#why can’t I just get attached to someone at a normal rate

[bpdohwhatajoy]

BPD IS SOOOO SILLY with how quickly you can get attached to someone. Like what do you MEANNNNN I’m attached to my tattoo artist who I knew for 3 hours and got salty that he has other clients????

#ryan.txt #bpd #borderline personality disorder #my bpd has not stopped raging in WEEKS #in my mind I literally had the thought that I wanted to get another tattoo so I’d have an excuse to see him again #THIS FUCKING DISORDER #why can’t I just get attached to someone at a normal rate #AND WHY A FUCKING TATTOO ARTIST WHO DONT GAF ABT ME #yk what actually #part of it is prob bc I’m touch starved and that’s the most physical contact I’ve had in… god knows how long #it’s all making sense now LMAOOOO #STOP I remember during too I had a brief moment of omg let’s imagine us dating and then I remembered I think he’s married or has a gf #killed that shit quick I was so embarrassed #omg wait he’s also tattooed himself obviously and I find tattoos hot LMAO BRO ITS MAKING SENSE NOW #like a hot tattooed man who is soft spoken is tattooing me how tf am I not supposed to find that attractive

[undercoverpena]

helen. simon.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader Warnings: angst. smut. preestablished situationship. blowjobs. war/wounds. Wordcount: 4.3k Rating: 18+, Explicit. AN: Helen isn't the reader's real name. masterlist for ghost.

“Helen, you copy?” 

You press the radio, grab a pair of gloves and throw a tub of utensils on your tray. 

Because if he was radioing ahead, it was bad. 

“Ghost, you know that’s not my alias.” 

“It suits you.” 

Clutching the radio, you roll your tongue over your teeth. “Am I dealing with your handiwork or someone else’s?” 

“You’re a medic, Helen. Not a coroner.” 

“Ever the gentleman. How far?” 

He didn’t answer, because of course he fucking didn’t. 

The doors of your makeshift medic tent were forced open with a crack, watching Ghost carrying in a bleeding Soap. The radio in your hand quickly discarded, the gloves snapping against your wrist and fingers as you move closer, eyeing up the work. 

Ghost nods in your direction once he placed Soap down with a groan, you roll your eyes, walking towards them.

You pull your tray on wheels close. “Boo, how did you let this happen to him?” 

Your fingers brush over stained scarlet fabric, taking the scissors from the tray to begin cutting Gaz’s clothes free from his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be looking after him—“

“—I’m right here—“ Soap protests. 

But you continue, as if he didn’t speak. “—Through and through?” 

“Affirmative,” Ghost says, your eyes glancing to his as he holds your stare. 

Nodding, you look down, offering a comforting smile. “This isn’t going to be a tickle.” 

“I trust you, Doc,” Soap groans. 

“Probably the best decision you’ve made,” you comment, grabbing some alcohol to disinfect.

Soap hisses as the alcohol hits, and your gloved fingers spread quickly over the site, your hand swapping the bottle for a needle. 

“Slow breaths for me, MacTavish,” you smile, beginning your work. 

Stitching is easy. Even if you’re being watched like a hawk. 

You’re neat, gentle—that’s what you’re told anyway. 

For you, it’s one of the nicer parts of your job for saying what you were ordered to do. Which makes you wonder why you were called ahead. 

It’s normally worse, much worse. 

The only explanation you can think of, is because of the person bringing Soap in wanted you to know he’d be here. That his presence would be around yours. 

“You’re gentler than I imagined,” Soap mumbles. 

Your lips curl into a smirk, glancing at him as you place your needle down to wipe the blood from the site. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” 

“No?” 

Shaking your head, dropping the stained cotton wool in a bowl as you briefly catch Ghost’s eyes before meeting Soap’s. “No. But don’t make it a habit of ending up here. It’s my choice to be gentle.” 

There’s something about hearing a certain kind of laugh come from you. 

When it used to be for him, it was bliss. 

It was everything. It was like light, and warmth—both a beautiful mix of the sun and the moon, one warming his bones and one guiding him home. 

It’s for that reason when he hears your laugh and he’s not in the room—that bothers him. 

He’s aware he has no right. 

Nothing should compel him to feel anything. He’s not jealous, because there’s nothing that ties him into being jealous. He’s a lone wolf, he doesn’t grow attachments. 

Ghost doesn’t even show his goddamn face. 

You are not his—he is not yours. 

Something the two of you came to the conclusion of last time. Just two entities that seem to find one another across battlefields and missions. 

Even if—truthfully—this time, he’s the one who recommended you. The one who made you be here. 

Your list of skills were important, necessary. That’s what he told Price, his exact words if he remembers. A medic, a hacker, and a great shot if needed. 

Most of all, he likes you close—likes knowing you are safe. 

He shouldn’t. 

His past enough evidence to showcase why he shouldn’t let people get close, why he should keep you far away from him. But, he can’t. 

You being one of the few who have seen him—all of him. He hadn’t known your name when you’d cleared the tent, waiting to ask him what he needed. 

It was the care, that made him move. There had been no other reason. Most, if not all, knew his identity was a secret. You having being briefed, most likely, and yet while that was enough of an explanation as to why you cleared the room, you still ensured it was. 

It’s why he let his hands guide your fingers to remove his mask that first time, the blood from his gash coating both of your fingers until the mask was removed. He remembers how warm your eyes were even now and then how quickly they switched to being practical. To the small things like turning him fully from the view of the door to cleaning and stitching him.

Ghost had been sure you could hear his heart with how close you stood. How your thighs were on either side of his knee as you closed the cut on his forehead from his fall. If you did hear, you said nothing. 

Turning from him when you were done and saying you can put your spare on now, Simon. 

You rarely used his name. 

Almost as though maskless him was Simon, and Ghost was someone else. 

He wanted to ask how you knew, who had told you of the spares he kept on his persons. But when you turned, staring into his eyes, he knew you just knew. 

And so it was you he sought, practically seeking you like a bullet aiming for a target. You allowed him into your quarters, attending to wounds without the risk of others seeing him. 

The name Helen came because he’d heard the talk. 

The others discussing you, wondering in loud tones what you looked like under your tactical gear or your scrubs. If your grip would be as firm around their cocks as you were with a needle or scalpel. 

He didn’t know what sat in his belly, but it was close to the fire when he sought you out. His mask half lifted as he connected his lips to yours, both needing to claim you and taste you simultaneously. His arm pulled you clean from the ground, your spine connecting with the door of your quarters as he ripped and stripped you of the few clothes you were wearing. 

If he makes himself remember, he can still feel how gentle the pads of your fingers were when they lifted his mask that first time. How your eyes softened, his mask had fallen to the floor before you kissed him. 

That’s when he should have known he was fucked, because he went back time and time again. 

The two of you kept your distance. Except for the private moments behind watchful eyes, the moments he’d offer you a drink—hand brushing yours. His knee pressed against yours when you sat next to him at the few mealtimes you were able to sit for. 

Then it unravelled. 

He said things. You said nothing. 

One day there, one day not. 

Transferred he heard. 

He didn’t want to know enough, worried a part of him would try to find you. Telling himself, it was for the best until Price invited him to join. 

And then he got you back. 

One quick word, and there you were. 

All smirks, quick-tongued and glistening eyes once more. His eyes found you across briefings, the corner of your eye meeting his before your lips quirked. 

He was content, happy almost… then there was Soap. 

Soap let his eyes linger on your face for longer than he needed to. Soap, who made you laugh with ease, who you spoke to without need or cause.

And he’s not jealous. 

There’s nothing to be jealous of. He saw to that.

So there's no reason for the anger bubbling inside of him as he stands outside, listening to Soap make you laugh while you check his stitches. 

It’s rare to see Soap without Ghost. 

For as lone-wolf as he pretends to be, Soap seems harder for him to shake. 

It doesn’t shock you when they both walk into the briefings together, when they’re not far from each other. You heard, as did the rest, how good of a team the two of them were. 

Bonded, they said. 

Betrayal did that too. 

Their trays come down, your eyes flicking up as you pull a piece of bread from your roll. They’re bickering about what you aren’t sure about, your focus on eating and not the fact you’ve felt his knee against yours. 

The touch, the sign, almost making you lose your breath. 

Ghost doesn’t move it, as if it’s purposefully there, wanting you to remember—as if you could ever fucking forget. 

You knew what people said, the chatter. But you knew he knew the truth. That you never sought company amongst others. A rule, one you’d broken for him and him alone. 

Not that he thought he was worthy of it. 

He didn’t need to say it then, as he doesn’t need to now. 

Ghost, once he’s let you in, is easy to read. 

To some, he’s cold and distant, but it’s the fleeting in-between people miss. It’s also the way everyone else calls you your alias, except him. 

They think it’s teasing, him being… Ghost. 

But if they listened to the infliction in his voice, it’s not that at all. It’s as close to the way he says your name when he’s buried inside of you; it’s as close to how it sounds when his lips are by your ear, fingers around your neck as he makes your eyes roll in the back of your head. 

It’s his way of—

“Chip?” Soap asks, pushing his tray towards you. 

Pulling you from your thoughts, you swallow. Sliding your knee more against Ghost’s as you smile, shaking your head to Soap. “I’m good. How’s the arm?” 

“Better. Thanks, Doc.” 

You nod, dropping the rest of your roll down onto the tray and brushing the crumbs from your fingers. 

“I never asked, why does he call you Helen?” Soap asks, jutting his head to the man beside him. 

The one who has barely moved his mask to eat, even if his tray is full. You feel his knee move, and your eyes flick to him, finding his on his own tray. 

 “Helen of Troy,” you reply, just above a whisper, head tilting as you watch Soap’s expression. “The face that launched a thousand ships? I know you know first-hand his odd humour, but I think he really believes he’s being funny.”

“I don’t think it. I am funny.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“What’s the story behind Boo then?” 

You laugh, pushing your tray away. “He’s a ghost from Super Mario. Not as funny or as complimentary, but relatable. While I don’t think he cackles down corridors, he is an annoying fucker who people should learn not to turn their back on.” 

It also sounded gentler. 

Like a pet name. Something which you’d done purposefully to annoy him, than be affectionate. But it stuck. 

Like all things did between the two of you. 

Before, you could imagine a life with Simon. The way his eyes soften for a millisecond when they land on you. It’s in those small moments you could have imagined a small home and a dog, maybe a roast on a Sunday and blankets in the winter. 

But it’s Ghost who you have in front of you now, and it’s Ghost who drew a line under it all. 

Now all of the memories are tainted with bitterness, all twisted reminders of times that weren’t this. Where he kept his distance, and you hardened yourself, so you didn’t close the space.

“Careful,” Ghost comments, his gruff voice silencing the two of you. 

Your eyes fall to the table as you stand, smiling. 

It wasn’t just that he thought you were beautiful, as to why he called you Helen. 

It started as that. 

But soon enough, he realised he’d launch a thousand ships for you himself—or, more relatably, in his line of work, make a thousand bullet rain down. 

He’d caged it, though. Stuffed it in some dark corner where the rest of his issues were. It was fine there, it was welcomed and perfect. 

Then, just as Ghost had managed to stuff it away, it came out when he spotted the enemy on the rooftop. Sneaking around, heading in your direction. 

He’d advised against splitting up, even if he’d been overruled. Half of him wanted to yell at anyone and everyone that you shouldn’t even be on out here, not when medics—good medics—were hard to fucking come by.

It's why he doesn’t think when he leaves his place. His body moved without question. His brain knows your radio isn’t working, it’s been crackling, breaking up. At first, he thought you were being you—annoying. Until you called him Ghost in a tone, he didn’t care for. 

It fuels him, that tone. His boots hammer into the cobbles as he hears the bullets. 

Hand on his radio. “Get to the fountain, Soap. Ambush in progress. Now.” 

Barely hearing him reply as his hand grasps his knife, throwing it at the one sneaking up before his arm finds you.

Ghost pulls you close, practically grabbing you; your gasp fills his ears before he throws the two of you through a wooden door. 

It splinters around the two of you as you fall to the tiled floor with a thud. Hands on you, pushing you behind the counters as he shields you, pulling your body close. 

His chin digs into your neck, heartbeat thundering in his ears, mixing with the bullets puncturing the air, wall, windows and anything else they can touch until silence. 

Until nothing. 

Both of you waiting, suddenly realising that your hands are around him, gripping his waist with the same intensity until his radio sounds. 

“Ghost.” 

“Soap,” he replies, feeling you shift, moving from him. 

He knows it then. 

Knows how fucked he is, especially when you don’t meet his eyes. An achievement which isn’t celebrated by the two of you. 

Even if you got it, the hard drive. The thing they’d been seeking. 

He avoids you. 

Or does his best too. He does so until it’s hard to breathe, the tension thickening in the base each time he passes you, each time he hears someone says your name—your real name. 

Not your alias. 

Not Helen. 

But your actual, fucking name. 

The same one he’s moaned himself, the same one he’s whispered when the lights were out, and your body were against his. 

You’re like a wound that never heals, and he can’t risk it anymore. Can’t chance bleeding out in front of everyone, not letting this fall apart—not driving you away again. 

I don’t think we can be friends. 

It’s all he says as he stands near your desk, knowing he’s leaving the base for a mission. Six fucking words that made your head whip up so quick he’s surprised your head remained on your neck. 

All he thought was don’t give me the eyes. Don’t give me that fucking look that you do. 

And you did. 

That look made it hard for him not to take them back, to not close the gap between you and pull you so close and never let you go. 

Why? 

That’s all you asked. 

Throwing your pen down, a little anger to it as your shoulders raised and your jaw tightened. 

Why Ghost? 

He doesn’t answer. 

He just turned on his heels and boarded the plane. 

The whole time he felt the answer rolling around his head, sitting on the tip of his tongue like an ulcer that hurt and annoyed him. 

On the plane back, it worsened. It made him feel heavy. Worsened by images of that look you gave him, the one so reminiscent of the look you gave him all those years ago. 

“You’re hard to be around.” 

He watches you lift your head from your book. He didn’t even mean to come to your quarters. But here his boots were, the lamp giving your face a soft glow as he stepped through the open door of your space.

You close the book slowly, running a hand over your face before sighing. “Don’t come to my space then, Ghost.” 

He closes your door, taking a long time to turn back to face you, but when he does, he sees it on your face. That same look. 

“It’s why I can’t be friends with you. You’re too hard to be around.” 

It’s a look which has haunted his dreams and hung in the depths of his nightmares. 

“It’s not easy to be around you either,” you reply. 

He watches, barely moving as you untangle your legs, slowly standing. For a second, you seem in two minds about whether to close the gap. Fingers twitching at your sides. 

“You left.” You left me. 

“I transferred.” You gave me no choice.

“Same thing.” 

He watches as your chest rises and falls. His fingers move to undo his vest, his belt, throwing it down to take some of the weight off. Your eyes not leaving him. 

“You hurt?” 

He snorts. 

Because no, not where you can fix him. 

And he won’t ever admit the rest. 

“You don’t have to be an arsehole,” you comment. “It’s a choice. A no is sufficient.” 

You move closer before pausing again. 

“You still hate me?” 

It’s all he can ask. 

Your face twisting ever so slightly. 

Many wouldn’t notice, but he does. He knows each one of your faces, each twist of a feature and what it means. All the times he’s found himself watching, all of it benefiting him in the end. 

But, even if your face is doing one thing, your eyes are doing something entirely different. Mixing between nothingness and pain, shimmering in the low light, transfixing him to the point it takes him a moment to realise you’re in front of him. Your hand on his masked-covered cheek before your thumbs hooks under it. 

He lets you run your nails over his stubble, he lets you slide against his jaw as he remains perfectly still. More so when you lift it just above his nostrils, letting the back sit on the tip of his nose before you lift up on your tiptoes and you kiss him.  

It’s instinctive, the way his arm comes around your waist and lifts you off the ground. It’s routine how your arms come around his neck and legs around his waist. 

His hand in your hair makes you moan, that sweet, delicious sound he wishes would coat him forever. He wraps what he can in his grip before tugging, biting your bottom lip and saying, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You pull back from his lips, a look on his face he actually can’t read. This is why you must let your legs go, sliding down him, holding his puzzled gaze as you pull your cami top over your head. His gaze falling temporarily from your face to your bare chest, tracing the front of his teeth with his tongue before watching you snake your fingers into the band of your shorts and underwear. 

It feels slow, even if it’s in his head, how you wiggle them down your thighs until they pool at your feet. Standing, bare, exposed just for him. 

“I can’t hate you.” 

“Come here,” he groans, hunger dripping in his demanding tone. 

And you do. 

You don’t drag your feet, you willingly move until your body is against him, lips groaning against his as you capture his tongue. Your hands make work of his trousers, his feet stepping out of them as he yanks his t-shirt over his head. 

Then you grip his waist and his thighs, sliding down to your knees as you peel his underwear from his skin. 

He hisses when you lick a strip up the base of his cock, sliding his hands free from his gloves so he can properly grip his hands in your hair. 

Ghost needs to hold onto something as you take him into your mouth, cheeks hollowing, eyes staring up at him, looking every bit his Helen. Your tongue twists around the head, the air painted with gruff moans and hisses all coming from him as you slide your teeth down as much as you can. 

He could fuck your throat. 

Fuck, he wants to. 

Instead, he pulls you to your feet, seeing the disappointment fading as he places you back up and standing.  

He expects you to move his mask, to let your fingers trace the parts of his face you rarely see.

But you don’t. You just pull him with you, walking the two of you to your bed before lying down and pulling him with you. 

It’s the way he holds you flush to him as if he needs to be inside of you—pulling you close until there’s no space. Your hand sliding between you both, his groan filling the space as you palm his want, his need through thin boxers as he runs his stubble against your neck.

Ghost slides his forehead over yours, the mask likely rough against your skin, eyes burning into him. “You’re never this silent.” 

His fingers move from your hips to move his mask, but your hand grasps his wrist. Swallowing. 

“I don’t want Simon.” 

His head tilts ever so slightly. Suddenly not able to say a thing. 

“Not tonight.” 

It’s his turn to swallow. “Alright.”

And he lowers his palm to the space beside your head, caging you in. 

“Eyes on me,” he says gruffly. 

You are a coward. 

A very sore coward. 

You left Ghost in your room when he fell asleep beside you. You reasoned there was always something to do, and even if you were sure you had bruised bites forming on the inside of your thighs—you needed to keep busy. 

Any other day, inventory bored the shit out of you. 

Tonight, with the knowledge that a certain Lieutenant had almost made you forget your own name, it was wanted, needed. 

A distraction like no other, which is rudely interrupted after only being here an hour. 

His mask is back on. His clothes are as neat as they can be for saying they were thrown and discarded in a corner. 

“Don’t do that again.” 

You almost comment what, but the look, the fact he’s barely put on any black around his eyes, says he’s not in the mood. 

"Leave. Don't leave like that again."

You shake your head. “That an order, Lt?” 

“Damn right it is,” he says, his tone matching the expression he’s giving perfectly. 

You swallow, staring at him. “Don’t do this, Ghost.” 

“We’re way past, Ghost, don’t you think.”

Clicking your pen, you place it down with your clipboard, turning your body, so you face him. Properly. 

“You’re being cruel,” you say, pulling your chair over as you seat yourself down. "And I know you know that..."

You roll your lips. “You have to be. Because you know how I feel… and yet you’re doing this all over again. I asked you when I first got here, if could we just be friends. And you agreed. And now...” 

“I know.” 

“So… what is with the knee, and the looks, and… I can’t do this again, Simon, I can’t try and get over you. I’m not that good, I’m not… I’m not that strong. Not for you, not when it comes to you, Simon.” 

His eyes flicker. 

It taking a moment to register that you said his name. 

His real name. 

The one you rarely, if ever, used, even behind private walls. Not because you didn’t want to but because it unlocked too much. It opened all of your locked places and unleashed the flurry of dreams and hopes that came with it. 

And it’s all made worse by the way he says your name. 

It’s soft and horribly gentle. He says your name just then like he’s trying to soothe you, but it just hurts. 

It hurts because you love him. 

You keep loving him. You try to build walls between the man you love and the person he has to be. It’s why you made him keep the mask on, it’s why you only whispered his real name when he brought you to climax. 

It looks, from his expression staring at you, like he’s put the pieces of that puzzle together too, now.

You don’t expect it. Even after all the many versions of Ghost you’ve seen. 

But, Ghost slowly lowering onto his knees, and not to spread your thighs, is unique. Especially when he just stares, saying so much without uttering a word. 

And then, watching as one hand slides the glove off the other, your eyes following it as he takes your hand in his, clutching it, holding it. Something the two of you have never done outside either of your rooms—in the past or the present. 

Slowly, as tears begin to prick, feeling overwhelmed by the silence and the loudness of the moment. Especially as his other hand takes your chin, pulling your face to meet his as he presses his forehead to yours. 

It’s simple. Nothing too many. 

But to you, it’s everything. 

It’s more than a declaration, especially from him. And you get it, your hurt feelings vanishing, disappearing as he wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper. 

His eyes hold yours. “Okay.” 

“It’ll be hard.” 

“And worth it.”

You nod, letting a soft smile tug at your lips as he wipes another stray tear. "You may get sick of me, I'm very annoying."

"I already know that." You smirk, and he grips your hand tighter. “Still... you're mine. My Helen.” 

You snort, “My Simon.” 

masterlist for ghost.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader smut #ghost x reader smut #simon riley #cod ghost x reader smut #cod ghost angst #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 19

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Hope you are ready to see our girl get angry at our boys. Garrick really needs to think before doing things sometimes. Being observant sometimes always doesn't pay off.

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

That night I don’t see Xaden, Bodhi or Garrick. I had looked everywhere and come up short. I had even asked Mealladh if their dragons were there. When she came back with she couldn’t find their dragons I knew they were off doing something. But what? The last few days had been a blur. Violet and I had nearly been assassinated. Amber was now dead because of it. I had manifested my signet. And Jeremiah…. Jeremiah had gotten his and died. Jeremiah who had read some of Garrick’s mind. Who I had sworn was about to say Aretia before Xaden cut him off with his shadows. Why had Garrick been thinking about home? Yes my thoughts occasionally went back to there. But his thoughts had been panicked. Worried he would find out about something to do with Aretia. I was sure of it. That night my dreams took me home. To Aretia.

I wake to the sun shining through my window. I groan as I shield my eyes. I had left the curtain open like an idiot. Today was a very rare weekend day first years had off. And my dumbass had left my curtains open on the one day I could sleep in. Though it was still a small win, I had gotten to sleep in longer than I normally would. As my eyes adjust I notice the small package on my bedside table and a note attached to it. Someone had been in my room while I slept. Someone had gotten past my so called bodyguard. I sit up and carefully grab the note has my heart rate picks up. But as I see the handwriting it settles. It was Garrick’s.

’Sorry I wasn’t around last night. Hope this makes it up to you. - Garrick.’

I can’t help but smile at the note. We hadn’t gotten as much time together since we’d had our talk and celebration. Both of us busy. But I knew today I would have to find him and get what time I could. I had to talk to him and Xaden about my signet and the Jeremiah thing. I had to get answers. I was still yet to tell any professors about my signet. And I couldn’t delay it for much longer. I needed to start taking Professor Carr’s class. I needed to understand my signet and learn how to control it. Though so far I seemed to have pretty good control over it.

You have amazing control over it. You should be proud. Mealladh says to me.

I just feel like it has come so easy. Too easy. I reply.

I told you I picked you for a reason. You are perfect for this signet. This is only the beginning. But you do have incredible control over it already. I am proud of you. I can feel through the bond every word she speaks is true.

She throws her shield up leaving me alone again. She must be out hunting or something. I had felt her slight hunger through the bond as we spoke. I turn back to the package from Garrick and pull it into my lap. I pull on the string he used to wrap the brown paper around it. Inside is a box. When I open the lid a huge smile breaks over my face. Inside is one of my favourite treats from back home. It wasn’t something we could easily get back home either. It was something the Gryphon Riders would trade with us only a few times a year. My eyes go wide. Wait. Only those from Poromiel knew how to make this. They’d never taught us. Only Gryphon riders brought this to us. Garrick wouldn’t know how to make this. It’s as if my mind pieces it all together. The multiple nights they have been missing. Jeremiah reading Garrick’s mind and almost saying what I swear was Aretia. And now the food that sat in the box in my lap/ I throw my sheets off me as I quickly remove my sleep attire and pull on my uniform. I grab the box before running from my room. I push past Liam who tries to stop me till he see’s the box in my hands. I swear he goes slightly pale at the sight. But I don’t have time to ask him anything. I rush to the dining hall. Garrick or Xaden nowhere to be seen. I go to the gym next. Not there. I go to head to the flight field when I see Bodhi walk out from the dinning hall. I rush over to him. He smiles as I rush over.

”Where are they?” I demand, cutting him off as he goes to say hello.

His eyebrow furrows and then he looks down to my hands and see’s the box. I watch as his skin turns pale like he’s seen a ghost. He looks back up at me as he swallows nervously. He knows I’ve put it together.

”Ophelia I-”

”Take me to them. Now.” I cut him off angrily.

Bodhi merely nods before leading me into the academic building. Towards the tower Xaden and I had found to get away from the quadrant. I can sense how nervous and scared Bodhi is. His weakness right now is the truth they’ve been hiding from me. The truth that is about to come out. And he is scared. Our steps echo off the tower walls as we ascend the stairs. My heart thuds with each step I take. What the hell was I going to say? What the hell did I want to say? They’d lied to me. Hidden something important from me. As we ascend the last few steps I push past Bodhi and throw the door open. Garrick and Xaden turn to me, shocked at my sudden appearance as Bodhi slowly joins us.

“Is everything-”

I throw the box at Garrick, cutting his sentence short. Xaden goes pale as his eyes narrow and glare at Garrick.

”Want to explain how you got that?” I hiss at the men in front of me. “And don’t you dare say you made it. Because I know you didn’t.”

They all stare at me with guilt all over their faces. Except Xaden who looks like he might actually want to kill Garrick right now.

”You’re right. I didn’t make it. You know where I got it.” Garrick says in the most monotone voice I’ve ever heard from him as he looks me in the eyes.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I want to hear you say it.” I demand.

He gulps nervously and nods slowly. “Gryphon Riders.”

I turn to Xaden. “That’s why you panicked when Jeremiah locked onto Garrick’s mind. He was going to say Aretia before you cut him off. Wasn’t he?”

He begrudgingly tears his gaze from Garrick. “Yes. We had been talking about it before he burst into the courtyard.”

”And why were you talking about Aretia? Our home? Cause last time I checked it was gone.”

I was smart enough to piece together the puzzle in front of me. But I wanted to hear it from them. I needed to hear it from them. There was a reason Xaden had seemed so similar to our father recently. But I needed to hear it from the three people I held closest to me. The only family I had left.

Garrick and Xaden look at each other and they both nod, Garrick sighing in defeat as he prepares to tell me. He steps forward and holds the box out to me. I stare at it for a moment before I take it back angrily.

”Because we’ve been smuggling weapons to them. To help them. To protect them. To build an alliance with them. We’ve been doing it as soon as we were able to get away from the quadrant without raising suspicion.” He tells me quietly, as if he’s scared I will run off.

