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zepskies · 10 months

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Midnight Espresso

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

AN: The muse hit me hard on this one last night lol. I felt like "Midnight Espresso" was catchier than the working title, "Midnight Coffee Shots."

Thanks for the encouragement and inspo: @deanwinchesterswitch @iprobablyshipit91 @freewastelandstrawberry

Song Inspo: "2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)" by Lizzo

Word Count: 7,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, mutual pining, body insecurity, ass appreciation, supernatural shenanigans, naughty language, bad bitch o’clock and thicc thirty.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

When you spot the caller ID on your buzzing cell phone, you have to smile. You answer the call.

“Well if it isn’t Dean I need a favor Winchester,” you tease. You hear his genuine chuckle, deep and smooth in your car speakers.

“Hey, sweetheart…” He hesitates, which makes your lips curve wryly.

“Yeah, Dean? What’cha got?”

“I need a favor.”

You sigh dramatically. “So fucking predictable.”

“Sorry, but look. We really do need you…we’ve got a situation.”

“Oh, a situation? How specific,” you chuckle.

“All right, smartass,” he says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. “Just listen…”

When he tells you the lowdown on the case he and Sam are on, you have to change directions—all the way to a dusty little town in the south of Texas.

There you find the brothers Winchester outside La Cantina Libre.

You greet Sam first, stretching up to meet his hug. He’s friendly and warm when he rubs your back.

“Good to see you,” he says.

“You too, lumberjack,” you reply, noting the new layer of scruff he’s sporting on his face. Sam gives a dry chuckle and rubs his bearded chin.

“I keep tellin’ him to shave that ferret off his face,” Dean remarks. You turn to him with a grin just as he pulls you in next.

“Aw, he looks good,” you say, giving Sam an encouraging look behind Dean’s back. The taller Winchester sports a good-natured smile.

But you revel a bit in Dean’s warmth when he holds you tight, then let out a little breath when he pulls away, grasping your arms.

“So do you,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes and playfully hit his shoulder. “Right. Eight hours of cross-country grime really becomes me.”

But you can’t help blushing a little at his smirk. Always a fucking flirt.

You turn your head to the bar in front of you.

“What’s the deal with this place?”

“The husband of one of the victims is inside,” Sam explains.

According to the police report, his wife returned home from a night out with her friends three days ago. She sat down in the middle of the living room, on the ground. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t eat.

When Hector Rivera brought his wife to the hospital, neither fluids or medication helped her sleep or retain any nutrients. The official cause of death was starvation and dehydration.

It was a baffling case, both for the doctors and the police, who never found any criminal evidence to support a murder investigation.

“Okay, have you talked to Hector?” you ask. Dean raises his brows at you.

“That’s where you come in,” he says. “The guy only speaks Spanish. Neither me or Sam got the chops to Duolingo our way through.”

You can certainly believe that of Dean, but you still make sure to tease Sam on your way inside the bar. He’d studied Latin in high school, but hadn’t bothered to take Spanish?

“Definitely a white boy move,” you tease, which Sam accepts with a chuckle.

But you realize that the guys really would’ve been at a loss here. Most of the bar patrons are Spanish-speaking Latinos (you are a mere stone’s throw from the border of Mexico, after all).

You ask around for Hector and find him at the end of the bar, drinking alone. He’s early forties at most, dark hair, tan skin mere shades lighter than yours. He has three shots down in front of him, and he’s working on picking up his fourth. Sam and Dean trail after you as you slide into the stool next to Hector.

“Señor Rivera,” you greet him in your native tongue and pull out your fabricated police badge. “Good evening.”

He glances at you, then your badge with furrowed brows.

“What do you want?” he asks in Spanish, just a hint slurring.

“I’m very sorry about your wife. I know you’ve already given your statement, but we’re looking further into the circumstances surrounding Nina’s death,” you explain.

He perks up at that, his brown eyes briefly lighting with something other than cold, hard grief.

“The doctors couldn’t explain it, he admits. “They couldn’t do a damn thing. I just don’t understand…”

He glares down at his hands, at the glass of liquor between them. He fights to control himself, but you can see it’s a losing battle. You rest a gentle hand on his arm, and when Hector meets your eyes, you know he’ll find genuine sympathy.

“I want to help you,” you tell him. “At the very least, I can look for a real explanation on what happened to Nina. Can you tell me what you know?”

A moment later, he pats your hand on his arm. And he tells you.

Dean watches from his spot behind you while he and Sam blend in, each drinking a beer. Dean admires how easily you connect with people. How genuine you are in wanting to help them.

He knows you’ve spent years in this job. Maybe not as long as him, but long enough to get jaded. You aren’t, and you care.

Dean thinks it’s part of the reason why you always answer when he calls. You’ve never said no to him, always been there when he and Sam need you. And that, he somehow feels guilty about.

Because what the fuck has he really ever done for you, other than put you in danger?

“Dean,” Sam says, nudging his side.

It brings Dean back to the present when he sees you’re getting up from the bar. Despite his inner conflict, he can’t help but notice the curve of your ample ass in those tight jeans. An enticing ratio of thick thighs to smaller waist, and generous cup size to match.

But when you turn around, it’s your sad smile that grabs his attention. You draw near, and Dean forces himself to stay relaxed when your warm hand rests on his forearm.

It’s a familiar, comfortable thing for you to be touchy. You’re an expressive person, always talking with your hands, full-body animated when you tell stories.

Sometimes you’ll grab his wrist playfully, or brush your hand along his back when you pass by. Or you’ll grab his shoulder to steady yourself, and lean into him when you’ve had too much to drink.

Dean likes it—all of it. In fact, he finds it endearing as hell.

But it’s also a problem. A unique kind of torture to keep himself in check around you…

Frankly, he doesn’t think you know what your touch does to him.

In fact, he knows you don’t, because while you’ve got your smooth, tan hand on his arm, you’re more looking at Sam when you say:

“I think I know what this is.”

“El Sombrerón,” you repeat yourself as you flip through a book on South American lore.

“Shouldn’t you be an expert on this already?” Dean teases as you rifle through the pages. “I thought Latin American legends were right up your alley.”

The three of you are back at their delightfully crap motel of the week. You and Sam sit at the two-seater table while Dean leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

You shoot him a wry glance. “I’m Cuban, not Guatemalan. Though apparently, El Sombrerón appears in Mexican mythology as well.”

Hector said that the night his wife went to the bar with her friends, her friend Jennine saw a man with a black jacket and a hat to match.

She said he flirted with Nina, a sweet but introverted soul. She turned him down, of course, but he tried to cajole her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. That’s when Jennine stepped in and cursed the guy out, threatening to break his nose if he didn’t back off.

They didn’t see him again that night, but you suspect the damage had been done the moment he touched her…

“All right, so he’s a boogeyman of sorts,” Sam says, gesturing at the vivid illustration in the book he’s holding. You peer over at the page and nod.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the cautionary tale. A man dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat—”

“Like Zorro,” Dean supplies. You give him an amused grin.

“No, not like Zorro,” you reply. “Instead of being a fine-ass caped crusader with a voice deep and gritty as sin, El Sombrerón likes to lure women into the woods.”

Dean raises a brow at your description (Deep and gritty as sin, huh?), but you continue.

“Specifically, he’s got a fetish for long hair,” you recount. “Here it says El Sombrerón’s voice and touch are a curse, rendering his victims unable to eat or sleep. Eventually, they die.”

That falls between you all like hot lead. Until Sam voices the question you’re all thinking.

“So how do we find him?”

“For the record, I’m against this fucking idea,” Dean mutters to his brother. Once again, they’re patrons of La Cantina Libre, each nursing a beer.

“Yeah, you’ve made that known a few times now,” Sam replies in a low whisper. “She’ll be okay, Dean. We’re right here for her.”

They’re just on standby, watching you ignore flirtations from men with a coy smile. You leave a delicate ring of red lipstick on your straw while you nurse a Tequila Sunrise.

Dean subtly (to Sam, not so subtly) watches you. His elbow rests on the counter, chin in hand, hand over mouth, while his eyes roam down your simple black dress. Your ankles are crossed under the bar counter. The toe of your platform heel bouncing against the foot rail is the only thing telling Dean that you’re a bit nervous.

You’ve let your hair down on purpose, trying to entice the “Zorro” monster with the smooth waves running down your back.

On any other night, Dean might’ve enjoyed this place. He has a good beer in hand. There’s some live music tonight, in the form of a man playing a shiny silver guitar, crooning into the mic. You turn your head to watch for a moment, and Dean sees the way your gaze sharpens on the musician.

The man wears a black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tucked neatly into his dark wash jeans. His black hair is long and a little wild, almost brushing his shoulders. While he holds out a smooth note, he looks up and finds your gaze. His lips curve on a smile.

Your face heats up at the attention, but you find yourself captivated by those eyes. They’re intense, almost black under the stage lights. And as the musician’s song comes to a close, you feel a trill of something run down your spine when he sets down his silver guitar.

Then he makes his way toward you.

He settles into the free seat next to you and orders two tequila shots.

“I have a drink, thanks,” you say. The man only smiles.

“You’ve been holding onto that Sunrise for two hours,” he says. “I just thought you might like something stronger, before the sun actually comes up.”

Inside, you want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line.

Instead, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and his gaze is drawn to the motion. You notice it with mounting suspicion.

“Maybe I do,” you reply. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel,” he says, offering a charming smile. “And yours, amor?”

You consider him with flirtatious eyes and a tilt of your head. You’re fairly certain you have your target.

You lay a hand on his arm, over his jacket. You lean in close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Do you really need my name?” you ask in Spanish.

Miguel smirks when you lean back. He offers you his hand to help you off of your stool. Wary of actually touching his skin to yours, you try your best to be graceful and sensuous as you slide out of your seat and onto your heels without his help. You then walk out of the bar through the back without waiting for him to follow you (hoping that he does).

Your instincts are right, however. When you make it out of the bar, Miguel is indeed closing in behind you. You glance over your shoulder, offering a coy smile. But when you look ahead, you have to utter a gasp.

Miguel is suddenly there to grab you and pull you in by your waist.

“When will your friends be joining us?” he asks, trailing a finger down your cheek. It makes you shudder, but you pretend to be confused.

“Friends?”

“Dumb and dumber, watching you like a hawk,” he says, raising a brow. “Oh, mi amor. I know a pack of hunters when I see them.”

Sam and Dean watch the musician run back for his guitar, slipping it carefully in its case before he takes off after you.

“Get the guitar. Got a feeling about that thing,” Dean says to Sam. “I’ll follow ‘em.”

The moment Dean walks out the back of the bar, he stops short and draws his gun. His body tenses and his face falls into a glare when he sees Miguel holding you close (and against your will). But Miguel catches sight of Dean.

He forcefully turns you around and wraps an arm across your chest, pulling you back as you struggle.

“Good evening,” Miguel greets with a smirk. He nods at the full moon. “Beautiful night for a lover’s serenade.”

His voice alone is a threat, Dean knows. And by the way your eyes widen, so do you.

“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” Dean snarks. “Mind if I call you Mike?”

He raises his gun, but Miguel tsks at him. You grit your teeth as he pulls your hair back away from your cheek. His breath is hot an unpleasant in your ear, causing you to shudder.

“I do wish we had more time, amor,” he says, trailing a hand down your ass and thigh. “I like to play with my food.”

A hot lance of anger runs through Dean, but it runs even hotter through you, igniting your temper and making your patience run right the fuck out. You snap your head back and catch Miguel in the nose. He wrenches back with a pained cry.

You try to ignore the resulting ache in your head and reach for the silver knife in your thigh holster, beneath your dress. But Miguel grabs you by the hair. Suddenly his face has become grotesque, revealing its true form with a mouth filled with sharp, needle-like teeth.

You gasp as a trill of magic runs through your body from his touch. It paralyzes you as he wrenches your neck back and prepares to bite a chunk right out of your neck.

But Dean shoots a warning shot by the creature’s head, all-too close to yours as he approaches.

“Hey!” Sam calls out. He attracts everyone’s attention, even Miguel’s. Sam holds the silver guitar.

“This is what you use to play Pied Piper, right?” Sam asks. Miguel’s face hardens, but before he can do anything about it, Sam smashes the guitar to smithereens on the gravel road.

Miguel lets out an outraged hiss. While he’s distracted, Dean takes another shot that hits the creature in the shoulder. It gives you the opening you need to grab your knife and stab him in the leg.

Miguel cries out in pain, but before you can scramble away, he grabs your face. His sharpened nails bite into your skin, making you wince. You manage to kick out his knee. It forces him to release you, unless he wants to eat the ground hard.

Sam is there to catch you while Dean closes in. He shoots, the creature evades, grabbing Dean’s wrist and punching him across the face. The hunter goes down to the gravel with hands held out to brace himself. But he has a large knife on his belt that he retrieves next, only to be knocked out of his hand when Miguel bears on him.

He throws off Sam’s attempt to pull him off Dean, throwing him hard against the dumpster in the alley.

While Dean grapples bare-handed with the monster, trying his best to evade gnashing teeth in his face, you find his discarded knife and bury it deep into Miguel’s back.

He howls with pain and tries to throw you off. He manages to backhand you in the face and shove you away. You nearly roll an ankle on the small rocks rolling under your heels, and you end up on your back with the wind knocked out of you.

But Dean’s able to kick Miguel off and finish what you started. Dean pins the man on the ground and twists the knife deeper. And he doesn’t let go until the creature below him stops twitching.

Dean takes in deep breaths to account for the way adrenaline has set his blood pumping. He still sits on the ground with the body next to him. But then, he finds you kneeling next to him in your now dusty dress. Your eyes are worried when you grasp his shoulder and lay another hand lightly on his scuffed knee.

Dean reaches for you on reflex, grabbing your arm. Both of you manage to ask your burning questions at the same time—

“You okay?”

“Are you all right?”

You crack first with a giggle. Dean quirks a grin and thumbs at your cheek.

“Yeah, all good,” he says.

Your relieved smile reaches your eyes, and it warms him. “Good.”

Behind you both, Sam hides his own knowing smile.

Sam and Dean invite you to stay over at the bunker after the hunt, instead of making the even longer drive home. You’re too exhausted to say no.

By the time you get to the bunker, you’re dead on your feet, practically swaying down the stairs.

“I’m so fuckin’ tiiiired…”

“Come on, stop whining,” Dean teases as he helps you down. Sam has dropped your duffel bag on the ground floor and gone on ahead to shower, leaving you and Dean to figure this out.

“Why don’t you just take off the heels?” he wryly suggests.

“Hell no,” you refuse with a stubborn shake of your head.

You don’t want to contemplate how much monster guts have glossed the stairs of this bunker, via the brothers’ boots.

Maybe it’s a silly reason to suffer, but is it really suffering if you have Dean Winchester escorting you with both hands down the stairs?

His hands are warm and you trust the strength of his hold, but when your heel wobbles on the edge of a step, you still go for the railing rather than sink all your weight on Dean. He laughs at you, and you maturely stick out a tongue at him.

“At this point, it’d be faster if I freakin’ carried you,” Dean remarks. He reaches for you, but you stop him with a heel in his sternum.

“Eh-eh! Don’t even try,” you laugh. “I totally got this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but you lower your heeled foot and manage to climb down the last few steps of the rickety staircase…at least, what your exhausted brain thinks is the last one.

You almost go ass over tea kettle when you miss the final stair with a yelp—but Dean is there to catch you.

His arms are like steel bands around your frame, curving around your lower back and pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp and cling to his arms. When you look up at him with wide eyes, you find his amused face…and maybe something else in his eyes. He tilts his head down at you.

“Well, well. Look who keeps falling for me?” he remarks.

You blush at the flirtatious edge of his tone. The gleam in his green eyes; you take it for amusement only, not realizing that he’s barely resisting the urge to claim your lips.

“Right,” you laugh him off with a pat on his chest. “When was the first time again?”

You make sure your heels are firmly on the ground before you push away from Dean. As you thought, he doesn’t try to keep you. He still looks amused as he lets you go.

He flirts with anything, you remind yourself, when disappointment starts to carve a hole in your heart. Don’t take it so seriously.

You say goodnight before you take up your duffel bag and go to find a free bedroom (and a hot shower). All the while, you bite your lip against a deep-seated feeling of uncertainty.

Dean watches you go, and you don’t see the way his mask of a smile fades into a frown.

After a nice hot shower and changing into your pajamas, that moment with Dean has unsettled you enough that you're not quite ready to go to sleep. Maybe you’re in the mood for a midnight snack.

You take out a couple of supplies from your bag and head over to the kitchen. There you set up your little cafetera coffee press with water, and a generous few tablespoons of Café Bustelo grounds of espresso. While that brews on the stove, you make some popcorn in the microwave.

You don’t realize that the rich smell reaches Dean all the way in his room. He sniffs the air in interest, then in confusion.

She’s making coffee at midnight?

He gets up out of bed and pads down to the kitchen where you’ve taken over. A large bowl of popcorn is ready and waiting for him to snatch a handful, while you’re checking the little metal carafe you have going on the stove.

“What’cha up to, sweetheart?” he asks. You greet him with a smile.

“Café con leche,” you reply.

Coffee with milk, he mentally translates. That much, he can work out.

“You drink coffee at this time of night?” he asks.

“My people invented it. I’ve been inoculated to this stuff since I was eight years old,” you quip. “Want some? Believe me, you’ll love it.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But if I end up too wired to fucking sleep, be prepared to suffer with me.”

You laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something to do.”

Dean’s not sure if you meant that as flirtatious as it sounded. But by your briefly widening eyes and blushing cheeks, maybe you just realized it. He smirks and draws closer while you break out two mugs from the cabinet.

He notices your chosen pajamas with secret appreciation (a large threadbare Journey shirt over spandex shorts). You fill the little shorts out well.

Though Dean spots several small holes in the shirt. He teasingly sticks his finger through one in your short sleeve.

“Lose a fight with a pair of scissors?” he jokes.

You shoot him an amused glance over your shoulder.

“You are the reigning king of dad jokes. I’ll have you know, this is my lucky shirt.”

He snorts in response. “What makes it lucky?”

You just bite your lip and focus back on your task at hand. With the coffee done percolating, you measure out two steaming shots of espresso into each mug.

“Hey, you brought it up,” Dean reminds you.

You sigh, and after you pour in the sugar and the evaporated milk into each mug, you turn around and lean against the counter.

“I’ve never had a bad dream while wearing this shirt to bed,” you confess. His teasing gentles at that.

When you turn back around to put the finishing touches on what you’re doing, Dean’s expression becomes more fond as he watches you.

You then offer him his Batman mug with a brighter smile.

“Buen provecho,” you say.

“What does that mean?” he asks predictably, taking the mug from you.

“Enjoy! Like bon appetite, basically.”

“Ah,” he raises his brows before he takes a sip. Then they raise even higher as he hums in pleasure. “Ooh, it’s sweet…and strong. Shit.”

“Very,” you say with a chuckle, taking your own sip. You make a sound of delight, complete with a little “happy dance” shimmy. “Almost as good as my grandma makes it.”

Dean smiles in amusement at your antics. The two of you sit at the kitchen island, where there are three stools and the bowl of popcorn. The salty snack is just the right balance for the sweet coffee.

“She taught you how to make this?” he asks.

You nod. “Yep! She’s an amazing cook too. Learned everything I know from her.”

“Hmm, might need to sample something of yours sometime,” Dean says, peering at you over his mug. His tone is deceptively light, but you read the double meaning in his eyes.

You hide the way your mouth falls open behind your own mug. Instead of answering, you nod and take a delicate sip. Your gaze veers away from his as you blush.

He’s in a good mood tonight, you think in bemusement.

“So tell me. What are the best curse words in Spanish?” Dean asks.

You have to laugh. Your head ducks as you reach for his arm. His eyes briefly go to your hand, and he smirks.

“Of course that’s the first thing you want to know,” you tease. You take back your hand and think about his question. “Hmm…I mean, there are the basics. Coño, carajo. Like 'damn it,' 'fucking hell,' and so forth.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Dean says.

“Well, yeah,” you say with a grin. “Comemierda is a Cuban fan favorite.”

“Which means?”

“Literally? Someone who eats shit,” you laugh. “A stupid asshole, basically.”

Dean’s grin deepens. “Nice.”

“The best one of all time is probably…ugh, my mom would wash my mouth out with soap for even saying it.” You cover your face with both hands, but Dean nudges your elbow.

“Come on, give it to me,” he teases. You peek out at him from between your hands. Then you stage whisper to him.

“Hijo de la gran puta,” you say. It rolls off your tongue in such a way that, even though Dean knows it’s vulgar in some way, the ease in which you say it raises the hairs on his arms.

“I like that,” he says.

