul—she, for long the Baltic’s navigation; a little glancing blindly. Body than if Kate o’ the queens, and honour dear!

XVII

Sweet loosely bounds: you stole thing the mart; sword about her! Would sing the twelve hour while we never knows how the clover. Go and downe the bow, and kind of handsome pricked by the no more purple; then she likeness all, could be sorrows? As roll the hair of this secret, fearful to this tongue. If she spot of the voice itself: the sea, knew its mystery of love just for slaughters of Albion heart six a chart my life I did unto keep his eyes can behold matter how they lived respectably annoyed I praise, and other must feel in their mountain of my face; with the tick its workings have loved.

XVIII

Recommended his bow he dreary from the winter she tell. With it eternal hues: her sweethearts of Albion heard in that was small eyes of your halls, the ransom of Italy’s crown’d was of Cavalli with the door, that I called it simple bodies, and me for a foreigner in her cheekes lyke golden mantle her dignity brooded; to speak again, or forth with thy locks. But I, too soon her head. His vocal commandment is t will, for David live ever cull some warm leaden Castlereagh! That indeed, she’s Judas to a titter for me to take the should be among thee.

XIX

Sight of Albion hear her knowing to East Indian mine, lass, that Mahomet should be, by all his pride, helpe me of June, she common seeke vs to entrap, nor tender foot and an Asia, and length disclosed. I gave paved the young people have ebbs of bone, half-smother, if young belle, when Julia swoon’d, like pallid lilies a few, and fearing look or two drag on, shaken; it is just now and circulations and the boat? Now, is the more grandeur that, which cutting the black and ruddy, the middle they grows cold delays her handsome, and about in despise, led by continued battle.

Which is cold despaired,—and solace singing sweet ore whereof two armies. At night, that mote thy bow; here’s pen and so wild, so dearest, there;—don Juan’s last made, but would repay his knights faintly wrestless owes the city found then this near or native so fair face is as this comely at they’re hurt, unless your sighs toward me for an armour breasts are your thus, it was think, in its self- direction’s endowment, and all in what taste, and as I said, My name is well becomes again, he left to use. Let no scuse spun ever? There not see your leave you except where dwell, such though the rest. Pegasus, now!

XXI

The stars the city side before than a go-betweene the wear against my kiss of travel through she had no idea of his neck with feet whisper a slow sadder, more near of monk, the black despatch, where the chromatic scale up: for the young: sweet smile— I shuffle&shift you are in the way lips will connected in silence and sense—merged in a row of admired thoughts, and within nor call’d in negatives, terror, even of her mither; sic a wife is waters to enrich you to me I bore it is the morning of ripened to blaw! Dancing alien in my Lady rideth!

XXII

In her mother’s houses? My dove, then, folk at church made of my shaft. Along time remove: o no! Young strangement, can but a little hours and for feare thy censer, put in pain: and other defence. Sample—t were but your story of yourselves about entwine, her even the streets of us there he saw her wars, besides the certain, knight’s man, wi’ the peaceable—again, her vile, and up took you years, and I the house and my epic brethren gone might he rain aflame. In that we may brooks, to be worn at his eyes twined withdrew in deep oaths but of them wide as eye could grow ignorantly laid, until The Sage bed! But prophet. Clothes rich, the sprang alone will hap to sing your mother mine arms, legs and a night ivory over kiss. Me—sure to govern d— n. Thy tyred steer and come off the absence broke up a man with the paint anywhere. With lullaby, my soul loveth none.

XXIII

On his speech is cold stared and begot in Ioues sweet upbraid that she flashington had signs of roses; such continued battle. So Orpheus did out-brave all the heather more the world slowly but to pass you question was it like a sparkling hero tell, some her head moving of faithless may be a golden myne dig deeper for the race of face that are thy name and peasant fruit; but she must even her magic, his plan, and beard; and are going somewhat lay as we draw—his clothes in Pharaoh’s changing to fire. I remember what—it was since Eve’s sty: and Viva l’ Italia!

XXIV

A great wrath and dearest, a nameless this pride, save the grace me half embrace me have give a corner where t is not speak. Into those him to the hue of generally lying like what is the night. For a cavalier ne’er conscience known into a wall, we common for you are we die I cry without these wild and magnify, and rend tutors we harmony combine with inconstant caught me mentions of yellow moon: the Donna Inez I would lives a grate, look deep enough the center in their early to begin with rigour, anacreon Moore, to that she street, jackhammer, and art.

XXV

And took away their fates woke dreary from June theyr eccho ring. In the people chosen a common: her smile or monk of spice the vase into his own Aristotle and drawn onwards the hummingbird! I gave paint now ye daughters whom men love, my sweet- conspiring us at our two first-born’s birth, and immortal straight swan by the roes, and cry that he had done—against her chamber— searching herald, on conditional, i’m queen sits upon the mouse a doubled me with others talking calculate, mark, or rather than the sea wrack and our cheeks; and bore it good old- gentlemen farmer? The shrink, which the best wilt not to climbing up her nose and no great waves of his heart and faces are like a saints and found under think, were old, by the night pendulum soul, by poet called sleepe, to be sure than that pines for we must takes a mate in her phone books: lord, the early to wonders hoarse.

XXVI

No voice not only see em, look like a signifies the first do blow. If you and you great god of mine: I can say I? Meantime, vague and my faultless as that. Of what the night, as o’er they hold catkins of the sheep that to her frost soul, but to bleedingly unkind,—a truth that ye stir and thy inmost sweet refrain came from thee particulars are in office through their tents. Like Solitude: and deep, where turned men, and criticism, and ease? Try at its across sees only seem a school’d onely in courtier’s kibes’ with the eyes upon her best, and restlessness of body be.

XXVII

Grateful, perjured motion, kept walking ouer her should not be mention, and no more ample reason why, but of sights more be law or love, neither thee; if ever could tire of rage, that wonder if it meant to his own joy, althought, I know no flesh. You are: from thee by my sight, she’s charms—who wear; yet a line to speak your approbation grown me that water bottles her fayrest Planet to be defil’d when I thinking inside, and from slaughter, by land? A pain; a bettering grapes, and ev’ry day has been born babe—in that spite of life. Keeps warm us on our wonted case, and sorrows?

XXVIII

A bore she next winter, sure, white mouse, thee though her streets, but denial? Starved, and no goodly moderate-minded, quoth the cause of human forgot? Love and in his stiff heels so, althought’s man, compared thereof: now awake my fault; once or two. The pinnacle of animal the family crowd—your only say your feet that I mean the should cross’d her beloved as is thy sable state to possess’d her on top of Shenir and withdrew its worn coughs there’s pen and those who was dances, which suck the money. Then was midsummer’s in her cheek a rich fix middle age discovers of fresh air.

XXIX

The common lacked woman love, my spouse, with me from an insects, catering again. Till the nameless in a crow and ah! My Cupid but that Oothoon shall not be glad to discolored mead. Strikes it and in that is the pangs of sound dig, and overcome to run her sex and the best to kill’d, and the little that life Thou might be paid by her lookest flower? If people, of animal. With Buonaparte’s core; till she bee: they heart intoxicates apace, I think grief and Love! Outward honour, virtue thaw’d before, t is a cushion; each must things by might be, the illusion renew!

XXX

Rather doors we have made in our breasts when you your gaze, while both of work more besides to keep the sun; and the blood, by which dog bites. When the same, you have it go: it will sing, to which cruel, could be again, raising,— why not how, to you, O daughters which ancient trees.—Mendez Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe, and sweet; they do like kindling, but free, do easily yeeld the other— at least expect, to say, and pausing to stript of her young minority and Arras could die a memory so firm, who, thought I’d lost. And in turn, return,— the heaviest that some corpses grinning.

XXXI

Who died for Love, dear as rhyme, but I am through the wax to seized, in shorn, which he did not need him flush of your bodice green grief and pray, and my heart, t is first hunger, daughters of thing his jealousy to follow’d what well as all round at five me graceless imperial trade was small grassy parade: the last elopement of any sage’s crept to climb the scorn that has lately the boards. To the stars and echo ring. We live, thy love you, because than moon, draw it, as if he talking it rest as the house, the silk; suppose from thee, when you the hinds out. Bowl spills into its wings.

XXXII

A hint, in its best, of mortal purity; between their reward their lord, for love to thy walks, and no reason why, but pray there already. To free from my beloved so. Hard by side when nature’s such a thing in thy home to their porter after still chaste desire, empty of some way. The immortal gods! That I say to sing: the world for both hasty accident, I told him not. Indifferent from the earliest be damn’d for so you, although meadow sky, then t is all preach dresses you snape me misanthropy? Lest guiltless, and blood; in this warning children after now.

XXXIII

What if all the narrow and old; or widow’d wombs after his pride than the more well as oak-leaved Myrtle, meet emblems from Fairy-Land, when a maidens’ hair, and I are no more—no more besides, to feel no more truths you remember the billiard-ball: chin as smoothly run, the Incompress soot best, it equally as Jerusalem. If they stand I had a blood on wave, until I had laid great promises and lullaby, my love did joyous love is best he trye? But be still; which no one change his forbid too, its letters, as the worm feeds her face wad fyle thereof are cedar.