I can feel Garrick’s presence and I reach out. I can practically hear his rapid heartbeat beat through whatever connection I can make with this signet. He’s scared as hell. Everything him and Xaden have worked towards is out in the open. I also feel the worry of him losing me over this. He’s nervous at how angry I am. Damn right he should be.

”You’re building an alliance for another rebellion aren’t you?” I ask after silence falls over us.

Xaden stares at me intently as if trying to read my thoughts. His brow furrows in confusion before he nods. “Yes.”

I shake my head before walking back and forth in front of them. They hadn’t lied to me per say, but had kept something big from me. Something they all knew I would want to be in on. Aretia was my home. And we had all believed in my father’s course of action. Because it was the right thing to do.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you keep me in the dark?” I finally ask as I lean up against the railing over looking the quadrant.

“I just wanted to protect-“

I whip around to face Xaden who had stepped forward to talk to me. “To protect me? Gods, I don’t know how many times since I have been here that I have proven I don’t need protecting anymore! I am not that little girl you said goodbye to that day in Aretia!” I yell at him as Bodhi and Garrick look at us in shock, Garrick stepping back to stand near Bodhi.

“You’re my sister. A sister I thought died all those years ago. I will not lose you again!” Xaden fumes as he storms over to me.

“But you didn’t. I spent five years with him. Spent five years fighting for my life every single day. One wrong move and he would have ended me and we both know that. Five years I played the part he wanted me to play. The small naïve Riorson daughter who didn’t know better at the time. I fought every single day to make sure I could come back to you all. So don’t you dare say to me I need fucking protecting Xaden. Because I have proven I can look after myself. I have proven I don’t need any of you to do it for me. Because I did it for myself for five years.”

Garrick and Bodhi stand behind Xaden frozen in place as we stand toe to toe. Xaden and I had never raised a voice at each other. Yes we would butt heads and say some colourful words at each other. But this was a first. Bodhi and Garrick looked torn at pulling us apart or coming to defend the girl they use to know. I was not letting them push me around and coddle me like the young girl I was. I had proven I could defend myself.

“I don’t need your bodyguard. I don’t need you to have the other marked ones keep eyes on me like I’m some fragile little girl. She died the day she left Aretia.”

“Yes she did die. She literally did for all of us five years ago. We all thought you were dead. I cannot go through that again. I won’t go through that again.” He almost pleads to me as he goes to put his hands on my shoulders. “Just let us watch-“

“No!” I yell as power surges through me.

All of a sudden we are not standing in the tower anymore over looking the quadrant and the valley surrounding. We’re standing in the courtyard of Aretia. Except it’s were not. Its not real. There’s a sheen to it as if it’s a figment of our imagination. All four of us staring at our surroundings in awe. Xaden is the first to snap out of it as he turns back to me, his eyes wide with shock. I had somehow managed to feed on our collective weakness right now. Our home. Our home was our weakness and we would all fight for it. Like we were right now. I had somehow projected it for us all to see.

“How…. How did you do that?” Xaden asks as I look back at him.

“I-I don’t know. It just kind of happened.” I say as I look around in shock.

The image of Aretia slowly fades away, putting us back in the tower. Back in the quadrant. As it does so I can feel the presence in my head that I had tugged at. Xaden. I had pulled at his presence. But I hadn’t fully felt it when I did. As if my mind had reached out with out me willing it during my out burst at Xaden.

“You need to keep that part to yourself. If the professors find out you can do that…. They might see you as innistic.” He says sternly.

I slowly nod my head. He was right. Even though we were yet to tell the Professors I had manifested my signet, revealing I could cast projections like that would definitely have them questioning me. As Xaden had always said, I had an uncanny ability to see peoples strengths and weaknesses. And now it seemed I could project on that. Make them see it. Something the higher ups would want to either cut out or use for themselves. And I’m sure Melgren would find a way to keep me for himself if he found out. Seems I could do a lot more than just will things to move with my mind.

Behind him Bodhi and Garrick are staring at me shocked. They had seen me throw someone against a wall and float things towards me. But being able to get in someone’s head and project something like that was something neither of them had expected.

“Now can you please let me in on this. Let me fight for our home again. Let me help.” I plead to Xaden. “You know my signet can help. I can help. I want to fight for my home.”

He sighs before shaking his head. Torn at if to let me help, or keep trying to protect me. “You need to get it under control first. But you are right as much as it pains me to say.”

“Xaden.” Garrick goes to start before Xaden raises a hand silencing him.

Garrick’s lips tighten into a thin line as he holds back the words he wants to say.

“I can’t let you on the supply runs. It’s too risky with a first year. Too hard to explain. Especially if Melgren is keeping an eye on you. But I can tell you what is going on. Next year I can give you more. I’ll need someone to help Bodhi here when Garrick and I have graduated.”

I can tell the words are hard for him to say. But he knows I can help. Even if it’s just being in on what’s happening, it’s better than being left in the dark. Eventually my signet could be a big help. Meaning I would need to focus as much time as I could into mastering it and strengthening it. I let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding as my anger starts to dull.

“And no more bodyguard.” I add as I look between Garrick and Xaden. “I’ve proven I am just as good as Liam.”

Xaden goes to object as Garrick steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “She’s right Xaden. She doesn’t need one. She has proven she can defend herself as much as I hate to say iot. She’s not the girl we use to know. And if you ever get worried she can stay in my room. I’ll look after her.”

Xaden looks between the two of us. Clearly he’s not overly impressed about the idea of Garrick and I sharing a room even though he is happy we finally sorted our shit out. But eventually he slowly nods. Garrick would pretty much always be with me minus some classes, where I would be with Liam anyway. Meaning outside of classes Liam would only have to keep his focus on Violet.

“Fine. But I swear to gods you two better put up silencing wards. I do not want to hear anything.”

Part 20 Tag List

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #the fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc

[wardenparker]

Surprising Reunions, part 1

Joel Miller x Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 19.1k Warnings: So so so much cursing, homophobia, hate speech (against gay characters), mentions of domestic abuse (parent/child) and alcoholism, references to drug use, extremely overt flirting, underage sexual activity (MM),  oral sex (m receiving), angst, extremely brief mention of suicidal ideation,  Summary: Joel and Ellie stumble across an occupied hotel in their journey west, and Joel is astonished to find that the inhabitants are his ex-boyfriend Dieter Bravo and his wife. Notes: About a month ago a lovely anon dropped into my askbox with the surprise idea of a Joel x Dieter pairing and Keri and I just about lost our minds over it. What was born in our minds as a smutty little one shot has become a two-part field day of feelings and tension. And I gotta say? I love these two guys together.

The world as it was twenty years ago is broken. Irrevocably so. However, in many ways, it’s a lot smaller than it was back then. When people scattered and the only way you found out about them was if someone else had known them. Travel was dangerous, friendships now vital for survival and yet, Joel found himself both traveling and forming a bond with a mouthy, moody teenager that liked stupid jokes that he would secretly grin over and shake his head at how much she reminded him of him. And Sarah, but mostly him for the simple fact that she had the same resilient fortitude that he had admired when he was friends with the one openly bisexual kid in Austin, Texas in the early nineties.

"Hey Joel." Ellie sidles up next to the older man as they walk, her steps invigorated with the physical need to tell the joke she's just dug out of the depths of the book she keeps squirreled away in her backpack. She's been saving it for a good time and Joel looks particularly grumpy today. Although that's really just the way his face is. "Joel." She hops in front of him and starts walking backwards with a grin splitting her face open. "Why can't you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?"

Joel rolls his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. Even though he knows the answer to the joke, he gives her a look of confusion that would rival the best Bowie High School drama club, of which he had been very familiar with. “Why?” He huffs at her.

The way she snickers and giggles so much that she can barely get out the punchline is half the joy of the whole moment, until Ellie finally bursts out with: "Because the pee is silent!" And doubles over cackling with glee as they continue down the road.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel readjusts his pack on his back and turns his head to hide his own grin. “Your jokes are horrible.” He grumbles at her when he finally looks back at the laughing teenager.

"Then why are you laughing?" She shoots back, long since having learned what it means when Joel hides his face from her after she delivers a particularly groan-worthy punchline. "Ya old softie. Laughing at bad jokes."

“You’re an idiot.” Joel rolls his eyes again for good measure and is once again reminded of when he was accused of being a softie by someone else. Why he was on Joel’s mind, he couldn’t say. Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age.

"You like it." There isn't an ounce of doubt in her voice, like she knows damn well that he would have gotten rid of her long ago if Joel didn't have some kind of attachment to her. It's probably true. Promise or otherwise, there are plenty of times he could have left her behind, but he hadn't. They walk a little longer before Ellie opens her mouth again, this time with a frown on her face. "It's gonna start getting dark soon," she observes, looking up into the sky. Normally this is the point at which Joel starts looking for someplace to make camp. "There was a sign for a hotel back there. Like a half mile ago, I think?"

“Yeah.” Joel frowns and nods up ahead. “Should be about half a mile up the road.” The crumbling, overgrown road isn’t a major highway, but it had been void of people and infected so he counted that as a blessing. “Looks to be a fancy place like you wanted to see.”

"Cool." Ellie swings her arms and takes a few steps faster than the last. "Maybe the beds won't all be disgusting. I'd kill to sleep on a mattress tonight instead of the ground."

Joel snorts. “Who the hell are you tellin’? My back is killing me.” There’s not a day that goes by that something doesn’t ache, but he just pushes through. Still, it’ll be good to get a good night's sleep.

“Old man.” Ellie snorts, although each time she says it it’s slightly fonder than the last. Like she’s finally accepting the fact that the old curmudgeon isn’t that bad.

“Fifty-six years old.” He grumbles, shaking his head again. Maybe the hotel would have some canned goods they could pilfer. Nothing like a giant can of green beans or corn to fill the kid’s stomach.

“Old old man.” Ellie corrects herself with a smirk. “Ancient-as-fuck old man.” The hotel that appears on the horizon as they walk is about a hundred years old from the look of it. Art Deco outsides far from the glory they once exuded and probably housing nothing but dilapidated shadows of a world long gone. Still, it’s standing. And it doesn’t have any holes missing from the look of it, so that’s better than a lot of places they’d been up until now. “Coooool!” Ellie crows, getting a good look at the sign as they walk. Once upon a time, the light-up marquee would have announced The Promenade loudly and proudly. Now it’s rusty, but at least it’s still standing.

“You know the drill, kid.” Joel cautions her as they draw closer. “We scope out the interior, look for food and then we’ll get set up with a place to sleep.” The wariness in the pit of his stomach is common every time they do this, but it makes him more cautious as he squints to survey the surroundings.

“I know.” She nods, having agreed long ago that what Joel said was law. Even if she pokes and prods at him sometimes, she’s learned that setting up camp isn’t a good time for teasing.

“Good.” He smirks slightly. “Maybe we can order room service.” He jokes, noticing a glint of metal on the top floor and he stares hard at it for a moment before he realizes it’s a piece of aluminum from the air conditioning units on the roof.

“Oh, sure.” That makes Ellie snort and roll her eyes. “A bacon cheeseburger and all the fries I can eat and an ice cream sundae.” Things she had really only read about in books or saw on signs as they traveled. What she would give for one of the roadside McDonald’s they found to actually be operational.

“Extra bacon.” Joel agrees, nodding. “With ketchup and hot sauce on the fries.” Too bad the kid couldn’t have actually had something like that. She would love it.

“Goddamn I want to try French fries.” Ellie grumbles, only to have Joel put out his hand to silence her a second later. He must have seen something inside. The large glass panels in the tops of the doors give you a decent view of the lobby from outside.

“Take your gun out.” Joel orders, pulling his own revolver out so he holds it in his hand as the pace slows. Approaching the doors quietly and listening as he looks through the dirty glass.

Ellie gulps, complying silently and falling in line behind Joel. He doesn’t like her to even touch the gun she carries unless absolutely necessary, so the time for teasing is definitely over. Inside the windows they can make out two figures. They’re not heavily armed from what Joel and Ellie can see, and they don’t seem to be aware of their fast-approaching visitors. Are they— dancing? “The hell?” Ellie breathes out, almost laughing when she realizes yes – that is just a couple of weirdo adults dancing inside that abandoned hotel lobby.

“Fucking hell.” Joel narrows his eyes and searches for any signs of it being an ambush. He’s seen weirder ploys to catch people off guard. “Don’t fucking speak.” He warns as he decides if it’s better to go inside or find somewhere else. Except there’s nowhere else for miles. The decision is made by the dark clouds off to the west and he sighs. “Okay?” He turns and looks at Ellie seriously.

Ellie nods, making the motion of zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key. The last thing she wants is to get shot. She’s not immune to that.

Joel sighs before he grabs the patinated handle of the heavy front door and yanks it open. “Quit moving, turn around.” He orders, quickly stepping through the door and leveling the gun at the man and woman in the lobby.

“Jesus fuck!” Dieter doesn’t mean to be so startled – it happens easily these days – but he does feel like an ass for dropping you when someone bursts through the front door of the hotel that hasn’t seen any other occupants in seven years. “Don’t shoot!”

 “Fuck—fuck!” You scramble to your feet, grabbing a pistol of your own off the nearby check in counter. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” The words are a demand as you put yourself between this newcomer and the man you’ve lived with for twenty-five years. Not a stitch of armor on you but it doesn’t matter. You’d take the bullet if it came to that.

“Are you alone?” Joel demands gruffly, his eyes darting between the two of you before he narrows his eyes and leans in. “D-Dieter!?” he spits out. “Is that you?”

The man behind you sticks his wary head out, always suspicious of anyone who recognizes him, especially twenty years after the world more or less ended. “Fucking—Joel?!” He chokes out, nearly shouting in your ear and pulling on your arm. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. He’s—he’s okay. Holy shit man.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, that is you.” Joel doesn’t know who the fuck you are, but he knows anyone with Dieter isn’t a threat to him. Holstering his gun, he shocks Ellie by rushing forward and grabbing Dieter to pull him into a bone crushing hug. He was probably the last person he had expected to find on the road to Wyoming but he’s glad to see him.

It’s debatable who is more confused - you or the teenager that has been trailing behind this Joel - and you and she find yourselves pointing your guns at each other for a moment while the two men embrace before you click the safety back into place. If this is the Joel that you’ve heard about, you’re safe. If it’s someone else, Dieter will explain. At least the kid has the decency to pull the door shut behind her after she lowers her own gun.

******

“Stupid faggot.” The words are accompanied by another punch to the stomach and gangly Dieter Black doubles over with a grunt of pain. The group of kids surrounding them weren't exactly coy in their dislike of anyone different from them and Dieter had become their latest target. Mike Robinson laughs and pushes Dieter back against the lockers, smug and leaning into his personal space as he gasps for breath. “What’re you gonna do, bitch boy?” He taunts. “Cry? Piss yourself?” He draws his fist back again, ready to break the queer’s nose when suddenly someone shoves through the crowd.

 “Fucking asshole!” Joel wasn’t as stocky as Robinson, but that was because he ate less McDonald’s and was on the baseball team. Fury twists his features, and he doesn’t hesitate to use all 5 '11” of his frame to shove the other boy away from Dieter. “Why don’t you fight me?” He challenges, bowing up slightly and using his broad frame to look bigger. “I’m not your size, but I’ll wipe the floor with your ass, pussy.” He spits.

“Gotta teach the fucking faggot a lesson!” Robinson barks, though his fist does lower slightly after scrabbling to his feet. Miller has a reputation for ending fights even if he wasn’t the one who started them.

Dieter slumps when Joel’s bulk comes into view, knowing that - for now at least - he’s safe. Miller has never said much beyond fending off the bullies, but Dieter is grateful. Offering to help the baseball star pass English out of gratitude for saving him from a few ass whippings.

“Gonna have to go through me, fat ass.” Joel scoffs, sending him a smirk that tells the kid he would like nothing more. Coach Johnson couldn’t risk Joel not playing in Friday’s game considering he had the highest batting average on the team and was currently on a hitting streak. Not this close to the championship. So this little incident would be swept under the rug. “What’s the matter? Pissed off that he wouldn’t kiss your shit smelling mouth?”

“As if I would ever fuckin—” Robinson sputters, looking to his goons for back up but they’re no help. They don’t want to get their asses kicked by Joel Miller anymore than he does. “Filthy fucking queer!” He spits, pounding his fist into the locker beside Dieter’s head so hard one of his knuckles makes a dent. It’s worth the pain for the way the little worm squirms and flinches. “C’mon boys,” he orders his cronies. “You’re lucky I’m feeling fuckin’ nice today, Black!”

Joel clenches his fists as he watches the bullies turn around and stride off like they are being benevolent. He doesn’t say anything, although he wants to. Only when they turn the corner does he glance over at Dieter. “You alright, man?” He asks gruffly, bending down to pick up the backpack that had been knocked out of his hands.

“Yeah.” Dieter sniffles, hiding his face from the other boy. It doesn’t help his case at all that the one person who keeps saving his ass is the one he’s always fantasizing about. “Yeah,” he mutters again and reaches for his backpack. “You don’t have to keep doing that, ya know.”

Joel looks over at Dieter and notices the fading remnants of a black eye and his jaw clenches slightly. “Yeah I do.” He lets go of the backpack and steps back.

“They’re gonna start thinking you’re my friend.” He protests, knowing that that wouldn’t be good for the athlete’s reputation. To be known friends with a drama geek loser who routinely gets beat up wouldn’t be good. Even Joel Miller couldn’t survive that for too long.

“Fuck ‘em.” Joel shrugs and rolls his eyes. “I can kick all their asses and if they keep fucking around, I will.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around, the halls now deserted. “You headed to science or theatre?”

Dieter stares blankly, wondering how Joel knows his schedule, before he re-composes his face and stammers out “Th-theatre.” He shuffles his bag higher in his shoulder and glances down the empty hallway. “You?” He pretends not to know. That he doesn’t have his impossible crush’s schedule memorized. This is Joel’s free period, which means he’ll probably be going down to the gym.

“Free period.” Joel offers. “Plannin’ on going for a run out in the woods past the baseball fields.” He turns towards the theatre hall and starts walking. He gets three steps before he realizes that Dieter isn’t coming and turns back to look at him. “You comin’?”

“It’s the other way.” Dieter feels like an idiot, pointing his thumb in the direction of the locker room and the front entrance of the school where he would have to go out to go for a run. Theater classes are in the auditorium, which is the exact opposite direction. “You’re—you— you’re going the wrong way.” He stammers out, eyes down on the floor.

“Walkin’ you to class.” Joel tells him, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So you don’t have to worry about those assholes.”

"Oh." He feels like a moron, and it probably shows on his face, but Dieter rushes to get in step with Joel. His pathetic little crush might be miles out of reach, but he's not stupid enough to turn down the opportunity to spend just two more minutes in Joel's shadow. "I—um...thanks."

“No problem.” Joel isn’t great with words and comes off sarcastic half the time and angry the other half, but he gives a huff that could be interpreted as a small sound of embarrassment. “They’re wrong.” He says after a minute and a hundred feet down the hall. “About you.”

Dieter's eyes flash up to Joel's face, and though both boys are the same height, Joel is built broader and stronger than Dieter is. He feels downright gangly next to the athlete. "No." He mutters, shaking his head. "They're not. That...that's the problem."

“What? Because you're gay?” Joel huffs, shaking his head. “That’s not true because I saw you making out with Tabitha Nuñez last month.”

"Except..." It makes his stomach twist, never having said any of this out loud to another person. He's read the words, or heard them said, but owning them himself is an entirely new experience. "I kind of am. I mean...you can like both, ya know? It's possible. So they're kind of...half right."

“So?” Joel’s stomach twists and he shrugs again. “Doesn’t mean they get to beat the shit out of you.” He growls, pissed off that they had been pounding on Dieter when it’s obvious that he doesn’t fight back. “He give you that black eye?”

"No." Bowing his head again to keep the eyesore out of sight, Dieter shuffles awkwardly along beside Joel. "That was my dad." The discovery of his magazine stash had been a rude awakening in the Black house. He's honestly just lucky that he didn't get kicked out before he left for school this morning.

“Fucker.” Joel hisses, shaking his head and he reaches out and slaps Dieter on the shoulder. Not too hard, so he doesn’t think he’s treating him like everyone else. “So come stay at my house tonight.” He offers. “Parents are away…again.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Dieter feels slack and tense all at once, like he's going to shake apart out of confusion and...happiness? Is that what this feeling is? "Why are you being so nice to me?" He demands, his slight drawl making him sound more aggravated than curious. He just doesn't fucking understand it.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Joel frowns, thoroughly confused at the anger in Dieter’s tone. “Would you rather I was an asshole to you?” Maybe he resented him helping, the idea makes Joel’s heart drop, but he doesn’t show it.

"I just don't see what's in it for you." Dieter had offered to help Joel pass English - the only class they had together - but Joel had never said yes or no. He had just huffed something noncommittal and headed for class when the bell rang. He's used to people wanting things from him - even if all they wanted him for was to be a punching bag. "I—I mean you're...you're literally one of the most popular kids in school and you don't have to spare me a second fucking look but you're always so fucking nice to me and I never see you be nice to anyone else. I don't get it."

Joel turns his head and just stares at Dieter, wondering if the other boy was just fucking with him or if he had really not understood. He guesses it’s not as obvious. “Really?” He asks, rolling his eyes. He glances at the bathroom signs and then around the deserted hallway before he grabs Dieter’s shoulder to shove him into the boy’s side.

Well that answers that, Dieter thinks as Joel pulls him into the cramped bathroom. He just wanted a target alone. It's shattering, the way Dieter can feel his own tender heart breaking as he braces to be beaten up by the one person he thought was on his side. It's better to just get it over with, he tells himself.

Joel is sweating bullets and he glances around the bathroom to make sure that there is no one around. Furtively glancing either way once more as he keeps Dieter up against the cream-colored tile before he lets him go. Swallowing harshly before he leans in, hoping he doesn’t lose his nerve before quickly pressing his lips to the other boy’s before leaning back just as fast. “There, happy?” He demands nervously, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and looking anywhere but Dieter in case he had just fucked up.

"You—" One hand flies to his lips immediately, like he can't trust his own senses to tell him what just happened, and he knows that he's staring because he can barely breathe. "But you were dating Alison Harcourt all last year!"

“Yeah.” Joel nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was. But what you said— you know, about both….” He shrugs defensively. “Whatever…you shouldn’t get the shit kicked out of you for it.” It’s a fucking risk and he’s almost about to throw up, thinking that he had read Dieter wrong. Just because he was…queer…didn’t mean he liked every boy. Joel knows that very well. Maybe he didn’t like him.

"I didn't know." Dieter murmurs, making sure he keeps his voice down so that no one passing in the hallway would know that there were people in this bathroom. The very last thing they need right now is to be discovered. He steps toward Joel cautiously, like he's approaching his mom's easily spooked dog, and touches his shoulder to make the older boy look up at him. "I won't tell anybody," he promises solemnly. "This is just between us."

Joel stares at Dieter for another minute before he nods. “O-okay.” He rasps out. “So—are you gonna come sleep over? Or no?” He had meant the offer. His parents were rarely home, to the point where he had practically raised his younger brother Tommy. If Dieter was getting hit at home, he could come crash with them.

"Yeah." Dieter bobbles his head awkwardly. His fingers grazed Joel's arm for just a second too long and now they're tingling. Maybe he's imagining it - he has a damn good imagination after all - but Joel feels warm to him. Warm and enticing. "Yeah. I'm gonna come sleep over."

“Okay.” Joel’s head also goes up and down. “Practice was canceled today, so we can leave after school.” He looks around again. “Come on. Mr. Mackie bitches when you’re late, right?”

"Yeah." He can't remember if he told Joel that or if it's just something that he knew, but Dieter grins, blushing a little that Joel has remembered little things like that. That Joel kissed him. Even if he could tell people, they would never believe him. "Mostly because they can't start without me," he boasts gently, puffing up his chest. "I'm the star for this show."

“I know.” Joel smirks at the pride in Dieter’s voice. “You’re gonna be a big movie star one day. I know it.”

******

"You're alive." Dieter finds himself getting misty-eyed with his arms around his former lover. It doesn't matter that it's been more than twenty years since he actually saw Joel face-to-face. "You're fucking alive." He pulls back to look Joel in the face, seeing those decades reflected back at him. "It's been a long fucking time."

“Me?” Joel shakes his head and pulls him in for another hug. “How the fuck did you survive this shit?” Joel had kept up with Dieter’s career, and celebrated his successes with quiet pride. Sarah had rolled her eyes at him and his willingness to own all of Dieter Bravo’s movies, never telling her that he had known him when he was Dieter Black.

"That's what happens when you do as many ‘shrooms as I did in college." Dieter puffs up with a laugh. "The fungi accepted me as one of their own and passed right on by. No more room in the ol' headspace for more to grow." He knows it sounds ridiculous, but it's a more fun theory than your explanation - which is that he was on a no-carb diet at the time of the outbreak to lose weight for a role.

“Hold on— you hug people?” Ellie is holding up her hand and shaking her head like she’s witnessed some sort of miracle. Joel rolls his eyes as he pulls back from Dieter, taking in all the changes that had occurred over the last thirty years, twenty really, since he had watched his movies.

 “So doing all those drugs saved your life, huh?” His eyes slide over to where you are standing, still confused and he points his chin towards you. “Who’s your guard dog?” He hadn’t missed the way Dieter had ducked behind you and figured he was still needing protection more than protecting anyone. He had filled out over the years, but Dieter had always been as non-confrontational as he could possibly be.

“Oh!” Entranced by seeing Joel again, Dieter had apparently forgotten there was anyone else in the room but now he waves for you to come over to him as he introduces you. “Baby, this is Joel.” He tells you excitedly. “Joel from Austin.”

 “Wait…this is Joel?” The name clicks into place with how happy Dieter is to see this man and the slight disbelief in his eyes. He looks almost nostalgic, which is unusual for a man who has admittedly burned a whole lot of memories away with drug use. “Well damn,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. Moving back to the check-in desk a few feet away, you pick up a device with the hand that isn’t holding a gun and hold it up so he can see that it’s a scanner. “Just a formality,” you insist, since you know Dieter won’t let you send these people away. Joel Miller was his first love.

 “Baby…” Dieter gives you a pout, asking you to put the scanner and gun down, before he looks back at Joel. “They told me not to marry my personal assistant but she takes such good fucking care of me.”

Huffing in amusement, Joel shakes his head. "You were never one to be told what to do." He drawls, remembering how obstinate Dieter could be, even if it was to his detriment. Him and Tommy accounted for half his gray hairs even back then. He tilts his neck to the side so you can press the scanner there and it clicks green but when you move towards Ellie, he grabs your arm. "Not the girl." He knows she won't pass.

That’s not a compromise you want to make, but Dieter brushes past it with absolute trust - something that is very rare for him. It took a year of working for him for him to actually trust you, for fuck’s sake. “Fine,” you eye the teen suspiciously. If push comes to shove, you can take out one brand-new clicker. You’ve done it plenty of times before now.