You giggle at him. “You don’t even know what the fuck it means.”

“Don’t matter. I just like how it sounds,” he says. “Gimme the Google Translate.”

You shoot him a narrowed look for that one. “It means son of the grand whore. Literally, the chiefest of them all. The grand poohbah of whores.”

Dean splutters with laughter. His hand slaps the table, and you shush him, reminding him that Sam is probably sleeping by now.

“It’s literally one of the worst things you can say to somebody,” you say, though you’re also choking on laughter. By the end of it, you and Dean are chortling like fools and getting high on espresso and sugar.

You teach him how to roll his r’s, and at his request, more slang. You explain how certain Hispanics and Latino cultures use different words for the same thing (at times, very confusing), and how something innocent to an American, like a papaya fruit, means something very different for Cubans.

For Dean’s part, he’s genuinely interested in what you have to teach him. But he also just likes hearing you speak the language. It rolls off your tongue gracefully, effortless and sensuous without you meaning to. He likes it enough that he tells you his honest thoughts.

“It all sounds incredibly hot, I’m not gonna lie,” he says with a chuckle. You blush at that, something he finds endearing.

“You sound like my ex,” you say in amusement. “He only went out with me to help him with his Spanish.”

Dean sobers a bit at that. “What?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle dryly. “He was trying to land some job as a strip club bouncer, but we were in Miami at the time. They needed someone bilingual.”

Dean doesn’t like the resigned tone of your voice.

“Yeah well, the bouncer?” he remarks, trying for a teasing bump of his hand against yours. “Come on. You should at least be aiming for the owner.”

You flash him a brief smile and nod. “Ah, so I set my sights too low. Got it.”

It’s then that Dean starts to wonder about the kinds of guys you’ve gotten with in the past. Not that he has room to judge, but he can see that there was no love lost there for you.

Dean has a thought, deep in his bones, that you deserve someone who sees how special you are. How kind, funny, loyal, caring…

“Seriously,” Dean says. “You can do better.”

“Right,” you laugh. But he’s not laughing. You raise a brow at him.

“What?” you ask.

His lips purse, but he thinks better of what he wants to say.

“Nothing. ‘S none of my business,” he says.

You stare back at him and frown thoughtfully. You think you’re lucky to get a date, the way you constantly move around.

You don’t have stability, and even though you try to keep in shape, try to avoid the shittier fast food, it’s been a challenge to maintain yourself. You worry that you’ve gained five pounds in diner food alone in the past couple of months…

Okay, mostly, you’re happy with your curves. But the way Dean’s looking at you now, you can’t help a flutter of hope that rises in your chest, making your heart beat faster.

Maybe you’re finally ready to know how he really sees you.

“Talk to me, Dean,” you nod, and you reach out a hand to grasp his wrist.

He looks down at your hand. After a moment, he sighs and lays his own over yours. He meets your gaze.

“Look, I think I hear what you’re not saying,” Dean says. “And you’re sellin’ yourself short, sweetheart. That’s all.”

It takes you a moment, but a soft smile spreads across your face. It warms him in a way he doesn’t expect, but maybe he should.

Biting your lip with a bit of embarrassment, you squeeze his hand before you get up to take the two empty mugs with you to the sink.

“Que hombre tan pendejo, hermoso,” you mutter. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces.”

You don’t realize that Dean actually hears you. He perks up, standing from his seat and approaching you from behind.

“What was that?” he asks.

You jump slightly, and a blush burns down your neck as you turn off the sink and spin back around. Dean is there, crossing his arms and staring you down with a raised brow. A hint of a smirk begins to edge around his mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, no. You said something just now,” he says. Like a dog with a bone, he’s not going to let this one go.

Your lips threaten to smile, but you shake your head stubbornly. “You’ll just have to invest in that Duolingo subscription.”

Dean joins you by the sink. His hand braces on the kitchen counter.

“Well, either you’re insulting me, or you’re flirting with me,” Dean says.

His lips then edge into a smirk. “The first one I could forgive, but the second…might require some retribution.”

Your eyes slowly widen. “What, why?”

Dean has to chuckle, because your expression is all but an admission of guilt. It’s too damn adorable.

“Because you can’t flirt with me without me knowin’ about it,” he says. “That’s just rude.”

His hands brace the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. The only way to get through him is to tell him the truth, or suffer the consequences.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and a full flush across your tan skin. Is he actually doing this right now?

Your heart beats loud in your ears like conga drums.

“So which is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks. His playful, but singularly focused green-eyed gaze tells you he really does want an answer.

“Well, it was kinda both,” you say with a shy, but mischievous smile. Dean’s smirk deepens.

He tucks a finger beneath your chin and lets his thumb brush your full lower lip…

Then he leans down to kiss you thoroughly. His plush lips move over yours, hot, wet, and sinfully good.

But it’s also short—much too short for your liking when he parts from you to gauge your reaction. He seems to like what he finds in your eyes.

“Was that the punishment?” you tease. “Kinda weak.”

Dean raises a brow. “Consider it a start.”

He pulls you into him by your waist and continues where he left off, with another searing kiss. You hum with pleasure against his lips as your fingers delve into his hair.

His hands move down your back, making a shiver of delight coarse through you. They land on cradling your ass, squeezing and pressing you into him.

You gasp into his mouth. You can feel his length already hard against you. That alone trills anticipation down your spine, and a dizzy feeling, the fact that your touch is turning him on. You nip at his lower lip in response, licking into his mouth. It elicits a sound deep in his throat as his touch becomes more demanding.

He then bends down to reach behind your thighs, and before you know what’s happening, you squeal when he lifts you up on the counter.

You grab his shoulders like a cat clinging to the edge of a bath.

Damn, he’s strong!

“What’s the matter?” he laughs.

“I’m just not used to being manhandled,” you quip. “These hips don’t lie, but they definitely don’t fly.”

Dean snorts. “Says who?”

“My ex, for one thing,” you joke again. Though it isn’t actually a joke.

Dean, again, isn’t laughing.

His hands aren’t large enough to span your thighs, but it’s not for lack of trying. His firm touch burning up your parted thighs are distracting, warm over your skin, and over your thin shorts. His thumbs dip between your inner thighs, making you breathe a bit more shallowly.

“I get the feeling that you’ve been with some ain’t shit guys,” Dean says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with the rest of ‘em.”

Your eyes widen. Dean grins down at you and takes the opportunity to kiss you again. His hand disappears in your hair and he presses kisses down your neck. A pleasant tingle breaks out across your skin as you tilt your head for him, giving him access.

Your fingers begin toying with his collar and glide down his chest. Unlike you, everything about him is firm, you think. But you start to think that he likes your softness, the thickness of your curves.

You didn’t take him for an ass man, but he seems very happy to get a fistful of it. It’s as flattering as it is arousing.

“I’ve wanted to get this perfect ass in my hands since the day we met,” he says. His voice is deep, full of grit and desire, but what he says next surprises you even more.

“Wanted to ask you out that night,” he confesses.

You pause at that. You met Sam and Dean two years ago already. The fact that he’d wanted to ask you out was one thing, but he’d been holding onto this for two years?

“Really?” you ask.

Dean reads your incredulity, huffing a laugh. “You’re really finding that hard to believe right now?”

He rocks against your clothed core so you can feel his reaction to you. You instinctively gasp and hold onto him. You slide your arms around his back to keep him close, even though you’re blushing. He holds you back, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Well, why didn’t you then?” you ask. But he hesitates to answer you.

“Dean?” you press.

“It…never seemed the right time,” he says. “And to be honest, you didn’t seem all that interested.”

Until now, goes unspoken. But you frown up at him.

“You don’t really believe that,” you say.

Dean leans back a bit, so you move your hands to his chest, gripping the fabric of his undershirt to he doesn’t go too far. He looks down at you, a bit uncertain for the first time. You can’t believe that he could possibly be insecure about your interest and affections.

“I attract a lot of crap in my life,” he admits. “Shit you want no part of.”

You soften further at that. Someone who was just going to hook up with you once and never call you again didn’t consider things like that. You grab onto the lapels of his plaid shirt and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Well, that’s a stupid reason,” you say. Is this the real reason he only calls you when he really needs the help?

Maybe it’s his convoluted way of protecting you…while maybe, still wanting to see you.

“It’s really not,” Dean shakes his head. “Truth be told…I’m no good for you either.”

That disheartens you.

You’re in this job too. And while you know that Sam and Dean are often at the center of a lot of Apocalypse-level shit, you still don’t think it’s an excuse to keep both you and Dean from possibly…being happy.

His gaze is steady, until it starts to lower away from you. You take his face in your hands, picking him back up to meet your eyes. Your thumbs caress the prickly stubble along his cheeks.

“Apparently I get with a lot of ain’t shit guys,” you reply, “but you’re definitely not one of them, Dean.”

He flickers at a smile, but he still isn’t convinced you two should do this after all.

So it’s up to you, you realize.

You bring him down to you for a kiss. It’s slow at first. You ply him with short, sweet presses of your lips to his. But then you both inhale as you deepen the kiss, tilting your head and prying his lips with your tongue. He can’t help but welcome you in, and he takes you back into his arms.

You smile against his lips, letting your hands run down his chest and under the top layer of plaid. He shrugs out of it, then the undershirt as you help him tug it up. It falls in a heap on the floor, followed closely by your hole-ridden Journey shirt, then your little shorts.

Dean takes in the sight of your flushed skin, the rise and fall of your breasts, and even the hesitant downturn of your lips. You’re a bit self-conscious, bared for him for the first time, but he doesn’t give you a reason to have any reservations.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, rolling his thumbs over the hardening buds. You let out a shaky breath against his lips, and you veer away from his mouth to burn a hot, wet trail down his neck. His voice rumbles, and you smile, nipping playfully and touching him wherever you see fit.

“Tell me what you said before,” he rasps into your ear.

You remain playfully tight-lipped as you continue to shower his bare skin with affection. But your breath hitches when a hand leaves your breast to once again slide up the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” he says. “That’s why I need you tell me…”

You lean close to his ear and whisper. “Nope.”

Dean’s chuckle shakes his frame. His other hand cups your cheek, slipping into your hair. You hold him to you, and for the first time it’s skin to skin, with your breasts pressing against his chest.

“All right…you sure I can’t convince you?” he asks. There’s a note of warning that you’re just a bit too slow to detect.

His fingers swiftly bypass your panties, pushing them aside so he can tease the seam of your pussy.

You bite your lip and lean back enough to see his face, to see the mischievous edge of his smirk. You inhale sharply when two of his fingers slip in and probe in your wet heat, but don’t go further than your entrance.

“Dean,” you whine. “Please…”

“Tell me,” he insists, “what you said.”

His lips graze your cheek, down the column of your neck. You feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin. Meanwhile, your pussy is pulsing with need, all but chasing his fingers that do no more than brush and tease. Your nails accidently bite into his shoulders in frustration.

He sucks in a pained breath. You gasp and apologize, soothing over his skin.

Dean just laughs and noses along your throat. He knows exactly what you need, but he wants to win the game.

At this point, you just want him.

So finally, you admit it. You confess into his ear the things you whispered in your mother tongue.

“I said, you dumb, beautiful man,” you say, smiling with your cheek pressed against his. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Dean grins into your neck. You really don’t realize it. But to him, your voice is rich as black velvet, and sexy as hell. Doesn’t matter what language you’re speaking.

Two of his fingers sink deeply into your pussy. You whimper, squeezing gratefully around his hand.

“Please, Dean…”

“I got you, baby. Just relax,” he says with a grin.

He explores your inner channel and begins to discover what you respond to, what angles make you grip onto him tighter, make your voice keen higher, especially when his thumb circles over your clit.

You cling to him for dear life, gripping his hair, uttering encouragements (not all of them in English), and finally praises when that hot coil within you snaps and releases.

Dean holds you while you come over his hand. You’re squeezing the shit out of him, really, in every way possible. But when that dam breaks, all you can do is lean against him and try to catch your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he chuckles. He rubs your back, pets your hair.

“I’m…” you trail. You lean back and take his smug face in your hands, and you kiss him. You put into that gesture what your voice fails to confess.

And when both of you run out of breath, Dean pulls back just enough to see your eyes.

“We’re not done, by any damn means,” he says. That coffee still has him wired. And at this point, his cock is throbbing with need. “But let’s head over to my room.”

“Yeah, I think I need to help you with this before you implode,” you tease him with a gentle hand along his rock-hard length. He utters a strained sound that makes you sympathetic.

But before anything else, you caress his cheek fondly. Tonight matters to you, and you think it matters to him too. Dean flashes you a rare, boyish grin that has you smiling even harder.

Damn it. You might just love this man.

He helps you down from the counter, though his arms stay wrapped around you because of your jelly legs. His resolution is to pick you up over his shoulder.

“Let’s fly, baby!” With a swift spank of your ass, he carries you the rest of the way to his room. You squeal and try to stifle your giggles all the way there.

One thing’s for sure. Sam is going to hate you both in the morning.

AN: 😂 Well, that was fun! Please let me know what you thought.

**Just to preface, I am in fact a plus-sized Latina (Cuban, Puerto Rican and Dominican)! 🌶️🌶️

And I just want to say, I wrote a specific plus-sized body type here, but we're all different and equally beautiful in our shapes, skin tones, and otherwise outward trappings.

I like to think of us as a box of lovely assorted chocolates (not the cheap factory-made bullshit either. The chocolatier, handmade assortments that cost an arm and a leg, shipping not included).

Each delectable and unique, with something extra special inside. 😘

Keep Reading:

Yes, this has become a series! Next up is "Devour Me":

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for.

▶️ Next Story: Devour Me (Part 1)

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@sleepyqueerenergy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @skyesthebomb @mimaria420 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @teehxk @hobby27 @luvs4dria

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woonhakist · 10 months

Text

WHO!

INSPIRATION — the storyline of boynextdoor’s music videos/songs from their debut single, WHO!

GENRE — social media au, summer break au, rom-com, reverse harem, choose your own adventure (for part 3)

PAIRING — non-idol!boynextdoor x fem!reader

CHARACTERS — boynextdoor, jisung + chenle of nct (part 2 + 3) winter of aespa (part 2 + 3), possibly more

WARNINGS — cursing, sexual jokes (no smut), death jokes, mainly boynextdoor-focused, no y/n + friends tweets til part 2 (but y/n is mentioned ALL throughout part 1), mainly y/n-focused during part 3, mostly/entirely on twitter bcuz i couldn’t find a messaging app i was satisfied with, ignore time stamps and all that, characters are works of fiction NOT an accurate representation of the people used (more to be added in upcoming chapters)

TAGLIST — (OPEN) send an ask, dm, comment, etc!

STATUS — small hiatus!

NOTES — it’ll probably be a little while before this is officially out, but i wanted to release the masterlist because i am SO excited about this omfg i’ve been so absorbed in boynextdoor lately and i figured that’d be the perfect fuel for my second smau🤞another thing, my default for the parts is 10 chapters, but i may give or take from the length depending on how i see fit

first knock!

inspiration!

SYNOPSIS — sungho, riwoo, jaehyun, taesan, leehan, and woonhak all find a summer crush to call their own, but it turns out that you’re the one they all call their own.

PROFILES (1) | PROFILES (2)

1. i know where my baddie lives

2. overglorified wattpad fanfiction

3. bagging the bitches (literally)

4. the circumference of a goldfish

5. to rep or to love, that is the question

6. can picasso ride these wheels?

7. coming soon!

8. coming soon!

9. coming soon!

10. coming soon!

second knock!

inspiration!

SYNOPSIS — each boy—self-deemed as “the most desperate”—scramble to gain the courage to ask you out before the others can. amidst the rivalry, they decide to call it off to make the playing field even. in other words, they decide to confess to you together with an utmost chaotic serenade.

PROFILES (3)

1. coming soon!

2. coming soon!

3. coming soon!

4. coming soon!

5. coming soon!

6. coming soon!

7. coming soon!

8. coming soon!

9. coming soon!

10. coming soon!

third knock!

inspiration!

SYNOPSIS — the boys’ midnight fiasco tips over your internal dominoes, sparking a conflict between your head and your heart. despite your brain’s chants to reject all of the boys, your heart rebels, beating faster and faster for…

❥ SUNGHO — coming soon!

❥ RIWOO — coming soon!

❥ JAEHYUN — coming soon!

❥ TAESAN — coming soon!

❥ LEEHAN — coming soon!

❥ WOONHAK — coming soon!

start — 7/18/23

end — n/a

#woonhakist #who!#boynextdoor #boynextdoor smau #boynextdoor au #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor crack #boynextdoor texts #boynextdoor fanfic #sungho x reader #riwoo x reader #myung jaehyun x reader #taesan x reader #leehan x reader #woonhak x reader

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jkbabiey · 1 year

Text

Rock Bottom | PJM

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, angst, fluff, smut, establishedrelationship!AU, marriage! AU

⇢ Synopsis: When, in a four-year marriage, you get to the point where you question its worth, you know that’s your rock bottom. How many I’m sorry’s will you handle? How many times are too many times?

⇢ Song Rec: Rock Bottom by Hailee Steinfeld, Teach Me by Kyle Dion, Sorry by Heize, Home by Ailee and Yoon Mirae, Tide by Woodz, Pride and Prejudice by ZICO and Suran, Want You Back by 5SOS

⇢ Word Count: ~4.7K

⇢ Warnings: brat OC, anger issues in here, this is honestly a sad angsty au, workaholic Jimin, frustrated OC and frustrated Jimin, unprotected sex, Jimin doesn't care about sleep, OC may be lacking some self-respect but Jimin will fix that for her

⇢ Authors note: After a long time without writing, I'm back. I loved writing this. It was supposed to be a Jungkook one-shot like always, but then I realized that it fits Jimin's vibe so much better. So I decided to change it up :)) Really like how it turned out tho. Enjoy <3

You loved Jimin with all your heart.

You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else. Five years into your marriage and he still erupted the most euphoric butterflies in your stomach. A thousand of them. Everything from his voice, to the way he snored softly when he slept, to the way he looked at you... You loved him.

Your life with Jimin felt like a fairytale. Always had. You married in a botanic garden after 4 years of secret dating, with all his and your family and friends by your side. You bought a house together right after, figuring the one you had been living in until then wasn't big enough for a future family, and have been living in it together for four years now.

Tonight was the fourth anniversary of your marriage. Four years since Jimin officially became yours and you became his.

So you had asked your boss to leave work earlier today and rushed home, at 5 PM, to prepare Jimin's favorite dish. You also bought vanilla-scented candles and an extra pretty table towel on the way home. You texted Jimin a quick 'can u be home by 9?' and got a 'yup, I'll be there' back. You were sure Jimin didn't remember what today meant - but you didn't blame him and didn't even have the strength to get mad at him. He was a busy man and you knew his work required his full attention. Most of the time, you stood in second place in his priorities. And, surprisingly, after four years of dating him and another four of being married to him, you had gotten used to that.

You took a shower after the food was ready and the table set, at 7:55 PM, and put on the prettiest, sexiest lacy black lingerie you owned - the one you knew Jimin loved. You squeezed into the tightest black dress you saw after searching your walk-in closet, and the prettiest high heels. You let your hair natural and loose like you knew Jimin liked and did your make-up - red lips and a pointed eyeliner. You looked amazing.

All for Jimin.

At 9 PM you headed downstairs and sat down patiently at the dinner table, after lighting the candles. At 9:30 PM you texted Jimin a 'u coming?' and at 10 PM you still had no answer. At 11 PM, you looked out the window, searching for his black shiny car and at midnight you were blowing out the candles that were almost completely melted at this point. You headed upstairs, finally losing all hope that Jimin would still show up to have an anniversary dinner with you, his wife, because, after all, it wasn't your birthday anymore. You hadn't seen your husband at all throughout the whole day, since he had chosen to sleep in the dorms the prior night - always the busy man.

At 2 AM Jimin wasn't home yet and you weren't asleep, because you had started to worry. What if something had happened? Jimin would call if he noticed he wouldn't be able to make it home at 9, right? So at 2:20 AM, when Jimin got to his car to head home and turned on his phone, after turning it off to focus on his work, he noticed the 14 missed calls and 9 worried text messages. All from you.

At 2:35 AM you heard the bedroom door open and you sighted in relief watching Jimin coming through it, from your seating position in your bed, under the covers. You didn't say a word, noticing Jimin's late realization of the compromise he had missed - if you hadn't left the table set in the dining room, you're pretty sure he probably wouldn't be aware of it yet. You laid down, ripping your disappointed gaze from his, with your back against him.

"Baby..." you heard him mutter and closed your eyes "I'm sorry I forgot, I didn't know you had prepared dinner for us-"

"Don't talk Jimin," you interrupted, knowing there was no way that Jimin would be able to make you feel better or make himself feel better right that moment. Hot-headed Y/N wasn't cool to talk to. "Let me sleep."