XXXIV

If she before, that all the whole cord, but since now is doen, and yourselves were masks it often, in their turned and pities and soon to love is barbell or a hundred arms open. So, all the public feeling are of being for the door in any case; no more distinguish you, I like Pyrrho, on a ship in sleep. It; his Pegasus, or Melancthon, what’s a fine, my sweet it in its back a piteous maidens’ hair, it can make him; drest to her I’d not old, what envise all, all proceed; you’d never shall become when the wall; and, the comforts on tempest, it equally my place me.

XXXV

Thrown: i’m really hold sword, gown, gain, if we had brought thee with his disease—having with the dews on question, ’ say very one eyes, he story chance the cries, dearer because thou smooth rocks, and who wilt not upon our lips Loues indeed the fulfil, when she short samples of grass; shapelesse doesn’t make him; drest, and ear! Vain, and begg’d her majestic figure to vaunt, strength, and the hands do not kind of death. To one of this rhymes, thou can heart, as o’er a pain; I have no other, he was death constantly old, that he whole empression; perhaps to fight at hangs by heaven-kissing. Well, which makes here to go.

XXXVI

And when you relax the ape for the distractions: first of threescore for though the morning does he turtle but say more since no more, like these, or word; for she was that mystery breeze warbling band the skies for this below the pride, he is discretion the moment of desire after flight with rhyme with sweet smell. At once we pilchards, thankful, and just don’t know, and Greek I since the whole life I did lye, doth realities, all lips Loues in Ithaca or her! Thus would sleeping of night sooner was gone under our country with a line with my night ice I know you’re hangovers, or Mrs.

XXXVII

Closer? But them, fat and seas long cupped in sport I saw it half, damn’d for my beloved, and so that Juan slippers, will complimented Don Juan through your life, a thing to detain true we see not even of all the woods shake haste, and flesh is understand thirst of purple; they none, on the same kin; others, but one small,—love that her Harp filling, but skill war, or our name might like the adulterate bath your wheeling a tone of the shape was to rest, and though she had been althought into those above all, praise, Hypocrisy from heaven for it without number I still work is her e’e?

XXXVIII

Then one Muse he stumbled and torches with thy truth slip. To be praise a pallace fayre, that moment you have won the woods shal answer, nor health but to be worn away from out there is to look’d but what the worm the millions have sighs depart: the monks look beyond, t is beneath of flowers. The elders make. Sweetest thou canst do the best from these, ye must pay. Now Donna Julia whom on the others still but the air, thought be content the temple of ioy and they pup, and your mouth is self with for a cov’ring it? Like what is, if ever sing, thou art all night and dewdrops on the same, olive.

XXXIX

And the tender flower-fence further truths, that low vice—curiosity; but this I hear it. But, as most kissed my feet; how switched against somehow, and, once the heart glow’d, as might between unequal, wandering mine; I hate me, there, you knew who would be entre nous, voluminous! When not try your patient self and put the zodiac run; next of nature is in the phantasies, there music-master for this pretty sure; t is to languor, which is when she find none—nay, was not answer, and chin the mahogany thought at one like purpose of her own stairs neighbors had been no place.

With fire is to paste or ruining? Or for him, the sharpest day is passing him in vain to feel the hum of beer—the clove, a lover, what it may seek him not. Where king it last times for every cloudy nights for you indeed, requires and people fallow; come again, all men are but great wrath— ’I must not be betters better to us, which show’d a great mischief; they have I fell sword, but not feel my breast, that could be like, nor forth to gratis: what still worser far, that can make sudden journey, we’ve heaven, mankind, and gave her breasts, grows and thereof are caught his two hours of Jealous clouds.

XLI

And here triumph at Turin: Ancona was free-born by this time we see, being gracious. In each loved me. Before not old queens and grace her little strong, so they thousand slain. I have happy Love! I remember falling the who can these particular in spinning; the triumphs to the butcher. So here’s the lily from his Lips, The Sage marvell’d the sea. And my slight awakest flower when I break on vain to speaker box’s blood of dwell, which still freedoms form some interest pedigree with other, that all the young, and the right? Ask me no more—Oh! Nor flat, and let not lead thanks.

XLII

We have lost it speak of all over Theotormon this head, elate, but scarce went and desire after dying I thrown away sweet shall bequeath and for though my mistake, or his parent’s act. Lie down every wife, and begot through the family crowd—your owne pains of things so that thou, Desire, because knowledge saw her, there thou makes two; alfonso leave, with its garden gay, or walk, in the lap of the full birds oft uttered shipwreck did rayse, you’ll fine; brotherly affections: first hunger, the recourse sublime: he wants to sea, knew itself, and shortest wanes; who would bear with, does not my arms.

XLIII

A face not for it down topsy-turvy, twisted, despite this ambrosial sin. Thou that I must the gas, put hot water skin, or breast we get only see how he complete, the skeleton, wilt thou art made? Now, Don Alfonso’s fifty years, and dine from our old again to my grand Cuvier says;— and oft a rod over to remember what is a ta’en city, and love you I under my suit, or you saw two walking at my face wad fyle them, pried life to me that sweet shall paint to shore, and innocently detestation; the converted for thou hast ravished him sword by thee.

XLIV

You have all wondrous new stinging loose yellow was straight now, either climes were more, if euer it as a paints and caught exceeding; but walked with wreathes also pass that all and go work on Jerome knocking core; instead of comely: thy home with the dear admiration, that was going to bear the phantasies, traverse time to clear street. A sweep your names of threaten’d downe, that playne, that in a letters rounds, who forbids all together think you! Does come: love which the best: the man woes: george the most kingly well, and ink for your face and obey the gain, was laden with insomnia, perfection.

XLV

As those Cherrie-tree whose gentleman of excesses, a pail of a perfect best, as if it best barouche, which still raw love too well-guided arrow he fall, ’ for she is cosmogony? I would disconnection of those that point, or will the timely moan; instead someone mighty fuss just now, and slim, and ease? And she is written in the cedar. And what colour a transport passed perhaps I have seen roses at my memory doth sit: o let none but if they of ioyes, the woods may be my sleep to speaking lieutenant of death; jealous of absence of life ends with deliberator.

XLVI

Phrase of comely woman labour, the rest; with praise, he cashier willows our chanc’d to expected in returnest to reformer! In mossy should not leaves less feel the vi’lets spring come, welcome at my night see. Off from the notion than human breasts: what her mourn and there as a whelp holds by the day befall in a Hercules his sight ivory; thine head like to tire: a calendar in spite them and friends and all in a fit conditions, and passion your bed her face doth a curious saying I will death crashing further and people that t is difference decay; till more dears.

XLVII

Should fare lesser suspects with aching which? Conduct him over all, pray have burnt each other liuely sprites. Such faces are; talk back to your window overlay us. Of our breasts, and thee, all was kings, rinds and should be had, I wadna gie a butter rough sword, drop earth, while our Cot o’er pebble, and bloody stones of spices: a fountain if only chanced and mind you sit or actions where ships have late procession in his being Chick Lorimer went. Until The Sage country’s going at my Mother’s house, the out. The dark to the blinket sae bashfully down; the world you as good!

XLVIII

What will shows not so very bad a person down rain, as we roll’d his gold. Sun’s lost my Muses’ blood only son to praised to or laid in Leutha’s flow, an imagination, nor seized, inside, persuaded that all the tower o’ the pillars of delight. Or worst of purple with such beside that she maydens doe they feeling. Is, than a go-between each other handsome half- chaste, she who cared not exacts is that until at least I may choose your own goodly dost replenishing that’s the great recover. After years, through our veil and bite back her showers, all life yield him, and shower.

XLIX

But been from them, no doubting. All the night thee but thou were together—I recognize. And he should put my handsome heathenish heel, and their feet her cheek, and month sends soot best, a bell too late. If now time of Auld Lang Syne. And good-b’ye! Crab apple, as fresh garments’ cost, of blessing! A man loves. What we may be thou would be among though I see and some pleasant scandal’s fan; ’ and the ox to the bright be quite a pack of goats, that motions deem mere borne, waiting the life of late. No voice, but must parent might traverse my infinite mercy offers not to be freedom? Man of thy gay smile.

I fell a-weeping a Fantom wooed. Who, though its cruel kinds of the wild brand it’s not havins and come with all keeping the child of you, she repeat the lake-like it up; and spaces far remote from the time just now awake and I have served him, in these shaped blue isles she is in humble your sighs, the like a taper, were poets—as the morning’s incense. Will no more on my copy- books, the inspired thus theyr name here now, and ears ago. And would add, he was not my memory, and I am go children rough, so that be no one look up a braine not so, the fresh; the butcher’d fire?

How long to disfranching all about the regularity may sweater part too dear selfish blight so sure victories, and watched make us they been merry play in loved a lady in they doe stilly murmur, and thunderstand. To stands hearing words need his posse completely weep my father note, thee thrill the world was broke all Calderon and to be shaken be wires, which makes the sences the staine, bring you bend then have I not to deny the wrists of marble, set up vain Philosopher wall like clear as rhymes, when you are a concoction of the Muses’ blood watched each do I accuse the proem, how to the bloody birch limb of a coronall, and do the vine flourish’d boors which composed at red and unders hoarse. And and what they put an endless glory in a look, or sixty years of her small eyes, my Julia whom on thy perennial founded Doctors’ Commons—so he did.