 “What the hell are you doing here?” Dieter wants to know. He’s waving everybody further into the belly of the hotel while you go to relock the front doors, because he had apparently not checked them well enough this morning.

"Me?" Joel scoffs, looking around the crumbling hotel and feeling completely out of place. "Headin' to Wyoming." He shoots Dieter a small shrug. "Tommy's there. Need to find him and drop her off." He nods towards Ellie. "This is a long ass way from L.A." He offers, wondering how the hell Dieter has lasted twenty years in an apocalyptic world. From what Joel had seen, he had become a very pampered actor, although it's good that you seem to care about him.

“We were shooting here.” He has no filter around Joel, the absolute truth spilling from his lips as easy as breathing. “Outbreak day, I mean. They were starting to evacuate some people but…” Dieter shrugs lamely, having made his peace with it years ago. “The studio locked us down here, told us to stay out for our own safety. And then when those FEDRA fuckers came through, we hid with a couple of other people. Fuck those assholes.”

"Here?" Joel looks around and admits that it would be a good place to hole up if you needed to. "How the fuck have you survived twenty years in a hotel?"

“It turns out the staff wasn’t so big on fresh food.” When you return to the group you move right to Dieter’s side. “Obviously we’ve had to hunt, but everybody in this area just tucked tail and went where FEDRA told them to, so we’ve had a lot of abandoned resources to survive on.” It's dwindled, obviously, and it’s next to nothing now, but you’re not about to tell them that.

Joel nods, understanding now and even with it being the two of you, over the years the supplies would have been worn down. He glances towards the doors and sighs. "Well, will you let us stay tonight?" He asks, not sure if you two are willing to share your safe space. It's obviously free of infected. "We'll move on in the morning."

Dieter opens his mouth to say of course! But you put a hand on his arm before he can do more than form the first word. “Your kid’s okay?” He wouldn’t let you scan her so you have to assume that something is wrong.

"She's fine." Joel spits out defensively, shuffling slightly so he can be a human shield between you and the girl. No wonder Dieter survived; you weren't as trusting as his former boyfriend. You were smarter than that.

“If he says she’s okay, then she’s okay.” Your husband looks up at you with his best puppy dog eyes and you sigh inwardly. That expression is how he keeps you wrapped around his finger and he knows it. That, and the third fucking leg he somehow manages to hide in the lounge pants he wears every single day.

 “Okay.” You nod your head, squeezing Dieter’s shoulder before you look back to the new arrivals. “Stay the night. There’s plenty of places to sleep. We’ve kept the fourth floor for living space.”

"Have you had many people come through here?" Joel asks, glancing around again. He wonders who else is here or has been here. Despite knowing Dieter, he wonders if it's just the two of you.

“There were some groups moving through a few years ago.” Dieter waves at the sofa across from where he’s standing and flops back on a chaise lounge like an exhausted Roman emperor, pulling you down beside him. “The people who stayed behind with us either left or died. A couple got infected.” He shudders at that. It had been as traumatic as anything he could remember, to see his friends turn to literal monsters. “But mostly it’s just been us, the gramophone, and a hell of a lot of books.”

 "Never thought I would see you settle down." Joel admits, smirking slightly at the position that Dieter has thrown himself into. At least the affection between the two of you seems genuine. "It only took the fucking end of the world."

 Ellie has been staring at Dieter and her face lights up. "I know you! You're an actor! You were in that movie...what the hell is the name of it?" She snaps her fingers, biting her lip as she tries to figure out what it was. "It's one of the few we had in the FEDRA school." She looks over at Joel. "How the fuck do you know him?"

Dieter grimaces at the idea that FEDRA is using his movies as propaganda, but he looks at Joel curiously. Why the hell was his kid in a FEDRA school? “Your dad and I grew up together,” he explains, not knowing how much she might know about the man Joel used to be. “Way back when.”

"I'm not her dad." Joel says at the same time Ellie goes, "He's not my dad."

 The two of them look at each other and then Ellie's eyes widen. "Wait! You knew Joel when he was young. Has he always been an asshole?" She demands, grinning at Joel before she looks at Dieter expectantly.

“Kind of.” Dieter laughs, enjoying the scowl on his ex-boyfriend’s face. “He’s always had resting asshole face. Never started fights but always ended them, ya know? Nobody fucked with Joel back then.” Except him - but that was a fully different meaning of the word.

Joel's brow lifts, watching you try to keep your expression neutral because it's obvious you know the complete nature of his and Dieter's relationship back in high school. That the two of them had been together and explored sexually before Dieter had left for college and never come back. It's interesting that Dee ended up with a woman, like he had. Despite all the rumors of fucking anyone who would let him, Dieter still managed to bag gorgeous women and it seems that the Outbreak hadn't changed that.

“So you guys are headed to Wyoming?” Even with Dieter curled around you like a man-shaped blanket, you somehow manage to maintain your composure in the face of his ex.

Joel nods, his fingers twitching when he sees Dieter’s hands start to drift from the socially acceptable areas of a partner’s body in front of guests. “Yeah.” He clears his throat, suddenly thinking about the times that he and Dieter would fantasize together.

Dieter smirks, obviously doing it on purpose to see if he can get a rise out of Joel decades later, and lets his hand span the inside of your thigh with glee. "To find Tommy?" He prompts.

His eyes are on the way that Dieter is gripping your thigh, blanking out for a moment before he comes to. "Huh? Oh...yeah." Joel grunts out, trying to ignore the way that his cock twitches. "To find Tommy." He nods, trying not to let Dieter get to him. It wasn't like he had forgotten everything they had done together and talked about doing together.

"I'm surprised you let him out of your sight." The smirk on the younger man's face grows and he drops a kiss on your shoulder. You're just letting the conversation roll along, seemingly unbothered by Dieter's roaming hands. Presumably, you're very used to it. "Tommy was in my class." He explains to you. "Joel was very protective back then."

"He— he's my brother." Lucky for Joel, Ellie has lost interest in the catching up happening between him and Dieter and has started exploring the hotel. "Of course I was protective." He doesn't mention that he had protected Dieter just as vehemently.

"Mmhmm." Your hand catches Dieter's before it can go as far as cupping your cunt right in front of his ex, but you just shake your head. Unbothered and maybe vaguely amused is how your expression reads. "Dee hasn't had an audience in a while," you explain vaguely, throwing your husband an indulgent smile. "Clearly he's glad to see you."

Joel shuffles slightly and clears his throat, unsure of what his ex might have shared with you about that time. "I don't know about that." He grunts. "Been a long time."

"Joel." Dieter aims that deadly pout at the older man now, just the same way he had learned to aim it at you. "She knoooooows. You think I didn't tell me wife about the first cock I ever sucked?"

Joel’s eyes widen and he quickly twists his head around and makes sure that Ellie hadn't decided to be nosy. Not that he gave a fuck about people knowing that side of him, but she would be annoying as fuck with all the questions. When he sees that she's messing behind the front counter, pretending she's checking people into rooms, he looks back at the two of you. "So did you get married before the Outbreak or...?" He tries not to think about how good Dieter had gotten at sucking his cock since it's been a long fucking time from the last blow job he's gotten until now.

"You're making the poor guy nervous, babe." He did that sometimes, usually unintentionally, but it had been a long time since anyone else had even been physically near you to make nervous. Turning your head, you press a kiss to Dieter's cheek and ruffle his hair affectionately. "I'll go find the kid something to eat and get her settled? Give you boys some time to catch up."

 "Mm, you're the fuckin' best." Dieter hums, giving your ass a squeeze before you walk off in the direction of the front desk to get the teenager's attention. "I, uh—" He had forgotten what Joel asked, but the thought snaps back quickly once he's done staring at your ass. "Yeah, we...we got married like...a couple of months before the Outbreak. We just did a little thing in our backyard in Malibu." He shrugs, though his smile is a little lopsided remembering the soft, white sundress you'd worn that day and how gorgeous you looked under all the twinkle lights strung through every tree that night. "Didn't want fuckin paps everywhere, ya know?"

"You always did kind of like nature." The smug comment falls off his tongue before he can stop it. Something very different from a backyard in Malibu.

******

Dieter grunts as he pushes Joel against the broad tree-trunk, one hand on the older boy's chest to hold him in place as they exchange a ferocious kiss. It's been a week since they got any time alone together and they're ravenous for contact at this point. His other hand is everywhere - touching, grasping, groping, unsettled and needy and frazzled with want.

"Dee, fuck." Joel's groan doesn't go far in the thick copse of trees, deep inside and past the old abandoned barn that had been reclaimed by nature. "You always get so fuck-ing eager when I defend you." His own fingers sink into Dieter's hair and twists around the curls, pulling as he drags the other's boy's lips back to his. Groaning again when he cups his cock through the thin basketball shorts he had been wearing when he had slipped out of the gym to meet Dieter in the woods.

"It's sexy." The explanation is honest, at least, and Dieter grins again when he feels Joel's dick twitch and harden a little more in his palm. "My big, scary protector," he croons. He's not even exaggerating.

"Start-starting to think you— you taunt them." Joel knows Dieter doesn't, but it's cute to see the pout flash across his boyfriend's face. "Shit." He hisses when Dieter's exceptionally nimble fingers slide up his shorts to wrap around his cock. "Keep it up." He growls in warning. It's been a fucking week since he's fucked Dieter since his parents actually decided to come home, although they are leaving again this afternoon. He's got a major case of blue balls and his fucking boyfriend is teasing him.

"I've been up." Dieter retorts, taking Joel's hand and pressing it against the front of his jeans. Over the course of their extremely secret relationship, he's had to get very creative with how to hide his hard-ons so he doesn't sport noticeable wood whenever Joel is around.

"Shit." He hisses, squeezing Dieter's cock and groaning when the other boy starts to massage his cock. "Come over tonight." He begs quietly. "I want—I want to fuck you." Tommy is aware of the relationship, but he doesn't give a damn and he doesn't say a word about it. Everyone else in town just thought that Joel protected Dieter because they were friends.

"Your parents leaving?" Mouthing at Joel's neck, Dieter is careful to never leave a mark behind but always uses enough pressure to make his boyfriend squirm. Stroking his cock at the same time - like he's doing now - is usually a recipe for breaking Joel's composure pretty quickly.

"Yeah." Joel's parents think that Joel has just adopted another kid to look after but even if they weren't leaving, he would want Dieter to come over. "You—if they didn't, we could be quiet." It would have to be Dieter that was quiet because he got loud when he was getting fucked. "Shit baby."

"I bet I could get you to scream now." Dieter's eyes flash mischievously. He nips at the sensitive skin of Joel's throat and gives his cock one more stroke before dropping to his knees in the patch of grass around the tree Joel is pressed against. "Don't have to be quiet in the woods."

"Oh fuck." Joel's eyes widen and he glances around just because of how exposed they are. "Baby, you don't—" He doesn't want to say yes because he doesn't want Dieter to feel like he owes him for saving him from another beating but he doesn't stop him when he reaches for the elastic band of his shorts and starts to pull them down. "Are you really going to suck my dick in the woods?" He asks breathlessly.

The wolfish grin on Dieter's face is the only answer he gives, right before diving in and taking Joel's fully hard cock in his mouth. He winks up at him from his knees before readjusting his hand around the base of Joel's shaft, making sure that he doesn't leave a single inch of that gorgeous dick untouched before he starts to bob back and forth like he had taught himself from untold hours of porn.

"Shiiiiiiiit." Joel doesn't even feel it when he bangs his head back against the tree. The wet heat of Dieter's mouth is fucking amazing and his eyes squish shut. "Oh fuck." One hand is curled into a fist and the other reaches down and tangles into Dieter's hair again. "So fucking good. Suck dick like a fucking vacuum."

A pleased, almost preening sound bubbles out of Dieter, basking in Joel's praise, and vibrates around his cock as he works the length over and over again. The hand in his hair only spurs him on, gauging how much pleasure Joel is getting from how tight he's tugging his hair. Dieter is an observant little shit if nothing else, and he had zeroed in on Joel's tells quickly as their physical relationship grew. This time will be fast and furious, judging from the way Joel's fingers are digging into his scalp.

It's almost natural how quickly his hips start to rock forward, looking down and watching his dick disappear into Dieter's mouth. Watching his lips stretch out around him. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum, Dee." He warns him. "Swallow it." He pants out. "Every fucking drop." There have been plenty of times where they had spit out cum, but he wants him to swallow him down today. Wanting him to taste his essence for the rest of the day.

He'll take the order gladly, moving the hand that's gripping Joel's hip to his balls to add to the pleasure and bring him over the edge. Joel Miller is a fucking gorgeous sight when he cums and Dieter keeps his eyes glued to his face so he doesn't miss a second of it.

It only takes a quick squeeze of his balls and the feeling of Dieter's throat closing around the head of his cock and Joel groans out his name. Throbbing on his boyfriend's tongue as ropes of cum spill down his throat in an intense rush that seems to get better every fucking time.

Dieter has instructions and he follows them to the letter, swallowing down every last drop including the ones he has to lick off the corners of his mouth before they escape and dribble down his chin. Joel looks absolutely wrecked and it makes him proud to know that he did that. He is the reason that the hottest, brooding-est athlete in school is panting in pleasure. It's his name that Joel Miller says when he cums. "Feel better, baby?"

"Stand the fuck up." Joel growls, grabbing Dieter's arm and dragging him up off the floor of the woods. Kissing him desperately despite the lingering remnant of his own spend on his boyfriend's tongue. He doesn't care. Shuffling to turn him around and push him up against the same tree he had just cum in front of, Joel breaks the kiss to take Dieter's place on his knees.

The needy whimper that spills out of Dieter's mouth when Joel drops to his knees echoes in the trees and he braces himself as best he can against the one at his back. "Y-you don't...ha-have to," he shudders watching Joel tug open the buttons on his jeans. "Fuck baby."

Joel huffs, rolling his eyes up at Dieter as he yanks the boy's pants down and smirks when he doesn't find any underwear. "You think I'm going to leave you hanging?" He demands, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Dieter's throbbing cock. Leaning in and taking him into his mouth with the same eagerness that he had been sucked off.

"Know you w—wouldn't." Dieter gasps out, shuddering as Joel's hot mouth closes around his length. If he believed in God ever, he'd be thanking Him incessantly for making Joel Miller bisexual. He groans deep in his chest and twines his fingers through Joel's short hair. "Fuuuck."

Humming around the cock in his mouth, Joel starts to jerk the base quickly. Also having learned exactly what does it for Dieter, and he hollows his cheeks around him. It will be fast and dirty; it always is when Joel blows him. It's like he still hasn't gotten used to the fact that the boy he has such a crush on would suck his dick.

"Shit, shit, shit!" One hand grasps the tree trunk behind him to steady himself but Dieter's other hand cards through Joel's hair. He doesn't like it as rough as Dieter does so he's careful not to pull too hard. "You're so fucking good at that, fuck."

Joel looks up at him, bobbing his head frantically as he swallows around him. Wanting him to fall apart and cum for him. He's gorgeous when he cums, shakily panting Joel's name as he does.

It never takes Dieter long when they're like this. The danger of potential discovery is almost as much of a turn on as the person on his knees, and Dieter's stamina can never stand up against Joel's determination to make him practically implode with desire. Mere minutes is all it takes before Dieter is gasping out his name in choked breaths. "Joel, f—fuuuck Joel, I'm gonna cum, baby, fuck, fuck, Joel!"

The first time Dieter had cum in Joel's mouth, he had nearly gagged. Sputtering from the force of the spurts hitting his tonsils, but now he's swallowing him down just like he had told Dieter to. Holding onto his hips and pulling him closer as his boyfriend bucks into his mouth and shouts his name.

Dieter crumples against the tree, eyes wide to watch Joel in awe, and pants for breath as the last rope of his cum hits his boyfriend's tongue with force. He's watched enough porn to know that he cums hard, but Joel doesn't complain about it. Sometimes he teases, but it's never mean. "H-holy shit," he huffs out, fingers instantly soothing through Joel's hair because he knows he pulled way too hard when he came.

Joel hums, swallowing the last drops before he surges to his feet and kisses him one last time. "We— we need to get back." He pants quietly. "You comin' over tonight?"

"Yeah." One more kiss, because Dieter can't help himself, and he shifts his jeans back up his legs to button them carefully. "I'll come over as soon as I can." Both boys know that that means as soon as Dad is drunk but neither of them say it. There's no use in holding the black cloud over time they get to spend together.

"Yeah." Joel nods, frowning slightly and shaking his head. "Just pack up for the weekend," he suggests.

"Okay." Dieter murmurs, nodding slightly. He grasps on for one more kiss before fixing a bit of Joel's hair that he tugged out of place. "Go. They're gonna notice you're gone if you stay longer."

Joel pulls his shorts up and nods. "I'll see you later, okay?" He swallows and tosses Dieter a grin before he turns and starts to make his way out of the woods to go work out for gym class.

******

"Can't believe you're actually fuckin' here." Dieter mutters, shaking his head at Joel. "I mean I'm not surprised you were stubborn enough to survive, but...fuck, ya know?" He huffs at how inarticulate he is for a man who used to make his living at spoken words. "Tell me about shit. You, Tommy, your life, whatever. What was..." he searches his spotty memory, barely coming up with kernels of information. "Amber, right?" The last time the two men had seen each other in any meaningful way was when Joel's wife was pregnant. But considering he has a kid with him that isn't his and is too young to be that kid anyway, Dieter isn't exactly sure what happened.

Joel's eyes slide away from Dieter's, not because he had been ashamed of his relationship with Amber. Both men had moved on from their relationship. "Yeah." He huffs quietly. "She— she left, a few months after Sarah, our daughter, was born." He tells Dieter, looking down at his watch like he always does when he thinks of her.

“Shit…” The word drags out awkwardly as Dieter rubs at the back of his neck and tries not to cringe. “I’m sorry, man. That’s bullshit. You guys seemed so happy…”

"Well..." Joel shrugs. "She wasn't happy being a mother after all, I guess." He hadn't thought about Amber in years, but it still hurts that she had abandoned him with a three-month-old baby. It had been a learning curve to be a single parent. Only his time raising his brother had helped.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter says again, slipping off the chaise he was sitting on to come sit next to Joel. He’s rarely seen a version of this man that was hurting, so it’s not something he really knows how to process. He just knows that Joel used to like having him close, so he gravitates that way. “I didn’t mean to— I mean…you know,” he mumbles incoherently.

“You didn’t know.” Joel knows he would never willingly cause him any pain. Not even when he had moved on.

Dieter bites his lip, not wanting to ask about Joel’s daughter since he had already asked one dumb question already. “So Tommy’s in Wyoming?” He settles on, hoping it isn’t a sore subject as well. He wants to sit and catch up with Joel, he’s just shit at small talk.

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Dumbass joined the Fireflies.” He huffs. “So he went out west and I had stayed in Boston.” He knows that Dieter wants to ask so he swallows. “Sarah…my daughter.” His voice is low enough that only Dieter can hear. “She died on Outbreak day.”

“Jesus.” Instinctively, Dieter reaches out and covers Joel’s hand with his, squeezing gently. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Well, you remember when my birthday is, right?” He asks, turning his hand and not letting the other man’s hand go. Nearly thirty years later, the touch of him still soothes.

“Oh shit.” It clicks in his mind instantly and he clutches Joel’s hand that much tighter. “She…Jesus Christ,” he huffs. “I woulda thrown myself off a goddamn bridge. I don’t know how you’re still standing.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying the first few years.” Joel admits. “I sort of shut down.” Tommy was the only reason he had stuck around.

“Don’t blame you.” The sigh that Dieter blows out is audible and he points a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s pulled me back from the edge so many times I think she might’ve gone a little crazy herself.” His eyes cut back to Joel, though, and to their hands. “Kinda like you, back then.”

“You’re worth it.” Joel chuckles, remembering how Dieter had always kind of needed an emotional support person. It’s how he thrived.

Dieter’s habitual lopsided, lazy smile returns to his face slowly and he eyes Joel curiously. “Stay more than a night.” He asks, wondering what else has been going on in Joel’s life these past endless years. Dieter is a sentimental bastard, always has been, and nostalgic when he feels like it. “We don’t have much left, but…you don’t need to run off.”

“I—” Joel swallows and looks around. “You can’t stay here. Not without food. Even as safe as it is.”

“Something always turns up.” It’s sweet that Joel still worries, the instinct to protect Dieter apparently not having waned. “There’s a lake nearby. We fish a lot, and get some birds that way.” Like he said - it’s not a lot. But it’s enough for two.

It isn’t Joel’s place to try to make decisions for you and Dieter, but he makes his own decision to not take anything from the two of you. He won't accept any supplies if offered. He nods and looks around again. “It’s a nice place to have to spend the end of the world.” He flashes a grin. “Too bad the hot water doesn’t work.”

“You get used to filling up the industrial sink with heated water if you want a hot bath.” Dieter shrugs. His pampered lifestyle didn’t translate to the apocalypse, obviously.

“Better than freezing your ass off in a river.” Joel acknowledges, smirking at the howling Dieter would make, being cold. He had never liked cold water.

“Stay a little.” Dieter asks again, the insistence in his voice nearly a whine. “Just a little.” He huffs at himself, looking down at Joel’s hand in his. “A couple of days?”

“Your wife may not like that.” Joel prompts him gently. Just because he has a history with Dieter doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s done before settling down. He won’t make poor decisions for his former lover. “You might want to ask her.”

“What makes you think I would marry a square?” It makes him laugh, more than he expected, and Dieter rolls his eyes affectionately at Joel. “If she says yes, you stay.”

“Okay.” He agrees with a small nod. “If she agrees, I’ll stay.”

******

“You two been on the road for long?” You’ve covered the basics with this kid - Ellie - and basically only managed to find out that she’s a 14-year-old bag of snarky comments, but it’s oddly reassuring that teenagers haven’t changed just because the world ended. In the big industrial kitchen there’s some water for her to drink, and she took up the offer understandably eagerly.

Ellie shrugs slightly. “Couple of months.” She tells you after she gulps down the last swallow of water. “We’ve walked a lot of miles.” She tells you. “His boots are wearing out.”

“How about yours?” You pour her another glass, knowing that you can get more from the lake. “They must be getting pretty worn, too? Clothes, too.”

“It happens.” She hasn’t wanted to complain but it’s getting harder. Especially when she’s run through all the tampons and the last time she had just stuffed her panties with an old shirt.

“There’s stuff here.” Nudging the refilled glass back across the table to her, you offer the kid as kind a smile as you can muster. “Everybody that was staying here, they left stuff behind. So there’s lots to pick from.”

“That would be cool.” She nods and takes the glass back again. “I like some of the stuff they wore back then.”

“Yeah?” That makes you almost laugh and tilt your head at her. “What stuff? I might know what room to send you to, to find it.”

“I don’t know how to describe it.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “Not like we have fashion week at FEDRA schools.” She looks around to make sure Joel isn’t close by. “You don’t have period shit, do you?” She asks furtively.

“Some.” You nod, trying to remember the exact inventory of pads you have in the closet upstairs. The nearest convenience stores, pharmacies, and even grocery store loot had all been piled into this hotel when there was just a small group of survivors, but thankfully there had only been two menstruating people in that group. “Do you need it now?” If she did, she probably needed clean clothes desperately, and wouldn’t hate a bath. You could heat some water for her to ease the pain.

“I ended yesterday.” Ellie rolls her eyes. It’s hard trying to hide that from Joel and especially hard when traveling out in the wilderness. The conversation about animals smelling her menstrual blood had been one filled with stuttered speech on Joel’s part and mortification on Ellie’s.

“I’ll pack some up for you.” What little you have left can be shared. She’s out in the wild and might not come across more…but you’re at least in a place where you can wash your rags each month. “I can’t imagine he’s remembering to check for supplies like that when you get a chance to rummage through places.”

“I’m normally on the lookout for that kind of thing.” Ellie snorts, imagining Joel buying tampons before the outbreak. He would be so fucking uncomfortable with it. Just like he was anytime she started complaining about cramps.

“I’ll scrounge up what I can for you.” Being a teenager out in the wilderness can’t be easy - even with access to tampons or pads. “I wish I had some pain killers or something to send you out with, but not getting FEDRA out here means our supplies dried up quickly.”

“Doesn’t hurt too bad.” Ellie shrugs. “Not like getting stabbed. That hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah.” The abruptness of the observation makes you laugh, and you almost miss seeing Dieter amble toward through the kitchen doorway. “Yeah. Getting stabbed fucking sucks.”

“Who’s getting stabbed?” Dieter asks, brows raised and a goofy grin on his face as he makes his way to your side.

"It's a uterus thing." You assure him, happy as always to have your husband attach himself to your side. "I'm going to pack up some supplies for Ellie and get her new clothes, all that kind of stuff. There's enough to share upstairs."

“They are going to stay a couple of days.” Dieter announces, grinning at you like he’s won the lottery. “As long as you’re okay with it. Joel insisted.” He rolls his eyes as if it was never a question.

"Yeah. That's okay with me." It's not like you hadn't expected it, once you realized who Joel was to Dieter. While he's not exactly nostalgic for the entire way the world used to be, he's always talked about this particular ex with fondness. And while maybe it would have been weird twenty years ago, the world has changed. The fact is, you have resources and a roof, and they could use the help. "I'll go down and check the traps and do some fishing? Or we could all go, depending on how badly Joel and Ellie need to rest."

“I want to go!” Ellie immediately volunteers, always eager to see and do new things. There’s something going on with Joel and she figures she needs to give him some space to decide. These people have to be alright if Joel’s considering staying for a few days.

"That's the most excited I've ever seen a teenager get about fishing," you laugh, nodding to Ellie. "Alright, at the very least I'll take Ellie down to the lake and we can rustle up some dinner." What you have stored is best fleshed out with a catch of the day, and that's just fine.

“Cool.” Ellie grins, practically bouncing on her toes as Joel strides into the kitchen.

 “What’s cool?”

"As long as it's okay with you, I thought I would take Ellie down to the lake to do some fishing." He seems the protective sort, something you knew to be true from Dieter's stories but is very obvious upon meeting him. "Just down to the lake. Very safe. If you wanted to look out the south windows of the hotel or sit on the back porch, you could see us easily enough."

Joel frowns and looks between the hopeful face of Ellie and the two other adults. He sees the trust that Dieter places in you and his shoulders relax slightly. “You keep your gun on you, you hear me?” He tells Ellie seriously. “Keep your eyes open too and don’t fall in the goddamn water.” He looks over at you. “She can’t swim.”

"Understood." You nod, understanding that he takes whatever guardianship he has of this girl very seriously. "If it will make you feel better, we can all go? There's enough reels. This place has a little boathouse filled up with equipment and kayaks from letting guests go out on the lake way back when."

“Shit.” Dieter chuckles. “When was the last time you went fishing, Joel?” He asks, smirking. There had been plenty of times when they were teens, but they funnily enough never caught anything.

 Joel huffs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. We can all go.” He grumbles. “Wish there was beer though.” He jokes dryly.

Dieter opens his mouth excitedly only to have you point a finger at him knowingly. "You are not letting your friend touch that bathtub shit we made. It's bad enough we drink it. Joel doesn't need to be going blind from homemade moonshine."