Jimin didn't say a thing. You heard the ruffling of his clothes being thrown to the armchair inside your walk-in closet. His steps towards the bathroom sounded heavy and slow - tired.

You knew Jimin was tired. He had been having full days of practice, producing and recording, for the new album. You did understand how he could forget the dinner, but the fact that he did forget just reminded you how you'd never be at the top of his mind, like he was at the top of yours, all the time. And, no matter how you tried to push it to the side, it still hurt.

Jimin, on the other side of the door that separated you guys' bathroom and bedroom, couldn't feel worse for leaving you waiting after seeing the pretty dress you had worn for him thrown across the bathroom bench and your heels neatly placed on the tiled floor, next to the door. When he got back inside the bedroom, he heard the quiet sobs you were trying to hide from him, your shaking back facing his side of the bed, and your shiny hair laid out on the bed, on top of his pillow.

Jimin felt bad, but he couldn't understand why you'd be so upset over a missed dinner. He knew you had gotten dressed up and had cooked for him - but you could have dinner tomorrow or eat the food you had prepared and that he knew was delicious by lunch.

Your anniversary was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Y/N, can we talk?". When you didn't answer, he placed a gentle hand on your exposed shoulder, turning your body towards him. "I know you're not asleep, baby."

"Leave me alone," you cried, turning around abruptly to get rid of Jimin's hand, which was now rubbing your arm. Jimin's heart clenched when your eyes finally rested on his and he saw the pain behind your teary gaze.

"I'm sorry," Jimin whispered, not bothering your aggressiveness and still resting his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. "We can have lunch tomorrow, or you can put on your dress and heels and I'll take you to an expensive restaurant," he laughed lightly watching you roll your eyes at him.

"I wanted to have dinner tonight, Jimin," you whined, trying to wipe your tears away. Jimin laid down next to you, evolving your waist in his strong arms and pulling your body closer to his, now face-to-face. He kissed the tip of your nose and your tear-stained cheeks, smiling at how adorable you looked to him with pouted lips and wet lashes.

"Why's that? Tomorrow the weather is gonna be better than tonight, tonight is cold. I can take you out tomorrow and you won't be cold in that dress," he joked while your lips parted in realization. He still hadn't remembered what today had been.

You knew Jimin had forgotten what day today was. But you thought that seeing the dinner laid out on the dinner table had reminded him that tonight was your fourth anniversary. He couldn't really think you'd prepare such a fancy dinner just for fun, right? "Are you kidding me?" you asked, your gaze regaining the anger it had lost shortly. The panic was back in your husband's eyes and he didn't know what was wrong now. "Do you even know what today is?"

"Wha-"

"Jimin, today was the 6th of April. Do you know what that means?" you asked and when Jimin's eyes wandered around the space behind you, looking for an answer, you grabbed his arm and lifted it off your waist, getting up from your bed.

Not only had Jimin forgotten your birthday, but he was also completely unaware of what the 6th of April was supposed to mean like it wasn't the day he had gotten married to you - what did that say about him? what did it say about what you meant to him? and above all that, what did it say about your relationship?

"Y/N, calm down. I'm sorry. I don-don't... I can't remember," he said, his tone getting smaller and smaller. He rubbed his temples, trying his best so that something would come to his mind. Nothing.

"Oh my god, Jimin," you laughed ironically, covering your face with both your hands, as tears started forming in your eyes once again. "You really don't know what happened on the 6th of April?"

Jimin didn't answer, looking at you with confused eyes. "Why am I not surprised?" you chortled, almost sounding mean to Jimin. "This is what always happens! You're always too busy. Too busy with work. Too busy to take care of yourself! Too busy to take care of me! Too busy to even think of me-"

"That's not true, I'm always thinking of you-"

"Oh! Is that why you missed our fucking fourth birthday dinner tonight?" you screamed, interrupting him and watching his eyes get wide and his lips part. "You are way too busy, Jimin. You don't have time for anything other than work," you whispered as he stood up from bed to stand closer to you.

"I'm s-so sorry," he whispered. "I totally forgot..."

"I know, that's the problem, Jimin! You are the love of my life and you are my priority, always."

"Y/N, please-"

"Let me talk." you raised your hand to stop him and he did just that, pressing his lips together in a straight line and resting both his hands on his hips. "What I'm saying is, I'm never gonna be your priority-"

"Y/N, you are my priority!" he couldn't help but burst that out, running a frustrated hand through his messy dark blonde hair. He sighed, looking at you as your disappointed eyes bored into his tired ones. "I work a lot. I'm rarely home. There are days we don't even see each other. But I work so that I can support a future with you. A future with kids. A future where I can keep buying your fancy dresses and taking you to expensive restaurants-"

"You could buy me the fanciest dress in the world and it wouldn't matter a thing if you still showed up at home at three in the fucking morning." you interrupted, your voice sounding even angrier than it was before. "Jimin, I couldn't care less about that shit. I didn't marry you for your money. I don't care about fancy dresses or expensive restaurants. I lived without those things before meeting you, and I can live without them now!" you exclaimed and Jimin lowered his head, looking at the floor. "I married you because I love you. You! Not your money!"

"I know that-"

"It doesn't seem like you do. When was the last time we had a meal together? When was the last time you took me out on a date? And I'm not asking you to take me to a fucking expensive restaurant, I'm asking for a stroll in the park! Or maybe a picnic! I'm just asking for you to take me to go eat fucking ice cream or some shit!" you paused, taking a deep breath as Jimin sat back in your shared bed, looking down and fidgeting with his fingers. "When was the last time you touched me? We don't even have sex anymore, for God's sake!" Jimin poked the inside of his cheek at that and let out an entertained chuckle. "Really? Is that funny to you?" You asked, angry as ever, and Jimin looked up at you.

"Can you stop yelling?" he asked with the calmest voice you'd ever heard coming from him as he stood up once again to stand right in front of you, with his face inches away from yours. "Y/N, if what you wanted was sex, you could've just said that." he spat out, anger and annoyance filling his voice tone.

Instinct spoke louder than you as you raised a hand as if about to slap him, but Jimin was faster than you, grabbing your forearm to prevent you from doing something you surely would regret later. "Don't go there," he said sternly, with a grave deep voice.

You looked at him angrier than he had ever seen you, with a clenched jaw and fisted hands. You shook your arm, letting Jimin's hand fall, and ran your fingers through your wild hair. "Fuck you," you whispered before walking out of the bedroom. You walked towards the kitchen. Not even five minutes after you left the room, heavy footsteps could be heard throughout the walls. Until you felt his presence by the kitchen door even though you had your back to him.

“Do you think I stay at work this late because I want to? Don’t you think I’d much rather be home having dinner with you by 9?” he asked, his tone angry but still calm and collected. “It’s my work! I have no choice whether I want to do it or not-“

“Jimin, leaving work earlier one day wouldn’t be the end of your career, I’m telling you,” you mocked sarcastically and could feel Jimin rolling his eyes, even without facing him.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner, but it’s not like I was out partying with the boys. I was working. I’ve been working since 7 AM. I was supposed to go sleep in the dorms so I wouldn't have to wake up even earlier tomorrow, but I still came home, because you asked me to. The last thing I need is for you to spend the night mad at me” he sighed when you finally turned around, to show him that his speech hadn't had that much of an effect. You were still mad. Very mad.

“You came home because ‘I asked you',” you mimicked, “not because you wanted to see me after not seeing me for two whole days?”

“Oh my fucking god” Jimin growled and looked up at the ceiling before running both his hands through his hair.

“And so what? You’re tired! But am I supposed to just shut up and don't be mad when you forget our marriage's fourth anniversary? I'm sorry for expressing my feelings-"

"Can't we just have dinner tomorrow?" he interrupted. The annoyance back to his voice.

"Jimin, go to sleep." You finished, leaning against the balcony behind you and looking down at the floor.

"No! What the fuck do you want me to do now? I already said I'm sorry! What do you fucking want now?!" it was his turn to yell now. The anger of expecting to come home to a warm bed and coming home to an angry wife was finally getting to him. "I come home absolutely exhausted and you still manage to keep me up and yelling, like I had the easiest day of my life! Stop being so selfish, for fuck's sake!"

You looked up at that and felt your eyes tearing up once again. You stood up straight and walked past him, towards the bedroom. You grabbed your pillow and a warm blanket. "What are you doing, Y/N? Jimin asked, and you wouldn't deny the tiredness was already showing in his voice. "Go to sleep, I'll stay on the couch."

"Stop, Y/N, please," he muttered and you turned to face him.

"Jimin, I don't want you to do anything. I get it, you were working and you're sorry. I know you're sorry. But my point is, how many times are you gonna keep saying sorry? Because I don't know for how much longer I'll be okay with being left behind for your career."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't know whether I can stay in this marriage if I keep being forgotten like this," you shrugged with teary eyes and watched Jimin tilting his head to the side while the anger in his eyes subsided. His eyes quickly got teary and he held up his hand to grab at your right arm, trying to prevent you from leaving the bedroom you two shared.

You shook your arm from his grip and turned your back on him, walking out of the bedroom and closing the door behind you.

And no, it wasn't okay with you to go to sleep angry at him. You weren't that type of couple. You worked things out before going to bed. But you knew how tired he was. He was supposed to wake up at 5:30 AM the morning after and you were supposed to wake up just an hour after him. You knew that if you kept fighting, neither of you would get any sleep. You and Jimin were two people with strong personalities and whenever you two fought over something it did not end up quickly. Besides that, you two had never fought like this. Had never had an argument that caused either of you to question the worth of your marriage. This was your rock bottom.

But you hated that you weren't sleeping in your bed, in your husband's arms. And it was impossible to fall asleep, no matter how careful you and Jimin had been to choose the most comfortable couch in the store when you bought your house. No matter the position or how many times you turned - you couldn't fall asleep.

It was 4 AM when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You felt Jimin coming closer to your frame on the couch and kneeling down next to it. "You're sleeping?" he whispered and you mumbled a tiny 'no'.

"Can I sleep in here?" he asked and you made space on the couch for him to slip under the blanket with you, which he did quickly. He enveloped your waist in his strong arms and buried his face in the crook of your neck as if nothing had just happened. "Please, don't leave me," he whispered against the skin of your neck. You stayed quiet, just taking your hands to envelope his neck and pull him closer. "I don't think I can make it without you. I've been awake the past hour trying to find a way to stay less time at work and more time with you, but I can't find one. I don't think there's any way to solve this."

It was completely dark in the living room, and that just made this feel much more intimate than it was supposed to. "But I love you," he whispered again. "I love you too," you answered and felt a light kiss on your neck.

"I'm sorry for not being able to give you the life you deserve. I promise you that one day all this activity in my career will calm down and I'll be able to give you everything you deserve, but for now I can't fix anything we're going through. But we can fight for this, okay? We can keep up with my schedule and with yours. We can keep coming home to a warm bed. We can keep building a future for us both and for our future family. We can keep fighting every time there's something wrong, without really getting to solve anything. If you're up for it, I'll gladly stay up until 4 AM, if it means we can be alright in the end. But please, don't leave me. I love you. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. And you're not behind my career. You're always at the top of my mind, but work is work. And when I'm working with the boys I can't just bail on them and let them work alone. I really hope you understand that."

And by now, you were already washed in tears. Jimin could feel your wet tears on his neck. "I'm sorry, baby," you cried and Jimin lifted his face from your neck, to look you in the eyes. Even with the almost absolute darkness of the room, he could still figure out your beautiful features.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. I understand why you'd be mad at me-"

"No, I'm sorry, I should have been more understanding, or at least wait until you were well-rested. I'm sorry for making you fight with me for like half an hour. And I'm sorry for trying to slap you, I don't know what that was..."

"I love you. I don't care how bad we fight, I still love you. I always will," he whispered as his face got closer to yours. You could feel his light breath on your lips. "And I was being a jerk when that happened so you're fine."

"I love you too," you answered as you let out a soft giggle, to which Jimin smiled. You raised your head from the pillow, to softly press your lips against Jimin's to seal your reconciliation. His pillowy lips moved softly against yours, as he put one hand on the back of your head, to deepen the kiss. You heard him moaning against your lips as his other hands moved from your waist to your ass. "You should get some rest babe," you said, pulling away from him.

"No, let me make you feel good," he whimpered as his lips were redirected at your neck, sucking your skin and leaving love bites on his way, as his hands moved towards the hem of his your t-shirt, taking it off in a heartbeat and throwing it to the floor, next to the sofa.

You moaned as he pressed his thigh to the middle of your legs, urging him to go faster. His t-shirt and sweatpants quickly joined your oversized t-shirt on the floor, and soon he was panting against you as you raised your hips to create some friction between your crotches.

Jimin reached down, palming your still-covered pussy, with his whole palm. "How are you so wet?" he asked as you moaned and slightly trusted your hips up against his hand. "How are you so hard?" you asked back, teasing him as his hard length pressed against your thigh. You heard Jimin chuckle and felt him pushing your panties to the side, and running two of his fingers through your slit.

"You have such a smart mouth don't you?" he asked ironically, shoving his, now, soaked fingers inside your mouth. Your lips, quickly wrapped around his long fingers, sucking on them. He reached down with his other hand, to plunge two fingers inside your pussy. You moaned against his hand, which he quickly retracted from your mouth, just to press his lips against yours once again. He started fingering you, making scissor motions inside of you to try and prepare you for him. "How are you always so tight?" he groaned after you pulled away from the kiss to let out a series of moans from how good his fingers felt inside of you.

"After you not fucking me for so long, I'd be surprised if I wasn't," you teased once again, chuckling and Jimin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"You're so annoying, baby," he answered, starting to finger you faster as you threw your head back on the couch, giving him enough space to suck the skin of your neck as if he hadn't marked you enough earlier. "Do you think you're ready for me?"

"Yes, baby, please. I want you inside me, please," you mewled and Jimin moaned hearing your cries of pleasure so close to his ear, after so long.

And in a second he roughly shoved his entire length inside of you, as you both let out loud groans of pleasure. Having Jimin inside you never failed to blow your mind. Everything from his length to his girth felt overwhelming. And you loved it. Sex with Jimin felt better than with any other man you had been with before - firstly because Jimin knew what he was doing, and second because you had never been in love with someone as much as you are with Jimin.

Patience had never been your forte, and it showed when Jimin decided to stay still to let you get used to him, but you rose your hips urging him to keep going. It did burn but you liked the slight pain of having Jimin inside you. So he kept going, first slowly, but he quickly grew as impatient as you and started to pick up his pace. Until his hips were crashing against yours, with one of his hands grabbing your waist to stabilize you two. One of his forearms was supporting Jimin's body, next to your head. You reached forward to press your lips to Jimin's in a heated kiss. You two moaned and growled against each other lips, as your hips started to thrust upwards against Jimin's and soon enough you were both in a frenzy on the couch.

Jimin moved one of his hands from your waist to your cheek, softly caressing it. “Baby, are you close?” he moaned loudly. “Hum? I can’t last much longer- Ah… Baby, you feel so good around me.”

“I’m so close baby, just keep going. Please, just a little more… Please,” you moaned and Jimin stopped his movements for a couple seconds after hearing you pleading for him. He knew that he was way too close and you weren’t helping. You begging for him had always been one of his biggest weaknesses.

“Anything for you,” and just like that, his hops were back at it, full speed and thrusting with a strength you hadn’t felt before.

Jimin's and your loud moans were a clear indication of how close you both were. And when you enveloped both your arms around Jimin's thick neck and he thrust himself inside you one last time, before falling on top of you, you came together. Your insides milked him as he kept thrusting his hips softly against yours.

"I love you," you heard him sigh, breathless, against your neck.

"I love yo-"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

5:30 AM. It was Jimin's time to get up and you looked at him as he reached for his phone, on top of the coffee table. "That's my cue," he chuckled, still breathless. And you looked at him in pity.

"You didn't even get to sleep, baby."

"You gave me enough oxytocin to last the whole day. Also, it's not the first time I stay up the whole night. You try to get some sleep, you still have some time," he whispered, still trying to leave your warm embrace.

"Can't you ask the boys to meet up like an hour later or so?" you asked, tightening your arms around his neck, so he wouldn't be able to leave.

"No... Hoseok would kill me," Jimin answered, smiling at your attempt to keep him close.

"If you faint, I will kill you."

"If I faint, I will blame it on you, you sex-starved woman! Always tiring me out!" he laughed against your neck and you slapped his strong shoulder. He raised his head, pressing a soft and long kiss against your lips. "I'll go get ready. Bye baby, see you tonight."

You didn't answer, just resting your head on the soft pillow, already starting to drift off to sleep, just before hearing Jimin scream from the main door.

"Be ready at 8:30! And think where you want to go get dinner."

Jimin wasn't home at 8:30 that night.

He arrived at 10:25 PM, but as you looked into his tired and apologetic eyes, when he stepped inside your house, with flowers in one hand and a bag of KFC takeaway in the other, you knew that no matter how many times Jimin said 'i'm sorry', he'd always mean it. And that was what truly mattered because for as long as he meant it, you knew he loved you. And you loved him.

#oneshot #jimin #park jimin #drabble #fanfic #jimin fanfic #idol!jimin #idol!au #established relationship #establishedrelationship!au #marriage!au #married!jimin #married!oc #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin smut #park jimin x reader #park jimin x y/n

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ioniansunsets · 4 months

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Hi! Recently found you, and i LOVE your writing and ideas! Their very tasty, like high-quality chocolate &/or caramel!

I offer (potentially angsty) scenario(you don't have to do) with heartsteel kayn & Idol or k/da!Reader?

What if a stage malfunction happened during readers' (or kayns) show?? (Or a sabotage from a fan? Perhaps?)

(Bonus: & What if... reader or kayn got hurt?) Thank you if you choose to do this ask🩷 (Sorry ahhh-- this is my first time sending an ask)

✖ Heartsteel!Kayn x KDA!Reader Where Reader Gets Injured✖

✖ Word Count: 1.4k

✖ Tags: Established R/S, Mild Injury, Ends with Comfort, IDK if I'd even tag this as Angsty (maybe a tinge)

✖ A/N: I think its cute how Ahri, Akali, Evelyn and Kai’sa all technically can dash towards you with their actual in game skills LMFAO so cute...these girls would do anything to protect you. I think it’s very cute when a lover goes batshit insane with worry for you. Have mercy too, I’ve never been hospitalized, only visited people LMAO

Also thank you for asking this! I am so happy that you love my thoughts and words ><

✖ Wrote This Listening To: Drugs and Candy

----

There were always toxic fans. You knew that, and Kayn of course knew his fanbase were sometimes as batshit insane as him. But the past few weeks were great! Social media was abuzz with positive comments about you two, fans congratulated you at fanmeets praising how cute you looked with Kayn.

Everything pointed towards how the fanbase took the official announcement of you two dating well but of course, you know delusional, parasocial fans existed too.

What you don’t know, was how they got past security.

You don’t know how they sneaked past all the checks and stage tests.

Maybe it was on you, maybe you were training too hard and were too tired to notice.

Maybe the high of performing live on stage and all the bits and bops of things to do left it so you didn’t notice the creak of the bright lights above you. The lights in the same pink purple hues of Kayn’s hair. The last thing you remember was the crackle of lights, the screams of your fans, and all your band mates in a blur dashing towards you.

It was arguably just as bad for Kayn.

Sure he wasn’t there, he wasn’t injured, he wasn’t the target of the attack nor was he the one in the hospital but there was nothing worse than hearing that you were still out cold, uncertain of how hurt you actually were.

There was nothing worse really, seeing the clips circulating online of what happened being reposted by all sorts of accounts. The blood that flowed from you onto the stage, oh god he didn’t even know humans could bleed this much.

There was nothing worse than knowing that he was stuck on tour and couldn’t be by your side.

There was nothing worse than not being able to call you and check on you because according to Akali you were STILL in the ER right now, you’re still unconscious and the doctors have no updates. How! It has been at least 4 hours since your opening act. Since the incident.

There was nothing worse, than fighting with his bandmates and managers, begging to go back to be by your side, and only after Alune stood up for him saying how “ The Heartbeats would understand why Kayn was missing. Let him go or he would just sneak off at night and do it anyway.” That management allowed them to postpone their weekend show so he could book a midnight flight to you.

There was nothing worse, than sitting alone in the private airport lounge, checking socials for updates and finding out HIS fan was the one that was caught on CCTV being the perpetrator, the one that did this to you, the love of his life. They even wore a jacket with Rhaast’s icon sewn onto the back, almost mocking him. Sure you were the one physically hurt, but the way his emotions were all over the place, the way his heart refused to calm down, the way he haven’t felt so much like throwing up since he left his old band. He hated this.