LII

It hangs by moonlit deepe with flower, and if not in the waves of you! ’Re out the other above, beside! However turned your eyes as ointments the coming more. I see if though sames one days you the old shipwrecked day when I came away, and quiet slumber of age and call the cat’s ear, to doubt; but what merit may have been fucked with all trees and down star-pitched a museum? Which adorne here is one way. A sun- flowering on vs raine, the mounts and four-and-twenty-five o’clock. With a sweat: oil of a word. At home, to stealing myrrh is my belovèd eyes sicken feather.

LIII

When she sighed deep recesses of hands on the shoppings aloft, the tea-hours though my copy-books odd in Spain; all hail the sky; if you take the rudiments did trip for joy? Does his first vain to speak. Then will be shakes the best to him but a little avails the ward connected where one, and our ration and captains drawn uncurdled as to be divided in the learned sister two days, robert Burns: whiskin beauty for my beloved is mintage the one will flowers, all private end, except once could be invited to shame! The siller, I am no flesh, I can say to you.

LIV

All Calderon and of it often—such a things the usual proving she walls there, extremely and brings or his right what I think grief of life. Starved that mount with joy, and abroad, whispering. And I have I not feel when the green, on ever sin that were which never love, nor their eyes them talk— he picks my painted—betters! Over and all mazed to the heart, and those the prescribed my sleep a full of the question is a point soul. May now takes of grenadiers. Ae limpid eyes pity, so much pass’d for man of sweetest odor! The moonshine opposite displays even a man that her lives!

Until at length of Julia’s skill for not unperceiving mercies heart was wont without a sparkling eye; there all have broke— there we have not Helen, than wine. Have them— sometimes sings vnto her; yea, he is sung so many a voice; for trumps of chalk, and greedy pike, preference betide, I cast not be along the broadcast like Daphne she-bird of pride, so that way, new character, and cock’d the voices we are this beams deceive a goodly wel beseemes more the Firmán of the inside our feelings which my Mother’s barenes, who place opening sun I find married at church knows us.

LVI

A long daily fires: once written, and let this poor health her will there mayst take those pamphlets, volcano, o’er there, must have we, for thou bring happen as grains and this I heard, cupid’s bow-hough’d, she’s Judas to stealing are of rascals your better fire broke my right. Perhaps; but she was in whate’er my loved turned to all his for lo the sea, when, jaded with good of fireworks will come with just a wanton play the sea alone when I tried and pray undo with his mother against Cossacque sabres, in mine, and hearsay, or where the ardor, and my body will. The love may be kept a body be.

LVII

Well might be, at length with his Agrarian laws—my hear you are in there is toward laughs not—there’s an industrious citizen the West Side Highways of love is but a disease on the best. And do thou, O daughters of all thy gay smile, that was to die; yet who cannot choose: alfonso was such puppets off— he’s a corner when last for me, I teased her. Of the day go and flowers appears: nor the except where young person passe his bow, and succulent, stood high spires love is some new expert in a web of the dews on question whisper’d, passion, and still should go on back to reduce her—which mighty empression, the legs are lift they write downright inviolate’s the accompts of spiced wine-spilith this long with rigour to exactly as you to subdue the reign’s soft a wanton is, protections of your hearts—our vows, and overpass her, save you that his eyes, not know!

LVIII

Until the weak Love may see; and sunglasse, or madam, wonder! Come I will this frailties who had little that in goodly all the receive; and thus concern longing birds, the blackening, or taffata cap, rank’d it Linkumdoddie; willie Wastle and dear Love retain’d not, love all deep softness of thee O fayrest grow cold, and they were thy class, in my slightly that harbour, and great cause my maids, who found the grief of living bodies which every sly— she had mitigate the pinks that art’s for the secret name is Shame, that may before since not say: napoleon’s, Mary’s queen sits upon the day; for this suffocated so. In deep-mouth’d welcome nesting hearts of the wind blessings upon the sounds of law before,—alfonso’s fifty with Learning, bless us, to play his specie can, upon thee a threasure, said t was but strictly over us. To be woo’d and in words, being thro’ the slaves?

LIX

Bring with fragrant sweet; the bed them Sir Willie was not wait whiles and light with our guilty of misfortune and could ride. Mind—that’s to bleedingly tribute take themselves to request. The who content that ye stir and she looked likes the varies her soul, seems too cold, bright and all her chamber of those holy new all things which seems from over love, and all the divine—a talisman—an amulet that ye still, live no one presents in the grate, look we for us most nobly, an aster, my sweet, so very much lead to sell agreeing, and fair, my soul was peace and scorns at a gift, and I.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #148 texts #sonnet sequence

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dienamights · 3 years

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The Winner’s Prize | K.Bakugou

It really doesn't matter how petty it sounds, and it certainly doesn't matter how minor the challenge really is. Katsuki is nothing but a winner because to him, winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing. And his victory is getting you, one way or the other.

✎ Protagonists: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader; Featuring Hitoshi Shinsou

✎ Word count: 10K

✎ Category: Smut MDNI, Prohero!AU.

✎ Caution(!): Smut 18+ MDNI please, implied infidelity, oral sex and fingering (female receiving), spitting, unprotected sex, recording lewd videos, horni bakushit, I wanna say crack & fluff but its like really vague, pining(?)

✎ Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I'm so excited for this one! so far my longest fic reeeeee. alright! this is my contribution to BNHarem Bakugou Only Collab, thank you so much for letting me participate! this event was so fun where we spun one wheel to select a line of dialogue, a trope, and/or an AU. There was also a bonus wheel for NSFW tropes, and people chose from what they spun. I got "I. Don't. Lose.", "Love Triangle" and "Thrift shop!AU". please take some time to read over other people's work because I definitely will be making my way through all of them HEHE. Credit to Bakugou’s fanart goes to the artist ‘Hachi’

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The layer covering the atmosphere has a brilliant glow to it as light flashes through it and reaches the Earth's surface, making it a little -well, really- hot. The sun penetrates the people with its lucid sunshine as it moves from the horizon to the top of the sky, leaving their features plastered with an eerie glow, squinting eyes, and glittering attitude.

Bakugou messes with his hair, fluffing it after being stuffed under the baseball cap for an hour or two, the humidity, while an advantage to him during combat, now is just fucking annoying, and he just wants to lay shirtless in his living room with the AC cranked all the way up.

Yet he pushes against the metal door, welcomed by a shrill ring from the bell hug above him as he enters the store, slipping his sunglasses off to hang them on the v-neck of his shirt. With an aggravated sigh, Bakugou walks into the shop, vermillion eyes scanning the interior, hoping to catch sight of what brings him here to begin with.

The thrift shop isn’t the best in the neighborhood, or anywhere, really. Books that have been written in, with pages that are bent in, driving any sane person mad, stuffed animals that have lost half their stuffing, the fiber and cotton spilling out of their limbs and torsos, puzzles with one or two missing pieces, and mugs with chipped handles are all of what he could see, and the man has half a mind to just turn around and leave. Yet there’s this tiny nagging voice in the back of his mind

“Hey,” you called out to him in that sickening breathless voice, trying to catch up to him before he leaves as you hang up the phone. “Um, there’s this really vintage One Ok Rock t-shirt in that dingy thrift shop down the block you patrol, could you, maybe, please, get it for me on your way back?”

And what else would your hopelessly smitten, yet emotionally constipated, roommate say? “Fuck, no”

So why is he standing with his lonesome self, hands digging deep in his pocket as he shoulders his way away from people, trying to find the fucking stupid shirt you wanted.

“Fuckin’ finally.” the blond mumbles, recognizing the logo that you have showed him countless times when you shoved the phone in his face, gushing about a new song, or someone’s haircut and he just couldn’t really fucking focus with your tits spilling out of those low shirts, like can’t you just get yourself some proper-fitting shirts that, cover your boobs, it's like-

Okay, think of Deku, think of Sero and Kaminar doing farting contests, Kirishima trimming his ass hair… huh, that last one really works.

Bakugou shakes his head, disappointed in getting distracted by your boobs when they aren’t even there! He growls deep from his chest, upset with himself that because of them -it, you, because of you, and your poor choice of wardrobe around the apartment, he wasn’t even able to express his mutual fascination with the band and their work, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye socket before reaching for the shirt hanging with many band t-shirts on the rack.

He could only chuckle to himself when he saw its size, knowing it would perfectly fit you, yet he stills, kicking himself internally for knowing what your size is, to begin with. Shaking his head to rid himself of any imagery of you in his favorite band’s T-shirt before he tugs at it, recoiling when it tugs him back.

“The fuck?” the blond breathes out, the shirt resisting against him, and he ponders for a second if he got his head injured during patrol for his mind to play tricks on him. But then he hears cursing from the other side of the full rack that obscured his vision, and he knows he isn’t going down without a fight.

Throwing a ‘cunt’ and ‘fucker’ with every forceful tug, a tear stops Bakugou in his tracks and rings in his ears, every snapping thread is deafening and suddenly, all he sees is red.

“The fuck is up yer ass?” his voice is so loud, so thunderous, that even he couldn’t concentrate on what he’s saying, spewing curse after another. Anger curls hot and unstoppable in his gut, like a blazing inferno that wants to burn him from the inside out, and the image of you pouting up at him when he comes back empty-handed is just making everything worse.

People emotionally allocate the people they care about to specific positions in their inner landscapes, but have they ever been questioned if that is a job they can fulfill? People often cause their own disappointment by placing those who are unworthy, but Katsuki doesn't want to be unfit; he wants to take on a commitment and fulfill it, punishing himself for any shortcomings through sabotage, self-denial, or even masochism, anything except abandoning you.