“Moonshine.” Joel looks between the two of you and his eyes widen slightly. “I’m willing to risk it.”

"We're living in an art deco hotel, baby," Dieter reminds you, waggling his eyebrows at Joel's enthusiastic response. "If we didn't make bathtub booze it would be a sin against dramatic irony." All you can do is shake your head at them to keep from showing your amusement, otherwise Dieter will know he's won all too easily. "I'm pretty sure it has as much to do with irony as an Alanis Morrissette song, but...fine. You're both big boys. You can make your own decisions."

Joel waves his hand in front of your face. “You aren’t blind yet.” He reasons. “Has to be kinda decent.” He scoffs. “Remember that shit we used to drink? That was bad.”

"It's not far off," Dieter snorts, amusement lacing the creases in his face which are usually reserved for care or worry. "Still, I don't recommend we drink on the water." It's too out in the open, and drowning is a real concern, although you have no intention of letting the kid drink any. "We'll have some tonight?"

“Sounds good.” Joel can understand and appreciate the caution. He looks over at Ellie and nods at her. “Ready to go fishing, kiddo?”

"Hell yeah." Ellie pops up from the stool she was sitting on, excited to try something completely new.

 "This way." You nod to the opposite direction that everyone came in, ready to take them through the backdoor of the kitchen and out into the remaining afternoon light. It's actually pretty out here if you ignore the highway off in the distance, and that's not hard to do with twenty years of overgrowth and a grove of trees that cropped up around the back of the hotel property. It's chilly out but not too cold yet and you're reasonably optimistic that you can catch something to eat tonight. Tomorrow you'll stay out here for longer, catching whatever you can and stocking up for a few days of visitors.

“How do you keep warm in the hotel?” Joel asks, frowning slightly. “Are there fireplaces in the rooms?”

"Some of them." When you get outside, you turn around and point to the top of the hotel. From the back, several small chimneys are visible that are hidden by the architecture and signage of the front. "That's why we turned the fourth floor into our living space. Those are the suites that have working fireplaces. The other rooms had them filled in or they weren't there at all. It seems like they were an incentive to get a suite instead of a regular room."

“Makes sense.” Joel nods and has to admit that it seems like you have a very nice set up. Too bad you didn’t have any long-term setups like a garden or animals. “I like the fact you have a lake to fish in and gather water.”

"If we knew anything about raising animals it would be better than fishing and setting traps for rabbits or squirrels." You stifle a laugh when Dieter makes a face about squirrel meat and let him take the lead when it comes to the tour.

"Garden is that way," he says, pointing to the eastern side of the building. "Traps are around the tree line. There's a river that comes through the woods to feed the lake, and there's mushrooms for foraging." He flashes Joel a cackling grin. "I know, not something most people want to eat these days. but like I said. They made me one of their own."

Joel huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. Only Dieter could make a joke like that work. “I get it.” He rolls his eyes and looks over at where Ellie is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

"Don't worry about it," you advise, nudging Ellie a little and smiling at your husband's ridiculous joke. "The point is, we do okay for food. It's not exactly a farm or anything, but there are a lot worse places we could have gotten stuck."

“All you need is a pen for animals.” Joel murmurs, looking out over the water and the low hanging sun. “It seems like very few infected come through here?”

"Sometimes wanderers come through. Ones that get separated from the hive. Or travelers passing through the area." Dieter grins again, but he shrugs this time. "You'd be surprised how many people still get star struck when they recognize me. Usually better than a gun for getting people to back off."

“I still can’t believe you know Dieter Fucking Bravo!” Ellie crows, shaking her head in amazement. “Like— how?”

"I have to ask," you look over at Ellie on your other side and tilt your head curiously. "How do you even know who he is? You were born after the Outbreak."

“FEDRA school I was at had his movies.” She shrugs like it was simple. “We were allowed to watch them sometimes. Apparently the dean was a big fan or some shit.”

"So you've seen more of my movies than I have." Dieter observes, unhooking the sunglasses from the front of his worn t-shirt and sliding them on his face with pride. "Never watch your own shit, kid. Not that they make movies anymore. But like...in life."

“Is it true you’ve done porn?” Ellie asks, tilting her head at Dieter. “There’s a rumor that the dean would give anything to have a sex movie of you.”

 “Ellie!” Joel hisses, mortified at the question and the manners of his charge.

"Nah." The question barely phases Dieter and he brushes it away like she had asked him if he preferred hamburgers or hotdogs. He does get a kick out of Joel's shock, though, considering he was the first other person whoever made him cum. "Not that got leaked anyway," he jokes to Ellie, looking at her from over his sunglasses. "Only people seeing my junk are gonna be the ones I choose specifically." Granted that list is extremely long, but he had still made the decision each time.

“Obviously a wise policy.” Ellie intones seriously, glancing at Joel. “How do you know each other?” She demands, finding it completely cool that she’s met someone she saw on the shitty projector at school. It’s surreal and intriguing how the biggest asshole she knows seems to be on friendly terms with him.

"We went to school together." Dieter knocks into Joel's shoulder by accident as he tries to walk backward to face Ellie and play tour guide and grin at the sun all at once. "Middle and high school. Worst years of my fuckin' life if not for this asshole." His grin turns to Joel full force, and he hears you stifle a giggle, knowing he doesn't mean asshole in the least.

“Did he get all gruff and puff up at you?” Ellie squares her shoulder and holds her arms out to make herself appear broader as she gives an exaggerated ‘Joel’ expression. “You’re a pain in my goddamn ass, you know that?” She huffs out gruffly, mimicking Joel. “Stop talking. Go to sleep.” She cackles at her own impression and shoots Joel a grin, knowing he won’t do anything but roll his eyes and huff under his breath.

"Sort of." The lopsided expression on Dieter's face is soft when he turns his head to look at Joel. "More like...You're a pain in my goddamn ass. Don't be such an idiot. Help me finish my homework." His imitation of Joel is more like an imitation of Ellie's imitation, making it all the more ridiculous and worth laughing about.

“You were being an idiot.” Joel insists, rolling his eyes even though he can’t quite stop the grin that slips through his serious facade. “And you were better at the English shit. You had to help me so we could do other things.”

"Other things?" Ellie waggles her eyebrows the way she had seen Dieter do, thinking it was hilarious even the first time he did it. "Joel, were you bad?" The question is nothing short of gleeful, like she's relishing every second of insight into his former life.

Joel rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah.” He tells her. “We were totally bad.” They had actually been pretty good kids now that he was looking back, but at the time, it was about sex and keeping Dieter from getting his ass beaten.

"Did you like...beat people up and stuff?" Since Ellie's only frame of reference for pre-Outbreak high school is books and movies, she goes straight to what she knows from those. "Sneak out behind the building to smoke cigarettes?" She gasps excitedly. "Did you smoke pot?!"

“I only beat up people who fucked with Dieter, or my brother.” Joel admits. “And of course we smoked pot.” He huffs, pointing at Dieter. “You don’t think this asshole didn’t do drugs in high school?”

Dieter's delighted chuckle makes Ellie crow and she playfully punches Joel in the arm as the group makes their way around to the front of the boat house. "I knew you used to be cool. Oh man – oh man, Dieter, I need stories. Seriously!"

“Who says I’m not cool now?” Joel demands gruffly, fully aware that Ellie thinks he’s lame. Even Sarah would think he’s lame if she were alive.

"Dude." Ellie's gaze could cut glass when she looks over at him. "I've spent every day for months with you. I know cool. You're not cool."

“You know cool, huh?” Joel snorts and rolls his eyes. “Just because I’m trying to keep your ass alive, I’m not cool.”

"'Fraid I have to argue with that." Dieter's lazy smile is pointed at Joel again. "But Joel Miller was very fucking cool. Guess I must have stolen it all away over time." Sucked it out through his cock is the undertone of the comment, but he doubts the kid gets that.

Joel chuckles, not missing the hot glance that Dieter is sending him. “Your wife.” He reminds the actor quietly.

"Knows all about it," you laugh, dismissing it and hustling Ellie past the two men into the boat house to get her a life jacket and a reel.

Joel slows down, trying to figure out if you are talking about the past or the very obvious hints Dieter seems to be dropping. Or maybe he’s just reading too much into it.

"Joel!" When you toss his name over your shoulder from inside the boathouse you can't exactly see where he's gone to. "You gonna join us?"

“Yeah— uh, coming!” Joel jogs slightly to catch up, wondering where the hell Dieter had found a woman like you.

It doesn't take too long to get suited up, and the four of you pull the lone rowboat out of the boathouse to bring down to the lakeside. It's a little too heavy for just you and Dieter to manage so you haven't used it in years, but you've kept it clean just in case. For the four of you it's perfect, and gives you plenty of space to collect any fish you catch.

Joel chuckles, obviously sensing he’s being put to work and he takes the oars after he helps you drag it into the water. “Don’t flip the boat.” He warns Ellie as the three of you climb into it. “Or you’ll sleep in wet clothes.”

“She wouldn’t make me.” Ellie points a thumb in your direction. “Turns out your friends are the cool ones, I guess.”

“Smart ass.” Joel grunts before he starts to row out onto the lake once everyone is situated in the boat.

It takes a little while for Ellie to get the hang of fishing, but it’s a generally quiet activity with a lot of long waiting periods involved, so conversation turns over again and again while the four of you sit together. Ellie tells you and Dieter about her school and Boston, Joel grunts his agreement or disagreement, Dieter tells a story that he realizes halfway through probably wasn’t appropriate, and you finish up with a censored version of the rest of the events. It’s a good system, honestly, and the four of you find yourselves laughing in between catching a few medium-to-smaller sized fish. It doesn’t matter what they are, you’ll eat them no matter what, but at least they all look clear-eyed and healthy when you pull them up into the boat.

“The sun’s about gone.” Joel observes, handing his pole to Ellie and picking up the oars. “Ready to go back?” This is your area and you will know if it’s safe or not to be out past sundown.

“Yeah, I think we have more than enough for tonight.” There’s more than one fish per person, which is great, and if you don’t eat it all tonight you’ll salt some of it to preserve for a night in the future. Sometimes you swear the spirits of pioneer women are out here whispering secrets in your ears because you certainly didn’t fucking know how to preserve fish before the world ended.

 “Great! I’m fucking starving!” Ellie chortles, making Joel puff.

 “Ellie! Watch your goddamn language.” He pants out as he rows back to shore.

Dieter snorts, knowing full well how much Joel swears himself, and nudges his friend. “When did you get so prim?” He teases.

“She’s a kid.” He points out, knowing that his own language was bad at that age but he hadn’t cursed around adults.

“Mmhmm.” Dieter laughs the way only Dieter can - slightly delirious and fully amused. “Whatever you say, Joely.”

The only reason Joel doesn’t shoot Dieter a finger is because his hands are busy. “Kiss my ass, Black.” Dieter’s real last name comes off his tongue naturally.

“Whooooooooooa!” Ellie inhales like she’s swallowing a tornado, eyes wide, and then doubles over in cackling laughter. “I fucking love it here.” She declares when she gasps for air again.

Joel chuckles at her, aware that she’s not had a whole lot of fun lately and deserves to enjoy it. If it weren’t for the need to find Tommy, he would consider staying here. “Easy, you’ll fart if you laugh so hard.” He drolls.

Ellie snorts at that and Dieter chuckles, squeezing your knee as you shake your head and laugh beside him. “I’ll heat some extra water so you guys can take baths,” you promise them, figuring that a little relaxation would do them both good. “Dieter can grab fresh clothes for Joel and I’ll find some for Ellie.”

 “We can help.” Joel offers. “I don’t want to create extra work for you.” He can’t imagine Dieter is incredibly helpful on the best of days with it just being the two of you.

“It’s been a while since we had guests.” You shrug, but nod in acceptance of the offer. “Actually, it’s been so long that I can’t even remember the last time I thought of anyone as a guest.”

“It’s so cool to live in a hotel like this.” Ellie huffs. “This is better than your sheep farm fantasy, Joel.”

“Sheep farm fantasy?” Dieter almost chokes. “What the hell is she talking about?”

“Jesus,” Joel rolls his eyes. “Nothing like that. I just said that if I could do anything after this trip, I would have a little ranch with sheep or something.”

“Anything?” Another guffaw falls from Dieter’s lips and he throws his head back in amusement. “Anything in the world and you choose sheep rancher? What happened to Joel Miller, Badass Rockstar?” In their adolescent dreams of fame and fortune, Joel always dreamt of being a singer. He would hum Dieter to sleep on his worst nights and they would sneak into the rock shows that Austin had to offer on the best nights.

“Holy shit, Joel.” Ellie looks both surprised and impressed. “You sing?”

Joel shrugs but Dieter isn’t done telling his secrets. “He sings and plays both guitar and piano.” His former lover boasts. “He loves music.”

“Suddenly I regret not being able to tune the baby grand in the ballroom.” When the rowboat softly bumps the shore, you gather up the bucket full of fish at your feet. “Don’t worry, Joel,” you offer him an olive branch even though you’re curious. “We won’t make you put on a floor show.”

Joel snorts. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a piano in front of me.” He admits, although he wouldn’t mind having a guitar to play.

"It sounds like a dying cat no matter which key you hit." Dieter giggles, knowing full well that it is like the sound of nails on a chalkboard to your ears. He tinkers with it to annoy you sometimes.

“You couldn’t play to save your life.” Joel huffs at Dieter, remembering the times he had tried to teach him how to play. “Don’t tell me you tortured your wife with your horrible playing?”

"Mayyyyyybe." His former lover grins unapologetically. "I'm shit with music and always have been."

 "Which makes it all the more hilarious that the movie he was filming here had him playing a musician." You had found it endlessly hilarious when they were courting Dieter for the role, knowing full well that they would have to dub his vocals.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel winces. “I’m glad that one didn’t make it out. I would have such a hard time sitting through that one.”

"Oh, it wasn't actually going to be me singing." Grabbing the bucket from your hand and putting out his arm to help you out of the boat, Dieter sighs dramatically at Joel's teasing. "They had some American Idol runner up locked into a contract to sing for me. Be glad for that guy that he didn't have to listen to me garbling along when he did the dubbing."

“Poor bastard.” Joel chuckles and sends Dieter an indulgent grin. “I’ve listened to you singing too many nights when you were staying over.”

"Awwe, you guys did sleepovers?" Ellie pops out of the boat with little help, flashing Joel a shit-eating grin. "Did you guys like...stay up all night gossiping and painting your nails?" She just can't imagine a fun, young Joel being a normal teenager. It baffles her mind, so obviously she has to joke about it.

“Oh totally.” Joel imitates a valley girl voice. “We did facials and all that.” He knows Dieter will giggle at the double entendre built into that joke. Grinning at Ellie as her eyes widen.

"Joel was infamous for his facials." Dieter almost doubles over, barely able to get the words out for laughing. "Coverage. Good, good coverage."

“Jesus Christ.” Joel can’t help but crack up as well, reaching out and slapping Dieter’s back as he joins him in the hysterical laughter.

"I don't get it." Ellie looks to you for clarification but you just shake your head and nod for her to follow you back up to the hotel.

 "Don't worry about it, El," you tell her, stifling your own laughter much better than the men had. "It's a guy thing."

It takes a few minutes for them to calm down, both of them grinning when they stop laughing. “Fuck it’s good to see you.” Joel tells Dieter breathlessly.

"You too, baby." The last word is quiet. Soft and sweet, and more than a little nostalgic when Dieter smiles much more shyly at Joel.

Joel doesn’t give a shit if Ellie sees, but he still checks to make sure that you and the girl have gone inside and when he sees the coast is clear, he grabs Dieter’s shirt and pulls him close. Pressing his lips to Dieter’s for the first kiss in nearly thirty years.

It would have been a surprise if Dieter didn't still remember how to push every single one of Joel's buttons, so instead it's sloppy and enthusiastic. Dieter grins against Joel's lips, feeling victorious and carefree, which is no mean feat in a world so laden with worries. He happily holds on for however long Joel allows, humming to himself and gripping his former lover's hips in both hands to keep him close.

It’s been so goddamn long since Joel has felt this sense of wonder. Clinging to it just like he clings to Dieter as he starts to deepen the kiss. He knows he’s married but from what he can tell, you don’t mind.

Feeling things rush back to him - nostalgia and the tinted memories of adolescence make everything feel more exciting and more romantic by nature - Dieter moans softly when Joel leans into the moment and lets the older man lick into his mouth as easily as breathing. It doesn't matter how long the moment goes on for, he knows that you will understand. Mostly because there is a very important fact that Dieter hasn't mentioned yet to Joel.

It’s only when Joel has to come up for air that he pulls away from Dieter. Nearly confused as to where he is as he comes back to reality. “Shit.” He groans softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

"Don't be stupid." Dieter chides, sounding remarkably like his younger self for a moment. "She won't care. I mean...she might care that she didn't get to watch, but that's it."

“Still like to show off, huh?” Dieter has always been a little bit of a showy shit, and it’s nice to know that some things haven’t changed.

"I went to Hollywood." The dramatic exasperation in his voice is just for show, making Dieter giggle in response. "Plus, she likes to watch. And be watched. We're pretty evenly matched, to be honest."

“That’s—that’s good.” There hadn’t been a huge dramatic break up. No harsh words or bitter feelings. Hell, no one had known Dieter and Joel were together. But there’s always been a slight regret in not knowing what happened to his old lover. Wondering sometimes what had happened to the first romantic love he had ever had. So it’s good to find out that he’s been happy. Joel gives Dieter a smile and nods. “Really good.”

"No pouting," he chides, shaking his head to make his maniac curls fly in every direction. The last thing Dieter wants is a bummed-out Joel. He's never liked Joel upset. Even thinking about it sucked. "When I said you should stay, I meant you should have fun."

“I don’t…understand.” Joel’s brow wrinkles in confusion, frowning as he stares at his former lover.

"Baby..." Dieter smirks, smacking a kiss on Joel's cheek. "You made the prenup." To him, it is the ultimate compliment. That he had kept Joel in his heart and mind for decades. "You're my freebie."

“Your…freebie….” Again, confusion clouds his face for a moment before he finally clinks. “Oh…oh… really?” He blinks and looks around as if the hotel would provide an answer. “A hall pass, for me?”

“Why would I waste it on a guy that wouldn’t live up to you?” Dieter shrugs like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “You don’t have to. If you have somebody or would feel weird about it. But considering you just kissed me?” He grins devilishly. “She let me share her freebie, so I’m sure she’d like to share you, too.”

 “Jesus, Dee.” Joel can’t even deny that the idea is one that makes his cock twitch in his jeans. “We used to talk about that.” Two bisexual boys fucking obviously talked about the girls they liked and how they would like to share one. “Was her freebie a guy or girl?” He asks curiously.

 “Girl.” And Dieter still gets a hell of a thrill thinking about it, through the haze of a twenty-year-old memory. “Fuck if I can remember her name now. My memory’s gone to shit. Some bendy as fuck Broadway actress that I ended up actually doing a film with. She was ecstatic.”

 “So you’ve only fucked one other person other than your wife in twenty years?” He’s doubtful, but who knows.

 “Nah.” That sounds ridiculous even to Dieter, though he does love that Joel is so skeptical. He always knew him best of anyone. “The others were special circumstances. Like the one woman who was traveling through and stayed with us for about a month. She decided she’d rather stay warm and we were kinda bored with each other at the time. Or the guy who got separated from his group and ended up here for a week or two about…six years ago? Seven years ago? I dunno. He just wanted to fuck a movie star and pretend things were the way they used to be. He only wanted her to watch. But you?” He raises both eyebrows clear above his sunglasses. “You still hold the record for prettiest cock I’ve ever fucked. And…” There is a flash – just a flash – where the mask slips and Dieter shrugs. “You’re you.”

 “I’m…me…” Joel puts his hands on his hips and looks around for a second as he thinks. He wants to, badly. “I want to hear it from her.” He decides. “And I want to—to have you both.” He steps closer and bites his lip. “You— there hasn’t been another man since you, Dee.” He confesses softly.

 Dieter isn’t one to hesitate when something he wants is within reach, and right now Joel is two inches away, so he grabs right onto the front of his shirt and tugs him in, pressing his lips hard against Joel’s. “Sentimental bastard,” he teases. “And I know she’ll say yes. Caught her checking out your ass in the boathouse.”

 “Shut the fuck up.” Few would ever mistake the growl as nothing but angry, but Dieter just grins at him, knowing that he’s embarrassed. For as popular as Joel had been in school, he hadn’t been assertive when it came to relationships until he was in them.

 The leering grin on Dieter’s face is so fucking pleased that he lets out a manic little giggle. “Oh yeah,” he looks very pleased with himself - or perhaps with you. “Silver Fox works for you.”

 Joel rolls his eyes but he can feel his cock harden. “So what have you imagined?” He asks quietly. “Since I’m your pass?”

“It would be easier to tell you what I haven’t imagined.” The lack of a creative mind was never Dieter’s problem, and with the promise of bringing fantasy to reality tantalizingly close he feels that giddiness of a kid about to get a mountain of presents for his birthday. “Depends on whether you just want to fuck me, or if you want to fuck my wife, too.” His eyebrows waggle again in that signature suggestive way. “Good thing you’re staying for a few days.”

“If the offer is there…” Joel wouldn’t turn down a chance to touch either one of you, especially if it was a shared experience and want.

“Good.” That’s all Dieter needs to hear, and he reaches out and strokes his thumb over Joel’s hip to turn him toward the hotel. “We’re going to have a very fun conversation after dinner.”

“Any conversation with you is always interesting.” Joel huffs, remembering the off the wall comments that would come out of his mouth.

“There you two are.” When Dieter and Joel stroll into the kitchen they look simultaneously more relaxed and excitable, and you make a mental note to ask Dieter what happened outside after Ellie is out of earshot. Right now she’s sitting five feet away peeling vegetables. “Beginning to think you ran off on us.”

“Nahhhhh.” Dieter winks at you. “You know I would never leave you.” He comes over to stand behind you and kisses the back of your neck. “I was showing Joel the star you claim is a satellite.”

“There’s a satellite out there?” Ellie’s seemingly perpetual state of excitement spikes again.

"Hundreds of them." Joel nods. "Driftin' around up there, unused anymore." He doubts any country has retained enough of a presence to use their satellites, but who knows considering communications were cut almost from the start. You only know what FEDRA wanted you to, and that wasn't much.

“Cooooool.” It’s cooler than peeling potatoes, anyway, and that’s what she’s doing right now.

 “It makes the world a little more fun to think something ordinary like a star might be something extraordinary like a still working satellite or a UFO,” you shrug your shoulders but not enough to deter Dieter from showering you in those little bits of affection he loves to give. “It’s my make believe.”

"The aliens are avoiding this planet like the plague." Joel snorts, moving over to where the fish are sitting in the sink and pulls out his knife to clean them.

“As they fucking should.” Dieter agrees without an ounce of irony.

“Dee?” Nudging your husband slightly, you can’t help but sigh a little. He’s too fucking affectionate for his own good. It’s part of how you fell for him. “Will you bring in some firewood for the stove, baby?” The old gas lines did nothing now, but through some crafty tinkering, the ovens and stones in the big hotel kitchen had been converted into wood burning operations.

"Sure." Dieter bobbles his head and looks around the kitchen with a grin. "It's like a family dinner." He observes before he darts out the door to get the wood from the pile.

“Something that most of us haven’t had in a very long time.” It hits your own nostalgia in a very different way than seeing Joel hits for Dieter, but still gives you some nice feelings of warm and fuzzy along with him.

Joel grunts, not commenting on that as he slices the fish open to clean them out. "So tell me how you met Dieter?" He asks, glancing over at you before looking back down at his work.

“I was his personal assistant. His manager pulled me out of a stack of a hundred resumes of people clawing to get to work in Hollywood.” That much of what Dieter had said earlier was true. “It was crazy hard work, but I built my life around him. It kind of snuck up on me that I’d fallen in love with him in the process.”

“It’s good though. Dieter’s always been…easy to care about when you peel through the layers of bullshit.” Joel knows exactly the trauma that had forged the actor's egocentric ways and he doesn’t blame him. Never did.

“He’s genuine. Which people don’t expect.” It’s nice to be able to talk to someone who knows the real Dieter from years ago. The unvarnished, unmasked version of him that is adoring and loyal and full of life. Hollywood had made him jaded and paranoid. Well, the drugs didn’t help that last part. “He’ll always tell you the truth to your face, and it can come across badly if you’re expecting him to schmooze and be a fake nice guy like a lot of other actors.”

“No, I can’t imagine that would go over well.” Joel snorts, although he was pretty much the same way. “It seems like you complement each other very well.”

“I soften his rough edges and he makes me more bold.” The two of you have developed a whole world all your own at this point, as you’re sure a lot of people around the world have. You can’t be the only ones who are isolated like this. “I'm glad to finally meet you, though. He’s always spoken very fondly of you.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Joel snorts, shaking his head in amusement over what Dieter had probably told you. There were times Dieter had no filter, especially when he was around people he trusted.

“You believed in him.” It’s not like you’re going to tell Joel in front of the kid that Dieter had told you explicit details of their sex life. You’re honest, not tactless. “And you supported him. I know you were young, but having that support when you’re that age is vital.”

“What did he need support over?” Ellie scoffs, still peeling her potatoes and glancing over at you with a curious look. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

“It wasn’t easy for him, being out of the closet in Texas back then.” It’s not something Dieter has ever hidden, so you know he won’t mind if you tell Ellie. You’re just careful to tiptoe around Joel’s role in the whole thing. “He was a target for every kind of awful person. But Joel protected him.”

“What, where you guys like secretly dating or something?” You couldn’t mean gay because obviously you wouldn’t be married to Dieter if he was. So you must mean bisexual. She eyes Joel as he stands at the sink.

 Joel considers lying to her for a second, maybe two. Simply because she would be an annoying shit about asking questions. But the only regret he had about being with Dieter was that he hadn’t been open with it. Had kept it quiet. He doesn’t even look over his shoulder when he answers. “What of it?”

“You dick!” Ellie’s jaw drops and she practically rockets out of her seat to lean across the counter that she’s been sitting at. “You never told me that!” There’s no malice in it, not really, but a fair amount of surprise as she processes this puzzle piece of information.

Joel chuckles and turns to stare at her. “The fuck you expect, kid? Introduce myself and tell you how I swing?” He had damn near choked when she had found Bill’s dirty magazine. He glances over at you. “It’s not a secret, just not…common knowledge, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.” The words are so much more solemn than you or Joel expect, and the expression in Ellie’s eyes is so much darker when she looks between you. “It just…it would’ve been easier…to be myself.” She murmurs, suddenly looking away from both of you. “If I had known, ya known? Then I wouldn’t have been all weird about the magazine or whatever. Cause fuck knows I don’t want to look at that shit.” It seems like the longest time that she pauses, gulping down fear, before she looks up again. “I’m fucking gay, Joel. We could’ve like…be honest with each other a lot earlier.”