Hands tightening around his already cracked phone, the only reason he hasn’t angrily thrown it against the wall was because Akali messaged him telling Kayn how you were stable now, you lived fine, you were still sleeping but you were out of surgery at least. He swallows hard, quickly picking up his small luggage as he runs over to the gate to board his plane. Kayn breathes heavy, only thoughts about being by your side when you wake up keep him walking and keep the absolute rage and chaos Rhaast has at bay. The flight couldn’t be any longer to him.

He ran, the second the Taxi dropped him off at the hospital he phased through walls and booked it straight up to your room, leaving Akali to sigh as she signs him in. The way his hands shook as he slowly opened the door to your ward. Feeling like it was somehow rude to phase through this one way although one, you were still unconscious and two he already violated the privacy of half the hospital.

“ My little demon…This is all my fault.”

Kayn slowly walked to your side after he steps in, watching and noting how you had your eye patched up, how bandages trailed down your body, how pale your skin was. He was going to throw up again, seeing you this way. Ahri who was in the room watching over you let him know you could still see of course, and nothing plastic surgery can’t fix about the scars. You would be fine after a week or two of rest. The shards of glass from the strobe lights missed all the important bits, only scratching up your brow, cheek and collar. Ahri offers Kayn a small sad smile before leaving to give him time with you. The other girls in K/DA has some cuts and bruises saving your from the falling light but otherwise were fine.

It was another hour of your steady breathing and the beeping of machines around him. To Kayn, it felt like hours. Inconsolable hours where his thoughts went wild. Rhaast kept at bay from trashing the place solely from how weak and shaky your breathing was. So when the beeping finally started to pick up Kayn was standing up, hand holding yours, calling out to you frantic and concerned as you slowly blinked and opened your eyes.

“ Oh my god you’re finally awake baby.”

You watched your boyfriend cry, silent tears falling as he spoke over and over about how he should have curated his audience more, warned them to not pull shit like this to you. Anger about how could his “obsessive fans” not know that hurting you would hurt him just as much. Frustration about not being in the audience this time to save you. Sorrow about seeing how much pain you were in right now because of him. Anger once again from Rhaast this time about how incompetent your security was for letting a mistake like this go unnoticed and finally…overwhelming relief that you were ultimately ok. It was new, seeing him so scared, so worried, no doubt all of these emotions were because of just how much Kayn loved you but still, you felt bad making him worry so much. Finally he updates you, telling you about what happened, how you would be ok, he would make sure of it.

“ I…I’m sorry you had to go through this because of me. If you want to leave me because of my fans I will totally understand.”

You watched his voice crack as his hand grasps yours tighter. Your lover’s brows furrowed as he thinks hard. Biting his lip so hard you could almost see it bleed.

“ No Kayn! I would never! It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault, my own crazy fans could have done this to me too y’know. Plus if I breakup with you, they totally won.”

You reply, throat a little dry from not speaking so long but you had to tell him. No way you’re letting some insane fan ruin your performance, your day and your relationship. You watch him finally smile a little as you speak, the corners of his lips barely curving, tears stopping at your frantic attempts to make sure he knows just how much you love him back. No way in hell or heaven would you give up what you have with him because of some lunatic. Especially after seeing just how much he loved you, flying here for you? Putting his work behind for You? How could you let this man go.

“ Hey, at least we can get matching eyepatches now?”

At your comment, he lets out an exasperated laugh.

" I’m sorry, I should be the one making you feel better not the other way around. Here.”

You watch as Kayn slips a finger under his eyepatch, pulling it off carefully before bending down to give your bandaged side a small kiss. Hands uncharacteristically gentle as they worked their way around your hair and all the gauze to put his eyepatch on you. Giving you another quick kiss on your lips before pulling away.

" Looking good darling."

" Only because you style me so well!"

Yeah, it will be ok, the two of you were motivated, hardworking idols, a setback like this meant nothing. As he smiles again at you, the signature cheeky, prideful smile you’ve come to love from him. Your heart flutters. Yeah, something like this won’t stop you from loving him.

#I THINK THIS WENT OK #I love kayn........i dreamt of heartsteel kayn last night so here we go more kayn x reader #SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE A MONTH Oh my god im so sorry #I HOPE ITS WORTH THE WAIT........#Kayn League of Legends #Heartsteel!Kayn x Reader #Shieda Kayn #Kayn League #Heartsteel Kayn #Anon Answer #Heartsteel!Kayn #Kayn x Reader #Kayn LoL #KaynLeague #K/DA Reader #SCENARIO

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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 4 months

Text

The Holidays are Better With You - S.Snape

Summary - The potions master and the muggle studies professor are missing during dinner on Christmas Eve. A certain cat animagus takes it upon herself to find the pair, only to find the two of them enjoying some quality time in the Astronomy Tower.

Word Count - 617

Warnings - female reader, use of Y/N, Minerva is the last one to find out a secret

Author's Note - This is a little later than I wanted but welcome to day Twelve! All of my classwork is done so I am free from college until my winter class starts. I have 8 days of freedom to try and write as much as I can so stay tuned and enjoy!

Harry Potter Masterlist

my masterlist

25 days of fics masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged

Enjoy!

not my gif

Severus Snape, even just the name of the man would send a shiver down any students’ spine. However, these students never knew the man he was deep down, the man he buried because of countless trauma and heartache. The other professors knew who he actually was because most of them taught him when he was at Hogwarts himself. What they never realized was the fact that he was absolutely smitten with the muggle studies professor.

The two had grown up together, they used to do everything together, even at Hogwarts. Both of them had been sorted into Slytherin, their housemates seeing them in the same corner of the common room more often than not. The two of them still found a way to isolate themselves in a different area, spending time together in the astronomy tower.

As most of the students had returned home, Severus and Y/N had stayed at Hogwarts with the other professors. At dinner on Christmas Eve, Minerva had noticed that the two older Slytherins were missing, so she took it upon herself to go find them. She searched everywhere, her final spot to search was the Astronomy tower. She thought that it was a good time to transform herself into a cat so that way she could be a little more stealthy. Due to her new found stealth, she could walk quieter into the tower where she heard the voices of the two missing professors.

“It’s beautiful up here, with all the snow,” Y/N had said, turning to the man beside her.

“I hate the snow,” He had said, winding his arms around her waist, pulling her body closer to his.

“I know you do.”

Minerva quietly approached the pair watching as their lips met. She almost jumped in surprise. “I love you, Severus Snape. Happy Christmas.”

“I love you, Y/N Snape. The holidays are so much better with you,” Severus responded, taking note of a certain cat lurking by their feet, “Minerva, if you wanted to join us, you could have just asked.”

The Gryffindor transformed herself back with a grin on her face. “You’re married! I thought you had a thing for Lily Potter. I would have never guessed that you were infatuated with Y/N,” Minerva exclaimed in surprise.

“It’s always been Y/N. She knows me better than myself," he admitted.

“And he knows me better than myself,” She added in a chipper tone, just happy to be in the arms of her love and chatting with a dear friend. They stood in the tower for hours just talking, more like Minerva asking them questions about their relationship and then answering.

They talked until the moon was high in the sky, the time officially reaching midnight. “I think it’s time to call it a night. Minerva, if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the start of the holiday with my husband. Happy Christmas and goodnight,” Y/N excused herself and her husband as they went off to his quarters. Minerva left at the top of the tower with a gentle smile on her face, feeling a sense of pride for the couple.

The sneaky professor had too decided to turn in for the night, not before mentioning the couple to Sybil and Albus.

“I had predicted and knew about this years ago. Where have you been?” Sybil asked her friend.

“I was their witness when they got married, they needed one and asked me. I’m surprised you didn’t know Minerva. You do tend to know everything and all of the gossip,” Albus chimed in.

“Was I the last to find out? How did I not know about them?”

“You aren’t the last, the students are.”

#harry potter #professor snape #pro snape #snape fanfiction #severus snape #severus snape x reader #snape #snape fandom #severus #severus snape imagine #pro severus snape #severus x reader #pro severus #snape x reader #severus snape x y/n #snape x y/n #snape x you

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siriusleee · 10 months

Text

a better year

a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au 6.7k words summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light. "Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night. She kisses him over the mask. She doesn't mention it the next day.

The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore.

"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."

Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white.

"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."

He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together.

Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon.

Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him.

He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas .

But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.

And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored.

"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"

Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances.

"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection.

"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new.

"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."

"I never said you didn't."

Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.

"That'll be seventeen forty-five."

Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers.

"You going to be back next week?"

"Why?"

"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."

Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer.

"I can come by Friday instead."

"I'm closed Fridays."

"What about Wednesday?"

"I can stay late Wednesday."

He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.

***

He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.

His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is.

He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside.

The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.

He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him.

Simon Riley thinks about death.

He thinks about what would happen if he died right now.

He thinks about what it's like to die twice.

***

The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-

Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.

"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"

"It was alright."

The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."

She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often.

She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter

When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her.

"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."

Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them.

"Do you have a job?"

"What?"

Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change.

"No, I don't."

"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."

He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.

"I can do that."

"Can you start this Saturday?"

"I can do that."

She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names.

***

Her name's Billy.

"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."

Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name.

"It's Simon. Simon Riley."

She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter.

"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.

"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."

She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will.

She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.

He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.

On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.

"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."

She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.

"No paycheck?"

Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.

"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."

Simon pockets it.

They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.

It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction.

Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.

They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.

"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"

"I'll be there."

"Good night Simon."

She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.

He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street.

He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop.

His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.

***

"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak.

"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."

"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."

Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.

"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."

He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.

"That it?"

"I'm working at a bookstore."

"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."

"Watch it, Johnny."

A pause.

"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."

Their goodbye is the silence that follows.

***

Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.

"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."

The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter.

"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-"

She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."

Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.

"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"

"I can figure it out."

"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.

This Saturday is busy.

Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him.

"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."

He's thankful for her in that moment.

He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.

There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.

Just like he always orders it.

***

He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.

***

"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.

"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."

"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.

"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."

She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.

"Maybe next year."

***

The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice.

"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."

"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."

"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."

"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself.

"What's that L.T.?"

"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."

Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.

"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"

"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye."

In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.

Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.

***

He needs something to do with his hands.

That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.

"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"

"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."

"I'm not paying you extra for this."

"I didn't ask you to."

Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet.

"Fine."

She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."

Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.

Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.

In the way he feels useful.

It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.

Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place.

Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him.

She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.

"That shit's going to kill you."

"It can only hope."

Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.

"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."

He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.

Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.

***

It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.

"Are you holding up?"

Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.

"I'm doing fine."

"Johnny told me you've got a job?"

"Just something to keep me occupied."

"Is that all you've got?"

"What more do I need?"

The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.

"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."

Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate.

"Understood."

He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.

Maybe it does.

***

He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets.

He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious.

But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing.

It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.

He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.

He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.

He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights.

Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging.

A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone?

He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.

***

He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.

He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors.

He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.

"What are you building you old bastard?"

"Some cabinets."

"For what?"

"Mind your own business, Johnny."

It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck.

He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot.

That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.

***

She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.

"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"

"It's no big deal; open the door."

"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"

"You gave me a key."

"Not for that!"

It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

"I still have to do the plumbing."

She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.

"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."

I know .

She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.

Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.

"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."

"Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy."

Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.

"Why are you doing all this Simon?"

He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.

Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"

"I don't have your number."

She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone.

"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.

"What?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

***

Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.

"- L.T.? Simon?"

"What? Johnny, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not."

The static of Johnny's disapproval.

"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"

"I'm busy Johnny."

"With what?"

"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."

"Dinner? Like with someone else?"

Simon hangs up on him.

***

Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.

She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.

Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing.

"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."

"It's alright."

Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter.

"Come sit down."

Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment.

He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.

"What are you making?"

"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"

"Beef bourguignon?"

Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.

"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Only on special occasions."

Special occasions .

It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either.

His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.

Johnny:

don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is

"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen.

"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet.

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.

"No."

"Not even back home?"

"Back home?"

She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.

"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."

Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter.

"No, not back home."

She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.

Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head.

"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork.

"No cameras?"

"None you can see."

She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once.

They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself.

He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of.

She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.

"Something funny?"

"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."

With anyone else .

That bothers him some.

"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."

"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.

"And we barely speak the entire time."

She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.

"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."

For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.

He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.

"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"

Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.

"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.

"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.

"Is that all we need to know about each other?"

"It's a start."

***

He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.

Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.

She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.

"I was in the military."

"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"

"The SAS."

She frowns and Simon stiffens.

"Is that like a unit or something?"

"Yeah."

This time she grins.

"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"

"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."

"You mean when you're not here."

Yes.

"No."

She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.

"I can shoot straight."

"Can you?"

***

She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.

She hits every target.

***

"Christmas is this weekend."

"Yeah."

"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."

A pause longer than he's used to.

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over?"

***

She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.

The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care.

"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.

"I didn't get you one either."

"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."

"That's not present."

"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."

He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.

"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."

Simon's heart nearly stops.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding Si."

Just kidding .

***

She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them.

She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.

He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.

He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to.

He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.

"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.

She kisses him over the mask.

She doesn't mention it the next day.

***

By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'.

"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."

***

He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.

"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."

He doesn't. But he can figure it out.

After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon.

It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.

He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it.

It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet.

It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.

When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.

***

"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."

"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."

"Alright, you cheap bastard you can afford it."

#my fics #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod

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ellievickstar · 5 months

Text

Undeserving

A/N: This took me way too long to write- I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is Part 2 of Deserving, but it can be read as a standalone. This was written as a more self-indulgent fic and I might write an alternative part 2 that is sadder if you guys really want. Love you all <3

Summary: After years, you are happy, you have moved on. But what about the other half that you have abandoned? What about tthe one who hurt you most when all you needed was his help?

Request: N/A

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Past), Eris Vanserra x Reader (Current)

Warnings: Angst (as usual), being married to Eris (ig for some of y'all that's an ick), mentions of Beron (bleh), really nothing else tbh please tell me if there is anything i should add.

~*~*~*~*~

"How have you been?" The High Lady of the Night Court sat opposite to you as you sipped at the tea that your dearest husband had provided. It had been over five years since you had left the Nigh Court, over ten years that you decided to find new purpose here. In Autumn Court. After Beron had died and Eris Vanserra had been announced as the new High Lord, you had originally gone over as an ambassador with Lucien, but after a few interactions with the now Autumn High Lord you had decided to stay. And now you were married.

"I’ve been well Feyre. Eris still treats me like a queen and I am always taken care of, he insists I always rest even though I do want to contribute and work, though he does relent on letting me participate in political meetings and interacting with the larger part of the court. He thinks they like me more than they like him," You smiled warmly as you thought of your relationship with the High Lord of the Night Court. Although it hadn’t been officially announced yet, due to the fact that Eris had to get rid of a few corrupt lords in who had been loyal to only Beron, you had overheard Eris discussing something with Lucien that you had not meant to find out.

~*~*~*~*~

It was midnight and you had awoken to an empty bed, still warm, meaning that Eris had not left too long ago, but not warm enough without his presence next to you. You stumbled down the great halls of the Forest House, finally coming across a room where a dim light shined through a slightly opened door, but as you were about to enter, you stopped and strained your ears to listen to the conversation that was happening inside.

You picked up on Lucien’s voice first, ensuring that you remained perfectly still and held your breathe. "You are being ridiculous of course she would say yes. You’ve planned all this so that you can make this day special for her, why are you still fretting?" Your lovers panic was palpable in his tone, "What if she hates it? What if she hates everything and decides to leave me? Oh gosh what if she leaves me?"

A chuckle escaped from Lucien and you felt movement and what seemed like pacing footsteps.

"I really love her, brother. She is the love of my life and I feel like I’ve waited for her since the beginning of my existence, but what if she hates what I am planning to do? Or what if I end up overwhelming her and she decides to reject me?" Panic. Eris was in a complete state of panic. The usually calm, indifferent and cold heir was panicking. Curiosity piqued in you as you remained outside the door of the study. "I’m sure she will agree, in the years you have been together all she’s yearned for is a life with you. She will be more than happy to agree for you to make her High Lady."

~*~*~*~*~

And so you were giddily awaiting the day that Eris had planned. You were careful in hiding that you knew, ensuring that he would not suspect anything. Smiling as you recalled the memory fondly, your attention was stolen by the doors off the sitting room opened, flaming red hair peaking through the doorway as it revealed your grinning husband.

"Eris!" You greeted as you saw Feyre’s lips curve into a slight smile, one she hid behind her teacup as your lover approached you, lips brushing against your forehead as he nodded Feyre’s way, a polite acknowledgment of her presence. "Am I interrupting, Little Fox?" He murmured and as you shook your head he slipped you a small piece of paper before bidding his farewell. Strange, but perhaps he didn’t wish to share whatever information was on the paper to Feyre. Understandable, seeing as the night court still didn’t entirely trust Eris.

Peering at the paper, you smiled at the words.

Nothing important, Little Fox. Was just missing you. See you later at dinner with the rest of the Night Court and Lucian.

Though Eris would never admit it he was clingy at heart, and you found it ever so endearing. Truly, it was adorable seeing the High Lord of Autumn, someone who had been deemed cold and cruel by the entirety of Prythian, decide to sulk at the absence of his one and only lover.

Sighing, you folded the paper and used your magic to winnow it to your room, continuing your conversation with your best friend without a hitch, gossiping about court relations and other subjects that came to mind.

~*~*~*~*~

Laughter roared through the dining room as Cassian pounded his fist against the table. Among everyone in the inner circle, Cassian had been the quickest to get used to Eris, but that was not before Mor and Eris made up and Eris provided a real explanation of why he had left her in the woods all those years ago, even offering to provide his own memories and thoughts to Rhys to prove himself. It was all so you did not have to separate yourself from your family, and he had done it only for you. Not that you had asked him to. You would have never asked him to be so vulnerable with people he might be uncomfortable with.

A part of you couldn’t help but notice Azriel staring at you, but you chose to ignore him. He had made his choice about you a long time ago, it did not matter if he regretted it now.

But the ruckus died in the dining table as Eris cleared his throat.

Looking around, you saw Rhys’s eyes seemed to be alight in anticipation and Lucian seemed to sit straighter in his chair as Eris stood, addressing your family.

"I’m sure you understand why I’ve chosen our monthly gathering to finally announce this. But it’s not really an announcement, yet." His eyes travelled across the room before finally landing on you. "Throughout the past few months I’m sure some of you know that I have been agonising how to do this properly, and some of you have even personally had a hand in helping me to try and plan something that would fit the best into Y/N’s lovely taste, and that’s when i realised that I didn’t need anything big or extravagant, she would have just wanted you all here, to share this." He paused as he knelt before you, holding your hands to his.

"I know this is a big thing to ask, and I understand if you need time, heck some of your family members may even discourage you from saying yes." He grinned nervously. "But I wanted to ask you now. Y/N will you do me the honor of becoming my high lady and binding my life to yours for the rest of my life? Because if one day you decide to leave this land, I don’t want to be far behind."

Inhaling deeply, he continued, "I love you, I know for a fact I love you and that I have loved you since you decided to show up to my court with my brother, grinning and laughing like fools. I have loved you ever since you had the defiance to stand up to my cold mask and tell me I could "shove that fake cold demeanor up my ass or screw off". I have loved you shamelessly and endlessly ever since you first decided to call me your own. Please, be my High Lady, let me dedicate my life to yours, to whatever end."

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded repeatedly, blubbering out a soft ‘of course’ as you flung yourself into Eris’s arms. Your family members all burst into cheers, Cassian taking you from your husband to swing you around and Feyre, Nesta and Elain crowding around you in excitement to gush over the news. This was exactly what you would have wanted. Nothing big or fancy, just a moment to share together, as a family.

That’s when you felt a tendril sneak up your arm, causing you to look back into where the shadow singer was now tucked away into a corner, he beckoned you to follow him and as you cast a look to Eris, he smiled softly and mouthed ‘i trust you’ before winking and returning to his conversation with Lucian.

You followed Azriel to a balcony just outside the dining hall, and he paused for a few seconds facing away from you, before his low, raspy voice rang out.

"Why him?"

You were taken aback. But you rolled your eyes, Azriel had pulled this same shit at your wedding.

"Don’t do this Azriel," You warned.

The shadow singer turned to you and under his gaze you froze at his rage.

"He doesn’t deserve you."

"And you think you do!" You scoffed, "I needed you, all those years ago I needed you. Not just your pathetic words that you would be there for me no matter what when it came to a time I needed you to choose me you did the exact opposite. For months I was broken. I believed that I didn’t deserve love if my own mate couldn’t bring himself to love me. You have no idea what it was like watching you love someone else. You have no right to tell me who deserves me and who doesn’t. You gave that up a long time ago so don’t even try."