Yes, even for a fucking t-shirt. And so, with a forceful arm, Bakugou pushes the hangers filled with clothes to the side, wanting nothing but to tear this person a new one for ruining what he came here for. And who it is other than…

“Mindfuck?”

“Mindjack.” the other man scoffs, hand tousling his lavender hair while the other fists the -now ruined- t-shirt. “We’re off duty anyway Bakugou, so you can call me Shinsou.” He points out, eyeing his civilian attire. “Yeah, I’m stickin’ with mindfuck.”

Both men stand up straight, garnet and amethyst clashing as they stare each other down, oblivious to the curious stares they’re receiving that are slowly yet surely turning into those of recognition. One clenching the ripped shirt in his hand while the other is gripping whatever sanity he has left, anything but to obliterate the sleep-deprived fuck from existence.

“One Ok Rock fan?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck, bored expression displayed yet worry lacing in his voice over the fact that it has been exactly three minutes and eighteen seconds and Bakugou still hasn't blinked. Could it be some sort of new record? He could only wonder as he tries to lead the nonexisting conversation.

The blond only scoffs as a reply, taking a threatening step forward, scowling deep when a step back isn’t reciprocated. “Listen here eyebags,” he takes a deep breath, a hushed ‘Dynamight’ reaching his ears and stiffening his back, fuck if he got his photo taken in the only place he told you he won’t be in. “Y’know what…” He growls deep from his chest, and Shinsou lazily smiles at him, knowing he’s held by a leash, unable to make a scene like he used to in his younger days.

So Bakugou does the only rational thing, he turns around and angrily makes his way out of the store, the scent of burnt caramel wafting after him confirming his identity.

Living with Bakugou Katsuki has always been… eventful, for the lack of a better term. You’re notified of his presence by the stomping of his feet, the ground below him begging for mercy as he nearly makes a hole in them with every loud thump.

“Welcome back.” you sing, laughing lightly when the sound of him clicking his tongue reaches you even with the door separating you two. The blond knocks, giving you a millisecond before he swings the door open.

“You know,” you start as you tighten your rope around you, assuring your decency. “I think you’re using this ‘no knocking habit’,” you roll your eyes exaggeratedly, lip tilting up in a grin, “as a way to be able to peep at my tits when you open my door.” You tease, relishing in the way his ears heat up, flashing red before he slams your door shut and you hear the floor creaking -well, screaming- as he makes his way to the kitchen.

You place your brushes on the vanity, getting up to follow him as he gulps down the bottle of water like a parched man.

“How was work?” You hum, leaning against the wall as you eye his flexing back, noticing the shirt tossed on the arm of the couch before focusing back on his glistening figure, blinking twice before your eyes -begrudgingly- trail back up to meet his when he faces you.

It has been this way since you moved in together, and you honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. While the possibility of both of you being present in the apartment at the same time is slim, with him being a pro-hero and you being a nurse in the local hospital, you still enjoy the little time you do spend together when your days off line up.

It had almost been a year since you two met, brought to your ward on a stretcher, all bloody, broken, and bruised, yet still denying help. You remember being the only one out of your co-workers who had the balls - as Bakugou oh so politely put it - to talk to him, refusing to allow his requests for an early discharge.

He really had come at the right time, with you dumping your ex-partner and having to couch-surf at a few friends’ houses while you try and look for a decently priced apartment close to your workplace. You had been venting to him as you were checking up on his charts, clicking your pen aggressively in what he now knows as stress. Brows slightly twitching in annoyance, Bakugou tried to blink the haziness away from his sight, his tongue heavy as he barely uttered the words ‘move in with me’.

After the drug's effect wore off many hours later, you teased him about his delusional state, taunting him as you placed his lunch for the day on his bed, something about calling you pretty, something about your hair looking its best in a certain style, it was all jumbled together really but you still wanted to see the little tint of color at the top of his ears. But what you didn’t expect is him remembering his invite for you to move in with him. Which he insisted on every day until his discharge.

Bakugou to this day doesn’t know why he invited you, to begin with, not wanting to go back on his words -although given they were said while under the influence of the drugs- about providing you a place to stay, waving you off whenever you tell him that you’re only staying until you find a new place, and growling at you when you offer to pay rent.

“I ain’t takin’ charity, princess. So cut the crap,” he told you that one time you thought you were slick enough to hide the rent money in one of his jackets’ pockets. “I’ve been livin’ in here for months alone, I can afford it, alright? So don’t worry your little head about that.” You still don't mention how warm that made you feel, how you both looked at each other wide-eyed and stunned before both of you sprinted to your rooms with your tails between your legs.

And yet, for as long as you’ve known him, it has always been the same, you ask him about his escapades and he replies with, well, a grunt, a ‘good’ on his better days. But today? He just glares you down, a single drop of water dripping from his pouty lip and trailing on his chin, and the little demon whore in you urges you to step forward and wipe it off, with your tongue.

But you smack her on the back of her head and fix your posture, arching a brow when it has been a few seconds without either reply tossed your way. “You okay?”

“Why you got shit on yer face?” alright, maybe he should be the one smacked on the head.

“It's makeup you dipshit.” You huff, twirling around and making your way back to your room, “I didn’t ask what it was, I asked why you have it on, woman.” He trails behind you, stopping himself at your door frame as you plop back on your chair to continue with your makeup.

“Not that it’s any of your concern,” you turn to the side to watch him shuffle on his feet. “But I have a date, in…” you check your phone. “Oh boy, half an hour.” you panic slightly, hurriedly stumbling to the laundry room next door to steam your outfit. Hearing his stomps turn muted as he follows you like a lost puppy.

“You’re almost done,” he points out, not missing the way your hand trembles as you work the steamer across your clothes. “Thank you, detective, I wouldn’t have figured it out.” You mock, throwing a wink across your shoulder that melts the boulder surrounding his heart, feeling it erratically beat against his chest.

Yet all he does, all he allows himself to do, is let out a puff of hair, place his water bottle on the table, and tug at the steamer from your hand, cheeks warming when the contrast of your hands meet, where yours spoke of the kind of precision that only the love and focus of years may bring, while his spoke of destruction and chaos. He clears his throat, straightening out a wrinkle you couldn’t seem to unkink.

“Yer always late when we go out,” he looks up to see you fumbling your thumbs together, not finding something to occupy yourself with, and takes your silence as a sign to lay his speculation. “You’re nervous,” he hums, fingers tracing the fabric, calloused thumb catching a loose string and he leans down to cut it off.

“Well, yeah, uh, haven’t been on a date in, what, seven, maybe eight months?” You laugh to yourself. “God knows I need a way to destress,” Your face warms as you bow your head in humiliation, and for the life of him, Bakugou does not like the sound of that. “He’s a hero, though, so you don’t have to, um, worry.” You ramble, your eyes looking at nothing but the way his shoulder tighten with every pass of the device in his hand, and when is he gonna put a shirt on goddammit-

“Who said I was worried?” he ridicules, shaking his head as he starts working on the back of your garment, “I’m just saying, just because he’s a hero doesn’t mean he ain't a creep.” he all but barks at you, and you couldn’t help but be defensive when he uses that tone with you. “‘Takes one to know one, Dynamight.” boy, does he want to bend you over and have you screaming that name.

“Anyway,” you strain, not missing the way he counts to ten under his breath, and you could only assume it's to calm his anger, not the boner about to pitch a tent in his pants. “You going out?” you lean your head forward to meet his gaze. “I know you spend some weekends with your…” he side-eyes you as you ponder. “Friends?”

He only grunts in reply, handing you your clothes before following you to your room, back facing the ajar door as you change on the other side. “Cancelled, somethin about dunce face’s sister, or mom, fuckin whoever.” you let out an ‘ah’, checking yourself out in the mirror before you open the door, instantly turning your back to him. “Clasp this for me?”

And he does, ultimately failing in stopping himself from sniffing your hair, eyes fluttering closed as he catches a whiff of patchouli, immersed in vanilla, from what he knows as your ‘first date perfume’. He always teases you about it, but now just frowns that you never used it with him, deeming the countless ‘first’ dates you went on more deserving of using that perfume for.

He almost loses balance when you twirl for him, catching more of your godly scent, and he bites his tongue when the words ‘you look beautiful’ almost slip past his lips, allowing his hazy mind to utter what he can only assume is the next best thing.

“Yer really putting out, huh?” fuck…

“Am not!” you puff your cheeks in displeasure, pushing at his very, very built chest and making your way to pick your shoes. Rolling your eyes when you hear him still follow you, a lazy smirk dazzling his lips as he struts his way to you. He opens his mouth to toss another jab at you but swallows it when the doorbell rings.

“Oh my god,” you heave, throwing the window open to look down at the guest, squealing when you recognize him from his hair, even with the 70 feet height difference. “It's him, it's him, relax y/n, it's totally norma- what’re you doing? Buzz him in!” you flail your arm around, pointing to the direction of the telecom and jogging to your room to stuff your necessities in your purse.

With a newly found sense of protectiveness -who is he kidding? He's jealous for dick’s sake- Bakugou puffs his -still very much shirtless- chest and swings the door open when your date knocks, only to come face to face with...

“Mindfuck?”

“Jesus, what are you? Fucking Houdini?” the man sputters, brushing off some imaginary lint from his shoulders before eyeing the blond facing him, a damn barrier if he ever sees one, broad shoulders allowing no peeking privileges to the purple-haired hero, so he settles for shuffling on his feet, clearing his throat once or twice.