“Shit kiddo.” Joel puts the fish down and wipes his hands on a towel as he turns and settles his hip on the sink, giving her his full attention. “You could have always been yourself around me.” He tells her gruffly. “Don’t judge cargo.” He sends her a small smirk, remembering the conversation in the truck later on that day. Although his feelings for the girl had changed since then. “I understand though. Dieter got his ass beat for liking boys and girls and I fucking hated it. Kicked their asses every fucking time I could. You can’t help who you love.”

“You wouldn’t have been the first asshole to drop a kid on the side of the road somewhere for being queer.” She contends, even though the water in her eyes has softened her expression measurably.

“All the shit I’ve done…” Joel shakes his head. “Never would have done that.” He promises, reaching out to ruffle her hair before he remembers they are still fishy and stops himself. “Any other questions?”

“Are you mad that I threw that dirty magazine out the window before you got to look at it?” Ellie asks, mischievous mood restored and eyebrows waggling.

Joel frowns at her. “Asshole,” he huffs, reaching out with his fishy hand on purpose this time to make Ellie shriek and duck away. “No, they weren’t my type.” He grunts. “Dieter is.”

“Dieter is what?” As if on cue, the man re-emerges in the doorway with a bucket full of split wood and looks around curiously at the mention of his name.

“Of course he comes when he hears his name.” Joel snorts, smirking at the man in question. “My type.” He clarifies, nodding towards Ellie. “She asked if we dated in high school.”

“I wondered if she would figure it out. Smart kid.” The grin that Dieter shoots her is almost proud. “Yeah. He, uh…he was my first relationship.”

“And you were…okay…with being a secret?” There’s no judgment in her tone, just raw curiosity. Being able to talk about this feels amazing, especially with adults and not the assholes she had gone to school with. She gets it, kids are dicks no matter when it is.

“We fought about it sometimes.” It’s a lot for Dieter to admit, especially to the kid, but he likes her. He likes her and she’s a straight shooter. Sassy like he wishes he had been brave enough to be at her age. “But it wasn’t about shame. It was about survival.”

"That's one of my regrets." Joel admits, looking down at his hands and sighing slightly. "That I wasn't more assertive. But we thought I would be kicked off the team and then I couldn't protect Dieter like I had been. But I should have just not given a fuck."

“You would have ended up disowned, too.” Dieter points out, shaking his head as he loads firewood into the stove. When Ellie makes a noise of confusion, he shrugs. “My old man didn’t want a fa—a queer kid — staining the family name. The second I graduated high school I was on my own.”

"At least you could stay with us over the summer until college started." It had been the last summer that Joel and Dieter had together. He had taken his scholarship to USC and he hadn't come back for a long time. Until Joel had been with Amber. "And your old man was nothing but a drunk asshole. Fuck him."

“My point is that if you had come out, we both would have been out on our asses.” He rolls his eyes at Joel as though it were obvious. “And you would have hated LA. So don’t say you would’ve just come with me and been okay.”

Joel feels the guilt of the other secret that he had kept. "Yeah, I know...." He swallows and shrugs his shoulders. "I wouldn't have had - uh, her and I can't imagine that." He hadn't ever told Ellie about Sarah and he would prefer not to.

“It’s okay.” Dieter shakes his head and stands up. Brushing his hands off is just a motion to take up space before he drags the bin of wood a few feet away. “We don’t need to get into it. Just…” he sighs and looks to Ellie. “Nobody here is straight, kid. So don’t worry about it.”

"Amber knew." Joel blurts out, unsure of why he is getting into it more when Dieter just gave him an out. "I told her...before we saw you, that last time." He takes a breath. "She didn't take it well."

“Jesus.” Dieter’s face draws long, staring at Joel when his head whips around. “She—she acted like she had barely ever heard of me.” It had actually fucked him up pretty badly for a little while. Thinking that he had meant so little to Joel that he hadn't even told his wife that they were friends? It had wrecked him.

"No." Joel shakes his head. "She— she couldn't handle the fact that I had been with you – that I was bisexual. It was 'immoral' according to her." He scowls. "After...six months after I saw you last, she just packed up and was ready to leave by the time I got home from work. Told me she couldn't be with me anymore...and left us."

“Holy shit.” For a second it’s not quite clear who’s spoken, but you reach out slowly to put your hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “C’mon,” you murmur quietly, nodding toward the door. Joel and Dieter clearly need some privacy.

“I didn’t – I’m sorry that I—” He doesn’t know what he’s sorry for. He doesn’t regret his relationship with Dieter. He loved him, despite never saying the words out loud. “I would have never been with her to begin with if I had known she was like that.” You and the girl are out of the room. “She left me to raise Sarah on my own.”

“What are you sorry for?” Dieter sputters, immediately moving to Joel like a magnet. His instinct is to hold him. To offer comfort. But he’s not sure if it’s wanted. “The fucking fact of me ruined your marriage…I’m sorry.”

“Fuck her.” Joel hisses, shaking his head. “She couldn’t accept me for who I was, accept the first person I loved. I— no, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“What did you just say?” Jaw slackened and eyes wide, Dieter stares. Those were not the words he expected to hear out of Joel’s mouth.

“What?” Joel frowns. “Fuck her? You know I don’t put up with small minded bigots. No matter who they are.”

“No, not that.” Dieter flails out of pure confusion. “You just — you said you loved me.”

“Of fucking course I loved you.” Joel growls, looking at Dieter in surprise. “You knew how I felt…didn’t you?”

“I…” He had thought so. Hoped so. But never knew absolutely or for sure. Over the years he had alternately convinced himself that Joel had felt the same or that he had completely exaggerated the way his first boyfriend felt about him. It all depended on how he was feeling about his other relationships at the time. “I was never sure.” He admits finally, feeling his shoulders sag under the weight of actually hearing the words. “You never said.”

This time it’s Joel that moves, reaching out and grabbing Dieter by the back of the neck and hauling him close to kiss him. Similar to the same way he had first kissed him in the boy’s bathroom so many years ago. Except this time, he doesn’t pull away almost immediately. Instead, he groans against his lips.

There’s something so volatile in the moment that Dieter doesn’t move at first. He’s frozen with the fear that if he so much as thinks the wrong thought that it will all disappear. It’s amazing that the spark between them doesn’t seem to have faded - or at least the attraction is very obviously still there. But that the emotion remains? That much feels like a miracle. Or maybe, like he debated so much years ago, maybe the love he still feels is entirely one sided.

Joel pulls away and shuffles slightly, aware that there was no response from Dieter despite the kiss they had shared earlier. “You never forget your first love.” He adds awkwardly. “At least I don’t.”

“I forget a lot of shit.” Dieter half-chuckles at himself, huffing a little as he presses into Joel’s space again. ��But not the important things. And never you.”

“I—I should have said it.” Joel admits quietly. “Shoulda told you.” All of his regret centers around Dieter and Sarah but he could try to set things right with one of them.

“Better late than never.” Having Joel back within his grasp for even just a little while means more to Dieter than he could possibly express, and he pulls the man close now to rest his forehead against Joel’s shoulder with a sigh. “Still means more than you know.”

Joel nods, wrapping his arm around Dieter for a moment before he pulls back. “It’s good to see you.” He huffs.

“You do have a soft spot.” Dieter laughs, leaning into the warmth of Joel’s arms. “Dredging up all this old shit and letting the kid know who you were? And you still missed me.” He won’t claim that it doesn’t make him happy, or feed that part of him that still struggles with self doubt even though it’s been twenty years since the public eye stopped caring about celebrities for very good reason. The only person’s opinion he’s ever held as high as Joel’s is yours.

“Yeah, shut up.” He grumbles, even though he shoots Dieter a grin. “Get the damn fire started so we can eat sometime in the next few days.”

“You misssed me.” Dieter singsongs, smacking a kiss on Joel’s cheek before pulling away. It’s better that the moment breaks now. That he doesn’t keep pushing. That he doesn’t force Joel to push him away. Because that would hurt far, far worse than years of wondering had.

“Surprised you survived.” Joel admits, slightly choked up about finding out that his fears had been unfounded. Happy that the bright star of his childhood still shone.

Dieter shakes his head and laughs, knowing that Joel has every reason to be surprised. “Wouldn’t have without her.” He can admit to that easily. You have been keeping him afloat since the day you met. “She’s…honestly, the only person I ever loved as much as you.”

“I’m glad you found her.” Of that Joel can be completely sure of. Dieter always had a startling lack of self-preservation when it came to life skills. “Of course you would live in a hotel at the end of the world.” He had always dreamed of living in a hotel and traveling the world when they were younger.

“She thought that…that if we went to a QZ, that FEDRA would make me a figurehead.” It wasn’t too far off, really. It had happened to other people in the public eye and there was no reason they couldn’t have done it to Dieter as well. “Fuck the government in the first place, but trying to make me a pawn? We were better off here.”

“Yeah, here is better.” He won’t disagree with that, FEDRAs ironclad fist had chaffed even though Joel had done what he wanted for the most part. “It’s good you stayed here.”

“It’s getting harder.” The stove is stubborn but he gets it lit and stands back again. “Fewer fish, less rain, bad crop seasons. The earth is healing but at the same time it’s not.” He snorts. “I feel like I’m prepping for a production of The Crucible.”

Joel chuckles, but he knows that resources are getting harder to find. “I’m going to Wyoming. It’s where I last heard from Tommy.” He offers.

 “Yeah.” Dieter’s head bobs in response. “And to drop off the girl, right?” As if Joel could let her go on her own. Dieter knows him better than that.

 “Yeah— she’s important to the Fireflies. They have some lab and can make a cure.” Joel doesn’t know anything about the science, but it would be nice for the fucking world to be able to be rebuilt.

“Well…I hope it all goes well.” It will be a good thing for the world, if it works. But Dieter’s life won’t really change that much. Isolation has kept the two of you reasonably safe even if it is difficult.

“Have you ever thought of what you’ll do when supplies get low?” Joel asks quietly, wondering if you’ve come up with some plan.

“We always assumed there would be a day when we would have to move on.” Dieter isn’t completely useless in the kitchen and he picks up peeling the last potato that Ellie had left on the cutting board. “At this point I was starting to wonder if things would hold out until one of us was too old or sick to travel, but it’s not looking that way.”

“The road is dangerous.” Joel admits, going back to cleaning the fish. “And there is safety in numbers.” He hedges on offering them a place, feeling you might not be ready to leave the sanctuary of your home. “More eyes to watch for danger.”

“Or more people to be loud and attract attention.” Dieter shrugs, knowing he isn’t exactly the world’s most subtle or graceful human being. “People like you and her…you’re survivors. Hell, I bet even the kid could kick my ass if push came to shove.” When he shrugs again he’s looking down, mouth shut and lip bitten as if that’s the key to keeping it that way. To keeping in the thought that hurts too much to say.

“Doesn’t mean you’re weak.” Joel reasons. “Never have been. You’ve always been stronger than me.”

“Not up here.” Tapping his head for effect makes Dieter shrug again. A helpless motion if ever there was one. “Clever is what keeps people alive these days. Clever and quick. Like you, and her, and the kid.”

One of Dieter’s faults was that never truly believed he was good enough. All of his formative years being treated like shit and then worse when his father discovered his sexuality had done a number on his self-esteem. “You’re clever enough to align yourself with people who care about you. Who will do anything to ensure you survive.” He offers instead of arguing a point Dieter wouldn’t believe. “And I bet you’d do anything to protect your wife.”

“I’d die for her.” There is no question of hesitation in that for him. Just like there is no question that he would still die for Joel.

“It takes bravery, cleverness to understand that, even more so to mean it.” Joel tells him. “Stop selling yourself short, Black.”

“If you ever write an inspirational monologue, I’ll be sure to read it over the radio for you.” He huffs, unwilling to take the compliment. “But you’ll have to find a radio first. We don’t have one. Fuckin’ things fry your brain.”

Joel chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Better than the fungus.” He banters, finishing up the fish and washing his hands in a small bowl of water. “Do you have salt?”

“Cupboard behind you.” Some things were still in abundance, thankfully. The hotel had had recent food delivery when the Outbreak hit, and whole pallets of spices had been stocked in the kitchen.

Joel hums as he looks through the spices available. “Mind if I use a few of these?” He asks, looking over his shoulder. When Dieter shakes his head, Joel picks out a few that he’s sure will make the fish taste incredible and brings them over to the table. “You remember the shit we used to cook?” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Calling it cooking is generous. I’m surprised Tommy survived some of the shit we made.” When Joel’s parents would be gone and Dieter would stay over, there was often no cash for pizza or fast food, but a fridge full of ingredients that required cooking. Cooking that they had not been very good at.

“At least it means that we can stomach the shit we have to eat now.” Joel laughs. “Although heartburn is a bitch now.”

“Right?” It’s a son of a bitch and Dieter groans. “Not like we’re eating pizza or lasagna or anything like that, though. I hate to think it could be worse.”

“Not without antacids.” Joel huffs. “We’re getting fuckin’ old.” He wouldn’t ever say it like that around the kid, but he’s feeling his age. “I’m 56 fuckin’ years old.”

“It stopped mattering twenty years ago.” The peeled potatoes need to be diced and Dieter hunts down a knife to keep working. “The fact that we’re still alive is either a miracle or a punishment.”

“Probably a little of both.” Joel carefully seasons the fish and sighs. “Although I can’t believe that you are fucking sober 20 years.”

“It’s not like I’m not trying.” Dieter scoffs. “You do remember the words bathtub moonshine, don’t you?”

“I meant drugs.” Joel snorts. “Ironic since I was a supplier in the QZ.”

“Other people still have drugs?!” The look on Dieter’s face is absolutely scandalized, like it’s his birthday and someone just told him he could never have presents ever again. “It’s been twenty years! Are you telling me the drug trade survived and I’ve been out here using my imagination like a chump?”

“Traded Hydros for ration cards with the FEDRA guards.” Joel can’t help but smirk at the horror on his former lover’s face. It was very cute. Every time he got a supply in, he had thought about Dieter.

“Real stuff?” He asks and crumples onto a stool when Joel nods yes. “What a waste. I would’ve given you ration cards and a blow job.”

Fuck. Joel’s eyes widen slightly and his cock twitches in his jeans. He doubts Dieter had lost any talent in that smart mouth of his, although he knows he’s rusty in the dick sucking department. “Shit.” He groans. “You would have gotten them for free.”

That just makes his former lover smirk and throw him a wink across the counter. “And you still would’ve gotten your dick sucked.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t get my dick sucked anyway?” Joel teases. Dieter hasn’t been celibate; he’s been married so it’s not like he hasn’t gotten his fair share of sex.

“I’m sure you have.” After all, he had been honest when he said the silver fox look worked for Joel. He was always handsome, and clearly aging didn’t hurt his looks at all. “It would be a damn shame if you didn’t. I’m just saying I would have been the one doing it.”

“You could never resist.” He couldn’t remember how many times he woke up with his dick in Dieter’s mouth when he spent the night. Not that he minded.

Dieter shrugs unapologetically. “It’s a good dick.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Joel Miller #Dieter Bravo #Joel Miller x Dieter Bravo #Joel Miller x Dieter Bravo x reader #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x female reader #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #The Last of Us #The Last of Us HBO #tlou #tlou hbo #The Bubble #crossover fic

[chronically-ghosted]

Second Base.

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 3712

summary: you try out second base; hand stuff only, but it changes things between you two, as much as you don't want it to.

warnings/tags: cute little outfits designed to drive max nuts, hand jobs (m and f receiving), more blood, fangs, one emotionally unavailable vampire

a/n: this contains one of my favorite lines i've ever written!

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Second base.

Because you aren’t actual sadists or masochists, after the first bite, your sex life with Max went back to normal. Well, as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night ever was in the first place. Okay – as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night who is Max Phillips ever was in the first place. Which is to say, often, hard, and loud. It had been weeks since you’d seen that worried look of consternation, that sweet vulnerability he expressed, as if feeding on you might be the thing that kills you and not being railed against your couch for the better part of an entire day. Sometimes you wished he had much respect for your ability to walk upright as he did your jugular vein. 

On some level, you were aware that his recent overexuberance was in part due to that vulnerability. As if you might lift the curtain and find that the man behind it all might leave you wanting. Truly a frat boy at heart, Max struggled to express anything that couldn’t be summed up with the three “ings” – licking, sucking, and fucking, obviously – but now, he had been exposed as someone capable of those deeper feelings, as if he had been the one to split open a vein for you. And despite the heavenly glow you indulged in after the first bite, you really weren’t quite sure how you felt about it all. You hadn’t started dating Max with any illusions about who exactly he is. In fact, you might have started fucking him in the first place because it seemed wildly out of character that he or you would get attached at all – to anyone or anything. The dating thing just sort of happened, when you both came to the same conclusion at roughly the same time: no one else was really doing it for you, so why not? So what if you only directly referred to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend in the privacy of your own apartment, or his? So what if half of the office was entirely clueless about your relationship and the other half was actively placing “secret” bets about how long you two had been fucking? Annoyingly, Tim had been the one to be almost right: “six months ago, I’m telling you, man. That’s when he stopped eating secretaries and she got so much nicer.”

Technically, he stopped eating secretaries about a month into your relationship, and what Tim accidentally overheard was not him “eating” a “secretary”, but you weren’t about to correct him. But Max found it all hilarious: “he’s right, you’re so much nicer when that pussy has been taken care of. But I like it when you’re mean.” 

You actively choose not to think about what he meant by a “deep emotional connection” last time.

Fine, Phillips, I’ll show you how mean I can be.

“Nope, no, uh uh.” 

You put your hand just over the frilly blue lace on your hip. “I’m sorry, I don’t see the problem.” 

It had been about a month since first base and while Max had gotten notably more relaxed around you seeing him eat – he now occasionally walked around your apartment with his food in an opaque smoothie tumbler with a straw – he was still very strict about moving onto second base. 

Which, if left up to him, meant you’d be wearing a straight jacket and thick flannel pajamas. 

“Max, if we’re ever going to do this thing for real, you’re going to have to get used to seeing me naked. I’m not letting you fuck me and bite me while I’m in riot gear.”

“Okay, but, baby,” he whines and he can’t help himself from rubbing the satin bow above your crotch between his fingers. “You look like a birthday cake.” 

Is the baby blue lingerie with a strapless bra that catches around your biceps with white lace a bit overboard? Yes. But last time was ridiculous.

Max frowns, his visible pout morphing into something subtly dangerous as he realizes he can unpeel your bra with a string in the back. “Can’t I just fuck you normally in this and then we’ll try again later?”

You swat his hand away as it sneaks across your ribs. 

“No.” 

“You know, if I wasn’t already dead, I’d think you’re trying to kill me.” Smirking, he drops his hands down to your waist and, not so subtly, curves them around the mold of your ass. Distractedly, he slips one finger under the seam of your panties. You press your hands against his chest and blink up at him coyly. 

“Whatever gave you that impression.” 

He shakes his head, squeezing your ass once. “And I’m supposed to be the soulless demon with a heart of darkness.” 

“So you’ll do this?” 

With a sigh and his eyebrow jumping, he nods. “Yeah. Fine. Go get on the bed.”

Trying desperately not to squeal, you tear away from his arms and all but run and leap on top of the white towel. Max slips out of his shoes, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You bite your lip, nerves humming in anticipation, as you sit up on your knees to watch him. To your enormous dismay, no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much spit or cum you used, you could not make him purr again. You’d had wet dreams on the idea alone of putting your head against his chest as he vibrated but he swore it was involuntary. “And,” he added as a way to soothe your ego, “I’m pretty sure it can only happen when I’m feeding.”

“Does it happen every time? Like with blood bags or back when you hunted people?”

“No,” was all he said about that.

Max slips his shirt off over his shoulders and goes to work unbuttoning his pants. When they slide off his hips, you frown. 

“The boxers with the hole in the waist? Ooh, baby, I’m so turned on when you make such an effort.” 

He rolls his eyes as he climbs in next to you. “Look, I didn’t think you’d be seeing my underwear and I need to do laundry.”

“You didn’t think I’d see your underwear in a situation where we’re going to specifically jerk each other off?”

Attempting some version of contrite, Max’s gaze falls from your face to your throat, to your clavicle, to your tits, pillowed up for him beneath the blue lace. He leans in as if pulled by magnets. 

“I’m sorry if I thought we’d both be a little more preoccupied.” 

His broad palm smooths across your thigh, around your hips, to just above your tailbone, his nose drawing indistinct lines from your shoulder to your ear. You sort of hate how quickly he can make you not irritated with him. You shift to take him into the cradle of your thighs, when he winds your panties up in his fingers and tugs. The gossamer material tightens just over the seam of your pussy, teasing your clit, you choke. That heated, teasing Max Phillips smirk spreads like hot butter across his lips. 

“What are the rules again?”

“Max,” you whine as you drag your nails over his chest and up his shoulders. But he hesitates, his hand knotting your underwear in his fist. One move and it’ll rub against you again.

“I’ll stop,” he murmurs in a half-sing-song voice. You huff.

“Silver. Bad touch, on your skin. Lightheaded or dizzy, I use the safeword. And,” you sigh. He’s so painfully handsome sometimes it hurts. He’d set out candles again, as if he needed any help in his seduction of you and he just sort of glows. You don’t know if it’s your anticipation or some vampire illusion, but every line on him is blurred. Soft, as if he doesn’t have your pleasure literally in his hands. There it comes again, that small bit of light in his eyes, the emergence of the early morning sun over the horizon. The way he looks at you makes your chest heavy. “And . . . only hand stuff,” you grumble. 

He chuckles, pouting at you in faux-sympathy as he reaches out, other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. “Only hand stuff, she’s so sad about it,” he whimpers into your cheek with a high, mocking voice. 

Your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, daring to hold him away as he goes for your mouth. “I swear to god, Max –,”

In one single fluid motion, he pushes on your tailbone, and swings your hips forward as he tackles your mouth with his own, effectively yanking you under him. You huff in surprise, before pulling away to find menace and glee in his eyes. Grins again as he nips with flat teeth on the curve of your neck. 

He plants wet, hot kisses across your chest, heat blooms against your ribs and tunnels down between your legs, as he tongues the softer places along the hollow of your throat, then up the other side of your throat, teasing your earlobe. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “that was mean. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

Pressing your chest up against his, knowing he can feel the squish of your tits, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. His hard cock rubs up against your seam and he lets loose with a muffled groan into your mouth. You roll your hips once with him between you and he turns his head to your jaw, as you both pant at the sensation. 

“You know exactly what I want.” 

His teeth graze you gently. This is an exercise in restraint for you as much as it is him. Given any other night, you’d have his pants off by now, on his back, or behind you, but you refrain. You can’t squeeze him like you want to and that only frustrates you more, makes you heated and ruffled, makes you want more of his skin on you, around you, as if he could smother you. You want to merge your bodies. Your knees dig into his ribs.

He whispers something, too low and fast for you to catch it, but it ends broken and uneasy as if you’re touching something delicate within him. Bending back with one hand, Max reaches between your legs and cups you, one finger barely pressing the wet material back inside you. 

“Was this waiting for me under all those layers?” You nod as he pushes deeper, your mouth dropping open. He kisses your chin, before tucking his head under your jaw again. “No wonder you were burning up.” 

He inhales as if his face was pressed right up against your cunt, two fingers rubbing up and down over that sodden material. It scraps against your clit and it burns. “I could eat you. Just like this.”

“Max, c’mon–,”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

Smearing that pink little bow with the smell of you, he dips his hand under the line of your underwear, past your damp curls, and soothes your overheated sex by filling it with two thick fingers. You arch, brow furrowing, mouth open, fingers clamping down around his shoulders, arousal crawling up your spine, higher and higher the deeper he goes. Max likes the build up, the tease, it’s why his thumb only hovers above your clit, the heat doing half the work for him, as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the wet squelching almost embarrassing. Behind his hand, his hips swing in time. He groans, deep, into your ear, breathless. 

“Could come like this, baby, could come right like this.” 

The bend of his cock bumps the back of his hand as he thrusts against nothing. You hitch your pelvis up, opening wider, pussy easier within reach, and you forgo any teasing for him, hand sliding right past his boxers, molding your grip around him. He’s hot and leaking all over your fingers. 

“‘Ngh . . . shit, baby.” The arm holding him up shakes. You want to lick the salty precum but there has to be a rule about that, right? If you aren’t so desperate for that final fuck, you would have been a bit more careless. His fingers inside you press up into the places only he knows can send you into oblivion, as if grateful for tearing him apart. His wrist flicks quicker, faster into you, fingers plunging deeper, up to the knuckles, bouncing you as if you were on his cock. You match his speed with your own hand and Max hums, a dark sound verging on distressed. 

You bite your bottom lip, eyes drooping, the rocking motion scraping against your pleasure again and again, like a match scratching against the box one stroke at a time. “Maaax –,” He adds a third finger and you keen, high-pitched and desperate, the width stretching you out for a cock he won’t let you have. You grind against his fingers, the bounce knocking loose every sane thought in your head. 

Opening your eyes, you realize he’s been staring at your tits this whole time. His chest warm and glowing with sweat, his eyes track every bounce and jiggle, the cups of your bra putting them more on display than if you held them up yourself. 

“Where do you want it, darling?” His voice is strained, softer than it should be with your cunt sucking up his fingers. 

Max Phillips doesn’t do cutesy nicknames. Not during sex, not ever. Your his slut. His monsterfucker. Not – 

Your already unspooling mind struggles to grasp at darling before it slips away. 

His cock is throbbing against the palm of your hand. If you could see it, it would be flushed red, the vein at the base protruding. You pump him faster and his hips stutter. He’s so close and so are you. 

But he’s not talking about that. 

“On my tit, Max. Bite me on my tit.” 

With a groan that is all growl, all tension and feral hunger, his arm collapses and he sinks his weight against you. He manages to get his hand out, but yours is still trapped there, pinned between your tender cunt and his painfully hard cock. You writhe. “Max–,” 

His kiss against your lips is a starving sort of one, one that steals the breath from your lungs, wiping any lingering ache temporarily from your body. He licks the inside of your mouth, swallowing the moan that races from your throat into his. It’s all need, desire, a blistering familiarity that you didn’t realize existed between you two. He’s trying to say something with this kiss. 

He doesn’t give you long to read into it, as he pulls back, sinking more into his knees as he mouths the skin under your neck, above your clavicle bone, and in between the valley of your tits. His weight shifts off you, enough to pull your hand out. You arch, pushing your chest deeper into his mouth, using the back of his neck to pull you higher, he groans and licks, and you yank the tie of your bra behind your back. 

“Max, you can –,”

His hand claws at your cups, mouth consuming yours again, the ropes almost stinging your back as they are ripped so fast across your heated skin. Before you lie flat, his hand cups under you, fingers pressing into where the threads burned and forcing you to maintain that bend in your spine. 

The moment is coming. You can feel it. It’s different from a rising orgasm, or the first time he ever sucked your nipple into his mouth. Your lizard brain is sending off warning flares, but you ignore it once again. Those flares arc and bend, your arousal now fire hot. 

His tongue pressed flat, Max draws a long stripe of spit from under your breast, over the weight of it, and up your nipple, where he swirls it between his teeth. Whether Max Phillips was an ass or tits man depended on the day of the week, or whatever was blowing in the air, but he laved attention onto yours like they were the first pair he’d ever seen in his life. The skin on your other breast shines from where his fingers mold around it, smearing your wet juices all over your pebbled skin. He switches over and laps up that smell off you. 