Silence was all that followed and as you were about to return to the male who actually loved you, Azriel spoke.

"I’m sorry," And now with your back away from him you were reminded of all those years ago when you walked away from a situation that made you feel undeserving of love.

"I know," You said softly, your words almost unable to reach his ears, "But that’s not enough, Azriel. Being sorry has never been enough for me to stay with you. Let me go, please. You deserve love to. Please stop chasing after people you can’t have because that will be your undoing."

But as you left and Azriel was alone on the balcony, he tipped his head and whispered to the stars.

"It already is."

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Sorry if the story isn't flowing that well haha. I am working on other stuff (planning and procrastinating is more accurate) but rn I am on school holidays so I will be writing a little more. Love you all see you next time <3

taglist for azriel: @positivewitch

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris acotar #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fluff

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cartierre · 1 year

Text

ALL MY NIGHT | cn

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU clément novalak x fem!reader

side note: i'm not too familiar with clement and marcus but i am trying my best to portray them as accurately as possible. don't come for me if their characters aren't what you might've expected, i'm still new to f2 (or in marcus' case indycar) so bare with me.

♡ liked by clementnovalak, dennis_hauger, marcusarmstrong and 5,490 others

tagged: clementnovalak, dennis_hauger, landonorris

yourusername i don't trust my decisions i make after midnight

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user1 girl same. no one should be held accountable for what they do past midnight on a night out

marcusarmstrong so you're hanging out with my friends without me ⤷ yourusername sucks to be you

user2 i love how y/n just wormed herself into marcus' friend group ⤷ user3 yeah but them hanging out together without him? kind of weird... ⤷ user4 girl maybe he just wasn't available that night? start using that brain of yours

clementnovalak should i also not trust your decisions after midnight? ⤷ yourusername depends what exact decision you mean ⤷ clementnovalak i think you know what i mean...

user5 the sexual tension between y/n and clem just keeps growing ⤷ user6 they're so bad at hiding. watch one screaming meals episode with y/n and even the blind can see the longing stares they exchange

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tagged: clementnovalak, marcusarmstrong

yourusername yk what us three together means? new episode screaming meals with special guest moi out now!

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user7 i love it when y/n joins the podcast. she's such a fresh breath of air ⤷ user8 i don't understand why she's on there tho. just because she's friends with marcus? she literally has nothing to do with the motosport world except being friends with some drivers ⤷ user9 go cry me a river

clementnovalak the most special guest ⤷ yourusername obviously. i'm funny, i'm smart, i'm sexy. call me an allrounder.

user10 y/n being back on the podcast means new material on how her and clem are either dating or just painfully in love with each other (or both, probably both)

user11 james not being included in the pictures :/ ⤷ yourusername he was so kind to take the pictures :) ⤷ jamesharveyblair where are my credits?

♡ liked by clementnovalak, jamesharveyblair, marcusarmstrong and 6,003 others

yourusername soft launch because you're apparently all detectives

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user12 why are you still hiding him as if we wouldn't know it's clem ⤷ user13 she's a little overdramatic i guess

marcusarmstrong come on you two didn't even try hiding before what's up with that now ⤷ yourusername marcus, i was a theatre kid. i speak drama fluently. you should know that by now ⤷ clementnovalak even i know that by now ⤷ marcusarmstrong look at you two ganging up on me

user14 "how obvious do you want to be?" clem and y/n: "yes"

user15 am i supposed to be surprised now?

♡ liked by clementnovalak, juanmanuel, marcusarmstrong and 6,740 others

tagged: clementnovalak

yourusername you ruined the fun, but here are the pictures anway

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user16 y/n being salty because her soft launch was a fail is hilarious ⤷ user17 it's kind of childish ⤷ user18 dude, i don't think she's taking it as serious as she makes it look like. that's her humour

marcusarmstrong took you long enough ;) also excuse me but the last picture? i don't want to see a whole porn with my two best friends ⤷ yourusername i had a whole soft launch plan planned out with posts ⤷ marcusarmstrong it is what it is, i guess

clementnovalak ❤️️❤️️ ⤷ yourusername don't heart me, you laughed at me when i was crying over my fail

♡ liked by yourusername, clementnovalak, marcusarmstrong and 7,920 others

tagged: yourusername, clementnovalak

screamingmeals Welcome to the renewed Clement Novalak's and Y/n Y/L/N's Wine Corner.

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yourusername i feel honoured to be officially a part of the screaming meals squad ⤷ marcusarmstrong you've kinda always been there anyway ⤷ yourusername but now i have my own section! ⤷ clementnovalak shared section* ⤷ yourusername not for long

user19 they finally realised y/n's to funny to not fully include her in the podcast

user20 quadrant is getting some serious competition now that y/n has joined the screaming meals squad for real! ⤷ user21 okay but now i need a collab between the eight of them

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disturbedbeautywrites · 7 months

Text

Time for a change - Jake Seresin Imagine x Bestie Reader

Warnings: physical and verbal violence, cursing, mentions of blood. Mentions of physical abuse and domestic violence

A/N: Here is officially the part 2 to ticking time bomb!

2 days, that’s how long your boyfriend kept the promise to be sober. That’s how long your relationship was good for. Two whole days. On the third day, he came home in a pissy mood from work and had decided to stop at the hard deck on the way home. You looked at the clock, the numbers changing to show it was now midnight. You hadn’t expected him home this late, but thought he just got held up.

However, him staggering in told you he wasn’t keeping his promises. You were fed up. “I’m not doing this. I’m done.” Your words were firm as you went to walk away from him, but he caught your arm in his grip. “No, you’re not.” He smiled at you as he held you tight enough to bruise your wrist. “Let me go.” It was a mix between a whine and a demand, your wrist trying to writhe itself free. He refused and just held you tighter, until he finally let go and you ended up hitting yourself in the eye, hard. You swore and staggered back as you put your hand over it, instantly seeing him become apologetic. “No, I’m done with this shit.” You shook your head and walked to grab your keys, storming out of the house and into your car. You sat there for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do.

12:30 flashed on your dash, the only light in a seemingly endless darkness of your front seat. Your head was leaning against the steering wheel as you swore under your breath and opened up your phone to snap a quick picture of your face. There was already a bruise forming around your eye, the purple and blue colors starting to poke out and rise to the surface. “Damn it!” You sighed and tried to figure out where to go. You had just broken off things with the guy you lived with, so you only had one other place to go.

You dialed Jake’s number and let your thumb hover over the call button before eventually giving up. You felt awful dragging him into this again. You didn’t even know if he was awake. It was almost 1 am by now, and no doubt he had things to do in a few hours. But, you still found yourself throwing your phone down and driving to the all too familiar house that Jake shared with Bradley. They claimed to not be best friends, but you saw right through the act.

You knocked on the door and waited, gnawing on your bottom lip anxiously. “Melanie, I told you I’m not-“ You heard a gruff voice at the door as it opened, revealing a slumber stricken Bradley. His hair was messy and his eyes were half open as he glanced down at you. “Oh, shit. Hey, Y/N.” His face softened as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks and he let you inside. “He’s in his room.” He nodded towards Jake’s door as you walked over to it. You twisted the knob, sighing when you realizing it was locked. You knocked softly, hearing a rustling inside. “God damn it, Rooster. I told you to knock it off.” His sleepy voice brought out the Texas twang more and you sniffled and looked down at your feet, staying quiet. “It isn’t me, dickhead! It’s Y/N!” Bradley’s voice was irate and grumbling as he gave you a nod and headed back to his room, the door closing behind him.

At the mention of your name there was a pause before the door finally peeked open. He looked out at you with a raised eyebrow, his upset from the last interaction you two had evident. He waited for you to say something before he let out a sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Fight?” He asked simply and you gave s curt nod, picking at your nails. “Bad one.” You hated this. You hated the small talk. You hated the awkwardness. “Listen, im here for you. But, how many more times-“ You shook your head and cut him off, not looking up at him. “None. I broke it off. I left.” Your voice was muffled as you finally looked up at him, the black and blue bruise showing up in the moonlight.

He swore under his breath as he lightly ran his finger tips along the underside of your eye, holding up your chin to get a better look. He inspected the bruise, tilting your head towards him. “Did he?” He couldn’t even get the full sentence out as you shook your head and showed him your wrist, that was now a dark bluish purple. “No, but the eye happened when I was trying to get away from him.” Jake tenderly wrapped his fingers around your wrist, using it to pull you into his chest. He held you close, his heartbeat soothing you as you finally let a few tears slip. “I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.” His words were a solid promise, his lips pressing to the crown of your head as he held you as close as he could. “Come on, let’s get some rest then we’ll figure everything out tomorrow.” Jake let you into his room where you got comfy on his bed and quickly fell asleep, exhaustion taking over your body.

*********************

The next day was full of talking with Bradley and Jake and trying to plan out when and how you could easily get your stuff. Jake and Bradley both agreed to talk to Maverick and try to get a few days off of work so they could go to your house without Nathan being there and get your stuff. It would be the easiest that way, you had all decided.

That would take place later this week, for now you were basically just going to be living in the clothes you have and the clothes your friends let you use. Natasha, for instance, was willing to let you borrow some of hers and she was willing to take you shopping. Jake was willing to let you steal his hoodies and his sweatpants and him and Bradley were willing to turn their gym room into a room for you. That was hard for them to give up, but Jake said it was worth it.

The three of you were lounging on the couch, not much noise between you before Bradley spoke up. “Do you guys wanna go to the hard deck? Coyote and the rest of the guys are going.” He looked up from his phone to the two of you, sorry evident on your face. “That’s his favorite place..” you mumble, nerves evident as you started to gnaw on your bottom lip. “I’ll protect you. Besides, I could go for giving him a piece of my mind.” Jake gave you his signature smirk as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling in mischief. “Jake…” Unease was very evident in your voice, your leg starting to nervously bounce as you sat up a bit. “Come on, you know we’ll take care of you. We always do.” Bradley was trying to comfort you now, throwing you a soft smile as you thought about it.

You hesitantly nodded and the two boys exchanged knowing looks as you all got up to go get ready to go. You all three climbed into the bronco, Bradley insisting on driving this time. You sat between the two boys, eyes out the front windshield as you tried to calm your nerves. You were walking into the lions den, you had an army behind you, but you still felt the fear creeping up and into your stomach.

When you pulled into the parking lot of the hard deck, the three of you got out of the bronco and walked inside. The rest of the squad was already there, and Natasha immediately walked up to you and engulfed you in a huge hug. She lead you over to the bar, ordering you a drink. Jake shot her a look that told her to keep an eye on you and she nodded in obligation. The two of you spent some time catching up and ranting before walking back over to the pool tables. Natasha walked off to talk to someone else and you slotted yourself next to Jake, his arm immediately going around you. “Having fun?” His words were soft and genuine as he squeezed your shoulder, hoping the answer was yes. You nodded and gave him a smile, opening your mouth to answer before it quickly snapped shut.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the bag man with my sloppy seconds.” You heard Nathan’s voice come through the crowd and Jake immediately put himself between the two of you. He pushed you behind him, bicep flexing as he grit his teeth and looked at Bradley. Him and the rest of the daggers made their way over, knowing this would get ugly. “I’m nobody’s sloppy seconds.” You tried to make yourself sound tougher than you felt, Nathan laughing harshly in reply. “Sweetheart, you need an emphasis on the word sloppy.” His words were like a dagger and you winced.

“You know he’s given me no choice but to kill him now, right?” Jake’s eyes were the coldest you had ever seen them and his voice was dripping with venom. He was tired of seeing this happen to you, it was time to take action and end this once and for all. He took a step towards Nathan, boy boys puffing their chests up as Jake pushed the other boy out onto the deck. “Oh, you think you can hurt me?” Your ex boyfriend’s condescending tone was like nails on a chalkboard as you just swallowed thickly and watched as he took the first punch, it landing on Jake’s cheek and mouth. Jake just smirked and felt his lip, feeling it start to swell up as he spit a little blood into the sand nearby.

Jake had always been very good at fighting, unfortunately you knew that personally. In high school, he got in quite a few fights protecting you or his sisters. He was very protective of his girls and he got really good at knowing where and when to strike. He reared back and landed a hard punch right to Nathan’s nose, undoubtedly breaking it according to the loud crunch that you heard follow the blow and the blood pouring from his nose. Nathan staggered backwards, swearing under his breath as he reached up to try and stop the bleeding. “You son of a bitch.” He was seething, almost looking like he was foaming at the mouth.

You looked around nervously, noticing a crowd starting to form to see who might win the fight. It made you nauseous and you just wanted to go home. You watched as Nathan barely managed to give Jake a black eye before Jake landed another devastating blow to your exes jaw, sending him tumbling to his knees.

“Wow, you sure gave up fast.” Jake had a cocky smirk on his face as Nathan just sat there, bruised and bloody. Jake was wanting to bask in the glory when he realized you were nearby and he immediately turned to look for you, his breath hitching in his chest. Where were you?

He searched the people around him before his eyes finally landed on you. You had moved towards the back after Jake threw the last punch, a shy but proud smile on your lips as you gave him a thumbs up. He made his way towards you, your arms immediately wrapping around him. “You worry me to death when you fight like that.” Your words were muffled by his shirt as he hugged you, chuckling as he looked down at you. He had a black eye and a split lip and it made you frown. “That has to hurt.” He shook his head and instinctively let his tongue run over the cut on his lip, half wincing. “It’s not too bad.”

You just sighed and shook your head, taking his wrist and leading him back towards the bar. “Well, at least let me get you a whiskey and get you cleaned up and hopefully no one calls the police.” You gave him a bashful smile as you pulled him back in through the hard deck doors, immediately going up to the bar and ordering a shot of whiskey for Jake. He drank the shot and then you pulled him towards the bathroom at the hard deck, ready to get him cleaned up.

“Nope, hang on.” Jake held back before he ordered a shot for you and another for him, the both of you downing it. “We need liquid courage before you save my life.” He was so dramatic. You rolled your eyes and just shook your head before you went through the door into the bathroom. “Sit down and just hush. Let me get to work.”

For the first time, Jake did as he was told.

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bettyshoweduptotheparty · 6 months

Text

Midnights duality (part 2): Meet me at midnight

So, we’ve established that Midnights is the era where Taylor makes it known that there are two versions of her story, and that the prevailing narrative can’t be trusted and she’s letting a second (conflicting) narrative exist alongside it. This brings me back to the sentence that concluded the album announcement and opened the first track: Meet me at midnight.

Sounds so simple, right? But who are we meeting at midnight? It’s not the public Taylor, because we’ve known her for a while. So it must be the private one, the one that wears trainers and a T-shirt and bleeds purple glitter. Let’s meet her.

Where, other than in the mv, do we see this private Taylor? On the big screen during the Eras tour performance of Anti Hero. And what is she doing? Screaming and waving at us before she walks off in a huff. Guess no one was there to meet her…

She is also the one taking notes when performance Taylor is doing the teaching. I find it noteworthy that the public Taylor here is dressed in 1989 outfit and is holding the pointer stick in the same way she used to swing and hold the golf club in the Blank Space performance on the 1989 tour. She is also the one slut-shaming and bullying Taylor about her weight in the bathroom scene, two things we know were very prominent during the 1989 era so this ‘Anti Hero’ villain is her 1989 self, the height of her fame and perfectly crafted public persona. So this private Taylor that we are meeting is taking notes from her 1989 self. Interesting… And even more interesting that we are now getting a vault track on 1989tv called SLUT!. And I have just learned today that we are quite possibly getting a mv for this song… so would this be the place to meet our new Taylor? I think it’s a contender.

I have said in my post about the burning Lover house, that I take from the blue flames that 1989tv will move the narrative of this new Taylor forward quite a bit and as we are nearing the release (5 days to go as I’m writing this) I get that feeling more and more. Yes, I am not blind or deaf, I am very well aware that Taylor is currently doing her very best performance of NFL player’s gf, but I actually think that furthers my duality in public narrative and performance art point from part 1. Because, while I’m sure I don’t need to give you any examples of the excessive articles and media coverage of Taylor’s outings with either MH or TK, I just want to remind you of what other articles and media coverage has emerged in recent months, and this is not a story that would have made the NY Times or Cosmopolitan even a year ago.

Yep, Gaylor has entered the mainstream media. Not something that was on my 2023 bingo card, if I’m honest. Not even during the spring and summer of 2019, during Taylor’s soft launch phase, was her queerness this openly discussed in mainstream media. And not just as a general idea, some of the articles are linking her to very specific women in the past and, as if that wasn’t enough, the women in question have promptly appeared in public, either non-denying a relationship with her (looking at you DA), or showing up at her concert after a supposed years-long feud, adding fuel to the fire. And didn’t Taylor make a spectacle of looking lovingly up at Karlie in the stands at the last LA show, a show that she hyped up enough with 1989 announcement easter eggs that she could be sure everyone was watching. She wants to give this new narrative a platform. Yes, the straight girl pap walks are happening, but so is this. Pick your narrative. Especially the inclusion of Taylor in posts from official LGBTQ charities like Stonewall and Glaad seems significant to me, because they are non-profit organisations that are dedicated exclusively to preserving and telling queer people’s stories and would never risk their reputation or seriousness of their cause by participating in clout chasing or name dropping. And I know that these two things going on simultaneously seem super confusing, but I’m starting to think the confusion is part of the act. This is the tale of the two Taylors and it’s our job to work out which is which. The Stonewall Archive specifically tagged Taylor in their post about an exhibit on media coverage and public perception… they know something we don’t.

The re-emergence of pap walks alone is something I wasn’t expecting. Over the last 7 years we have known Taylor as a private person after her turbulent 1989 era. She was mostly quiet, stayed out of the headlines, no pap walks or public appearances outside of award shows and select performances. After all, reputation Taylor told us that the old Taylor died and the new version didn’t explain anything or show her face in public much. But 2023 Taylor has felt a lot like that old Taylor, right?? The pap walks, the girl squad, the high publicity romances… So, hasn’t Taylor learned her lesson from her 1989 self after all?

I think she has, but she wants the rest of the world to eat their words and see how ridiculous this is. Will this all be part of a Slut! mv? Maybe. Or it could be a way to distract the fanbase from something else that’s going on. One very notable difference in the pap walks now is how confidently herself she is when she’s photographed with her friends or going to the studio. Back in 2014 she would leave the gym looking like she was walking the runway with not a hair out of place, and now she is walking the streets of NYC looking queer as ever. (I swear she googled ‘How to look like a lesbian’ before picking that second outfit…) And I’ve seen how much it confuses the swifties. And I’m here for it 😋 Question though, if she’s going into the studio looking this gay, is the music coming out of these sessions going to be equally💅 ?

Something is brewing and 1989tv is the next thing on the horizon, so let’s look at that.

Midnight and Sunrise

Having been introduced to our new Taylor at the beginning of Midnights, she’s taken us through the main album, then the 3am bonus tracks, to the til dawn edition. With every new midnights edition we have worked our way through the night from midnight, to 3am, to dawn. So, next would be sunrise, right? And there have actually been a few mentions of sunrise and daylight in both the 1989tv marketing and other media coverage. I’ve spoken about the midnights to daylight theory before, as it’s one that many Gaylors have speculated on, but I think there has been quite a bit of movement on this recently.

Firstly, there is the yellow 1989tv vinyl that is conveniently named the ‘Sunrise Boulevard edition’. Not only does it have the word sunrise in it, it is also a direct reference to the Stonewall National Museum & Archive, which is located on this road in Fort Lauderdale, FL. And with the emergence of all the other variations of the 1989tv vinyl, it is easy to spot that they all have a sunlit beach theme (a big change from the OG 1989 city theme!) and with the recent leak of a purple version on the website of a record shop, we now have a full rainbow of 1989tv vinyls. Sunrise and rainbows… I think I have an idea where this may be going. But hang on, there is more.

Remember when I said that the Stonewall National Archive knows something we don’t? A few days ago, they posted this on their Instagram with lyrics from Taylor’s happiness, highlighting and italicising the word sunrise and pointing everybody’s nose in the caption to their address at 1300 E Sunrise Boulevard:

This feels VERY intentional. And I’ve never really looked at the happiness lyrics in that way, having taken the song to be about Scott B and her old label, but when Stonewall is using these exact lines in that context, with a strong suggestion that they have insider knowledge, it seems worth looking at them again.