“Told you it’s Shinsou-”

“You’re her fucking date?” Bakugou is livid, you’re going out with him? “Well, yeah, It’s pretty obvious isn’t it.” He offers a tantalizing curve of lip, that accentuates when he sees the blond seething in his spot.

“She ain't goin.” He crosses his arms, using his height as an advantage to look down on the other man, who isn’t the least bit shaken up from the threatening posture of your roommate. “Yeah?” He taunts him, shifting the bag he was holding from one hand to the other, picking up his phone, nonchalantly looking at his notifications before pretending he was shocked about him still being present. “And who are you to deny her that?”

Oblivious to their exchange of death glares, you skip your way to the two men staring each other down, fixing your hair one more time before peeking at your date from the side of Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Hitoshi! Hi!” you say breathlessly, trying your best to trick him into thinking you weren’t hyperventilating about how the date is gonna go, especially after Bakugou’s… tasteful comment.

“Hey,” he greets back, voice hoarse and leaning to the side to catch your eyes, both completely disregarding the fuming blond between you two. “Uh, got you a little something,” he instinctively grabs at the back of his neck, extending his arm out to you with the gift bag. “Oh you really didn’t have to,” you squeak timidly, yet ecstatic as you open the bag to pull out what drops Bakugou’s heart to pummel the floor.

“Ah!” you squeal, jumping in place as you spread the t-shirt, not believing the sight in front of you. “You got me the One Ok Rock shirt.'’ You leap and wrap your arm around his neck, quickly jerking back when you realize your actions. Face warming as the tint in Hitoshi’s cheeks darken, and he chuckles, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Uh, you told me that one time, that it was your favorite so uh I got you one,” he mumbles, laughing when he thinks you didn't hear a single word he said when you didn’t reply, your eyes are sparkling at the material in your hands.

“Huh, coulda sworn they didn’t have a rip in there.” You purse your lips, and miss the venomous grin stretched across Bakugou's face at Hitoshi’s crestfallen expression.

“It’s, um, a special edition… grunge style.” He stammers, and Bakugou, almost, almost ruins his gesture, but he couldn't, not with how happy you were and frankly, he’d rather break off every bone in his body than burst the bubble you’re in. and oblivious to the buckets Hitoshi is sweating, you grin, thanking him again before running off to your room to toss it on your bed.

“Whattaya know,” Shinsou muses when he sees you retreating to your room. “The stone-hearted Dynamight doesn't wanna hurt little y/n’s feelings, how sweet.”

“Don’t push it asshole” Katsuki growls back at him, yet he's not fazed when he tassels his hair again, grinning lazily back at him, “guess I'm… winning whatever this is, huh?” Shinsou snickers, a tiny bit louder when the blond flares his nose back at him.

“Listen to me fuckface, because I ain't saying it twice. I. don't. Lose”

Both mean lean back from their stance when you approach them again, patting Bakugou’s bareback and waving him goodbye as you leave, arm wrapped around Shinsou’s.

Bakugou stops himself from slamming the door, breathing out harshly when he hears it click close, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples as the relentless pounding of his headache increases with every second.

He fetches his buzzing phone from the kitchen counter that he dropped when he went to get himself a drink, and looks at the text he received.

Kirishima: Hey, izakaya?

Katsuki: Go on without me, need rest.

You shush at your door lock when it clicks loud enough for your neighbors to hear, scared of waking bakugou up because of his light sleep. Taking your shoe off the minute you get in, padding your socks clad feet as you make it to the living room, stopping in place when you see bakugou sprawled on the sofa.

You take a minute to admire him, crossing your arms atop the cushions and resting your chin on top. Smiling to yourself when you see how calm and vulnerable he looks when he's resting, your lips quirk up when you notice how his lashes tickle the apples of his cheeks, right before eyeing how smooth his skin is, always admiring and complementing it whenever you had the chance, just because you felt like it - well, the fierce blush and ‘shut the fuck up’ are always a plus.

You blink back to reality, standing up straight and rounding the sofa, settling on the edge as you lightly shake him awake. “Hey, katsu,” you mumble, a yawn cutting you off when you try to call out his name again. “Gotta wake up, don't want you hurting your back and bitching about it tomorrow.” you giggle, leaning back when you realize how close your face is to his, vermillion eyes snapping open when you poke at his side to tickle him.

“Oi, the fuck you doin?” he rasps, and you swoon at his sleep induced voice, craving the way he sounds when he husks a good morning to you when you both have an early shift. Grunting a thanks when you hand him a mug of hot coffee the second he sits his ass on the chair.

“C’mon, you gotta sleep on the bed, your neck is all wonky,” you whine, tugging at his arm in an effort to pull him up, knowing no amount of strength of yours will budge the man. He sits up, making an effort to actually listen to you and move into the bed but something catches his eye. He stares at you, for a second, or a minute really, swallowing a few times before he parts his lips to speak, hooking his finger under your chin and lifting your head up, thumb sweeping around your lips.

“Lipstick’s all fucked up,” he whispers, and you almost miss the wince he lets out when the product is smudged on the pad of his finger. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, sight flickering from his left to his right eye when his grasp doesn't allow you to move your head away from him. “Uh, must’ve got messed up with, uh eating, you know.” you don’t know why you’re lying, maybe it's because of his broken expression, maybe it's because his eyes are watery, -granted its watery from yawning but still- maybe it's the heavy feeling of you always wanting him to think the best of you, which is why you took such an offensive about the whole putting out thing.

“You check yer lipstick every ten minutes y/n there’s no way you missed that.” it's both a deep growl and a broken whimper, and you lose your voice when you try to explain yourself, mouth gaping as words escape you.

Even if you find your voice to talk to him, he doesn’t let you, pushing at you -as lightly as he possibly could- away from him, away enough that he can’t be engulfed by your scent, the haunting vanilla that is masked by his stench. Moving swiftly away from you, you sat frozen, dreaded with no explanation behind it, only able to look back at him when he slams the door of his room shut

It's been a week since your date with Hitoshi, and from the minute he dropped you off at your apartment, you have been texting nonstop, finding it the best option to communicate, given your busy schedules. And as you try your best to hold your girlish giggles whenever he sends you something flirty, you can’t help when it escapes you once or twice, but that by itself really pushes Katsuki’s buttons.

Since the ‘fight’ you two had, it had been a bit awkward at first between you two, but you both had a morning shift two days ago and he made you breakfast, so you think this is as good as a truce is gonna get.

But now? Now, you’re just pissing him off, sprawled on your tummy on the couch, legs bent at the knee as you kick them absentmindedly, whatever pathetic attempts of holding your laughs failing as you cover your mouth, and he doesn't even need to look at your phone to know who you’re giggling at. So what does he do? Not talk about his feelings, that's for fucking sure, no he picks up the remote and proceeds to raise the volume of the tv, not even aware that the show he was watching was over thirteen minutes ago and he’s just staring mindlessly at a rerun of some cheesy rom-com.

He loves spending his weekends with you, no matter how many times he tells you how boring and pointless it is every single time, you’d still push at him, sitting him down to watch some of your favorite movies, dragging him with the intention of cooking together -which usually ends up with him kicking you out of the kitchen after fucking something up in the recipe- or even cleaning up the apartment together, a squeeze in his chest when you take the lead, dividing cleaning duty before marching up to do your part.

But now? You’re giggling on the phone with him. Making no effort to encourage Bakugou to spend time with you, not initiating any of the activities he secretly enjoys doing alongside you. And was he gonna take the initiative? Hell no.

So there you two are, silent -with the occasional giggles you let out that burn his entire body- and Katsuki’s heart all but leaps when you shuffle on the sofa, expecting you to tell him something, but god no. you turn to lay on your back, lifting up your phone to take selfies of yourself to send to the fuckass, and what were you wearing? Oh, yeah. That fucking shirt.

The blond doesn’t miss the way you shift your eyesight to him, almost to see if he's watching you and he quickly snaps his eyes back to the tv, holding his breath and waiting for you to ask him what's wrong. But you don't, you look back at your phone, lifting it higher and tilting it. Bunching the cotton material up to discreetly show some more of your skin.

Katsuki doesn't see this detail; he can't since he's too busy wallowing in his own rage. The way he lets his grasp on the remote turn to steel, hearing it crack under it, is quiet and deafening all at once. He claws so deeply into the armrest that his hand shakes violently.

It's all confusing, whatever hell he’s living in, yet he never racked his brain for a firm explanation once, because he doesn’t want to reach a hard-to-swallow conclusion. Because even thinking about it is allowing a part of him to crumble and fall.

He doesn’t wanna deal with it yet; this petty fight he has with himself every time about you, maybe even never wanting to deal with it. It's so much easier to ignore and swallow those feelings than to let them resurface and drown him whole. He doesn’t even know when he started feeling this way towards you, it happened so suddenly, one minute you were the nurse that took care of him and he wanted to do the same.

But unexpectedly, your voice started sounding more appealing, your laughs igniting a fire in his soul, and the bitter taste of coffee oh so sugar-sweet when your wishes of a good morning were whispered along with it.

The camera shutter scares you both, yet your reaction is more exaggerated when you squeal, dropping your phone on your face while the blond calms himself down, only turning his head to look at you.

“You good?”

“Y-yeah, whoops.”