He’s wavering, caught between drawing it out and doing it so instantaneously he might black out and miss the whole thing. Your heart racing, skin almost too sensitive, you feel like you might shudder apart.

“Max, please –,”

He chooses the second approach. 

Without warning, his fangs spring out and he latches onto the skin near the valley of your chest on your right breast. 

You yelp in surprise, pain and pleasure zigzagging like rough scissors from his bite out through the rest of your body.

Okay, that hurts. 

You gasp, bucking, yanking on his hair. “Baby, baby, gentler, be gentle–,”

He swallows and the ache lessens. Hot blood pools out of the spot where his fangs punctured you. It runs warm then cold, teasing like a feather, as it rolls down your stomach. It’s not a lot, but it's more than last time. It stains his chest too.

Slowly, that same sort of miraculous fog sinks down into your bones. The grip on his hair eases, softens, and soon you are petting him against you.

You swear you feel his fangs scrape your heart. 

“That’s good, Max, that’s so good.” Your eyes roll lazily in your head and you nuzzle his hair. “God, how does this feel so good?” 

As though determined to remind you he is more than just fangs, his hand pulls away from the mattress and slides back between your legs. You feel only one finger brush against your folds through your underwear – you’re almost disappointed, go back to using three, Max –

His finger plunges deep, deep inside of you, and you gasp, feet scrambling against the towel, as a swell of pleasure almost smothers you in an overwhelming wave. You nearly choke from the force of it. You were so overly sensitive but the gooey haze didn’t let you realize it until it was too late. You come hard, harder than you thought possible, seeing eons of galaxies and stars behind your eyes, with just one of his fingers inside you and his thumb distractedly circling your clit. 

He feels you gush around his hand, wetting his wrist, and with a moan you can feel in your ribs, he spills in his boxers, the spend running down his thigh and smearing on yours. 

Your entire body goes slack, as if someone had made all your bones disappear. His hips jerk slightly as if his orgasm is still trying to wring him dry before he stills and plucks his head from your chest, unplugging his fangs from the holes he made.

Blood immediately bubbles up from the wound and without his fangs there, it spills freely and violently over your tits, your ribs. The whiplash between your orgasmic high and a full-body weakness sends hot nausea swooping into your stomach and the room spins.

“M-m-ax,” you murmur, barely opening your mouth, your voice weak and thick as if stuffed with cotton balls. 

“Fuck, sorry –,” you can’t quite see him clearly as he moves and suddenly there’s a warmth over your chest, comforting and heavy. The blood trickles to a stop and you breathe deeply. The darkness of the room stabilizes as you fully open your eyes. The room spins but this time pleasantly. 

“Hmm, whoo, wow, ah, okay . . .”

You don’t realize he’s gotten off the bed until the mattress sags again and he’s cleaning you up with cold cotton balls. 

“So, I’m going to take that mindless babbling as a good thing.” He smiles gently, but he’s holding something back. He keeps his head low like he doesn’t want you to see his face.  

You wiggle your shoulders, as he delicately wipes you down. “What, you don’t wanna clean me up with your tongue? And why do you even use disinfectant – there’s no open wound.” You poke him in the shoulder with your toe. “And you didn’t even purr that time! I demand a refund!”

“Next time, okay?” 

You frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just let me–,” 

You sit up, the dried blood pinching your skin, and he pulls away. “Max, what is it?” 

He pulls away so much, he’s on his feet by the dresser before you can touch him, the back of his arm tearing at his mouth to wipe it clean. Max is a lot of things but cold when you need aftercare is not one of them. 

“It’s nothing.” The line of his shoulders is taught, tense. But he cracks his neck and takes the Gatorade from the dresser. He finally sits back down on the bed in front of you, offering the bottle to you. You take it, unease mounting, your fingers brush his, but this time he doesn’t retreat. Instead, gently, his fingertips ghost over your wrist, down the fine hairs on your arm, drop from your elbow and settle delicately on the blue material covering the crease of your hip. Where your blood had pooled, wet, and stained the blue to a deep magenta. 

“I ruined your pretty underwear,” he says softly, forlorn. 

You move closer to him, your knee touching his hip, but you refrain from seeking out the warmth of his hands. 

“Max, I can get new ones, I don’t care about that. Please, talk to me. Did I do something wrong? Did I push you too far?”

His fingers flex around the towel, now also appropriately ruined. He shakes his head, more firmly this time. He snags his shirt off the floor, over his head, then moves towards the bedroom door.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m sticky. I’m gonna take a shower. You wanna come?”

The invitation, it’s something, an encouragement you genuinely feared he might not give. Maybe it’s not you he wants to part from. 

You didn’t enter into this for the emotional connection and neither did he. You have to remember that.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

He invited you. He still wants you around. 

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

#max phillips x you #max phillips smut #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x reader #max phillips #max phillips x f!reader #blood sucking bastards

[tf2-oneshots]

Heavy and Medic experience the magical power of WEED. They also get drunk. So, in other words, Get high, do gay sex. Take that however you want.

Holy fuck…weed yaoi

Warnings: alcohol, weed

Rating: teen and up

Sniper takes out a small batch of brownies from the oven, sliding the metal tray onto the stove. Oven mittens removed, he uses one to fan them. While they cool, he leans against the counter to wait. The batch isn’t a normal one. These are pot brownies, and he’ll be damned if someone steals from him.

Elbows on the counter, the bushman miscalculates and accidentally hits the hot tray. He hisses, yanking the arm away from it. Sniper looks at the spot where a nasty burn forms. He runs it under cold water in the sink, but it remains.

“Piss…” A glance to the brownies. He can sneak off just for a few minutes, right? They’re still too hot for anyone to eat. He’ll pop into Medic’s office, get fixed up, and come right back. Simple as that.

Huffing, Sniper leaves the kitchen in search of the German doctor. Right as he passes through the left doorway, Medic enters with Heavy from the right. The sweet smell of brownies wafting through the air vents made it all the way to the common room they were just sitting in.

“Ohoho! They look delicious.” Medic takes a whiff, grinning at the delectable brownies just laying out in the kitchen. Pyro must have made the batch. On occasion, they leave cupcakes or cookies by the stove for the team to enjoy.

Heavy takes out a knife, carefully cutting the tray into even squares. On a plate, he gives himself a corner piece and Medic a center piece. The doctor also grabs them a few beers from their fridge, and the two retreat to Heavy’s bedroom. As they sink their teeth into the thick chocolate, the two are blissfully unaware of the side effects yet to come.

Half an hour later, everything kicks in.

“Misha…this isn’t my room.” Spread eagle on the bedroom floor, Medic stares wide eyed at the ceiling. He blinks, brain fuzzy from alcohol and marijuana. The older man sits upright, frantically turning his head left and right. Where are his birds? The skeleton display he keeps by the door? His blanket—where’s that damn blanket he bought while fleeing Germany?!

“Is…my room.” Comes the answer from the bed. Medic gasps, climbing up to see Heavy barely keeping his eyes open. The giant groans from the shift. Where the hell is his voice? It feels like his tongue was replaced with a brick.

Medic grips the bed, practically clinging to the frame for dear life. He presses tightly to the sheets, heart racing. Is this a heart attack? Dear god, it is! Why is he having a heart attack? Is he going to die?

“Misha, Misha! I’m floating!” Despite the claim, Medic remains firmly on the ground. He then attempts to shove himself under the bed to keep himself from becoming airborne. While these antics occur, Heavy begins laughing.

“Doktor…Doktor is on ground!” A wheeze. When has he ever wheezed? Heavy laughs harder as Medic scrambles for purchase, fighting whatever force has him convinced that he’s floating away. It actually sounds pretty nice when Heavy thinks about it. Just drifting aimlessly through the clouds…

“Don’t laugh! I can’t feel my legs!” Where are they?! Medic looks under the bed, yanking a pant leg to confirm that his legs are in fact attached to himself. Something is trying to take his legs, isn’t it? Before he can kick at the air, the Russian drags the doctor out from under the bed and into his arms.

“Hm….Heavy keep Doktor safe.” Its like being cuddled by a bear. A really, really high bear that’s also a little drunk. Heavy reaches for his half empty beer, enjoying the warmth it sends through his body. Beer is so nice. Why can’t it taste this way all the time?

“Are we having sex?” He feels like jelly, or maybe a pudding of sorts. Medic clings to his lover to make sure that he isn’t actually turning to pudding. Maybe this is just a really slow, fully clothed version of sex. Feels nice. That is, until the door opens.

“Knew it. Damnit, you two ate weed brownies.” Medic flounders, fighting to cover himself despite being fully dressed. Heavy laughs loudly, accidentally rolling off the bed and crushing Medic. The loud scream from his smaller lover is cut off by his massive chest muffling the man.

“You’ll be fine by tomorrow. Drink some bloody water and stay the hell away from my edibles.” The door slams shut as Sniper marches away. He returns to the kitchen only to see two more squares taken out from the tray. Wankers.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 requests #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 sniper #red oktoberfest #heavymedic #weed mention #alcohol mention

[prismartist]

when the end times fall (i'm standing right by your side)

Ao3

cw: swearing, alcoholism

---

“I don’t want her to go, Phil,” Wilbur whines into Phil’s shoulder, words lined with whisky and exhaustion. “I don’t want to lose her.”

Phil sighs for the umpteenth time that night, and pats Wilbur gently on the head. “I know, mate. I feel you.”

“She’s my niña,” Wilbur continues, “Mi niña pequeña. Mi niñita. Mia amata figlia. Mijn liefde.” He sniffs, lifting his face from its perch on Phil’s arm. “Why does she have to go?”

Phil can think of a couple reasons. The mom wants her kids back. This island hates us. They have to grow up. He’s sure Wilbur can think of more, and in a couple other languages no less. 

“I don’t know,” Phil replies. 

Wilbur doesn’t say anything back, merely tilts his head up at the moon and takes another swig of Lagavulin.

It’s a bright evening on the server, moonlight defining the two talking on a newly-built balcony. Wilbur’s taken to another night of drinking, as he has since he’d come back to the island. Phil isn’t sure if that’s normal or not, and he’s unnerved that he can’t remember. Still, he stays by Wilbur, making sure he doesn’t wander off and do something stupid like dying. He thinks perhaps by chaperoning he could ease Wil’s alcohol intake, but at the rate he’s going, that seems unlikely. 

“It’s stupid,” Wilbur gasps out as he removes the bottle from his mouth. Phil wrinkles his nose at the smell. “We have to get emotionally attached and care for them and love them, and then they go away? It’s bullshit.”

“Apparently we’ll get a reward,” Phil says dryly. He’s as fond of the idea as he is of Nightmare Stalkers.

“Tallulah’s reward enough,” Wilbur mutters. “Our children are reward enough, aren’t they?”

Phil grins. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Oh it is, it definitely is.” Phil tilts his head. “I’m glad you have something to care about.”

Wilbur scoffs. “I can care about things,” he defends. Phil wonders if they’re really just talking about Tallulah, but cannot for the life of him think of anything else they could be referring to. Instead he directs his attention to Wil, pouting and five seconds away from a complete breakdown.

“You are really similar, huh,” Phil murmurs. “You just want to be a good dad, she just wants to be a good daughter.”

Wilbur shakes his head. “She’s already a good daughter. She’s my daughter.” He tips over ever so slightly. “Mi- mi niña perfecta. La niña perfecta.”

“Oh I know that, mate. I’m just saying. She really does seem like she was made for you.”

Phil scoops Wilbur slightly, pushing him back upright. He’s reasonably anxious, considering they’re on a fifty-something foot tower and if Wilbur fell without a paraglider he’d definitely get hurt. Why the fuck did Wilbur pick this spot to chat again? Couldn’t they have sat on, maybe, the couch?

Wilbur huffs as he’s adjusted, snapping Phil out of his anxiety. “That’d be fucking depressing if she was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine being made to be exactly like someone. Wouldn’t that be horrible?” Wilbur’s voice slurs when he’s deep in thought. “You’re just a- a clone. A mirror. Not a real individual.” He takes a swig. “Doesn’t leave much for free will, does it.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Besides—” Wil swirls the whisky lazily, “I don’t want her to be anything like me.”

“Aw, Wil,” Phil mutters. Wilbur dismisses him with a wave of the bottle. 

“I’m getting paranoid, Phil. I’m paranoid, and yet I’m absent. I don’t want Tallulah to become paranoid, or for her to… abandon everything.” He buries his head in his hands, fingers tightening around his curls. “But I’m scared. I’m scared for her. I’m scared of losing her. I need her to be safe, but I can’t protect her. Sometimes I think, ‘Maybe I should be stricter,’ and then I think, ‘No, that’s not the solution, of course that’s not the solution.’ But I want to keep her safe. I need to.” 

Wilbur sighs, tilts his head to peek an eye out at Phil. “You’re right, Phil. I do want to be a good dad. But hell if I know how to do that.”

Phil exhales. “I think you’re doing a fine job as is.”

“Yeah you’d say that wouldn’t you, you bitch.”

Phil laughs. “Shut up. I mean it. You literally stayed up all night building her a tower. You play her songs. She hasn’t even lost a life. You two are fine.”

“We’ll be fine when I kick that dragon’s ass,” Wilbur says. “Thinks it can just- just fuck off and then take our kids back, huh? Shouldn’t’ve left in the first place, that’s on them.”

“We’ll be ready for it,” Phil assures. “We’ll be ready when it comes.”

“Hell yeah. When it comes.”

He pauses.

“If it comes.”

He takes a swig. Phil can smell the roasted peat.

Wilbur whispers, “And if it doesn’t?”

Phil also has the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“We’re being a bit silly about this, aren’t we?” Wilbur leans on the railing, Lagavulin hanging just over the drop. He’s nearly at a ninety degree angle. “We- we’re tiptoeing around it like children. Like we’re five-year-olds.”

Phil can’t help barking out a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“It didn’t say, ‘The mother is coming back in six days,’ did it?” Wilbur sharply says. Phil turns quiet. “Didn’t- didn’t go, ‘Oh, in six days, the eggs are going away. They’ll be gone. Like your pet goldfish that your mum gave away. The eggs are going away.’ On what, a grand adventure?” He muffles his scoff with another swig. Phil still doesn’t say anything.

“It said-”

“I know what it said, Wil,” Phil says, a bit colder than he intends. 

Wilbur pauses, and Phil knows he’ll say it anyway.

“‘Your children will die.’” Another drink. “Sus hijos morirán.” He chuckles dryly and humourlessly. “Doesn’t sound a lot better in Spanish, does it.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“What are we thinking? Explosion, mobs, /kill?”

“I… don’t want to think about it.” Phil laughs despite himself.

“Yeah. I don’t want to either.”

“Then what the fuck did you bring it up for?”

“Don’t queshon the inber workings of my mind.” He’s getting drunker, leaning far over the railing now. “I just wanna be. Ready.”

Wilbur turns around, still slumped, and looks up. Phil follows his gaze; he’s staring at the window at the top, where Tallulah’s room is. He stares for a long, hard moment, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Finally he looks at Phil, face blank but tight. 

“’m not a fighter, Phil,” he says quietly. He bows his head again, holding the bottle close to his chest. “But I want to fight for her.”

A sob escapes Wilbur’s mouth, and Phil suddenly realizes he’s crying. Tears drip down and land on the bottle, moonlight making them shimmer like pearls. 

Wilbur cries. And Phil lets him, leaning forward just to hold him.

Wilbur smells of whisky and poppies. 

They stay still for a while, only Wilbur’s shoulders shaking from his sobs filling the night. Distantly, Phil hopes Tallulah can’t hear. He rubs his back firmly. The bottle starts to slip from his grasp, so Phil slyly takes it from him. 

When Wilbur lets the last of his cries out and Phil wipes the last of his tears, he gently straightens him up again somewhat, and starts guiding him towards the door. “I think you need to sleep, Wil.”

“But head will hurty in the morning, Phil,” Wilbur grumbles between sobs.

“I’ll get you a glass of water, mate. But you need to go inside. You might fall off and fucking break your neck.”

“I’d be fine.”

“Yeah, but it’d hurt first.”

Phil is able to wrangle Wilbur into the couch with only a moderate amount of struggle, and twenty minutes later he’s downing a glass of water and groggily handing it to Phil, who takes it with a small smile. Wilbur fixes his gaze onto Phil, eyes wide and mellowed with alcohol, though the effect is starting to ease. He shifts so he’s laying on his side, hands tucked under his cheek. Phil tells him to go to sleep; Wilbur retorts that he doesn’t think he will. Phil snarks back as he heads to the front door, telling him to Go the fuck to sleep, Wil, jesus christ, what will Tallulah think? Wilbur says something about weaponizing his daughter against him, and promptly passes out. Phil laughs, and steps out the door.

The moon is still shining, but starting to dip beyond the wall. Phil takes a deep breath, relishing the absence of alcohol in the air. The first thought that goes through his head is, I should check on Chayanne. 

Did Wilbur get the drinking from him? He sure the fuck hopes not. Imagine if Chayanne started drinking too.

“What a fucking mess,” he says out loud with a bitter laugh, and he goes back to his child.

#qsmp #wilbur soot #philza #tallulah qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp fanfic #mcyt #prismatic writing #cursing #alcoholism cw

[tripleyeeet]

PATTERNS

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Female Reader

SUMMARY: You miss Loki more than you care to admit... suppose it’s time you pay him a visit. 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT

WORD COUNT: 3,367

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is just a whole lot of tension with little resolve... sorry not sorry? I just really liked the vibe. (Honestly, I just didn’t feel like writing smut so... this is what y’all get hehe maybe I’ll eventually write a part two probably not)

MASTERLIST

-

“Actually, it’s interesting…”

Exhaustively, you stare across the table in his direction, nodding and smiling —trying your best to remain as attentive as possible without giving away that you haven’t retained a single bit of the conversation because, at this rate, he’s been talking for hours. Yammering on about things like friends and family, and other such personal details you didn’t think you’d have to hear about, figuring this whole thing was just a setup for sex. 

It’s what usually happens on these sorts of dates. The guy picks you up and takes you to dinner where the two of you talk about simple things like movies and music. The whole thing is very base-level in regards to getting to know each other. The conversations you have act more like placeholders to fill up the time until you both head back to his place.

At least, that’s the kind of date you thought this was going to be. The same kind you figured Natasha would set you up on, knowing that you weren’t looking for anything. 

“So, what do you think?”

As casually as possible you reach for the wine glass in front of you and take a sip, making sure to keep eye contact as you watch his face curl into an expression of interest, his brows shooting up the length of his face.

“What do I think?” you repeat, and he nods, leaving you cursing inside your head because obviously you weren’t listening. You never listen when people you barely know talk, which sucks during moments like this when you’re trying to be nice. To be normal — you hear Nat's chastise. 

Swallowing hard, you glance towards the other side of the restaurant, deciding then that your best course of action is to just take a minute to yourself so that you can take a breather alone and ground yourself. That’ll help with all of this —the apprehension and the nerves and hopefully the unnecessary irritability you feel whenever he brings up all the people you don’t fucking care about. 

“Sorry,” suddenly you apologize and smile, placing the glass of wine in your hand back in its original spot. “I uh —sorry, I just need a minute.” You stutter out the words, cringing at how pathetic they sound as you push your chair back and stand, ignoring the way your date’s face scrunches in confusion once you pass. the table and make your way to the bathroom.

Thankfully it’s empty when you enter, both stalls completely unoccupied as you move to stand in front of the mirror and brace both hands against the counter. 

Taking a few more deep breaths, you look to see your face and frown, noticing the way the bags under your eyes have completely failed to hide beneath the makeup you put on before you left. 

“Fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself then, leaning forward to examine the sudden look of annoyance you give yourself, realizing that this definitely isn’t working —that you can’t pretend to like doing this whole “getting to know someone” thing. 

It’s hard enough as it is being an Avenger and trying to date without having feelings of attachment, so why did Natasha do this? Why did she pick the most down-to-earth, nice guy and hand him over to you on a silver platter expecting you to change your mind, knowing exactly how you felt?

It doesn’t make sense to you as you continue to stare at your face in the mirror, thinking about how truly exhausting it already is trying to maintain a sense of balance in your life. At this rate, you don’t have time to think about other people. Or to be yourself while simultaneously trying to be that person for someone else. It’s never worked in your favour, even in the beginning when you actually tried. Back when going on dates came with the intention of actually forming a bond. 

At least, not anymore. 

Maybe at one point, it did, back when that one person you could trust was still around and going home felt more like a privilege than a chore. Things were normal when you were with them, the comfort of their presence overshadowing the doubt you always had that things would never work. When you were with them fear slipped away like clothing tossed aside at the end of a long day. You could breathe whenever they were there —show them the inner parts of you, your nakedness no longer hidden behind the shield of your worries. Back then, connecting was easy. Engaging in conversation with the intention of learning was second nature. Nothing was forced like the way it is now which makes you lift your hands to your face and emit a loud groan, realizing why. 

You’re not over him. Not even a little bit. The sudden image of Loki Laufeyson’s stupid face appearing in your mind as you drop your hands and brace the sink again, feeling your heart begin to pound. 

Everywhere you go you can still feel his presence, the coolness of his skin against your own in the most inappropriate of moments —the constant remembrance of his wandering hands pulling you apart again and again. During briefings, you can almost hear his voice against the backdrop of the silence. Memories of the jokes he used to whisper in your ear at the expense of Steve and Tony still heavy on your mind every time one of them goes to speak. Even during dinners like this —ones where you usually converse about nothing of importance, you can still feel the way his leg would always nudge yours apart, forcing you to look up to view the smirk developing across his face as he’d stare at whatever he was eating. 

You realize then that nothing you search for will compare to that. To the way he made you feel in those moments when things were easy and everything was good. Somehow during his exit, he made those simple things feel unattainable in your quest for a replacement. A fact that makes you instantly feel angry, thinking about, how even after all this time apart, he’s still able to take so much away from you, even in his absence. 

Because of this, it’s at that point you decide to leave, barely giving the consequences of your actions a thought as you storm out of the bathroom, stopping to grab your things without so much as a goodbye.

During your exit you feel the pounding of your chest ache beneath your skin; your organ’s edge smacking against the inside of your ribcage. As you walk your mind becomes fogged with emotion, a mixture of longing and guilt filling your temples as you pull your phone out of your coat pocket and text the only number you’ve ever thought to memorize. 

Are you home?

Your fingers shake as you type, threatening to form mistakes as you repeatedly look up from your screen to survey the busy street around you. It’s nearing eight o’clock on a Friday night so you know he’s home. Considering he’s always hated the company of people and the never-ending occupancy New York has to offer. It’s part of the reason he originally left the compound. (Well, that and your inevitable separation.) 

Before that though, he was already thinking of leaving, telling Tony how much his attitude would benefit from the distance (which was a load of bullshit). Loki would always have an attitude regardless of the location but obviously, you didn’t say anything, knowing that was what he wanted —a space where he could hide away from the judging eyes of the other Avengers who still didn’t quite trust him. 

Back then you didn’t blame him for wanting such a thing. Even you at times felt a bit claustrophobic under the eyes of your peers. In the compound, there was no real privacy thanks to Tony’s tech and inescapable anxiety of not knowing what was going on underneath his own roof. So, Loki wanting such a thing was understandable, considering a part of you wanted the same thing too.

And some days you still do, especially now that Loki’s not around and everyone in the compound still takes to looking at you like you’re broken. 

You never realized until now that you actually were.��

Stopping at the edge of the curb, you feel your phone begin to vibrate in your hands, pulling you from the outside world as you focus on the name of the person calling you. 

Natasha. 

Rolling your eyes, instead of answering you silence the call and go back to the message you sent Loki, staring at the words anxiously. He has to be home, you tell yourself as you reread it, because sooner or later this feeling of chaotic impulsivity is going to dissipate and all these intentions you have of showing up to his house and taking him by the collar of his shirt will merely become fantasies. 

Fantasies you wish to make a reality, prompting you to push forward once the light goes green and you suddenly find yourself desperately searching for a cab.

-

You knock on the door three times. Two quick taps —pause— then one final one that’s quickly overshadowed by something hitting the floor on the other side. The sound is loud and manages to echo even into the hallway, causing you to jump and drop your hand from the door almost immediately, moving it to grasp your chest once it opens in front of you and a very frustrated-looking Loki appears. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone aggravated in a way that, despite it being warranted, still makes you frown.  

“I came to see you,” you say, forcing yourself to match his attitude, watching the way he rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Is that a crime?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “But it also isn’t like you to just appear at my doorway without reason.”

Trying your best to remain as nonchalant as possible, you shrug your shoulders and slip past him, ignoring the clicking of his tongue and the deep sigh that follows, knowing you shouldn’t be here.

“Did I say you could enter my home?”

Hiding the smirk that lines your face, you mutter out a confident no as you take in the space, realizing how everything’s remained as it once was. 

All around there are stacks of books, stories of every age and genre lining the walls alongside various plants and art pieces. Immediately, you recognize pretty much all of them, only a few having been added since the last time you left, leaving you almost hopeful that maybe he hasn’t entirely moved on just yet.

“Is there a reason that comes along with your sudden barging or are you just here for fun?” His voice sounds like syrup, sickly sweet but dangerous in copious amounts, causing you to backtrack the conversation, ignoring the way your stomach twists.

“I just abandoned the date I was on.” The words spill out of you before you can even think to swallow them, a habit you’ve always hated in the presence of Loki who’s always loved the prospect of people revealing to him their secrets. 

“And you’re telling me this why?”

You turn on your heel to face him, surprised to see how close he’s already gotten in the time you’ve managed to infiltrate his space. “Because I’m mad at you.”

“Are you now?” His lips curl into a smirk as he takes another step closer, causing you to swallow hard and take back a step of your own, trying to even out the distance once you notice the change that happens within him. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

He takes another step but this time you stay still, instead, taking the newfound closeness you find yourself in as an opportunity to survey his stance and the way he towers over you, his eyes staring at you like you’re prey. 

“You’re the reason I left the date.”

Loki hums and raises his brow, intrigue lacing his features. “Am I now?”

You nod —clear your throat and swallow hard, all while watching as Loki takes one final step, moving his hand to clasp the side of your face, his lengthy thumb moving slowly across the plush of your cheek. 

Without warning it sends the kind of shiver up your spine he ultimately feels, causing him to laugh and snake his other hand around your waist. “I didn’t realize I still had that effect on you.”

You have to force yourself not to reach out and grab the fabric that lines his chest as you respond, saying, “neither did I.”

A fact that truthfully, surprises you, considering that for the longest time, you thought you were fine —that you were over it and the behaviours and thoughts that often made themselves known were just intrusions meant to be ignored. You realize now that ignoring them was futile. Just like letting this moment of weakness pass you by. 

“Lo, do you ever think about us?” Your voice trembles under the knowledge of his gaze exploring your face —his pupils darting around to take in your nose and the longing in your eyes before landing on the tip of his own finger as it moves to scuff your lower lip. 