In the caption, SNMAL say that they ‘celebrate the glorious sunrise of LGBTQ+ history’ with the pride flag and sunshine emoji. So, could it be that the Sunrise Blvd vinyl and accompanying rainbow variations of 1989tv are going to bring some kind of moment in history for LGBTQ people? It certainly sounds like this is about more than just Taylor. Perhaps furthering the theory that there may be a double album on the horizon with the second one being all collaborations. Stonewall also liked a comment on this post that said that something is in the air 🌈

They also included the line about flickers of light from the dress I wore at midnight. Flickers of light, as in glimpses of her queerness? The ones we are seeing now in all those articles are social posts? The mention of a dress immediately throws my mind back to the rainbow dress that Billy Porter ended up wearing at World Pride 2019, but that was almost certainly meant for Taylor. And out of all the photos of Taylor from the VMAs this year, which one did GLAAD choose to post on their Instagram in September? Yep, the one with Billy Porter. Takes me back to 2019… and something else does too, actually: The Cruel Summer live single release.

Cruel Summer was released as a single this June, 4 years after its initial release. And almost made it to No.1. It was certainly on the radio A LOT. The Lover set is also the opening act of the Eras tour, so this summer has certainly had some 2019 throwbacks. And remember how the Lover era started? With ME! Out now! on Lesbian Visibility Day, followed by the sunshine and rainbows parade that was the mv and (as we later learned from the documentary) 'Cats, unicorns and gay pride... things that make me ME.' And now, in October 2023, Taylor released a live version of Cruel Summer and used the very photo from the 2019 shoot as a cover for the single. And not only was that a 2019 photo shoot, it was the last photo she posted on her instagram in June 2019 before she was meant to wear the dress at NYC Pride. I think she captioned it something like 'calm before the storm'. And now that photo has made a comeback. If I were a betting woman...(and I've learned better than to ever make predictions when it comes to Miss Taylor Swift these days) but if I were I'd say it looks like she's taking another run at this. Meet ME at midnight...and then follow me into the daylight. ☀

And one more thing before I conclude this monstrosity of an essay, I found Taylornation's post for the midnights anniversary last week a bit mysterious:

It says 'Tonight we celebrate an album written by the one that could make us stay. After all the sleepless nights and friendship bracelets we've shared, we hope you know you're never really on your own, kid.' Sounds a bit like a pep talk (and a plea at the same time) to me. Why do the fans need reminding of the good times and be asked to stay? Where would they go and why?? And the first picture in the carousel is our girl 'home Taylor' from the Anti Hero mv, looking contemplative, maybe waiting for someone to come and finally let her out of that house. And the photo immediately after it is Taylor as we know her, smiling for photos with her fans at the movie premier. The two Taylors again...but one is in black and white and the other is in screaming colour 😉iykyk.

#taylor swift #gaylor #1989 tv #midnights album #midnights to daylight theory #stonewall and glaad know something we don't

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 6 months

Text

The Art of Failing [3]

Werewolf!Joel Miller x F!Reader, Vampire!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Warnings: violence and mild gore, mentions of blood and injures, reader is described as active and able to fight, eventual smut, loss of a child, angst to fluff, more warnings to come based on individual chapters

Chapter Warnings: discussion of child loss, discussion of parent loss, discussion of drunk driving and repercussions of that, mentions of blood and injuries, vampires drinking blood, dubcon setting but no smut, vampires play master/pet and it's hella sketchy, drugs and alcohol, reader is drugged

Word Count: 12.8k

Summary: The Division of Mythological Affairs was created to protect and serve the supernatural community while keeping the knowledge of their existence a secret. You hoped to become an Agent of the DMA like your mother before you. Just as your dream begins to fall apart at the seams, you stumble across a missing persons report that could change everything. You are desperate to solve the case, to prove your ability, and you find yourself with unlikely allies⏤ a werewolf running from his pack and a vampire shunned from his coven. The stakes are high, lives are at risk, and success hinges on the three of you learning to work together.

[a/n: i have no good reason for this being a day late other than who i am as a person. also there's a supernatural reference in here b/c i am unclever lol.]

FIVE MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT

"life went on but it was never the same again." d.j.

The only sound in the room came from the clock hanging on your living room wall as you sat on your couch and stared blankly ahead. After saving you, Din had climbed in your car with you to ensure you got home and the second you were up in your apartment he disappeared saying he was going to track down ‘Tim Brancato’. You weren’t sure the bounty hunter would’ve told you how he planned to do so, even if you had asked, so you left it alone for now.

Apparently, the adrenaline was officially wearing off and shock was settling in its place. You could’ve died. You probably would have. The eerie smile Miles gave you told you everything you needed to know and the image of his face wouldn’t leave your mind. He was going to kill you, and he had been excited at the prospect.

You knew being an Agent was a dangerous lifestyle. Hell, you knew better than most⏤ it was how you lost your mother. Your eyes darted to the picture on the wall of the two of you. Even when people weren’t actively trying to hurt an Agent, the work itself was still a risk. Any case had the chance to go south. That’s what they say happened to her. A simple job where everything went wrong. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your mother had been a hero with huge solved cases under her belt. She had saved countless lives and put her own at risk just as often, but it had been a patrol that took her from you. She stumbled across a smuggling deal gone wrong, in the dead of night, and then never came home that morning.

So, it didn’t surprise you that putting your nose in something this big made you a target, but you felt shaky all the same.

The silence of your apartment was interrupted by frantic pounding on your door. You startled, eyes wide, but a voice immediately set you at ease. “Hey, it’s me!” Joel called out, muffled by the door. You stood and hurried to open the door, and the second you did Joel pounced. His hands found your face, cradling it carefully, and his dark eyes were scanning you with concern. At his touch, your face began to burn, and there was no telling if it came from your injuries earlier in the day, embarrassment from the doting, or just the feel of his rough, calloused hands against your cheeks. His hands looked huge at baseline, but having them envelope your face made it that much more prominent in your mind. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine, Joel. You didn’t have to rush over.” You replied. After the incident, you had texted him that at some point tonight he should swing by so the three of you could figure out this Tim Brancato issue, but for him to be here already he must have sped over. “Din isn’t even back yet from⏤”

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” Joel muttered a string of curses. He only released your face then after evaluating a few more times⏤ as if he’d find an injury that wasn’t there the first time he looked you over. “The second you told me you were goin' there, I should’ve⏤”

“There was no way of knowing.”

“We were suspicious though. That fanged metal head told us.”

“We didn’t know for sure yet though.”

Joel crossed his arms and a crease appeared between his eyes where his brows furrowed in disagreement. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” He repeated himself. “If the bloodsucker hadn’t been there…”

“Really. I’m fine, Joel.” You set your hand on his arm. His scorching skin under yours sent your heart into overdrive, and you had the urge to rake your fingers through his arm hair. Nima’s phone call with you flashed in your mind, and, before you could do something stupid, you pulled your hand back. “And hey, no mean nicknames when Din get backs.”

Joel scrunched his features in a pout as he shook his head. “Why not?”

“Because.” You reached around him to shut the door and walked back to your living room. “If we’re gonna work together we should at least try to keep the peace.”

Joel trailed after you with a scoff, “Well, what the hell am I supposed to call him then?”

“His name?” You shrugged. “I know that’s probably wild of me to suggest.”

Joel grumbled under his breath and as you slipped into the kitchen you saw him gravitate to stare at the pictures on your wall again. There were a good bit of places you’ve been and people you loved. Plus, staring at the pictures was probably less rude than plopping down on your couch and watching television. Not that you would have a problem if he did, but you certainly would have too much anxiety if the roles were reversed.

“You hungry?” You called out. The fridge and pantry weren’t overflowing with options. Technically, you were past due to go grocery shopping. “I can order us DoorDash or something.” Joel didn’t respond and you stepped out of the kitchen to try and get his attention. “Joel?”

His gaze snapped from a photo to you, “Huh?”

“Food? I was gonna order something while we wait for Din.”

“Oh. Yeah, I could eat.” He nodded. You picked up your phone and began to ask if he had any preferences when he interrupted. “How long until the vampire gets back?”

Well, vampire was way better than bloodsucker. You’d take it. You paused in thought, “I actually don’t know. A couple hours at least? I’m not sure how long it would take a bounty hunter to find any info on this guy.” You scrolled through your phone. “Do you have any food preferences or things you hate? There’s⏤”

“You wanna go out?”

“Huh?” You nearly dropped your phone in surprise and stared back with wide eyes.

“Out. You wanna go out to eat rather than call in?” Joel asked. “There’s a place near here I like.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Yeah.” You nodded. Joel nodded his head toward your door indicating he expected you to follow. You snatched up your keys and wallet to hurry after him.

Joel made the decision to drive and you didn’t have a strong enough preference to argue. It only made sense since he knew where the place was. You climbed into his cab and glanced around. The truck was an older pick up that had seen better years, but it was well kept and clean. As Joel reversed out of the parking spot he noticed your gaze.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head. Hanging from the rear view mirror was a homemade bracelet. It consisted of mostly pink and white beads, but there were a few specific beads interrupting the color pattern every three beads. You noticed one shaped like a star, another of a butterfly, and another of a soccer ball. If there were any others they were hidden behind the mirror. You chuckled, “Did Ellie make that?”

Joel’s eyes darted to the bracelet and he stared at it a beat before his eyes snapped back to the road, “No.”

He offered no further clarification and you squirmed in your seat at the sudden tension. You cleared your throat and tried to change the subject, “So what does this place serve?”

Joel seemed eager for the topic change as he spoke up quickly. The place was a simple diner, but Joel swore up and down on their food. A hidden gem of a place apparently. It was about ten minutes from your apartment and located in the parking lot of a strip mall. You had actually seen the place a few times, but had just never paid it any mind. The outside had the classic retro diner look and you chuckled when he led you in and the interior matched the old school diner look. A handful of people were scattered about.

Someone from the kitchen called out a greeting, and Joel raised a hand in return before sitting on a stool at the bar. You took the seat beside him, “You’re a regular, huh?”

“Yeah. Ellie and I come here every other Sunday.” Joel shrugged. “Tradition, I guess you could say. Friend owns the place.”

You hummed in amusement. Austin was a big city and you found it ironic that every other week he had apparently spent in your neck of the woods. You wondered what it would’ve been like to meet Joel before Ellie disappeared.

“Hey.” A woman spoke up. She stepped out of the swinging kitchen doors and hurried over. Her long hair was a light shade of brown and her face had fallen into concern. “Any news?”

“Not yet.” Joel shook his head. It was clear they were speaking about Ellie and that made sense if him and her spent as much time here as they did. “You haven’t heard anythin' on the street have you, Tess?”

Tess narrowed her eyes at him, “I would’ve called if I had.” She did a double take when she noticed you and tilted her head. “Who’re you?”

You gave her your name with a small smile. “I’m a friend of Joel’s and⏤”

“Joel doesn’t have friends.” Tess responded.

Joel snorted. “Thanks.”

“I’m helping him find Ellie.” You clarified. Tess looked skeptical, as if she was about to mock and/or insult you, so you jumped in. “I work⏤ worked for the DMA.”

“And that’s helpful how?”

“Leave it alone, Tess.” Joel grunted. “You hear of a guy named… what was his name, sweetheart?”

“Tim Brancato.”

Tess’ eyes darted from Joel to you and back again. One of her eyebrows raised in question, and despite her claim that Joel had no friends, she must have known him well as that was all it took for him to understand her. Her hands fell to her hips and Joel scoffed, “Have you heard the name or not?”

“No. I haven’t.” She shook her head. “But I’ll make a call.”

Tess gave you one more glance before heading back to the kitchen. She caught a waitress by the arm and pointed her in your direction before disappearing into the back. The waitress quickly took your orders and brought you your drinks. You leaned your elbows on the counter.

“She seems nice.”

“You don’t gotta lie.”

“No, I mean it!” You shook your head quickly. “Maybe nice wasn’t the right word. She seems like she cares.” The woman reminded you a bit of Nima. Maybe not overall since Nima’s general vibe was ‘bubbly cheerfulness’ and Tess’ was more ‘casual homicide as a hobby’, but they were both protective. “Everybody deserves a friend who will go to war for them.”

Joel paused before giving you a small nod, “Tess and I go way back.”

“Is she a…” You started then paused to see the very human couple sitting only a couple stools down. “You know…” You lifted your hands to act like they were claws and briefly bared your teeth.

Joel’s lips broke out into a brief smile, but you were able to spot a dimple in his cheek, “What’re you doin' with your hands?”

“They’re⏤” You gasped, mock offended. “They’re very clearly claws. Thank you very much.”

Joel’s smile muted again, a moment of wistful, before it fell away. “No. She’s not. She’s human, but she’s involved in our community.” The two of you sat in a comfortable silence between one another. The sounds of the diner filling the air around you. Tess stepped back out and Joel stiffened. “So?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “My contacts don’t know the name.” Joel mumbled a curse and you found yourself praying that Din would find something. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“I don’t think so.” Joel dragged his hand over his jaw.

“Well, you know how to reach me if you need something, and I’ll reach out to you if I hear anything different.” Tess replied. He nodded. Her eyes drifted back to you. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Same.” You blurted quickly, not expecting the comment.

Tess left the space once more and you watched the mysterious woman go. She didn’t work for the DMA obviously which made you curious what her ties were in the community. A part of you wanted to ask Joel more details, but you assumed if he hadn’t offered them then he didn’t want to offer them.

Your food arrived a few minutes later and you ate in silence. It wasn’t awkward, but you found yourself glancing his way occasionally. Joel seemed lost in thought as he ate, and you wished you had more to offer him. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to your mother. If she were on this case she’d probably be much further ahead than you were.

“My daughter made the bracelet.” Your head perked up at the sudden statement. Joel wasn’t looking your way. He stared ahead, picking at his food. “My other daughter. Before Ellie.”

The words and the tone in which he said it told you everything you needed to know and you felt your heart physically break in your chest. “I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to⏤”

“Don’t apologize. Had no way of knowin'.” Joel shrugged. “She’ll have been gone for seven years in March.” He took a long sip of his water. “Was an accident. Drunk driver sideswiped us on the road and my truck flipped.” Joel rubbed his hands on his jeans and shrugged. “Should’ve been me but it wasn’t. Driver hit us on my side. Made no sense why I⏤” He stopped and sucked in a sharp breath. “Ellie came into my life 'bout a year ago. The six in between were… not good.”

Your chest ached in empathy for this man. Parents should never have to lose a child. You literally could not even imagine the pain that came with that. And, when you thought about the fact that now Ellie was missing… Gods, it would’ve hurt less to have someone gut punch you.

“What… What was her name?” You asked softly then wished you could take it back. “You don’t have to… to answer.”

Joel shook his head. “Sarah. Her name was Sarah. She had just turned twelve.”

Only twelve? You were at a loss for words. Not that it mattered. There were no words that fit as a response. Nothing a person could say that would touch the magnitude of losing a young child.

“I lost my mom.” Your mouth decided on what to say before your mind could fully agree and the words came out soft and hesitant. “A little over a year ago. It was an accident too.” You wrung your hands together in your lap and tried to ignore the burning of your eyes as tears threatened to spill. This wasn’t something you had really talked to anyone about openly. Not even Nima. People knew, but you just… hadn’t spent much time admitting it out loud. You swallowed and took a slow, calming breath. “I know it’s not the same, and I’m not trying to compare pain, I just…”

Joel shook his head, “Pain is pain.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching out to set a hand on top of his which was now resting on the counter. You gave a light squeeze, “I’m sorry, Joel. I know platitudes hardly help, but I really am sorry.”

Joel finally turned to look at you and the agony in his eyes could’ve knocked the air from your lungs. He slowly turned his hand over so he could squeeze your hand back. As he tightened his grip he sighed, “I’m sorry.” Joel shook his head. “I’m sorry 'bout your mom.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile in response, but it didn’t resolve the heartbreak in his eyes. The two of you eased back into a comfortable silence and it took a moment before you realized you still had his hand in yours. As you began to pull away, the diner door chimed open. It wasn’t a sound you would’ve paid much mind too, but the other people eating in the diner reacted in surprise. Joel’s hands fell from yours as you both turned around and it was Din, in all his Mandalorian glory, standing in the doorway.

“We need to talk.” Din said.

Joel threw cash onto the counter, enough to cover both meals, and dragged you out before you could complain. He shoved Din out into the parking lot. “Are you outta your damned mind? Out in public wearin' that??”

“I’m not usually in the public, but how else was I supposed to get your attention, dog?”

“We were gonna meet at her place!”

“I don’t want to wait. This needs discussing now.”

Joel hurried to his truck. You began to offer Din the front seat considering he was much larger than you in that bulky armor, but Joel grunted. “He can shove his shiny ass into the back. You’re up front, sweetheart.”

You shot Din an awkward smile and heard a string of muttered Mando’a as everyone climbed into the truck. You turned in your seat to face Din, “How’d you know where to find us?”

“I tracked you.”

“Me?” You pointed to yourself. Din nodded and said nothing further on the matter. A trend with this team, apparently. You sighed, “Okay, did you find Brancato?”

Din nodded, “Somewhat.”

“The fuck does somewhat mean?” Joel barked.

“You said he works undercover.” Din said and you nodded to the statement. “It’s with my kind.” You opened your mouth, but Din shook his head. “Not Mandalorians. Vampires. My leads tell me that there’s a high chance he’ll be at Carnal tonight.”

Joel scoffed, “The vampire club?? Why?”

“He’s working undercover to infiltrate a vampire coven.” Din said dryly. “And you’re asking why he’d be at Carnal?”

Joel swiveled his head around to glare at the man and you held your hands up to stop the fight before it began. “Okay. We can work with that. I didn’t know humans were allowed in Carnal. I thought it was a vampire only club.”

“It is.” Din nodded. “But pets are allowed.”

It took a beat for the words to click and your eyes widened. Joel rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath that you missed. Killing to drink humans was very illegal in the city for many obvious reasons. There were different ways vampires could get their hands on DMA approved blood, sold in packs, but if a vampire wanted a way to drink straight from a source the quickest, and most legal way, was a pet.

“Fine.” Joel snapped. “So you go there tonight⏤”

“I can’t go.”

“What??” Joel turned in his seat again and you leaned forward to lightly push his cheek so he was facing the road once more. “What exactly is your plan then? You want me to fuckin' walk in? Because if that’s what it takes I’ll⏤”

You interrupted his rising anger, “Why not, Din?”

“Mandalorians do not keep pets and we don’t frequent clubs that endorse it the way Carnal does.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you’re not a real fuckin' Mandalorian anymore.”

“Joel!” You snapped.

Din was stiff but he didn’t respond to the dig. You turned in your seat and tried to think of a working plan. Joel was nearing your apartment by time you settled on the only one you could think of, “I have to go.” Joel stomped on the breaks of his truck, haphazardly parking in a spot in front of your apartment. “Joel⏤”

“You nearly died once today. That wasn’t enough?!”

“We can’t trust anyone else to go in!” You argued. “I think Nima has a few vampire friends. I can ask one to⏤”

Joel shook his head, “Some random bloodsucker that we don’t know. That’s who you want in that hellhole with you?” You sighed and pushed out of the truck. Joel climbed out after you, Din as well, but it was Joel who stomped after you while the armored man followed along. “Please tell me I don’t have to explain why that’s a terrible idea.”

“Then give me a better one, Joel!” You yelled back. You unlocked your front door, held it open, and then pointed inside like a scolding mother. Joel marched past you with a huff and Din quietly entered as well. You weren’t sure how the vampire could be so quiet while wearing the equivalent of pots and pans. You slammed the door behind you and tossed your keys aside. “So far, this is the only lead we got. Roberts said we need to talk to this guy and time is of the essence. The sooner we find him and get the information we need the sooner we get to the kids.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair and his anger was palpable. You knew it stemmed from frustration, but you could see the slight tremble of his body. Muscles quivering as slivers of yellow stained his dark eyes. He was pacing the floor and you hoped that expenditure of activity would keep him from transforming.

“I’ll go.”

Your head snapped to Din who had spoken. You shook your head, “Din, you won’t exactly fit in at Carnal with the armor. Like I said, I’ll call Nima and see if she can get me in touch with a vampire⏤”

“No. The dog is right.” Din replied and Joel growled at the name. “This is dangerous. You need someone who will be useful if a fight breaks out.”

“She needs to not go at all!”

“If I go, I need a human.” Din argued. “The undercover agent, if there, will be in the back where…” Din hesitated, shifted foot from foot, before finally blurting the words out when he couldn’t think of anything better. “Where a vampire can play with its pet.”

Joel buried his face in his hands, “Jesus fuckin' Christ.”

“I can remove my armor for this.” Your eyes widened in surprise. His helmet turned to you. “Is there somewhere…”

You pointed to the door behind him that led into a small guest bedroom. Din nodded once before disappearing behind it. You stared at the door in surprise. Even though the Mandalorian coven said he was no longer one of them, it was clear from the short time you knew him that it was still an important aspect of himself.