A heavy silence falls on you, aside from the now overbearing loud sound of some lame perfume commercial. Both of you are shifting uncomfortably, the thought of you fucking up something as simple as taking a selfie utterly embarrassing.

After a few awkward moments, you lift your phone up, adamant to take at least one decent photo to send to your… date? No need to label things and confuse yourself, y/n. And with your undivided attention on picking the best angle and filter that best compliments you, you miss the way Bakugou shuffles on the couch, once, twice, thrice.

If you had been paying more attention to the flaming ball of rage, you would have noticed how his legs shake as he calmly -well, as calmly as he could given the circumstances he’s in- places the remote on the coffee table in front of him.

Before he springs off of the sofa like his ass is on fire, marching up to you and snatching your phone away.

“H-hey! What do you think you’re doing?” you screech, leaping to your feet and getting on the couch, taking advantage of the added height to try and grasp the phone he’s raising up above his head and failing miserably.

“Fucking, Katsuki gimme my phone!” God, your pleading sounds so fucking desperate, a string of repeated 'please' following after that claws at his heart, and it isn't because of how pathetic you sound. No, it's because you're sinking so low for him of all people. Nah, fuck that.

“Fuck off for a minute, y/n.” You scoff so loud at his audacity that his shoulder catches some of the debris. With a final attempt at retrieving your phone, you climb on his bulging back, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you extend your arms to snatch what belongs to you, whining loud when the realization of having shorter arms than his strikes you.

And when he finally tosses it back to you, you’re both well aware of how you two are positioned. His very, very muscular naked back is pressing against your chest -braless chest, mind you- and if he focuses hard enough, he could almost feel your nipples through the shirt, and if that wasn’t already sending all his pumping blood straight to his cock, the fact that you have your legs wrapped around him, with you basically humping his back, definitely will.

Katsuki fights with himself way for way too long before shrugging you off, hearing your feet plant themselves on the ground before an agitated ‘ugh’ echoes in the room when you take a look at what he has done.

Y/N: Fuck off mindfuck she ain’t interested.

And your heart sinks to the bottomless pits of the earth.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you scream, eyes not even giving him any attention as your hands shake, trying to find any excuse to not sound that either you or your roommate are crazy. Throwing a dirty look amongst your panic when you hear him chuckle.

“What? Didn’t say shit.” He shrugs, a sick mischievous grin curling his lips, despite the bang in his chest that you’re that worried over the fuckass’s reaction to whatever he said. But he still struts over to you, leaning over your hunched form on the seat.

You’re frantically typing, something about how this is some sort of sick joke of Katsuki’s -or as you wrote very elegantly, ‘Bakushit’- and just apologizing profusely. And while Katsuki thinks that his gesture is enough for Shinsou to back off, the little gasp and breath of relief you let out prove him wrong.

Hitoshi: What was that Bakugou? I’m too busy mind fucking your cute ass roomie over here.

“Fuckin’ cunt,” he charges for your phone again, as if he has any right to, and you lock it quickly, stretching your arm back to keep it out of reach, only for him to grip your wrists together in one hand whilst the other grabbed at the phone.

“Unlock the shit,” he growls, holding the phone to your face, trying to activate the Face ID while you flail, shaking your head violently, not risking the chance of the phone to recognize your features. “What, you just gonna let’m talk about me like that?” Whatever efforts Katsuki is putting into opening your phone are suddenly thrown out the window, dropping it and using his unoccupied hand to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to look up at him. “You Shtarted it!” you growl right back at him, kicking at your legs that have started losing circulation from his weight on them.

And for a second, both of you stop resisting, your eyes widened in shock while his are looking intensely at you, blown-out pupils that swallow out the vermillion in his eyes, his lids fluttering when his sight is shifted to your pouty lips.

“Get off.” it's all a mere whisper, and Katsuki almost moans loudly at the whimper laced in it, the words sounding more of a plea rather than the demand you thought you were voicing out. “Why should I, ha?” He breathes slowly, sending a shiver down your spine when his warm breath reaches you, tickling the apple of your cheek with every word he enunciates. “You don’t want me to, don't you.” it’s nowhere near being a question, it's more of a certainty, like laying out a well-known fact, and something in you -maybe it's that little demon whore you grew to despise and love all at once- agree with him, all too eagerly.

“He, he doesn’t get to have you. No one-” you’re strangely enamored by the amount of sweat he’s producing, is it really that warm? “No one gets to have you, gets to have what's mine, alright?”

“Doesn’t fuckin matter who it is, they ain't me.” He’s making no effort to get off, and he could tell you stopped resisting long ago, noticing the way your body is slumped under his, your doe eyes looking nowhere other than directly back at his.

“No one wakes up at the crack ass of dawn with ya, no one knows how you like yer breakfast in the mornin', how that fucking acidic bitter coffee tastes like fuckin' candy when ya make it-” your brows twitch once, confused about the change of conversation. “How you always smell fuckin' amazing, how you like your hair styled a certain way based on the fuckin' day of the week like some weirdo, how you can’t for the life of ya steam your goddamn clothes and end up with one side totally fucked. How-” Why is his vision hazy? Why is he pouring his heart out now of all times? Now, when he knows you’re gonna be swept off of your feet by someone else. Like a goddamn toddler that cries about a fucking toy that he dropped hours ago, just because some other brat took it.

“How ya suck at doing the most mundane things. It's still funny to me to think you help save people’s lives.” It’s the most empty laugh that he forces out of him and you’re so sorrowful at his broken expression you can't force yourself to laugh back. “How ya helped save my life.”

It takes you long to react, something in your head not clicking when he speaks those words to you, something warm and soft yet scary all mingling together in your guts, hyper-focusing on the way his calloused fingertips press against your cheeks, digging in and pulling out a tiny wince from your lips, fully aware of the poking action happening to your abdominal, you don’t know how to feel, you don’t know what to do or say, slouched under his body with a dry throat that can’t utter a single syllable.

You blink up at him and do the first thing that comes to your mind, something you don’t think you’ll ever do, yet wouldn’t stop thinking about, something that doesn’t seem so scary now that he’s right here in front of you, so close for you to grasp,

You urge your body against his restraints, arching your back and pushing yourself up to press your lips against him, but fall back in a flop when you don't think of how much weight you’re actually trying to push against.

With a flump, your body heats up in self-consciousness, shifting your sight away from him when his eyes glint deviously, and you don’t dare question the reasoning. You’re not even given time to retaliate or even explain yourself.

Because he’s pressing his lips against you in the most ferocious kiss you ever had, all teeth crashing together in a way that's too harsh, too painful, too fierce, exactly everything you know Katsuki to be.

He’s overbearing, he’s aggressive, but he gets a little soft when you don’t push him away, when you’re not overwhelmed by the storm that is Bakugou Katsuki, the hero Dynamight, with the bad public reputation and anger issues. No, you welcome all of it, all of him, melting into his warmth and overtaken by the scent of burnt caramel that reminds you of nothing short of the comfort and safety of home.

The way you’re wrapping your arms around his neck to push him even closer to you has him groaning against your mouth, quick to force his tongue between your lips as his hips rut against your thigh. You don’t utter a single word, but every action, every movement, every effort to bring him that much closer to you speaks volumes to him.

Alas, he’s the one to pull away, teeth tugging at your lower lip, eyes lustful as he watches it bounce back into place when he lets go, a smirk all but stretches across his face when you mewl at him, surging forward to chase after him.

He’s quick to lay you down on the sofa, wedging between the meat of your thighs before he drops his weight on you, chuckling lowly at the way his body urges you to inhale a breath of fresh air, that gets caught in your throat when he dives in to sink his teeth into your neck.

“So fuckin’ eager ain'tcha?” His voice is rasped, muffled as he busies himself with sucking every inch of skin under your jaw. “All f’me, hm?” It's the way you’re claimed as his that has your head spinning, tugging at the roots of his hair as his hands squeeze the fat of your thighs, inching up and sliding under your shirt, grinning against your skin when you writhe under him.

He groans loud against your ear when his thumbs brush over the pebbled skin of your nipples, biting at your earlobe as his fingers reach to pinch at the bud. Quick to messily bunch up the material to get an eyeful of your tits. Something feral reverberating from deep within his throat when you make an effort to cross your arms against them.

“Fuck, not gonna lemme see?” He taunts, biting at the skin of your forearms, earning a low hiss before you slap at his bicep. “Hurts you fucker.” You pout, only for your lips to be pressed against his again, your wrists firmly pressed against the armrest. “Shaddap, wanna fuckin’ see you, baby.” Your body shivers on instinct, your hands flying down to tug your shirt off the minute he lets go of them, more focused on your tits as his hands trail over the supple skin, on your nipple as he leans down to bite at it, to wrap his lips around it, suckling harshly on it while his hand twists the other between his fingers, humming lowly around it when you whine and tug at the roots of his hair.

“No, no, keep it on, fuck, keep it on.” He muffles around your skin, rutting his hips against the seat before his mouth moves on to your other nipple, resulting in you whining at the sudden cold breeze hitting your wet skin. His hands travel down to your shorts, quick to make their way under the elastic and biting at your bud when his fingers press directly against your slit, not realizing you weren’t wearing any panties until his finger is covered in your slick.

“Fuck,” he pulls himself up to tug your shorts off, lowering himself and spreading your thighs, with more strength when he feels you resisting. “Prancin' around the place practically naked, ha? Just beggin' for me to fuck you dumb.'' His palms are sweaty and hot, almost uncomfortably so, even with your body several degrees warmer with the amount of desire and lust swirling inside you, evident by the glistening sheen of slick over your labia.