“I don’t know,” he says, thumb moving closer to the entrance of your mouth as he smirks. “Do you want me to think about us?” 

Out of pure habit, your tongue moves to graze his finger, an action that leaves you absolutely mortified as you instantly tuck the organ back inside your mouth, listening to the way he laughs again. 

“My, my,” he practically sings, pressing his thumb further between your lips. “I see your affinity for wanting things inside your mouth remains in tact.”

A part of you wants to bite his finger in defiance then —to show him that, despite definitely coming here with the intention of fucking him, you still have at least a little power over what he does to you.

Even though both of you know you don’t. Not now, after all this time apart, unwillingly craving all those old moments of intimacy you thought were long gone.  

"You didn’t answer my question." Changing the subject, you pull your head back, releasing the hold he has on your face to swallow hard.

“What question?”

“The one that I asked.” 

As you speak he pulls you flush against his chest and looks down. “You mean the one where I think about you?”

You go to correct him —to say something along the lines of, “no, I asked if you think about us,” but before you can he’s already elaborating.

“Darling, of course I think about you,” he says mockingly, dipping his face to press his forehead against yours. “All the time I think about you.”

Opening your mouth, you feel his breath meld into your own, the air between you weighing down your chest as he touches your face again, both hands framing each side. 

“I think about what I’d do to you if given the chance,” he says, tightening his hold as he pulls away and angles your face up towards his. “How well I’d fuck you if you ever came back.”

“Yeah?” It’s the only thing you can think to say as he nods in response and then places a kiss on your forehead, his touch lingering against your skin as you reach around to hug his middle.

“Mhm,” he mumbles against you. “In fact, at this very moment I can’t help but think of taking you on every piece of furniture in this house.”

You feel your legs begin to tremble at the thought.

“On that sofa,” he continues, moving his lips to grace your temple, followed by your cheek. “Or that desk.”

“The desk looks nice,” you agree breathlessly, feeling his mouth make hungry contact with your chin before the reverb of his laughter hits your neck. 

“If I remember correctly, it’s quite sturdy, too.”

At that, the space between your legs immediately fills with that familiar warmth as he grants you some relief in the form of a kiss —one that’s rough and desperate as he leads you back towards the aforementioned piece of furniture, his lips never leaving yours. As you move you wrap your arms around his neck and follow his lead, taking clumsy back-steps until your body hits the edge of something firm, forcing you to pull away and let out a soft gasp.

“Careful, darling,” he says then, hints of smugness lacing his words as he peels his hand away to brush the stuff atop his desk aside before lifting you onto it. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt. Lest not by my own hand, anyway.”

You roll your eyes and force down the smile that threatens to peak just as his lips make contact with your skin again. His mouth trailing soft nips and licks down the length of your neck. Without warning it pulls from you a moan you’re almost sure you’ve been holding in this entire time, prompting him to laugh against the skin of your exposed chest at the sound. “Have you always been this sensitive?” he asks, his hand sliding down to grab the hem of your dress and pull it upward. 

“I don’t know.” 

Snorting, he places a chaste kiss on your collarbone. “You mean to tell me you don’t know the inner workings of your own body?”

Annoyed, you give him a look —one that screams shut the fuck up as you slightly push him away, realizing that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Loki and you were always a bit off. Your wants and needs never really matching, even during the best of times. When you were together it always felt like he wanted an opposing player more than he wanted a partner —a person to keep him on his toes with acts of lust and defiance. Back then, it was always something that you struggled with —something that, despite working for a while, ultimately ended up becoming the breaking point.

Something that was happening right now. 

“Do you ever stop?” Your voice is sharp, almost threatening as you suddenly narrow your eyes, noticing the way he mirrors your expression. 

“Stop what?”

“This.”

“What do you mean?”

“This —you, me, the games!” you cry out but the anger you feel echoing its way out of your system feels small in comparison to his as his hand moves to grip your chin with that familiar roughness.

“What games?”

The way his voice creeps inside your ears —the way it shifts its tone in an instant and buries itself within the crevices of your brain— makes you remember why you come back. Why, after all those years of giving him your worst parts, you still chose to come back. 

It’s because you like the games. Deep down beneath the knowledge that what’s between you is wrong, you like how they make you feel. How at the drop of a hat Loki can pull forth from you your innermost self —the one no one dares to discover. His games make you feel the rawest you ever felt. The outer layers that you show the outside world becoming stripped away like he’s tossing aside your coat at the end of a long day. You can always breathe when he’s around —can show to him the parts of you without having to hide behind the shield of your worries and that makes you feel alive. 

“I’m not playing any games,” he says, but you know then it’s just part of the never-ending match you two play so you follow his lead and reach for his shirt, feeling his leg begin to prod apart your own in paired defiance as you place another rough kiss against his lips, making sure to leave a couple of bite marks along the way to your hopeful victory. 

"Neither am I," you mumble into him, letting him suck the lie right through your teeth, each one of his lips latching onto every syllable with such desperation you begin to feel lightheaded.

-

TAGLIST: @lovelysizzlingbluebird, @just-someone11, @linaax, @eleniblue (if you’d like to be added fill out this form)

#patterns #loki laufeyson x you #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki smut #summer writes

[tailorvizsla]

Title: A Night of Sexy Sex with Paz Vizsla (April Fool’s Day Fic) Pairing: Paz Vizsla x f!Reader, mentions of Armorer x Bo-Katan Rating: NC-17 Wordcount: ~4000 Warnings: Terrible euphemisms, PIV sex, unprotected sex. Literally the worst. Overuse of the words sex and sexy. One use of the word moist. Literally this is the worst thing I have ever inflicted onto myself. Author's Note: Part of the Bulbous Salutations exchange! The point of this is to write bad smut and to make people regret having eyes. Happy April Fool’s Day, y’all. :D

*Note: By continuing past the ‘keep reading’ thingie and reading this godforsaken fic, you hereby absolve me from any financial, legal, or moral obligation to pay for your therapy. I am poor. I cannot afford therapy for myself, much less anyone else. Thank u.

You’re not quite sure how Paz worked it out, but he knows that you’re a virgin. The Mandalorian equivalent of cin vhetin. Untouched snow, pure, unmarred by another warrior's touch or love emissions. You've never even held hands with a warrior. Well, except to like, rescue someone, or something. Never bare palm-to-palm contact, though - that was beyond your comfort level.

At first, when you were younger, you wanted to wait for someone to make it worth your time. It’s not like Mandalorians are inherently attached to the idea of virginity, or anything like that. But you did want someone you could trust to help you discover sexual pleasure like in those naughty novels. The ones where the verde have their helmets up over their noses, their lips crashing together in a passionate kiss while their armor has fallen somewhere onto the floor. The ones where if you'd bought them second hand, the pages would sometimes be stuck together. 

As the months and years went by, the partners you were with…they never felt quite right. It was never the right time. It was never for the right reason. And so you and your partners would move on. And now you’re at a point in life where you wonder if you’d made a mistake. 

If you should have just…fucked someone and gotten it over with. Maybe it would have worked out in the end. You’ve seen the raunchy vids the verde pass back and forth during deployments (they're also passing partners back and forth, too, those lucky bastards). You’ve read all the magazines that get your panties so wet you soak them, your pants, and the seat you're sitting on. You know what sex is, technically, but you’ve never experienced it.

So it feels strange to sit with the verde and listen to their exploits, occasionally adding your opinions when you really don’t have one. You’ve never had your pussy licked until you cried and screamed. You’ve never been fucked stupid, to the point where your brain leaves your head and you can't think. And you really wish you knew what it felt like. But, like always, you go back to your room and satisfy yourself with your fingers and that giant floppy vibrating thing you bought ages ago.

Vaguely, you wonder if you should have placed that order for the glow-in-the-dark tentacle heated attachments, just in case things don’t work out here.

Now, you are standing here in front of Paz's door, wondering if you’re finally going to say goodbye to your virginity the same way Armorer said goodbye to heterosexuality when she first saw Bo-Katan. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as you wait for him to open the door. After a few moments, you hear the door click and it swings open, revealing Paz's magnificent, thick, beefy frame. It's obvious he hasn't skipped any meals or workout sessions. He's so big and broad it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

He is not wearing his armor, which explains why you did not hear his footsteps. You worry your lip with your teeth as he shuts the door behind you. Normally, you would have never just jumped into bed with someone, but when you look at Paz - all sourness and grump and bad attitude - you know he’s the right verd for the job. He’s a good man underneath all that beskargam. And kute. And everything else. Look, point is, Paz is a good person. That's all that matters to you. And he’s sexy, so. Bonus points there.

“So,” you say to him. “When you woke up this morning, did you plan on being the one to pop the vacuum seal on my buy’ce?”

Paz chokes a bit.

“That’s a unique way to phrase that.”

A grin crosses your face.

“But…no,” he confesses. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to have sex with me at all.”

“I like you,” you respond with a shrug. “And even though I know you have a kink for my type…it goes both ways, you know?”

“...what’s your kink?” he asks curiously.

“Blindfolds, obviously,” you deadpan at him. He laughs in response as he shakes his head.

“We could get married,” he says. “That way, we can…you know, see what we are doing.”

“You’re the last person I would have expected to suggest marrying just so we can fuck,” you say out loud. He shrugs in response. “Alright,” you say. You’ve done stupider things than get married to have sex. Armorer has left plenty of dents on your armor due to your stupidity. What's another dent? She's going to have to fix it regardless. You and Paz swap vows as quickly as possible.

Then you reach up to take your bucket off. Paz hesitates for a moment, and then he follows suit, lifting his helmet to reveal his beautiful face. He's got a chiseled jawline and eyes like sapphires, glimmering in the fluorescent lighting. His hair is thick and glossy, and it sways slightly. Where is that breeze coming from? Mortification fills you as you realize he's waiting for you to speak. You grin at him.

“You’re cute,” you say.

He’s more than cute - he’s downright handsome under that bucket - but you’re not going to give him any more of a reason to inflate his ego. He smiles at you. Gods, his smile is beautiful and sexy, just like the rest of him. So, so irresistibly sexy.

“You too,” he remarks, and you decide that his voice is definitely the sexiest thing you’ve heard in your life.

Paz reaches for you. You inhale reflexively as his strong hands find your arms and wrap around them, as gently as a newborn loth kitten wrapped in a blanket. Gently, he strokes up to your shoulders, and then down along your breast plate to your hips. He carefully pulls you toward him. Then, he presses his forehead to yours in a Mandalorian kiss, making your breath hitch in your throat.

That feels nice, you decide, as you relax in his embrace. Hesitantly, you touch him, feeling the warmth of his body, the hard planes of his muscle. The unyielding beskargam under your fingertips. Paz lets out a purr of delight as he dims the light to something more comfortable for the two of you. The two of you start removing each other’s armor, piece by piece.

Soon, the two of you are standing there in only your kute. Your entire body feels warm and tight. Your breathing is more rapid, and you definitely feel your pulse in your throat. When you look at the zipper on his kute, you look away. Paz catches you and pulls you in, tilting your face up to his with two gentle fingers under your chin. You close your eyes and tug on his kute, eager to have your first kiss. Paz rumbles approvingly, his breath fanning across your lips.

Your first kiss is a chaste one - a simple press of his warm, dry lips against yours. You’re not quite sure how long it’s supposed to last, so you let him take the lead. Then he presses another kiss to your lips. And again. And again. Like he's trying to tap a sentence in da-di-da with his lips against your heated skin. His lips part slightly and he tilts his head and then he starts to nibble ever so gently. It feels like he's trying to suck on your tongue or something, but whatever, it feels nice. And very sexy. His mouth opens a bit more and his tongue darts out against your lower lip. 

It feels strangely good to have his hot mouth against yours, and your lips tingle as his tongue skims over them. Paz’s hands find your waist and skim upwards toward your chest. Heat fills you as he touches your breasts and tweaks your nipples through your kute, palming them like one would half-price muja fruit at a sus market stall. He pulls back slightly. The whine of protest that leaves you turns into a quiet moan as he kisses along your jaw. More heat fills you, like that one time you drank an entire bottle of tiingilar sauce on a dare.

Boldly, you reach up to undo the fastenings on his kute, inching the zipper down to reveal his chiseled pectoral muscles. Paz mirrors your gestures, never going faster than you. He carefully strips you down, his big, warm hands touching your breasts and cupping your ass. Paz guides you to the bed. Your chesticles bounce most boobily as you recline. So fucking sexy.

Paz carefully settles on the bedding with you. His weight makes the mattress dip toward the center. It’s dark in the room and you’re so shy you can’t even look in his direction. Paz catches your hand in his and guides it to his pectoral. You squeeze gently. His man titty feels so good in your hand. He flexes the muscle, making it jump in your hands.

“Touch me more,” he says. “Please?”

With shaking fingers, you touch his mountain-like shoulder, taking a moment to trace a scar across the skin there. Then your fingers drift down along his belly. It's soft, but firm, with a sparse forest of hair that dips down to his manhood area. You don’t go down too far, though - you’re not quite ready for that yet.

“Might be more comfortable if you sit on me,” Paz says. “You won’t have to lean over as much. And you’ll be in complete control, mesh’la.”

“Alright,” you whisper. He guides you onto him, your knees on either side of him, something hard and twitching against your belly. You assume it's his love Javelin missile, ready to pierce your pleasure target and explode on target. You resist the urge to look down, instead focusing your attention on the scars littering his ultra sexy skin.

“There we go,” he groans. “See, mesh’la? You can touch any part of me you want like this. I’ll just hold you and let you take your time.”

His hands settle on your hips, warm and strong as they massage your supple flesh. You continue exploring his torso, taking a moment to squeeze his nipple the same way he had squeezed yours. He inhales deep, a low noise of pleasure escaping him. You mentally file that away - he seems to like having his sexy man nipples played with. Finally, you know you’re ready to touch him there. You’re pretty sure he’s ready too. Swallowing, you work up the courage to reach out and touch his bulbous beef bayonet. It jumps against your belly and you jerk back.

“S’alright,” he says. “It’s just a little excited.”

His hand guides yours back to his cock. Swallowing, you wrap your hand around him gently. His skin is silky soft and warm, like slipping into a hot Denovian mud bath after hours of hard work. You know warriors are sensitive in this area, but you don’t know how much so. You’re afraid to hurt him, so you loosen your grip as you stroke it. Paz throbs and pulsates in your hand. It is super sexy.

“Don’t be scared, mesh’la. It won’t bite.”

His hand wraps around yours, squeezing you around him in a much tighter grip. 

“Just like that,” he says. “Just like that, don’t be scared…oh yeah, just like that.”

You aren’t sure if he’s really that into it, or if he’s putting on a show for you, but you feel much better knowing that this is bringing him pleasure despite your inexperienced touch. You wrap both hands around him the same way a rath'tar wraps itself around its prey, gnawing on your lower lip as you trace the veins on his thick, meaty baby-batter shooter.

Up at the top, you find he looks a lot like the diagrams. The head is round and blunt, with a slit in the tip. A droplet of pearly white love juice gathers there. Impulsively, you swipe your finger through his creamy Sichuan daddy sauce and lick it. It’s not what you expected, but it’s not unpleasant. Paz lets out a startled groan and his throbbing purple disco stick jumps in your hand again. A very generous glob of baby gravy leaks out and onto your hand as you stroke again. 

“What do you think?” he asks gently. “Does it taste good?”

Embarrassment fills your stomach.

“Uhm…yeah,” you say. “Not…not what I expected, but…uhm…it’s not bad.”

He looks delighted at your words.Then Paz grips your hip.

“Scoot forward a bit,” he urges. You obey, and your clit presses up against his fleshy pokey impregnation stick. Heat fills your entire body again. It’s so close to…there. “Move your hips - yeah, just like that, mesh’la. Do you feel it rubbing up against your little clit?”

“Y-Yes,” you whisper to him.

“Does it feel good?” he asks. “Do you feel your sweet'n'salty love juices getting my manhood all nice and slick?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimper. “Paz…I…”

“What is it, mesh’la?”

“Paz, I…I uh…I think I want it. Inside.”

“Not yet, mesh’la,” he says gently. “I want to make sure you’re really ready for it, alright?”

You nod, grinding your hips against that wet, firm ridge underneath you. His hands guide you on his girthy dipstick, and you’re too embarrassed to look at him. You can hear the wet noises of your bodies sliding together. Is it normal for that to happen? You can’t bring yourself to ask. If something isn’t right, he’ll tell you. But there's so much of it. It's all over his belly and thighs and you're pretty sure the novels didn't mention a literal tsunami of poonani juice.

“Good girl,” he rumbles up at you. “Look so good like that, mesh’la, grinding up against my flesh bes'bev like you can’t wait to have it in you. Does it feel good having it this close to your pretty little hole?"

You nod, unsure if you can even speak coherently right now.

“Every time you grind against me, I can feel you getting wetter and wetter,” he continues. “Your panty porg knows what to do with a big, hard sausage…it knows exactly where this babymaker is going to go, doesn’t it?”

A little noise escapes you.

“I bet your fingers don’t make your love channel all greedy and hungry the way my pulsating pussy plug does,” Paz says. “I bet your toys won’t feel half as good as having me all the way inside you.”

The thought of having him in there, inside your undiscovered lands, pressing up against your insides, stretching your walls the way your fingers and toys can’t, has you wild. You roll your hips again and you feel that knot in your belly break wide open. A moan escapes you, another gush of creamy coochie cum seeping out to drench Paz’s cumslinger.

Paz rolls you down onto the bed. Like this, it feels much nicer. He’s warm and strong and there’s something about the way his body covers yours like a weighted blanket. The way his hips fit between your thighs. Shyly, you turn away. Paz turns your face back to his and kisses gently. Then he works his way down, kissing your straining nip-noops and biting your hip bone. 

“Oh, mesh’la,” he growls at you. “Can’t wait to taste you. Can’t wait to send your pussy into hyperdrive.”

“Uhm,” you stammer out. “T-taste?...hyperdrive???”

“Tell me,” he says roughly. “Has anyone else gotten to taste you between the legs?”

“N-No,” you whisper. “Nobody…”

“No one’s been down here at all?” he asks. “Doctor doesn’t count. No fingers, tongues, or anything else?”

“No one,” you respond. “Uhm..only my own fingers…and my toy…”

“Good girl,” he whispers, placing a kiss against your clit. “Saving it up all for me…” A whine escapes you as his tongue darts out against your aching, throbbing clit. He hums in delight. His tongue probes between your lips, sliding up and then back down. “I’m about to fucking explode, mesh’la. Gonna cum all over myself just having you in my mouth.”

He’s slurring his words. He almost sounds drunk. He licks again and again, one hand keeping your hips pinned to the bed while the other spreads your flesh folds apart. Paz’s tongue delves in deeper as another moan escapes him.

“Gods,” he rasps out, his fingers spreading you wider apart. His tongue dips inside you, making your eyes roll back as you whine. “Like that, huh? Like having my tongue in you?” He drags his tongue back up to the little helmeted warrior in a boat, where he teases you with the tip of his tongue for a few moments. Then he works his way back down. 

“Fuck,” he stutters out. “All mine, only mine.”

He buries his face between your thighs, his tongue and lips working at your uber moist flower petals. He slurps and moans and purrs, sounding like a Wookie in heat. Then you feel his finger circling your unbreeched gates, your unconquered pleasure cove.

“Can I?” he asks, his eyes dark and wild as he meets yours. You nod shyly. You let out a little noise as he starts sliding his finger in. “Let me know if it’s too much for you, mesh’la. I’ll be gentle, I promise…” 

He dips his head back down as he pumps his finger in and out slowly, his tongue working at your outside pleasure doorbell. He sounds like a strill eating a bowl full of protein paste, loud but kind of endearing. Then he eases a second finger into your lockbox of love. His fingers feel so good inside! Your walls begin to quiver around his thick intruding digits, squeezing each time he pulls out, milking them the way you'll eventually be milking the green milk out of his one-eyed Thala-siren.

Paz groans and slurps at your clit, drinking up your pussy nectar like a man who has been trapped in a desert for weeks and you are the only source of hydration...that line sounded much sexier in the naughty holonovel. Maybe he’s savoring the dew on your flower petals???

"So good," he slurs. "So fuckin' good, wish I could live between your legs, mesh'la."

His fingers curl inside you and press up against your swollen interior doorbell - wait, who has an interior doorbell??? He presses up against your light switch of pleasure, making you squeak with delight. As you get closer and closer, Paz's enthusiastic vocalizations get louder and louder. He plunges his fingers into you and you cry out when he fingers your wet, slippery pink taco like he's a pianist and your vag is his piano.

"Ahhh! Paz!!!" you shriek as you finally reach your peak. "YES! Ahhhh!!!"

Your walls explode around him and you finish, crying out his name as the pleasurable waves squeeze and flutter. Paz pulls his fingers out like that one guy pulling a sword out of a rock. His fingers are wrinkled and wet, like he has spent way too long in the bath. He sucks on his fingers like he's trying to suck boba through a slightly too small straw.

"So fucking good," he rasps out.

Then he crawls onto the bed with you, sliding his third leg between yours, resting it on your mound of love. It spews out a jet of white, gooey erectoplasm onto your belly. Then, locking eyes with you, Paz angles himself into you, and gently starts to push in. He feels so gigantic inside you. As he keeps inching his massive love spear into your love spear holder, you cry out passionately, your eyes rolling back inside your head. 

You're not sure how, but he keeps fitting more and more of his Star Destroyer inside your humble shuttlecraft-sized hangar bay. Finally, he bottoms out, and you swear Paz's hymen hammer is poking you somewhere behind your left lung. A squeal, much like a minoch in heat, escapes you, and Paz lets out a noise like thunder as he moans and shakes. He starts to thrust slowly, his cock disappearing into you. You wonder if he's a magician because there's no way he should be able to fit inside you. Maybe he uses portals, like that one game you played once?

"Oh, fuck," he groans. "Fuck, you're gonna snap my turgid Manly Man Shaft in half, cyare. Your virgin hole is so tight I swear to Kad'Harangir it squeaks each time I pull out."

Once your slippery love tunnel starts to adjust around him, Paz starts moving faster, thrusting even deeper before, making you wonder if he's prospecting for beskar deep inside your Mines of Mandalore. So fucking sexy. The bed rocks and shakes with each devastating thrust into you - you swear you can hear the frame clattering each time it lifts off the ground. The headboard slams into the wall over and over, and a bit of drywall dust falls into your eyes, making them water up.

"Don't cry," Paz croons. "I bet it feels good, doesn't it?"

You're being fucked too stupid to respond, so you settle for a high-pitched grunt/whine.

"Look at you taking this trouser snake," he groans. "Pounding so deep into you it makes your belly bulge - "

You wipe some of the drywall dust out of your eye and look down. Yup, definitely. Each time he thrusts into you, you can see the tip of his cock in your abdomen, as if his helmeted sausage soldier is trying to get your attention. Your pulsating pussy starts to pulsate even more, squeezing around his cock like a warm, wet, velvety fist trying its best to squeeze his soul out through his pipi. Paz grunts and groans, his hips slapping against yours wetly. Vaguely, you can hear someone hammering on the wall.

" - it's three in the fucking morning, you dipshits! KEEP IT QUIET - "

The two of you ignore the other person and keep going. You scream as you orgasm around his cock. Pure electricity shoots through your entire body. Just like that one time you were trying to plug your data pad in to charge, but the charger was under your bed, so you were going at it blind, and you ended up touching the electrical prongs by accident. Your bearded clam gushes its sweet and salty clam juices, mixing with his pre-cum to create sex chowder, and you can feel the dampness spreading underneath you like high tide at love time as Paz just keeps hammering away.

"Cyare," Paz bellows. He roars like a hungry Wookiee. Or maybe that was more of an angry Wookie? Horn-gry??? "Oh, cyare! I’m gonna impregnate you! I’m gonna knock you up so many times the Mandostork is gonna stop coming to our Tribe!”

"PaaaAAAaZZZ!" you wail. "Ahh! Aaaa ~ Oh nhhh ah ah yessss! ~ ♡♡♡ ~ harder harder harder!!!!!!!!1!"

He keeps hammering into you. You're not sure if the pounding noise is the bedframe against the floor or if your neighbor is trying to beat the door down. But, again, the two of you ignore them, and Paz goes into hyperdrive. He's fucking into you so hard and fast his bald-headed buir maker is a blur inside you as it pistons and churns your insides into a pre-orgasmic puddle of goo. More and more of your beautiful, bountiful bajingo broth coats your thighs, his thighs, and the bed.

Your wails grow louder and louder as another orgasm starts to descend upon you.

" - please for the love of Kad'Harangir, Arasuum, and the Two Sisters - "

You climax again for the fifth or sixth time that night. He moans and grunts.

"You're so tight you're cutting off circulation to my diiiick," Paz hisses. "Gonna cum again - "

With another deafening roar, Paz finishes, his heat-seeking meat missile shooting jets of man cream into your penis fly trap like a Mandalorian quasar of love. He just keeps cumming, filling you so much that your nether regions can no longer hold it back. His weiner sauce sprays out, coating the bed in millions of fallen future Mandalorian warriors. He groans. With an obscene slurp, he pulls out. His cock is still half-hard, rising proudly above the forest of pubes, like a really tall cylindrical volcano spewing white magma. He puts his hands on his hips and smirks.

"Did you enjoy yourself, cyare?"

"Yes, Paz!" you exclaim as you collapse on the bed. 

He smirks and joins you on the bed.

"When can we have round two?" you simper up at him.

Paz's massive long dong beskar starts to stiffen. It stands at attention like a proud warrior would. It glistens in the dim light. He smirks.

"How about now?" he asks.

You giggle and pull him down onto you for a night of super sexy, passionate baby-making.

-

-

-

A special thank you to my husband for “creamy Sichuan daddy sauce”.

#star wars #the mandalorian #paz vizsla x f!reader #paz vizsla #romance #aprilfoolssmutfic #april fools #crack

[the-fiction-witch]

Playing

TV SHOW GODLESS COUPLE WHITEY WINN X READER RATING: SMUT AF!

I laid on an old torn blanket, the blanket itself resting on the new mexico desert sand. The sound of trickling water to my left as the dirty river flowed on by, the gentle breeze causing the stiff old tree to my right to creak and crack slightly. The sounds of my own breaths and the shifts of my skirts fabrics where my breaths shifted them slightly, and of course to my right the sounds of breathing and slight movements that belonged to thin little whitey winn. 

"Y/n?" He spoke up

"Ummmm?" I murmured not wanting to give him much more of a response until he actually asked the damn question watching the clouds roll on by trying to make shapes of them

"Do ya ever… nevermind"

"What?"

"Nothin' stupid really"

"Everything you say is stupid whitey spit it out" 

"do you ever play with ya tits?"

"... I'm sorry do I what?" I asked in disbelief

"Do ya ever play with ya tits? Just like give them a little squeeze? Like a comfortin' fondle? Just like a little play?"

"No. No I do not whitey" I giggled at the absurdly of it all 

"Hu. Interestin'"

"Why?"