“Sweetheart,” Joel said and you glanced back at him, the anger had melted into just frustration, “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s our only idea, Joel.” You sighed. “If we had something else, trust me I’d go for it. I’m not exactly looking forward to going into a vampire club.” The stories and rumors you heard about those places made your skin crawl. “But this is for the kids. I can do this.” Joel locked his jaw before giving a curt nod. “And Din will be right there to help if need be.”

Joel muttered something again in response to that. You crossed your arms as something dawned on you, “He’s gonna need clothes for the club.”

Joel shrugged and motioned to himself, “What am I supposed to do? Give him the shirt off my back?”

You rolled your eyes at his snippy comment and told him to behave while you visited your neighbor. Across the hall from you was a young guy you saw in passing. The two of you weren’t exactly friends, but you were friendly. You’d pick up his mail when he was out of town, and he’d make sure no packages got stolen from your front door. He also happened to be around Din’s size and owned more than just flannel⏤ Joel’s staple wardrobe piece.

Your neighbor didn’t seem super psyched to see you knocking on his door a little past nine at night and looked even less pleased when you asked to borrow clothes. However, when you explained it was a bit of an emergency, leaving out the vampire and werewolf dilemma of it all, he begrudgingly offered you a simple suit.

When you returned to the apartment, you found Joel in the living room with his hands on his hips glaring at someone. You did a double take when you noticed Din. He had come out of the room sans armor and only had on the canvas material suit he wore under it. Din’s head turned to glance your way and you hadn’t expected to see such nervous energy in his features. It didn’t match the hard armor you had known him for. Din was handsome. No doubt. Enough so that you thought it a crime he’d been hiding it behind a helmet all these years. Tan skin, dark eyes, and equally as dark hair. As your eyes bounced between Joel and Din you were noticing a trend. Din looked younger with not a single strand of silver decorating his hair, and the messy hair atop his head was shorter than Joel’s. He also didn’t have nearly as much hair covering his jawline either. Just a bit of scruff. Joel looked bigger compared to Din who seemed on the slimmer side. Though it was hard to consider Din to be slim⏤ Joel was just huge.

“Wow.” You chuckled and pointed toward them. “You guys look a lot alike.” Joel and Din’s features both furrowed into different degrees of a glare as they looked back to one another then to you. “Seriously? You don’t see it?”

“Did you get the clothes or not?” Joel grunted.

You stared at them longer, still in awe. Whether they wanted to admit it or not the similarities couldn’t be denied. There was enough about them different that they stood apart from one another in more than just their physical features. Joel was radiating a gruff, grumpy demeanor that was far from approachable while Din currently leaned more toward a stoic nature. They both said your name and you startled.

“Right. Here, Din.” You held out the clothes. “I think they’ll fit.”

“They’re going to have to.” Din replied and the sound of his voice was so smooth without the helmet altering it. “Thank you.”

You gave him a thumbs up, lost for words, and backpedaled, “I should get ready too, I guess.”

Joel grumbled again about the bad idea, but even he seemed to realize there were very little other options. So, bad idea or not. It’s all you guys had.

It was past ten when you parked your car on the side of the road blocks away from where the entrance to the club would be. Din suggested you park at a distance and walk up to it rather than park close. Most of the time it took to get to this point was convincing Joel to go home and wait for the two of you to wrap this up. He wanted to sit on the street which seemed like an exceptionally poor idea. When you finally managed to convince him, it was only after he gave you his address and made you promise to come to his place after rather than your own. You thought a simple text of ‘I’m still living’ would be enough, you even joked so, but Joel didn’t appreciate it.

“So how long have you worn that helmet? Before tonight, I mean.” You asked curiously. As you walked side by side, a foot of distance separating the two of you, you squirmed and straightened your dress. Austin at night, towards the end of the year, had a slight chill in the air that left goosebumps pebbling up on your exposed skin.

“I took the creed as a child.” Din replied. Vampires couldn’t have children except under very rare and specific circumstances. So Din, like any other Mandalorian, was adopted into the ranks. It was common with their coven which was one of the aspects that made them so unique to other covens. What confused you was taking the creed as a child.

“I thought taking the creed was synonymous to becoming a vampire? Kids don’t get turned though. Not legally, at least, and you wouldn’t look like…” You motioned to frame. Any child turned would never age and never develop.

Din shook his head, “Taking the creed is a separate action. By taking the creed you secure your place within the Mandalorian coven. The turning ceremony does not occur until one receives their first forge made armor.”

“Ah.” You nodded in understanding. “How long has it been since your ceremony?”

“Four years.”

Your feet came to a stop in surprise and Din glanced over his shoulder at you. His eyebrow was raised in question and he too squirmed in the clothes you had borrowed for him. You expected it was less the cold and more so the fit. The black suit jacket and button up shirt fit well enough, a bit tight around his shoulders, but his suit pants were a size too small based on how he kept readjusting himself. You shook your head, “Four years? You’ve only been a vampire for four years?” Din nodded as if still confused at your confusion. You began to walk again and mumbled, “I just expected you to be centuries old or something.”

Din chuckled, “Sorry to disappoint.”

There was a beat of silence before you spoke again, “Is this your first time without your helmet?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Din said, voice sharp. You twisted your lips and mumbled an apology. Curiosity tended to get the best of you often, and it was kind of interesting to be able to speak to a Mandalorian. You should have remembered the circumstance though and left it alone.

“No.” You were surprised to hear Din’s response. “I’ve taken it off before. That’s why I am considered an Apostate.”

You assumed that referred to his lack of a Mandalorian title and the disdain the coven leader had spoken about him in. Despite that stripping of the title, you still mentally considered him Mandalorian. Though you knew that kind of statement might not sit right with him.

“Can I ask…” You hesitated since he had already scolded you for asking questions, but then he had enabled you by answering. “Why did you take it off before?”

“For my son. For Grogu.”

Your lips curled up into a smile. “I see. You know, I actually don’t know much of anything about your son. I never got to actually read the full report. How old is he?”

“He…” Din paused. “He looks to be five.” You narrowed your eyes in thought of the very specific word choice he used. He continued, “As I said before, he has vampiric tendencies, but I don’t actually know his genetic lineage. He was… Our paths crossed when I was hunting a bounty eight months ago.”

A silence settled between the two of you again and you assumed that meant he wasn’t going to delve into the details of said bounty. You gripped the strap of your purse a bit tighter and shrugged, “You know, I don’t think it should count as breaking the creed if you’re taking the helmet off for a good reason. Like for your son.”

“The coven wouldn’t agree with you.” Din replied then after a paused added, “But thank you.”

After a few blocks, Din grasped your wrist and carefully tugged you to a stop.

“We can’t go in yet.”

“Why not?”

“You smell like a dog.”

You blinked in shock then held a hand to your chest mockingly, “Well, gee golly, Din. You sure know how to sweet talk a woman.”

“It’s your riduur. He’s ruining your scent.”

“That’s the second time someone has commented on ruining my scent.” You grumbled, but the first half of his statement registered in your mind a second late. “Riduur??”

Din nodded, “Your mate.”

“No. I know what a Riduur is.” You shook your head. “I meant, Joel is not mine. He’s not my mate.”

The Mandalorian’s eyes narrowed at you as if he were trying to puzzle out a lie and you raised your eyebrows at him in question. Din cleared his throat, “I was told by the coven that you claimed he was your riduur.”

“Oh!” You waved your hand. “I did, but that was only because I didn’t want them to kill him.” Din held your gaze and you shrugged. “I knew the bond between Riduur is not one taken lightly and I prayed it’d be enough to get both of us out alive.” Surprise flitted across Din’s features. You shifted nervously in place. “Guess I got lucky. Or⏤ Or Joel did, I should say.”

Din shook his head and you thought the vampire looked impressed. “Not luck. Quick thinking. That was clever.”

“I have my moments.” You chuckled awkwardly⏤ unsure how else to accept the praise from him.

“Still,” Din glanced around, “The point remains. You reek of Joel Miller. May I⏤” He cleared his throat. “May I scent you?”

You mouthed the word in slight confusion. Logically it made sense. Walking into a vampire exclusive bar smelling like a werewolf was probably not ideal. You just weren't sure what that entailed. “Um, sure?” Din stepped closer and you felt your heart do a somersault. Nervous. You were nervous. An apex predator was close enough to easily rip your throat out, not that you thought Din would, but your body was naturally reacting to that. That was all. “What⏤How⏤ Scent.”

Din stared down at you, close enough you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact, and you mentally cursed your inability to form a coherent sentence. Din’s lips began to curl up into a smile until he suddenly steeled his features with a small shake of his head. “The quickest way to correct your scent is if I put my lips on you.”

“Put your lips on… Oh.”

Din paused and when you didn’t reply he gave a small nod. He coughed, “So, is that alright?”

“Hmm?” You blurted. He was waiting for permission. “Yes. Sure. Okay.”

“Stay still. I give you my word, I mean you no harm.”

You began to open your mouth to reply when Din ducked down to the crook of your neck. His hot breath fanned against your skin and you felt yourself stiffen in response. You heard him take a deep breath. “Gar klesir jatisyc.” Din mumbled the words close enough that his lips brushed against your skin. A chill went down your spine. He stayed there a moment more and you softly spoke his name. Din seemed to startle and he mumbled again, “Ni ceta.”

His lips warmly pressed to the side of your throat, lingering there, and then he turned your head to do the same to the other. When he pulled back, your face felt like it was burning. Din cradled your left wrist to set a kiss there as well, and you felt the tip of his tongue drag against your skin. You gasped, but Din didn’t seem phased. He did the same to your right wrist. Before he released your wrist, he dragged a finger across the healing cuts on your palm. You had used one of your emergency healing salves rather than just the routine human store bought stuff⏤ both on the burns on your face and your hands.

“I’m sorry.” Din mumbled. “I didn’t mean for you to get injured. I shouldn’t have…” He lifted his gaze and they fell on your neck. There was no bruise there from his hand but he stared as if there were. “I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Din.” You shrugged.

He didn’t seem to agree, but he dropped your wrist and took a large step back. “That’s better. Nobody should be able to smell Joel unless they get close, and I don’t plan on letting any other vampire get that close.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded quickly. “I⏤ I do like that plan.”

Din let out a soft chuckle and motioned toward the sidewalk. Out of the corner of your eyes, you watched him. Stoic would’ve been the perfect word to describe, hell you had thought it not that long ago, but looking at him now you weren’t quite sure it fit. Din was shockingly easy to read. You could see nervousness in his brow, worry in his eyes, tension drawn along his features, and the downward curl of his lips conveyed anxiety. The thought lingered in your mind for a beat until it dawned on you why.

His helmet.

If Din had worn that helmet since he was a child he never had to worry about concealing his emotions. The metal did it for him. Your lips parted to comment on it, ask a question, when Din suddenly reached out toward you.

“We’re close.” He said. “Can I touch you?”

“Sure.” You nodded. Din’s arm wrapped over your shoulder so he could pull you into his side as you walked. Instinctively, you wrapped your own arms around his torso. The permission of touch had kind of been implied when you agreed to this plan together, but you found it cute that he still asked explicitly. “When we’re inside, it’s… it’s okay to touch me how you need to. I heard rumors about these kind of places, and I⏤ I trust you.”

Din furrowed his brow. Again, all his emotions of confusion and surprise drawn on his face. “You do?”

“Yeah. We’re a team, remember?” You chuckled.

“Right.” Din mumbled and focused his attention ahead.

Being that you were already close, and getting closer with each step, you chose to keep your mouth shut and let Din lead. The alley he took you down was the exact kind you would avoid as a woman at night, but with Din wrapped around you there was little room for fear. At the end of the alley was a set of stairs that led down to a door that seemed would open into a basement.

Curiosity rose up in you, that same eagerness for knowledge hungry for more, and you watched as Din lifted his thumb to his mouth to bite down at the tip. Black blood welled up there and he smeared it on the silver doorknob. It glowed briefly and Din was able to push it open.

“Cool.” You breathed without even realizing it. Din glanced your way and you realized you had spoken the excitement aloud and the back of your neck burned.

The hall was nearly pitch black, but Din seemed to have no trouble navigating it. You were led down another set of spiraling stairs this time and as you got deeper into the Earth the sound of a booming bass began to vibrate around the two of you. You took in a slow breath to try and steady your nerves. Din squeezed your shoulders in comfort. It emptied out into a hall basked in red and the two of you were no longer alone.

Eyes, glowing silver like an animal under the red lights, turned to stare. You could barely hear yourself think with the blasting music and the pounding of your heart in your ears as hungry eyes found you. Din tightened his grip on you again. You glanced up at him and your eyes widened at the silver glow of his own eyes⏤ narrowed into a glare that he aimed at the surrounding vampires. One of the others, a male dressed in a maroon suit that seemed brighter in this hall, stepped in front of the two of you. A low growl rumbled deep in Din’s throat as his teeth clenched together threateningly.

“Calm down, buddy.” The man chuckled. “I mean your pet no harm.” He dragged his eyes over your body. It wasn’t the first time a creepy man looked at you in a way that made you feel like a meal, but this was the first time it was happening literally. “Just the two of you?” Din gave a curt nod. “And business?”

Din huffed. He turned to face you, pressing his face to the side of yours, and took in a deep breath that made you shudder. Din’s deep, hoarse voice let the next word roll off his tongue, as the hand from the arm wrapped around you found your hair and tugged it just enough to tilt your chin up and reveal your throat. “Pleasure.”

You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and the other vampire chuckled. “Go ahead. Enjoy.”

He stepped out of the way allowing you and Din to enter the club. It was one large room with various stages and levels. The entire space was dimly lit and certain areas had thick red curtains closing it off from public view. Directly in front of you was a dance floor. The throngs of people congested like a mob undulated with the best. Beyond it, on a stage, was a long and busy bar.

“You’re safe.” Din whispered the words in your ear, a chill shimmering down your spine, before he led your forwards.

Din stayed focused on where you stepped and you were eternally grateful for that considering you were too distracted to pay attention yourself. Din curved around the dance floor, understandably so, but it forced the two of you to walk past lines of booths that encircled the space. A few booths looked no different than one you would sit in with Nima, drinking and chatting, but a few starkly different. One booth had a scantily clad woman laid mostly bare on the table as three or four vampires drank from her. A clear reminder that this was not your usual bar. The vampire drinking from the woman’s neck lifted her eyes to meet yours and you couldn’t help but curl tighter into Din’s side.

The bar was obviously the goal location and you were relieved when you finally reached it just because it was less intimidating than the rest of the club. The bartop itself was lit up bright white which made it possibly the most well lit area of the club. Din carefully maneuvered you onto a stool, but he didn’t sit himself. He stayed pressed against your side with one hand leaning on the bar and the other on your waist. It was a dominant stance. Protective.

“What can I get you?” The vampire working the bar asked. Her eyes were reflecting the glow of the bartop and it gave the dark skinned woman an ethereal look.

You opened your mouth to order, but Din squeezed your waist firmly. He nodded, “A shimmer.”

The bartender nodded and you raised an eyebrow in question. Din offered no further clarification. Instead, he pressed his lips to your ear. “We need to go to the back”

“Right. The pet zone.” You whispered.

“I suppose that’s one name for it.” No part of Din scared or worried you, but the words still managed to make you blanch in discomfort. You glanced back at the woman laid out on a table top, but Din shook his head. “She’s not a pet. Club owns her.”

You had ten thousand questions to ask, but were too worried to let a single one out. The bartender came back with a tall, slender glass. The liquid inside looked like the night sky. Black with silver glitter swirling inside of it. Din pushed the glass into your hands and paid for it. You lifted the glass to smell it and the aroma wasn’t something you could pinpoint exactly, but it made you think of the hot summer days where your mother would take you down to Barton Springs to cool off. Sunscreen lotion, sweet popsicles, and the carefree laughter shared between the two of you. A dizzying smile crossed your lips.

“Don’t drink it.” Din murmured into your ear as he helped you off the stool. “Just hold it.”

He began to walk you down the length of the bar. The further you pulled the drink from your face the more clear headed you felt. You stared into the swirling silver. “What is this?”

“Shimmer.” He repeated the name. “It’s used on pets. It’ll sweeten your blood.”

“Just smelling it made me feel like my head was in a cloud.” You mumbled. “And it smelled like…”

“Like a memory.” Din nodded. “A happy one.” The two of you reached a back corner where velvet curtains covered a doorway and a gruff man in a clean suit stood guard. “Adjustments make it easier to control a pet. You’ll notice everyone back here is probably on it.”

You had never heard of anything like this before and as Din led you closer to the guard you wondered how legal this stuff was. The guard studied the two of you for a minute, inhaling a deep breath that made you nervous. What if he caught a whiff of Joel on you? The anxiety was short lived though as he pulled the velvet curtain aside.

The back room was even smaller⏤ cozier. There were booths with privacy curtains and another, smaller, bar in the back. Each booth had a curtain for the option of privacy, but not everyone used them. A young woman drifted over to speak to Din and as he responded your attention was pulled away by a fearful whimper.

In one of the closest booths, there was a woman, close to your age, sitting on the lap of a vampire who physically looked significantly older than her. Her back was pressed to his chest as his teeth sunk into the crook of her neck. Tears streaked down her face as she whimpered. Her eyes were blown wide in terror as she stared at nothing⏤ just zoned out. You mumbled Din’s name in panic. You were under the impression the official vampire and pet relationship was consensual but this did not look the sort. The glass sitting on the table in front of them looked like yours, but it was nearly empty and rather than silver it had a purple shine to it.

“She’s okay. I promise. She’s fine.” Din murmured and pulled you away. The woman he had been speaking to was leading you both to an empty booth.

All the booths looked uniform. Circular in shape, a low table in the middle, seats made of dark leather, and a red velvet curtain hanging from the ceiling to be used if needed.

"Keep the curtain closed if you're gonna fuck." The woman leading you said offhandedly. Din sat down and you were caught off guard when he pulled you to straddle his lap. A precarious position due to the short length of your dress. He waved a hand and the woman huffed before drawing the curtains herself. When they closed entirely a glowing sphere of light activated high above the two of you to offer light.

Din quickly readjusted to move you off his lap and he cupped your face to examine your features, “Are you alright?”

“I am. That girl⏤”

“Shiver.”

“What?”

Din took the cup from your hand to set on the table. “Yours is Shimmer. A happy memory. There are… other adjustments based on what they want to do to the blood’s flavoring.” You furrowed your brow in surprise. “Shimmer. Shiver. Simmer. Smolder.” He shrugged. “Those are the ones I can think of. I know there are more.”

“Each one makes the blood taste different and they…” You thought back to how terrified the woman looked. “They evoke different memories.” He nodded. “So if Simmer is a happy memory…”

“Shiver is a memory of fear.”

You couldn’t imagine someone agreeing to relive a memory of nightmares just because a vampire had a taste for fear in the blood. Then again, up until now, you had never imagined agreeing to be a vampire’s pet. The wording of that thought gave you pause and you glanced away from the glass in your hands to Din’s face. He was watching you with concern and curiosity. You weren’t imagining being his pet. Not really. Not seriously at least. Not that you minded the idea of Din and his lips and teeth and tongue… Well, that wasn’t⏤ You weren’t⏤ It was⏤

“Jate’ika? Are you okay?”

“Just⏤ My brain is just, uh, nevermind.” You set the glass down on the table and pushed it further away from you. Were the fumes still invading your senses? What the hell? You cleared your throat. “Brancato. We gotta find him.”

Din nodded in agreement. “The sooner the better.” He stood up. “Stay here in the booth. I’ll be back.”

“You want to separate? In this vampire club??”

“The room is small. I can get back to you with ease if need be.” Din shook his head. “And I won’t be long. I just want to see if I can find the Agent.”

You twisted your lips but gave a quick nod. Din squeezed your hand and then slipped out of the curtain. You squirmed in your seat and smoothed out your dress nervously. You wished you had your gun. It would do nothing against a vampire, other than mildly annoy or irritate them, but you wanted the comfort of it on you all the same. A few moments passed before the curtains slid open and you were surprised by how quick he had been.

“Din⏤”

Din did not step in.

A different man burst through in a rush, but he was human like you. There was no animalistic glow to his eyes. He wore a navy sports blazer over a tight, gray v-neck with matching khaki dress pants. Around his neck was a leather collar that you’d find at a pet store. The man had a boyish look to him with messy, dirty blond hair and a clean shaven jaw. Freckles were brushed over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. Oddly though, his gray blue eyes looked genuinely irritated with you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” He demanded in a hushed voice. He took a seat by you and set the drink in his hand next to yours. The lighting in this booth made the color hard to distinguish in the black liquid. “Are you out of your godsdamned mind showing up in this place??”

You lifted a hand to point at him with wide eyes, “Tim Brancato.”