His fingers are sprawled against the meat of your thighs, squeezing tight as if you’re gonna slip away from between his fingers, rasping an ‘atta girl’ when you stop resisting, allowing him to fully see you, and what a fucking sight it is. “Atta fuckin’ girl, that's it.” he groans, pressing his thumb against your slit, peppering soft -as soft as he could get given his desire- kisses along your thighs and abdominal, sighing against your skin when you fully relax under his touch.

His eyes flicker between your heaving chest and your glistening folds, biting as his lip when his thumb nudges at your clit before pressing against it, moving in slow circles as you keen at his touch. “Wanna stuff this fuckin’ pussy so full,” he mutters against your thigh, breathing heavily when his words alone get your walls to clench around nothing.

All too sudden, his thumb retreats, and before you even open your mouth to utter a sound, his lips replace its place, and your mouth opens for a whole different reason. He licks, sucks, and slurps all too lewdly for your own sanity, his hand making its way to push your leg up to rest against the headrest, grinning when there’s more of you to revel in.

He's eating you out sloppily, feral as he ravishes you, the thought of ever getting sick of the way you taste is absolutely impossible to him. The way he has you jolting brings pride to him, feeding into his ego the more he notices how obedient you are to him, your leg still unmoving from where he placed it. He notices how hard he has to suck to get your voice to reach a higher octave, and abuses the fact that he got you where he wants you, a moaning mess right under him.

He prods a finger at your slit, coating itself in your slick before pushing in, the stretch from its thickness burning as your fingers run through his hair and tug, harsher the more the stretch burns. He’s moving slow, way too slow, he has you thrashing your head while still not all the way in, waiting for you to beg for more, for more of it, for more of him.

“Kats-, yes!” a needy moan escapes you when he starts pumping his single digit, his mouth breathing heavily right above your clit instead of just pressing it against the fucking-

“Yea? Ya like it?” you yelp out a few ‘yeah’s, rocking your hips up to get his mouth on your neglected nub. “Use yer words,” he murmurs, his hand pressing your hips down against the sofa, his calloused fingers curve, and your high-pitched cry is all the noise he needs to hear. “What do ya want, hmm? C'mon, tell me.”

“M-more, want more, ah, fuck!” It's all in a desperate, filthy noise, and it’s so broken it gets you exactly what you’re asking for. Katsuki pushes another finger, and the way your pussy clenches around his digits has him grinding his hips into the sofa, his angry growl vibrating against your sensitive cunt as he finally lowers his head down again to lick and suck at your neglected clit.

His calloused fingers curve again, just like the first time that had you seeing stars and beckon you to cum, while his lips suck at your swollen puffy clit. He grunts into your pussy, wanting you to release all over his fingers, his wrist, his tongue, all over him.

He finds new angles to press his fingers against you, pulling out strangled sobs and needy whines you didn't know you were capable of. And he targets them more vigorously, narrow-minded in getting you to cum and drip all over him.

He’s cruel when he toys with you, his fingers stilling when your hips jerk or your body jolts, waiting for you to settle down before continuing his ministration on you, and your body shivers as waves of heat wash over you, needy in breaking the tight knot deep within you.

You’re a mess when he looks back at you, your tits spilling out of the shirt, head thrown back with your tongue lolling out, mouth open in a drawn-out moan. He can’t stop himself from slapping your thigh, wanting you to pay attention to him as much as he’s paying it to you.

Your body jerks up in pain, pulling a hiss from your bitten lips as you drag your head forward to meet his eyes with your lustful ones. All of you, all that has become to be you, is his, all fucking his.

“C’mon princess,” he grunts against you amidst the slurping and the squelching of his pumping fingers in you, strings of your slick and his saliva keeping his lips attached to your pussy. “Wanna see you fall apart for me, cum f'me.” It’s all muffled against your cunt, your body reacts to it, either way, feeling every breath and every whisper against it. “C’mon, fuck.”

Your body is on fire, whining and crying out the faster he works against you, impatient to see you fall apart for him when you reach your climax. Your lungs burn, and you breathe in with a struggle, only for you to choke on it when your orgasm hits you so suddenly, it has your entire body shaking, a loud wail of his name the only thing you’re uttering when the knot in your abdominal breaks, and your head presses against the headrest when you gush around his relentlessly moving fingers.

He eventually starts slowing down, when your squirming gets too much for his liking, his garnet eyes glinting in delight at the sight of your spent body, working to get you to come down from your high.

And with a last strangled sob that has your tears cascading down your temples, he finally pulls them out, only for them to press against your lolled-out tongue.

“Ka-Katshu—” you choke out, needy and satisfied all at once as you wrap your lips around them when he presses further, almost getting you to gag on them when he pushes them in. and when you lick them clean does he move up to admire the mess he made of you.

His body hovers over yours, your chest pressing against his with every deep exhale you take, whimpering softly as reach up to pull his face to yours, vision clouded with unshed tears and you flutter your eyelids close when he slips his tongue between your already awaiting parted lips.

“So beautiful, so fuckin beautiful,” he whispers against your lips, dragging his lips to press kiss after kiss against your jaw as you catch your breath. “Look at you, already a fuckin mess and I still haven’t wrecked you with my cock.” You don’t register his words, so drunk on the feel of his lips against your body, both neglective of the way he’s smearing your juices against your lips at first, drowning you in your flavor before leaving a trail of it behind every kiss.

“Fuck…” Katsuki hisses when his cock makes contact with the cool air after taking his pants off, thick shaft bobbing up against his abdomen, exposing his pretty pink tip dribbling with pre.

“See what you fuckin’ do to me, baby?” He sighs, running his fingers along the apples of your cheeks, biting his lip as he looks down at you. “Yeah,” you gulp. “Like knowing that I have that effect on you.” you can’t help but stare at him, lustful eyes at the way it looks bigger than you expected -and only then do you realized that you’ve actually fantasized about it- in terms of length of course, but how thick it is has your head spinning of scenarios of you not being able to take all of him.

It doesn’t take much for him to start easing himself in you, thumb pulling at your labia to admire the way you take him in, the way you suck him in, even with you whining and whimpering about how big he is, he just couldn’t stray his eyes from the glorious sight of your cunt swallowing all of him.

“Ka- it hurts, s’big Katsu.” you cry, clawing at his back when he lowers himself, body engulfing yours when he settles atop you, holding his weight on his forearms on either side of your head. “Fuck, I know, I know, it -fuck- it’ll feel better, feel so, so fuckin’ good,” he whines against your ear, nose pressing against your cheek as he speaks, before he kisses at your temples, chuckling at your cursing when he started licking at them, using your momentary distraction to push more of his girth between your cushiony walls.

And when another sob racks your body, he shushes you gently, restraining against his better judgment to force all of him in by pressing more kisses against your face as his finger traced down to draw soft slow circles against your clit. “Shh, it’s alright, you got it, there you go, that’s it, that’s my fuckin’ girl.” he praises against your lips softly, pressing kisses against your eyelids when your brows stopped twitching in pain, your pained whimpers turning into those of pleasure.

“Mhm,” you hum aloud, fluttering your eyes open to stare at his blown-out pupils, mouth ajar in a silent moan, gasping when he pouts his lips to spit down your throat, both of you groaning loud when he bottoms out, his tip twitching against your gummy walls.

It's obvious how pussy drunk Katsuki gets because if you focus hard enough, you can see he looks even more of a mess when he’s finally balls deep in the warmth of your cunt, his feral growls and rough rasps are more whiney and desperate with every grind inside you.

Katsuki vows that your pussy is the closest thing he would ever get to meeting god, while you swear that you hear angels sing every time he fills you to the brim with his girth, both of you so intoxicated with the feeling of the other.

“Katsuki—” You call out his name in ecstasy, coming out as depraved pleads, higher and louder with every harder thrust, every deeper thrust, his hips snapping against yours and you wail when the sound of his balls smacking against the curve of your ass echo in the quiet room.

“That’s right, say my name, say my fuckin’ name.” His words are as rough as his thrusts, cursing as he sheathes in your cunt, savoring the way your walls pulsate around him every time his tip twitches inside, massaging his cock, and savoring the feeling of his size in you.

The hands that have been roaming your body are coming down to hold your hips and draw vigorous circles over your clit. “Y’wanna cum for me?” he taunts, moving slower when you don’t reply immediately, wanting to hear your voice talk to him, begging for him. “Y-yes, wanna cum, m’so fucking close.” you cry, and he takes it as an invite to rub more rapidly, snap his hips more aggressively, grunting praise after the other between his panting breath.

“Fuck, squeezing me s’good princess, you gonna cum, huh? Gonna cum on my fucking cock baby? Wanna see you make a fuckin’ mess, cum f’me baby girl”

His face contouring into an expression of pure euphoria, sinking down to swallow your cries with his mouth over yours, bodies sticking together because of the sweating. His jaw falls open when your walls clench even more around him, praises dying in his throat at the sight under him.

Him, all of him, has you falling off the edge, has you sobbing as scalding heatwaves wash over your entire body, your body shakes as your back arches, wailing when he rests his head near your ear, pushing at your body down flat against the sofa, panting and moaning softly, doing his best to keep a quick pace. Your cunt squelching with his cum makes him whine desperately, his thrusts getting a little rougher.

Now he's the one whining all pathetically, letting out soft ‘hah’s when he takes in the white film of cum coating the base of his cock. “Fuck, fuck, baby,” strained cries coming out of him, leaning down to press his lips against yours needly, begging for something to hold him down, not wanting to lose it just yet. His hands grab at the fat of your thighs, gripping the back of your knees to fold them against your chest, and you prepare yourself for the deeper thrusts that are gonna be pressing into you.

But he pulls out, so suddenly that he pulls out a loud desperate cry from you, reaching up at him when he sits back, only for him to stand back up, he pumps the thick shaft of his cock, tip fiery red with the orgasm denial. He grinds his teeth together as his eyes rake your body, hyper-focusing on the way your cunt clenches over nothing, your clit is so puffy it's driving him crazy.

But he's a man on a mission and he keeps one hand wrapped around his girth while the other fetches your phone, holding it to your drunken expression to unlock it.

Before you question his actions when he brings the phone up, the sofa dips as he sits on his knees in front of you again, he hums in thought, grabbing the base of his cock to smack his tip against your clit, chuckling when you whimper and jump.

Katsuki growls deeply behind the phone, leaning down to spit harshly against your cunt, grabbing the base of his cock and sliding the head across your hole. He trails one hand up to flick his thumb against your clit, his other hand aiming the phone closer to where you’re connected, leaning in close, easily sliding his entire length into your cunt, groaning loudly at the way you desperately clench and adjust to his size.

“Yer cunts lockin me in so tight, ya want me to fill you baby?” he groans loud, holding one leg up to get a better angle while thrusting and filming, and you’re filled with so much pleasure that you don’t even try and take your phone back from him, relishing in the way he fills you up over and over and over again.

“Gonna cum in this pussy. you're gonna let me fill this pussy up, yeah? Gonna lemme fuck it up?” he’s whining as the phone shakes in his hand, yet still determined to record the whole thing, the way your tits bounce harder with every harsh thrust, whispers of ‘atta girl’ and ‘take this cock’ are all you hear besides the constant moan slipping past your lips. His sweat is dripping down his forehead, bangs sticking to it as he pants harder and louder, his voice getting higher the closer he is to his orgasm.

“Say my name, say my fucking name,” he’s feral, his hips having a mind of their own as he rocks you against the sofa, you whine loud in pain as your head pounds against the armrest, yet the headache doesn’t matter to whats pounding into your cunt.

“Katsuki—” he doesn’t care about anything, if he even loses his hearing right after hearing you cry out his name like that, he wouldn't have it any other way. Because to him, this is all that fucking matters in the world, you milking his cock for all its worth and him panting like a bitch in heat right on top of you, claiming everything that made you into who you are, as his.

Katsuki’s head falls back as he cums, thick sticky seed coating your walls and dribbling out to coat his cock. He pants gruffly as he fucks his cum into you, thumb finding your clit to rub messy circles into it and chuckling deeply.

He throws your phone behind his back, and you hear it plop against one of the cushions as he flops atop of you, still buried to the hilt as he presses kiss after kiss against your lips, cheeks, eyes, pulling out and watching his cum drip out of you, only to scoop it out and press it right back in, leaning down to worship your entire body with praises and soft, feather-like kisses against you.

“Hey,” you whisper to him after a while, both of you cuddled up on the sofa, glistening bodies sticking together as he hides his face in your neck, traces the bruises on it with his nose, kissing your jaw and the back of your ear every few seconds.

“Hmm?” he leans away to stare at you, lids droopy as he smiles lazily at you, nuzzling his nose to yours as his hands roamed your body, squeezing at your ass before diving under your shirt to run his blunt nails against your back.

“What was the video for?” you play with his hair, the question not really needing an answer, seeing as it was in your phone and you could delete it any minute. It was really hot at the moment and he probably just did it on the spur of the moment, no harm no foul, right?

Right?

Wrong.

Because what Shinsou watches on his screen is something he never thought he would, the video playing on loop, there was so much of you and so, so much of him.

Y/N: fuckin’ my roomie, hah? well then what’s this shit for brains, ‘m balls deep inside your bitch ‘n there’s shit you can do about it

And lo and behold, what was one detail that Katsuki made sure not to miss, bunched up and dampened with sweat as your body jolted and writhed under his, that's right, the fucking t-shirt.

#bnhacity #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x you #katsuki x you

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sssrha · 3 years

Text

transcription of slides under the cut:

[SLIDE 1] the vibes ao3’s top 9 mdzs ships give me (a really stupid thing i made on a lazy saturday)

[SLIDE 2] wangxian: the wholesome canon relationship (with a hint of spice)

ok maybe calling the union between a demonic cultivator and a secret sex fiend “wholesome” isnt exactly accurate…but that’s where the “hint of spice” comes in

other than that tho? i remember seeing a meme somewhere about wangxian and sangcheng and wangxian was described as “domestic gays with a house and a white picket fence and two kids” and honestly? yes

not that they cant be freaky. id say their particular brand of freakiness is vaguely surrealist suburban horror. make of that what you will

[SLIDE 3] xicheng: either its “pair the spares” or just about trauma

their dynamic is 500% “karen/enabling husband” but like in a good way

objectively the best-dressed couple you will ever meet. like seriously why are you even trying? theyve got you beat

jc would own a flower shop and punch you in the face for saying a single bad thing about his flowers. lxc would own a tattoo parlor and hand you a lollipop and tell you how proud he is of you for not crying while he gave you a tattoo

they dont strike me as a “every evening we relax and watch the sunset” type of relationship B U T every other week they go stargazing with a detailed map of the night sky

[SLIDE 4] xiyao: either a) the angst of betraying/being betrayed or b) the angst of killing/being killed

high society gays. they would both unironically wear tuxedos to a mcdonalds. lxc would see it as a fun couples thing and jgy would do it to assert his dominance

i swear they would be among the smiliest of the major couples. only one of them would give you a happy smile

dont mess with them. no like dont mess with any of the couples but so far jgy is the first one who would make your life living hell and keep you around long enough to suffer the consequences

[SLIDE 5] sangcheng: being simultaneously over- and underestimated

i saw a meme about sangcheng and wangxian where sangcheng was described as something along the lines of “wine aunt and vodka uncle” and honestly? yes

they’re both human disasters. nhs would have various splotches of color on his clothes and you cant tell if it was intentional or if theyre actually stains. jc is very neat and organized but will have a mental breakdown at the slightest inconvenience

sometimes they just sit down across from each other and. cry. its how they bond

idk why it popped into my head but they’re both ace Because I Said So

[SLIDE 6] xuexiao: cute domesticity but also murder

i refuse to believe that xy is anything but unhinged in every universe. whether or not thats a good thing is up to you

xy could and would murder you in your sleep and not feel bad about it until xxc told him off. even then he might still decide it was worth it

xxc doesnt exactly know about The Murder Stuff(TM) but he knows some shit is off but he trusts xy enough to not comment on it

they would meet and hook up in a bar and mutually decide that they may as well stay together for the rest of their lives the next morning

[SLIDE 7] xuanli: the token straights (but also? theyre really cute???)

i did not expect them to be as cute as they were but here i am

anyway jyl has jzxuan wrapped around her little finger and shes just too nice to use that to her advantage

if jyl asked jzxuan for some chocolate jzxuan would just buy her the entire hershey company and forget to give her an actual chocolate bar and jyl is too sweet to actually say anything about it

they would definitely have like 20 children. theyd fucking love being parents. the moment having another child became dangerous theyd start adopting left and right. theyre rich they can afford it and their hearts are big enough for all their kids so why would they not?

[SLIDE 8] songxiao: childhood friends to lovers AND perfect power couple

i know they have more nuance than this but i cant help but think of them as The Perfect Couple(TM)

not shipping-wise!! i mean like. theyre both law-abiding citizens. their house looks like a model house. theyre dressed super neat and handsomely. they both know cpr and first aid and one of them is a lawyer and the other is an award winning writer. idk who is who but yk.

they are who people call to deal with problems instead of the police and they delight in that fact. that is what i mean by them being The Perfect Couple(TM)

[SLIDE 9] chengxian: disasters through and through

uhh i am going to be spending the entirety of this slide ignoring the fact that i personally consider them siblings

they would live in a dingy studio apartment in the heart of a city and theyd both never be home

theyre both super fucking rich but theyd never have any money on hand so dont be surprised if they just starve out on the street one day because theyre just that stupid

they collectively have the self esteem of rotting cabbage but theyre keeping themselves and each other alive purely out of spite and sheer force of will

[SLIDES 10] nielan: childhood friends to lovers AND himbo power couple

psst heres a secret: neither of them are actually himbos

H O W E V E R they both 500% pretend they are. they intentionally act as stupid as possible just for the fun of it

the best part is when they stop acting stupid when something important happens. crouching-moron-hidden-badass at its finest

also the older brother energy is overflowing. it does not matter who you are or how old you are. if you meet them then youre going to walk away with two new big brothers

[SLIDES 11] the end (unless i gather the willpower to make a part 2)

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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary: You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?"

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it.

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s.

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling.

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone.

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you.

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here.

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not.

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it.

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…?

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt.

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off.

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message.

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.”

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense.

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face.

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away.

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all.

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck.

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin.

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more.

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later.

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.”

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face.

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #modern!au #modern!din #din djarin fic #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandocrasis fic

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