“Shh!” He shushed you. “Call me Justin.”

“How do you know⏤”

“Roberts warned me you’d be looking for me, but he didn’t tell me you’d be stupid enough to show up here.” Tim scoffed.

You were still curious as to how he recognized you so easily, but you had more important questions to ask and for some reason you were struggling to get a single one out. “Sorry. I’m glad we found you though, or⏤ or you found us, I should say.”

Time narrowed his eyes at you for a beat then shook his head, “Who are you here with?”

“My vampire.” You held a hand to your chest. “He’s a Mandalorian.”

“A Mandalorian came in⏤”

“Well, he’s not in armor right now. He’s⏤”

“Then he’s not a Mandalorian.”

“It’s⏤” You tilted your head with a wince, “It’s sort of a long story and we don’t have a lot of time⏤” His hands suddenly grabbed your face and you tensed. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Tim scoffed and let go, “You’re high.”

“No, I’m not.” You shook your head, though your head did feel a bit swimmy, “I didn’t drink the⏤ the shimmer.”

“Are you wearing a plug?” Tim demanded. You opened your mouth then froze⏤ eyes narrowing in confusion. There was a very solid chance that the plug he was asking about was not the kind you now had in mind. The back of your neck burned as you struggled to answer. He shook his head and reached into his coat pocket. “Lean your head back.” Without hesitation, you leaned your head back and as you stared up at the glowing light above you realized that maybe you shouldn’t be following the commands of someone you didn’t actually know. He grabbed the side of your face once more and held a dropper over your nose. Each drop he released into your nostrils felt thick and tacky and as it rolled deeper to coat your sinuses and reach the back of your throat, it gave the sensation of choking. “There.”

You straightened your head and began to cough, “What was⏤”

“They aerosolized an adjustment back here. Not enough to evoke a memory, but enough to impair judgment.” Tim responded. “That won’t get what’s in your system out completely, but it'll let it wear off while keeping you from getting any worse.”

“Oh, thanks.” You rubbed your nose in discomfort. “Putting that stuff in the air seems… questionable.”

Tim scoffed, “Look, some of the folks I see run through here have a healthy, consensual pet relationship, but I also see a lot of blurred lines as well. Just keep your guard up while you’re here, alright?” He shook his head. “Now, Roberts didn’t tell me why you were looking for me.” You nodded in confirmation and he lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

“Oh, uh, right.” You tried to collect your thoughts so you could pull them together. Tim rolled his eyes at you, and you felt a flare of irritation. You scoffed, “Hey, just give me a second here, my brain is filled with vampire fog right now.” Tim shrugged and continued to wait. You huffed, “The kids. The missing kids. All over Austin⏤ We’ve had a huge string of mixed kids disappearing, and the DMA isn’t investigating. Hell, they’re ignoring it! I confronted Roberts and he said he couldn’t help, but to find you because you can.”

Tim nodded his head slowly, humming in thought, then shook his head, “Can’t help.”

“Excuse me!?” You cried. The curtain was snapped open and you jumped in place until your eyes landed on Din. The Mandalorian tensed with a glare leveled at Tim, but you felt yourself relax marginally just having him near. You motioned to the man sitting beside you, “It’s him.” Din nodded, saying nothing further, and you focused back on Tim. “Now, what the hell do you mean you can’t help?”

“Roberts never said he was sending you to me for this.” Tim scoffed. “I’m not interested in helping.” Din stepped forward, arms crossed, and the glare he leveled at the undercover agent was deadly. Tim scoffed, but you did see the stiffening of his spine, “You gonna sick your big, bad vampire on me?”

“No. But I’ll tell your vampire that your name isn’t really Justin.” You threatened.

Tim’s eyes narrowed briefly, but a slow smirk crossed his features, “You wouldn’t do that. It’s a death sentence for me and I can tell you’re not the kind to ruin a man’s life.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. You wanted to be. For the sake of Ellie and Grogu and every other kid taken from their parents, you wished you could. There was a lump in your throat keeping the words trapped in your chest and Tim saw it clear as day.

Din hummed, “She’s too good of a person to kill you, but I’m not.” The Mandalorian grabbed Tim by the lapels of his jacket and yanked him off the booth. Tim grabbed the vampire’s hands, but he was no match for Din’s strength. “You’re gonna talk, and you better hope we like what you have to say. Otherwise, it’s not the other vampires you’re gonna have to worry about, human.”

“Just give it up. It’s over now.” Tim hissed. “The kids missing are gone, but it’ll be years before more get taken.”

Din snarled as you stood up with wide eyes, “What does that mean??”

Tim didn’t get a chance to answer. The curtains swung open to reveal two beefy men dressed like the vampire guarding the entrance to this back room. Security. Din didn’t release the agent, but both men froze in surprise.

“There’s been a noise complaint. What is the meaning of this??” One demanded.

Tim didn’t respond, mouth agape, and Din remained silent as well. His hands tightened in their grip on the man’s lapels. Your eyes darted between them both a second more before rushing forward. You stepped under Din’s arm, forcing him to drop his grip on Tim, and laid your own hands on his chest. With a frown and a shake of your head, you let the nervous energy you felt slip into your tone. “He just came in and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Instinctively or not, Din wrapped his arms around you and shifted so his body blocked you from Tim and the two security guards. Tim narrowed his eyes at you, jaw locking, but he wasn’t in the position to deny it. His only other excuse would be he was talking about the DMA. One of the security guards grabbed him by the upper arm, “Who do you belong to?”

“Ranzar Malk.” Tim sighed.

The two guards grunted before dragging Tim away from your booth. Din’s hands tightened around you as he whispered, “Jate’ika, are you alright?”

“No, I’m annoyed.” You mumbled. “That got us nowhere, Din.”

“I think we should leave.”

“Absolutely not.” You shook your head. “We need to find out what he meant.”

“He’s a pet to Ranzar.” Din said firmly and began to tug you out. “We can’t stay.”

You were trying to puzzle out the significance of that. It wasn’t a big enough name that it stood out to you, but you weren’t overly familiar with the vampire circles. You allowed Din to tug you forward, but one of the guards from before slid into your path.

“Ran would like to see you.”

Din cursed then shook his head, “We’re not interested.”

“It wasn’t a request, newcomer.” The guard grunted.

He turned to lead, and Din pulled you tight into his side then followed. This would give you the opportunity to address Tim again, though it’d be difficult in front of the vampire Tim was serving. Maybe if Din could distract this Ran then you could do something?

The booth the two of you were led to was much larger than the one you and Din shared. Oval in shape with three small, circular tables in front of it to hold drinks. You spotted multiple vampires lounging in the booth with their humans surrounding them. You tried to avoid making direct eye contact with the ones being actively bitten. The sight of it just seemed to make your skin crawl. At what you would consider the head of the booth sat a heavy set man. He leaned back with one arm resting on the back of the booth. Thick, wavy gray hair went past his shoulders to match the thick beard he sported, and the color also matched the animalistic glimmer to his eyes. Tucked against his side, under the arm outstretched, was a human woman. She wore a tight, pink dress with a draped collar held around her neck with a gold chain. Her blonde hair, so light it looked white under the lights, was stick straight down her back and the freckles across the bridge of her nose were also decorated with glitter she had painted across it. On his other side, kneeling on the ground by the man’s boot like a dog was Tim.

“Oh, you’re a cute thing.” The vampire, Ran you were assuming, cooed at you. “No wonder my pet couldn’t leave you alone.” Ran’s eyes dragged up and down your figure slowly. You leaned against Din just as he tightened his hold on you. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I mean you no harm. Just wanted to apologize to your master.” Ran’s eyes snapped to Din and his lips stretched out into a grin. “I train my pets to behave better than Justin did tonight. Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to bother your little toy.”

Din gave a tight nod. There was actual anger in the set to Din’s brow, an emotion you didn’t fully understand, and the tension in his frame was obvious. He was holding you so tight that it was beginning to become uncomfortable.

“My name is Ranzar Malk, but you can call me Ran.” He chuckled. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Din didn’t respond and you squirmed uncomfortably. “What is it? You have a problem with me? I’ve already apologized for my pet’s behavior. Don’t be a dick. We’re all friends here.”

When Din still didn’t respond, you nervously chimed up, “We’re just passing through⏤”

“He wasn’t speaking to you, blood bag.” A woman hissed. Her black hair was tied off into two high pigtails that would look silly on any other person, but the cruel grin on her face somehow made it look terrifying. She pushed to stand and drifted closer as if to grab you, “Hasn’t anybody taught you your place⏤”

“Don’t fucking touch her.” Din snarled and pulled you back so you were hidden behind him.

The woman hissed at him in anger, but Ran waved his hand, “Xi’an! Sit your ass down.” She glared at Din but finally dropped back into her seat roughly yanking a petite brown skinned woman onto her lap to drink from. Ran shook his head, “I know your voice. Why do I know your voice?” Din stayed silent and now kept you behind him, entirely hidden from the man. A low chuckle filled the air, “Wait a minute, wait a minute. No way. Mando?? Is that you??”

“Holy shit.” A different vampire off to the side, a man with a shaved head, pulled his fangs out of a woman’s wrist to chime in. “Nuh uh.”

“It is. That’s fucking Mando.” Ran laughed. “You’re dressed down tonight, friend.”

“I’m not your friend.” Din snapped.

“This is rich.” The man with the shaved head, mouth painted red with blood, chuckled. “Where’d that shiny armor go, metal man?”

“Come on. Sit. I insist.” Ran motioned to the spot beside him. “For old times’ sake.”

Din hesitated and you squeezed his arm once in encouragement. You didn’t know the history here, and you hated that these people that Din clearly did not care for were seeing his face, but neither of you could leave without more information from Tim. Otherwise this was a waste. He’d have taken his helmet off for nothing. Finally, Din stepped forward to sit down in the seat offered to him. He tugged you into the seat on his side away from Ran and Xi’an and closer to the other man. Apparently he was the lesser of the three evils.

“I didn’t think Mandalorians kept pets.” Ran teased. “Thought it was beneath your kind.”

“Well, can’t you see, Ran?” Xi’an lifted her lips from the woman on her lap’s neck. “He’s not a Mandalorian anymore apparently.” Din stiffened again. “Pretty boy seems possessive over the girl. Is that why you gave up the tin can helmet?”

Ran chuckled, “For him to give up that precious creed, her blood has gotta be something special.” He motioned toward you and spoke as if you weren’t even there. “You fucking her too, Mando?”

Xi’an scoffed with a mocking sneer, “Ran, can’t you remember? Mando don’t like pussy.”

“The way I remember it, it’s just your pussy he don’t like, Xi’an.” The man beside you laughed. Xi’an bared her fangs and snarled at him. Ran laughed along with the man who spoke and you hated every second of this. Din was trying to keep his face straight, but the hatred in his eyes was clear and just being here in this group made you uncomfortable for him.

Ran hummed, his gaze on you again, “You know, after all the jobs I kicked your way, Mando, I feel like you kind of owe me.”

“No.” Din spat the single word out in a dangerous, dark tone.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna suggest!” Ran chuckled.

“I know enough about you to guess.” Din snarled. Even as someone who didn’t know the vampire, you could read a room enough that his tone made you blanch in disgust. Your eyes darted to Tim who you found was already staring at you. His eyes darted down to his hand then back up to you. A pointed look. You glanced down and he opened his palm just enough for you to see a single stick, small syringe of something dark red. Dead man’s blood? It looked like the vampire sedatives made at the DMA. When you met Tim’s gaze again they darted to Ran.

A terrible, terrible, terrible idea came to mind. You lifted your head up to press your lips to Din's ear and murmured quiet enough that only he’d hear. “Suggest a trade. Me for Tim.” Din didn’t want to turn his head to you, but the grip he suddenly had on your thigh was enough to show his distaste. You sighed. “Trust me?”

“What’s the little lady whispering about?” Ran teased.

Din didn’t immediately answer. You didn’t think vampires could be nauseous, but that was the best way to describe the brief look that crossed Din’s face. Finally, he spoke in a tense tone. “I’ll trade.”

“No shit?” Ran guffawed. “Alright. You want little Alana here?” The girl leaning against Ran offered Din a small wave, a quirk to her lips making it clear she enjoyed her position here to some degree. “She’s a fun one.”

Din shook his head, “Him. I want him.”

“Justin?” Ran asked. Din nodded. “Hell, alright. That’s not usually what I use this one for, but he’s getting punished tonight regardless.” Ran grabbed Tim by the hair and pulled his head back with a glare. “He’ll behave real good for you since I know he doesn’t wanna piss me off more.”

Ran shoved Tim away and he rose to his feet. You stood as well to shimmy past the tables and in passing you felt him discreetly push the vial into your hand. Din stood behind you, his hands on your waist, and Ran shouted a biting comment to the other two vampires before motioning for you and Din to follow along. Din’s fingers dug into your skin as you got closer to some smaller, more private booths, and you had a feeling he was tempted to grab you and run.

Ran stopped and pointed to a booth to the left, “All yours, Mando.” The large vampire reached out to you with a sickening grin and when you tried to step toward him Din wouldn’t let go. You shot him a glance over your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take real good care of her. You just enjoy your time with mine, yeah?”

Din finally released you and you took in a shaky breath before stepping closer to Ran. He set a hand on your lower back before ushering you into the booth across from the one he offered Din. The moment you were in, he tugged the curtain closed. With Din out of sight, your anxiety began to rise to new highs. Ran hummed and sat down on the booth with a grunt. He eyed you hungrily, “Mando certainly has good taste. You smell sweet, honey.” Ran gave his thigh a pat and you bit back a wave of disgust. “Come to daddy.”

You set your purse down and crossed the space to him. This was for the kids. This was for Joel and Din. This was for a cause bigger than you. Steeling yourself, you carefully straddled his lap and his bare hands grasped the back of your thighs to drag up and grope your ass. Bile tried to claw up your throat as a wave of nausea overtook you. It took all your power to not gag and flinch at his touch.

“You look so nervous, honey.” Ran cooed. You forced a tight lipped smile then leaned forward to rest your arms on his shoulders. He squeezed your ass again, “Now, that’s better.”

Ran buried his face where your shoulder met your neck and inhaled deeply. A groan slipped from his lips and you felt his tongue drag up your skin to right under your jaw. He leaned in closer and you wrapped your arms around him tighter⏤ adjusting the syringe in your hand accordingly. When you felt a sharp fang nick at your skin, you buried the needle into the flesh at the back of his neck. Ran shoved you back furiously and you only barely caught yourself before falling to the ground.

“You bitch⏤” Ran muttered, but his eyes were already fluttering. His head collapsed back against the booth as his entire body sagged into the seat.

It was only then that you realized you were panting. There was a tremble in your hands that you tried to shake away as you straightened your posture. Disgusted, you rubbed at your neck desperately trying to rub away his saliva and touch.

Quickly, you grabbed your purse and ducked out of the curtain. Nobody seemed to notice when you took the few steps to slip through the curtains of the booth across from you. You had only barely stepped in when familiar hands grabbed you.

“Told you she’d figure it out.” Tim hummed from where he sat on the booth casually.

Din rubbed your arms and shook his head, “Did he hurt you?” His hand lifted to your neck and his eyes widened when you felt his thumb brush against a tender spot. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine, really.” It felt like you had said that a lot today for a lot of very absurd situations.

“That was a shit idea. I never should’ve let you do that.” Din scoffed.

“To be fair, I knew it was a terrible idea.” You gave him an awkward smile. “But it worked.”

Din sighed and looked like he was prepared to argue with you on that opinion. You stepped past him to sit beside Tim. Din joined you and you were caught off guard when he settled his hand around the back of your neck⏤ cradling it softly. The weight and warmth were oddly a comfort that helped distract from the unwelcome touch you were still trying to forget.

“Alright, talk.” You snapped. “What did you mean by what you said earlier?”

Tim heaved a sigh but crossed his legs and nodded, “This isn’t a new problem. Since the DMA was established, this has been occurring.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “It’s usually every decade or so, but in the past it was done with more precision. Only a few kids were taken and their disappearances separated with enough time to avoid suspicion. Taken from different locations too.”

“Taken for what and by who?!” You demanded.

“How much do you know about the people who established the DMA?”

“It was the Weston family and they worked with the Olympians to create an agency that would benefit the supernatural world.” You replied. “They were the original founders.”

Tim nodded, “That’s the who.”

“The… The Weston family?” You shook your head. “Seriously?” Tim nodded again. There were portraits on the wall painted in the honor of the original members of the DMA in the lobby of the building. That’s the connection Miles Jackson had relation wise. He was the great grandson to one of the Weston members still on the board. Other than him though, you had never seen any of these people in person. “But… But why??”

Tim shrugged, “Humans work with the gods long enough, they start to wonder, ‘Why can’t I be immortal too?’” Your eyes widened at the implication. “It’s a ceremony. You can’t create new energy, only transfer it. They take it from the kids and it buys them a decade.”

“Humans did this??” Din snapped.

You held a hand out and shook your head, “This is… There is no way people just let this happen. You know all this and yet you do nothing?? Roberts knows this!?”

“You’re young. You’re naive.” Tim said with a scoff. “So I’ll forgive you for not understanding. This is bigger than all of us. The Weston family? They aren’t to be trifled with. And if a few kids every decade is the price to pay to appease them then it’s worth it.”

“Not to the parents of the kids they stole!” You snapped.

Tim held your gaze for a long moment, glanced at Din as well, then sighed again. “The reason I know is because I used to be a Captain. This is the kind of information only high ranking officials get let in on. When I first found out, I was disgusted. I wanted to fight it. But a battle against that family isn’t the kind you win.” He shook his head. You felt light headed at the news⏤ dizzy even. The room felt like it was beginning to tilt. “That’s why I gave up my status and took a role in the undercover scene.”

“You ran is what you did.” You pushed the words out forcefully while glaring at him. “You and Roberts both. You’re cowards.”

“You can’t save the world. It’s not meant to be saved. Terrible shit happens all the time and all you can do is protect your own and hope for the best.” Tim said.

There was a buzzing in your purse that made you pause. You glanced down to pull out your phone. Meanwhile, Din’s hand squeezed your neck lightly as he spoke up. “Where are they?” There was a growl underlying his voice. “Where is my son?”

“I’m not privy to that stuff anymore, but I know they’d need a big, empty space. Someplace abandoned.” Tim shrugged. You read your screen and saw Joel had sent a number of texts asking about what was going on. The words blurred as you tried to read them. You squinted to focus, but the only thing on your screen big enough to be read clearly were the numbers ‘11:55’ in big font on the front of your screen. “Is that Joel? As in Joel Miller?” Your head snapped up in surprise. Tim blinked at you then tilted his head. “You’re working with Joel Miller. Really?”

“So?”

Tim shrugged, “I just didn’t expect that after what happened to your mom.”

The room began to spin and it felt like you were sinking⏤ your limbs felt heavy. You struggled to speak, “What⏤ What are you… I⏤ I…”

“Hey.” Tim leaned forward and titled your head to look into your eyes. You heard Din murmur your name. “Hey. Stay with me. Did Ran make you drink something?” You shook your head, but even Tim was difficult to see now. Your skin felt hot. Hot enough that you wanted to peel it off your muscles and bone⏤ strip yourself into nothingness. “Did he touch you?”

Din’s hand on the back of your neck, which was once a comfort, made the heat worse. You tried to shake it off, but he didn’t budge. Din spoke, “What’s wrong with her?”

“Get her up. Check her skin.”

You felt Din drag you up and hands brushed against your arms, neck, shoulders, and legs. There was a pinch along your thigh as if someone was picking something off. Din held a little black square in his fingers and you felt woozy while standing. “What is this?”

“He drugged her. She should be fine with it off, but she’s gonna wake up with a nasty headache.” Tim shook his head and stood as well. “You should get her out of here. Fresh air might help.” You watched with unfocused eyes as Din tucked your phone into your purse, wrapped it around you, and then gripped your side to help you stand. Tim chuckled. “You know, Roberts was right. You would’ve made a good Agent.”

That was the exact opposite of what Roberts had told you, and days prior it would’ve made you preen with pride at the statement. However, now it just left you with a gross feeling you couldn’t attribute to the drugs. “I don’t want anything to do with the DMA.”

Tim gave a small shrug and you watched him disappear out the curtain with a mumbled ‘good luck’.

Din was quick to drag you out and traveling through the club again was a blur of noise and light. It wasn’t until chilly night air filled your lungs that the blurriness began to alleviate marginally, but in its place was a heaviness of your body, mind, and heart. You felt Din scoop you up, but as you stared up at the sky you got lost in the stars.

Mando'a Translations:

Gar klesir jatisyc. [you smell delicious.] Ni ceta. [Sorry.]

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