"I think if I had titties I'd wanna play with them" 

"That's Because you don't have boobs Whitey, to your there just fun bouncy little things, you don't get the boring normally of having them attached to you"

"I suppose so" he nods "still, if I had titties, even little titties, I'd wanna sit and play with them" he says I glanced to him as he laid on the blanket beside me his hat on the tree branch above us, his hair a little messy where God only knows last time he brushed it, his usual jumper and shirt with his deputy badge attached to his pocket, his gunbelts undone so they laid against the blanket so they wouldn't shove into his hips as we laid, his tight jeans so snug I was convinced he put anything bigger than a pebble in his pocket you'd see it, his boots against the sandy dirt, his hands over his pecks folding imaginary breasts of his own.

"Whitey?"

"Yes y/n?"

"Do you touch your dick?"

".... I mean. Yeah. I have to"

"I mean like you ever play with your dick? Give it a grope and a fondle? A little comforting rub?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I play with it alot actually"

"How so?"

"I rub it before I go to sleep," he shurgs "sometimes I'll just be laid there in bed and he'll be hard so I'll just give him a little rub and I'll fall right to sleep"

"I think that's called masturbating whitey"

"No. I don't cum. Just give in it a rub and a fondle, to be fair! It has a mind of its own"

"I guess. You really can't control it?"

"No more then ya can turn your period on and off"

"I see" I nodded returning my focus to the clouds "whitey?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever felt a boob?"

"I have not"

"Have you imagined boobs?"

"Havin' them or-"

"Feeling them stupid"

"Course I have" he says "I imagine, they feel soft, and smooth, warm I don't know just… pleasant"

"So you've been imagining"

"My only choice is to imagine"

"Who's boobs did you imagine?"

"Well…. Yours."

"What?"

"Yours mostly. I'm the most familiar with yours, I spend the most time with ya, that and you have big titties, they look nice and soft and beautiful" he smirked his eyes on my chest as he said it

"So you've been looking?" I smirked moving his chin to actually make him look me in the eye again

"No! Yes. I….. I did I'm sorry"

"It's fine. Boys have to imagine" I giggled 

"What do ya imagine dicks are like?"

"No idea." I shrug 

"Y/n?"

"Ummmm?"

"Would… would ya let me touch your tits?" 

"Why?"

"I wanna see what they feel like."

"Why don't you just wait? Till you get a pretty little girlfriend"

"Your a girl. Your my friend." He shrugs

"I mean why don't you wait till you meet a beautiful girl you wanna do that with"

"Your a beautiful girl. I wanna touch your tits. Come on I've never even seen titties before who knows how long it'll be before I get to do it to someone else. Come on y/n please, consider it science. A test. An experiment." 

"How have you not seen boobs before? We live in labelle"

"I haven't seen tits without… dresses in the way." 

"I'll think about it" 

"I mean… who knows how long it'll be before I get to touch someone's titties, and I've always imagined what yours are like, and maybe-"

"Your not going to shut up about this are you?"

"I am not." 

"Fine" I sighed as I sat up

"Really!" He jumped sitting up too clearly already very excited

"Fine. Just do not make a habbit of it whitey"

"I can't promise that" 

"Go on then" I sighed leaning against the old tree 

"You really mean it!" He smiled jumping to his knees in front of me 

"Yes. Now go on and stop bothering me before I change my mind" 

"Okay" he gasped excitedly, he didn't need to be told again his right hand came close to me but hovered just above me for a few seconds an inch from touching me he held his breath beforehand moving closer resting his hand softly on my breast he didn't do anything for a few seconds so much I was actually getting concerned of he was alright, but he gently squeezed. Barely even enough to wrinkle my shirts fabric but he did it again and again each time getting a little harder his other hand quickly joined taking a rather from grasp of my other breast both of his hands working in tandem to squeeze me 

"So? What data has the science given you?" 

"There uhhhhhh softer then I imagined them to be I kinda thought they where like… more of a solid less squishy" he explained unable to look me in the eye transfixed on my breasts in his hands "I do not know how ya don't play with these all the time they are so fun" he smiled as he squeezes began to change his hands now moving again me rubbing his hands across me as he squeezed and groped fondling my breasts in his hands not aggressively but clearly very much enjoy himself "ummmm there so soft. So squishy, I wanna touch them forever!"

"Whitey enough or you'll get all excited" I giggled trying to push him away but as I did his smile grew 

"They… they got firmer all of a sudden. Like perky I guess" he smirked "do ya… like this?"

"No it's just because your squeezing on them"

"Oh. Please y/n just a little longer"

"Alright five more minutes" I warn

"Yes!" He smirked moving beside me again and nuzzling into my neck his hands now wrapping around my back to squeeze and squish me his hands making sure he got every inch of my breasts as he groped and rubbed and fondled me I knew why they where getting… firmer and a little perkier they always do when I touch them but I don't usually touch them this much and I had to admit or felt kinda nice whitey touching me like this "uuhh your tittes feel so good. The more I play the perkier they get" he smirked "Hu? Oh… oh! Y/n your uhhh"

"What?"

"I think uhh your nipples are pokin' through ya shirt" 

"Whitey!" I snapped as he moved his hand away a little enough I could see he was right my nipples had gotten hard and firm from getting rubbed against my shirt and from his fondling, I hadn't worn my corset today as we had to ride our horses out here so I course only my little shirt was concealing them and not doing to well at it as they where obvious 

"Sorry! You uhhhh ya like me doin' this?"

"No! It's just where the fabric rubs against them is all"

"Yeah? And I'm hard because my jeans are rubbin' against my dick" he smirked moving my hips to sit on his lap instantly feeling what he meant "hi"

"Hi. Whitey what are you up to?" I warned 

"Nothin'" he smirked giving my cheek a kiss before once again his hands latched onto me groping and fondling me making sure to rub his hand across my nipples which made me force my thighs together "oohh ya like that?" He smirked intentionally rubbing his fingers around my nipple "does this turn ya on?" He whispered 

"No!"

"Liar" he smirked "they feel so hard. So excited." He smirked moving his other hand to simply play with my nipples being almost aggressive with his rubbing on them though my shirt 

"Whitey enough-" I whined trying to hide the little bubbles it caused, trying to move off his lap but he grabbed my waist wrapping an his right arm around me sitting it on my left hip so I had little escape

"No no ya gonna stay right here darlin' right here with me" he smirked 

Forcing me to sit on his lap my back against his chest so much I could feel his deputy badge poking into me his other hand returned to groping me and between his gropes rubbing mercilessly on my nipples playing with them alot chuckling to himself 

"whitey- stop it!" I pouted 

"Why? What's wrong?" He smirked 

"Whitey-"

"Come on I already know so just admit ya like it"

"Maybe a little the friction"

"Ohh so ya do like when I play with these" he smirked rubbing and playing with my nipples thought my shirt 

"Whitey stop!"

"Awwww but your so cute when your horny" he smirked before I could respond he grabbed my shirt and janked it down letting it pool at my waist

"Ahhh whitey!" I sqeauled wrapping my arms around me to cover my exposed breasts 

"Ooohh that's why they felt so good nothin' but cotton between us" he smirked with an evil sly chuckle "ohh your stayin' right here with me darlin', and we're gonna have lots and lots of fun together" he smirked trying to get my hands off but I wouldn't move

"Perv!"

"Ya said I could ya can't get all grumpy when I just wanna make my little darlin' feel good" he smirked "ummmm ya look so cute tryin' to hide them come on let me see"

"No!" I argued 

"Darlin. I wasn't askin'" he smirked forcing my hands away "uhhhh fuck. These are beautiful" he smirked holding my arms so I could conceal myself again even if I thought him "ummmm don't worry darlin they won't be all cold and exposed for long" he smirked trying to grab me but I kept fighting "ohh quit ya wiggling your no fun" he says 

"Whitey let me go! Or-"

"Or what? You'll scream? Fine we do this the hard way then" he smirked grabbing his bag that sat beside our blanket and he locked my hands into handcuffs behind my back so I couldn't resist and then taking a grip of me again fondling and groped me now without my shirt to confine me gently often rubbing on my nipples to play with them more 

"Whitey!" I whined trying to squirm away from him "you don't stop I'll scream!"

"Yeah? And what's that gonna do?" He smirked "remember darlin, I'm the deputy and with bill gone I'm in charge" he smirked "or is it just you'd rather I lock ya in in the cells tonight for being such a little tease" he smirked "or maybe I'll strip you naked and spank ya back in the square for being so mean to me. Come on ya can't let me touch these and not expect me to want more" he smirked "speaking of...more" he smirked his hand leaving my breasts a moment to sit on my thigh suggestively moving back and forth 

"Whitey don't you dare!" 

"Awww ya rather I just play with your tits then? Hummm I just wanna see exactly how much ya like your nipples getting plaid with as ever since I started you seemed to wanna keep that place a secret"

"Yeah because your being a perv!"

"Liar" he smirked slipping his hand under my skirt I tried fight but he easily got what he wanted "ohh no panties either. Bad bad girl" he smirked gently rubbing on my clit 

"Whitey!"

"Uhhh fuck! Your drippin' down your legs. So wet. Awwwww your too cute keepin' yourself all tense - ohh ya keepin' yourself all tense because your all wet because ya so horny and so close aren't you darlin?" I didn't answer I didn't need to he could feel everything o could hide from him his hand that still sat fondling my breasts rubbed hard on my nipple and his other hand mercilously rubbed my clit and I was unable to hide my reaction making him laugh at me "your so cute. Tryin' to hide it. Don't hide it darlin let me see how good it makes you feel" he smirked getting harder and more merciless 

"Whitey stop!" I squealed trying to move away

"No. Your stayin' right here with me. How about" he smirked pushing me off him to lay on the blanket my arms still cuffed so there was little fight I could put up as he crawled between my legs "you and me stay out here all night together" he smirked "because I'm wanna play around with my pretty little darlin all night long" he smirked pushing my dress up to expose me completely "uhhh fuck! Ummmm come here!" He growled practically jumping on me.

#tbs #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #whitey winn imagines #whitey winn smut #whitey smut #whitey #whiteywinn #whitey winn #godless whitey win smut #whitey winn imagine

[dxmbxtch]

friends?//pjm

“i’m yours, for tonight.”

pairing ::: jimin x reader

rating ::: pg13

genre ::: angst

warnings! ::: rejection, heartbreak

song ::: snow at the beach by taylor swift ft lana del rey

“I like you.”

there. I said it.

the words seemed so effortless while being said, totally disregarding the choking hesitance I felt a second before I said them.

my heart rapidly slammed into my ribcage, knowing that it would either feel the happiest it has felt in years, or it would shatter terribly.

I looked up to sneak a glance at him. he was looking at me, but as he saw my head lifting, he quickly looked away, at the floor.

he opened his mouth so say something, but then closed it, and started chewing on his lip. his eyes were almost glossy, which only increased to the suffocation I felt from the silence.

he looked up at me again. his face looked like he was scared to say anything, anything a little too harsh that would completely shatter me.

he was about to say something that would be life changing for me. something that could make me jump in happiness while butterflies surrounded me, or something that could break me in a way that couldn’t be fixed.

he took in a deep breath and decided to be honest to me as well as himself.

“I don’t.”

my head snapped down again. I stared at my hands in my lap before closing my eyes, trying not to let the tears flow out.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he said quietly.

“it’s okay,” I whispered, knowing it I tried to increase the volume of my voice even a little, it would crack. I tried to swallow away at the lump in my throat, which only seemed to make it harder for me to breathe properly.

“I’m really sorry. you’re a really great human, and I really like you as a person. but I don’t think I can get myself to love you.”

“that’s okay,” I whispered again. “I understand. you can’t really force your heart to love someone.”

“thank you, y/n,” he said softly, “but I really don’t want to hurt you like this. maybe...”

I looked up at him, not bothering to hide my tears anymore, the sniffles already made it pretty clear that I was crying. “...maybe?”

“look, I can’t date you. but I also don’t want to hurt you and loose this beautiful friendship that we’ve had since we little kids. so maybe, I can be yours, and you can be mine for tonight? then from tomorrow we can continue being friends? like normal?”

“even if you’re not mine, I’ll always be yours,” I said, quietly, thinking he didn’t hear me. but he did.

he pretended not to hear me.

he bit his lip. “so? what do you say?”

“sure,” I sighed. even if it was only for some hours, atleast he’d be mine.

I looked at his lips. “is— is it okay if I kiss you?”

what was the point of being shy anymore? it was only six to seven hours till morning, and I wanted to make the best of it.

he hesitantly nodded. the hesitance felt like another bullet shot into my chest. I felt terrible for trying to get him to kiss me, a person he doesn’t even love. I felt terrible for invading his personal space.

“you know what,” I said, starting to get up from the couch. “it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. it’s okay. I’ll take my leave now, just forget any of this happened.”

suddenly I felt his warm hand wrapping around my cold wrist. “stay.”

“no, it’s okay, jimin” I repeated. “you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”

“y/n,” he said sternly, making me look at him.

“I said I’m yours for tonight. why don’t you be mine then?”

before I could say anything, he pulled me back and made me sit on his lap, facing him. he then placed his lips on mine.

I ignored my mind telling me how terrible this was. how it would only break my heart more once the night was over. how it was only making me more attached to someone I couldn’t have. how bad it would hurt.

I followed my heart for once.

it felt good.

I felt loved, even though there wasn’t any actual love from his side.

it felt so wrong.

yet it felt so right.

the way his lips molded agaisnt mine oh so perfectly. his warm breath tickling the tip of my nose, his soft and plump lips comforting mine.

the way his hands held onto my waist as he pulled me closer to deepen the kiss. the way my hands massaged his shoulders lightly.

everything.

it was so... perfect.

but I knew this perfection wouldn’t last.

atleast not in this reality.

maybe in another universe...?

#rejection fic #sad #rejection #heartbreak #yours for the night #angst #crying #hesitance #confession #fem/male reader #bts fic #jimin fic #park jimin #pjm #jimin

[pupa-cinema]

Village Man’s Store - アディー・ハディー - Lyrics English Translation

Lyrics: Mizuno Gii Music: Village Man's Store

此の世は真っ逆様々頭をひっくり返して This world is downright backwards, twisting my head backdown 飛び出したペンキを集めて　日が暮れるよね？ So I've been picking up all the paint that chipped off, but won’t this take all day?

手を打って踊る間に　誰か泣かせてたことや While I was clapping my hands and dancing, I made someone cry 君を待たせていたことも　忘れちゃうじゃない I completely forgot that you were waiting for me なのになぜかな Although I do wonder why

悔い改めて食いしばった昨日も I spent yesterday repenting, reforming, repressing 楽しげに幸せに　引き出しに幽閉したんだっけ So happily and healthily have I shoved yesterday into my drawer- At least if I’m remembering correctly

どーなってんだ人類は僕らを置いて明日へ飛んでった Whaaa's going on, humanity's left me behind and made off into tomorrow 君もそーだよね「そーだよね」って確かめ合って手を離した You’re downright the same as me, “Thaaat’s right” you say, as we checked then pulled our hands away 怪獣たちの行進を眺めながら終わればいいんだって Just gaze on at that march of monsters and let it end, you may say but それはソンだよね「そーだよね」ってほっぺつねって！覚めないように That’s a downright waste, go “Thaaat’s right” and pinch my cheeks! I hope I never wake up アディー・ハディー Adii Hadii

君こそ此の世の全てで　此の世は僕の気分で You’re everything in this world, and this world is based on my whim 飛び出したペンキの模様は　蝶々なんじゃない？ That chipped off paint kind of, looks like a butterfly, doesn’t it?

猿だってシンバルを叩き　誰だって定時で帰れば Nay, even monkeys play the cymbals, nay, even anyone as long as they go home at a normal time 君を待たせないことも　知っているじゃない They won’t keep you waiting, this you know なのになぜかな Although I do wonder why

書き溜めていた全て知ってるノート A notebook full of accumulated knowledge of everything… 試さずに　開かずに　引き出しの奥でくしゃけたんだ I didn’t give it a glance, I didn’t open it at all, I squashed it down into the bottom of my drawer

どーなってんだ心臓は僕らおんなじ数動いていた Whaaa's going on, our hearts were both beating at the same rate 君もそーだよね？「そーだよね」って確め合って　手を当てても It’s downright the same as you, right? “Thaat’s right”, you say as we place our hands on each other’s chests to check, but 及第点の洪水で息をするのも忘れそうなんだ I’d probably forget to even breath in a flood that’s just enough to be classified as a flood 分不相応だよね？「そーだよね」って That’s out of my league, right? “Thaat’s right” you say 忘れさせてねアディー・ハディーが Just let me forget, okay, adii hadii is...

どーなってんだ人類は僕らを置いて明日へ飛んでった Whaaa's going on, humanity's left me behind and made off into tomorrow 君もそーだよね「そーだよね」って確かめ合って手を離した You’re downright the same as me, “Thaaat’s right” you say, as we checked then pulled our hands away 怪獣たちの行進を眺めながら終わればいいんだって Just gaze on at that march of monsters and let it end, you may say but それはソンだよね「そーだよね」ってほっぺつねって！覚めないように That’s a downright waste, go “Thaat’s right” and pinch my cheeks! I hope I never wake up アディー・ハディー Adii Hadii

Footnotes:

It's speculated that the title 'Adii Hadii', which by the books has no definition, is actually a reference to ADHD.

Also there’s no official romanization of this made-up word so I chose to just romanize it literally.

Related Interview:

https://skream.jp/interview/2018/08/village_mans_store_3.php －水野さんのお書きになる歌詞は、意味が理解できるようで掴みどころがなくて、でもひとつひとつの気持ちが根深いことはものすごく伝わってきます。 Interviewer: The lyrics you, Mizuno-san, write, make sense but don’t at the same time. Yet nevertheless it’s obvious that each and every one of the feelings attached are deep intense ones.

水野：あはははは（笑）！ それは俺の人間性が出ちゃってるんだろうな。わかってくれる奴だけわかってくれればいいというわけではないんだけど、ストレートにものが言えないんです。だから聴いてくれた人が何を言いたいのかはわからなくても、聴いたあとに残った気持ちがこうであってほしい――というギリギリのところというか。でも癖がわかると"ここはただの言葉遊びだな"とか"ここはこういうことが言いたいんだろうな"とわかると思います。 Mizuno: Ahahahaha! The human in me is showing then, I guess. It’s not as if I’m just like ‘As long as a few people get me, then it’s fine’ either, It’s just that I can’t express myself straightforwardly. So even if our listeners don’t understand what I’m trying to say, I just want to evoke a certain emotion in them after they hear it— At best. Though, once people learn my tendencies, they can probably tell “Oh he’s just playing with words here.” or “He probably means this here”.

－「アディー・ハディー」は曲調に極上のパーティー感があるけれど、歌っている内容は全然そんなことなくて。 Interviewer: “Adii Hadii” musically sounds like the ultimate party song, yet what you’re singing is nothing reminiscent of that.

水野：俺、頭悪いんですよ。それを歌ったのが「アディー・ハディー」ですね。やろうとしたこと忘れるし、持ってくるもの全部忘れるし、ライヴに衣装も忘れるし、人のことも会話の内容も忘れるし......いろんなことが全然うまくいかなくて。人の気持ちも考えられないし、人が話していると ころも遮っちゃう。 他の人と違う時間で生きている、同じ世界に生きていないなと思うんです。他の人がめちゃくちゃ遠く見えたり、先に先に進んでいくように見えるのに自分だけ15歳のままだったり――普段の生活でそう感じてる人は多いんじゃないかなと思っていて。それを悲しく伝えるのはちょっと違うなと。バカならバカなサウンドでいいかなと思って、こうなりましたね。最初は"水野君すごい"って曲名にしようとしてたんですけど（笑）。 Mizuno: I’m, stupid. And Adii Hadii is me singing about just that. I forget the things I plan to do, I forget all my belongings wherever I go, I forget my clothes for concerts, I forget about people, and I forget whatever it was they were talking about….. I struggle with everything. I struggle to consider peoples’ feelings, and I accidentally interrupt people when they’re talking. I feel like I’m living in a different dimension, like I’m not living in the same world as everyone else. Other people seem so distant, they’re moving forwards and forwards yet I’m still the same as I was when I was 15 years old — I think a lot of people may feel a similar way. It’s kinda wrong to express that in a sad light. Idiots gotta have idiotic music! I thought, and so the song turned out as is. Originally I was going to name the song “Mizuno-kun Sugoi!” though (laughs).

－やはり1曲1曲のエピソードが根深かったです（笑）。 Interviewer: “ Every last song you write really does have a deep story behind it (laugh).

水野：地べたの地べたから生まれている曲ばっかりなんですよ（笑）。普段全然明るい人間じゃないし、うまくいかなかったことの方が断然多い。「すれちがいのワンダー」も東京に対する劣等感だし、電車に乗れば自分以外の人間が全員うまくいっているように見える。 悪いところを上げていったらキリがない。ジャック（Ba）は「アディー・ハディー」について"お前のことを考えながら聴くと涙が出てくる"と言ってきたんですよね。"お前も俺のことそんなふうに思ってたんかーい！"って思ったけど（笑）、自分の悲劇を バカなサウンドにして、それでも伝わったことに安心したんですよね。「アディー・ハディー」みたいな人間が、5人でバンドやれてることが本当に嬉しいです（笑）。 Mizuno: They all come from the pits of the pits so (laughs). Normally I’m not a very bright and cheery person, and obscene amount of things in my life go wrong rather than right. The song “Surechigai no Wonder” is also about how I feel so inferior compared to Tokyo, when I ride the train everyone seems to be doing well in life except for me. If I were to talk about the bad things there’d be no end to it. Jack (their bassist) even told me “When I think about you while listening to ‘Adii Hadii’ I start crying”. I was like “I can’t believe that’s how you thought of mee! (tsukkomi)” (laughs). But I turned my tragedies into this heartily idiotic tune, and I’m relieved that what I wanted to express still got across. I’m just, so happy that an ‘Adii Hadii’-type person like me can still be in a band with my 5 bandmates (laughs).

#ビレッジマンズストア #Village Man’s Store #ADHD Mizuno my beloved

[sylvanfreckles]

No. 21: Famous Last Words

Fandom: My Hero Academia Rating: G Warning: apparent character death (for like a second) Summary: Midoriya wasn't entirely sure how he'd been talked into this, but here he was with Kacchan, Todoroki, and Kirishima hunting for ghosts at an old farmhouse. It was just one haunted house…what could possibly go wrong? (Read on AO3)

First writing in this fandom, woo!

...

The back door of the transport van rolled up, revealing a rainy night and a three-story western-style farmhouse.

“All right, let’s get this over with,” Bakugou leapt down out of the truck and began stalking toward the house.

“Wait, Kacchan!” Midoriya called, scrambling to keep up. “We haven’t talked about the mission objectives yet!”

“What objectives?” With a sneer, Bakugou spun around just enough to glare at his classmates. “We go in, torch this ghost, go back home.”

“We’re just supposed to document it,” Midoriya said. “Besides, if it’s a ghost you can’t kill it.”

“Watch me.”

Kirishima had joined Midoriya on the sidewalk leading up to the house and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, I’ll go with him. Todoroki and I split up the objectives so we can each take half, and you guys just need to worry about documenting the evidence for now.”

“R-right,” Midoriya nodded. “That’s a good plan. Kacchan might listen to you.”

Bakugou’s voice rose in an angry shout when he reached the front of the house. “Why won’t this damn door open?”

Kirishima held up the key to the front door, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh. “Just give us a second before you follow, ‘kay?”

Midoriya nodded and climbed back into the truck to help Todoroki sort through the equipment they’d brought for the mission. Ghost hunting didn’t seem like the sort of thing heroes would normally get involved in, but he supposed they could just consider this a training mission. Not that it made much sense…they’d been transported to an unknown location, couldn’t use their powers, had been given a list of tasks to complete to identify the spirit that was supposedly haunting this house, and were just supposed to leave when they were finished. Not help the spirit pass on, or even trap it, just leave it there for someone else to take care of.

“What is this thing?” Todoroki asked, holding up something about the size and shape of an old TV remote.

“Oh, that’s an EMF meter,” Midoriya explained. He’d watched enough paranormal shows to know what most of this stuff did, though he’d never gone on a ghost hunt before. “Spirits put out electromagnetic waves; this indicates how strong they are.”

“I see.”

“Why don’t I take that,” Midoriya suggested. Todoroki probably hadn’t been given the time to watch silly old ghost hunting shows when he was a child, so he wouldn’t know how to use any of this stuff. “You take the camera and this UV light to look for hidden prints.”

“Do we write our findings down in this?” Todoroki gestured to a leather-bound book with a pen attached by a black ribbon.

“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Midoriya stared at the book. “I think…I think we’re supposed to put it down? If we find where the ghost is?”

He and Todoroki exchanged a puzzled look. “Maybe we’ll come back for that later?” Midoriya suggested. He stared at the equipment sorted on the racks, not quite knowing where to begin. “Kirishima said you divided the mission objectives.”

“Yes,” Todoroki held a small pad of paper out toward Midoriya. “We’re supposed to photograph evidence of the haunting and figure out if any rooms in the house have either high electromagnetic frequency readings or a temperature below freezing.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Midoriya nodded. “There’s a thermometer here, too, what are Kacchan and Kirishima doing?”

Todoroki sighed. “Kirishima took a radio box that he says he can talk to the spirits with, and he has a video camera to look for ‘spirit orbs.’ He said they could try to make direct contact if we could collect the other evidence.”

“Got it.” Midoriya knew Kirishima followed several ghost hunting shows, so he’d be the best choice for the more complicated parts of their mission. “Ready to go?”

“After you.”

Midoriya hopped out of the back of the van and waited while Todoroki jumped down beside him. The house seemed large and foreboding, but there were a few lights on in the windows in the upper levels. He led the way up the sidewalk through the rain to the front door.

It was dark inside. They had flashlights attached to their shoulders, and when Midoriya clicked his on he could see an open room with stairs on the right and a couple of closed doors on the left.

“All right,” he said over his shoulder, keeping his voice low. “Keep the UV light on, shine it on doors and furniture and stuff to look for prints. I’ll check the EMF readings.”

Todoroki nodded, keeping to his left and slightly behind him. Midoriya held the EMF reader out in front of him as they walked through the room, watching the dark purple glow of the UV light out of the corner of his eye.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki hissed.

“I see it.” The UV light illuminated a faint handprint over the light switch on the wall next to one of the doors. “Get a picture.”

The camera’s flash made him jump, and he closed his eyes as the light dazzled him for a second. “See any more?”

“Footprints,” Todoroki gestured to the floor. “They’re heading for that room.”

“Okay.” Midoriya sucked in a breath and blew it out, bolstering his courage. “Should we follow them?”

Todoroki studied the footprints, then carefully panned the UV light around the room. “I don’t see any other clues.”

“Into the room, then.” He hoped Kirishima and Kacchan were okay. Kirishima seemed to know what he was doing, but Kacchan couldn’t exactly fight a ghost. Not right now, at least.

They followed the footprints into the room, pausing for Todoroki to take another few pictures along the way. Beyond the door was a plain, utilitarian room. Metal racks for tools, a washing machine, and a breaker box against the far wall.

Midoriya jumped when something on his belt started shrieking out an alarm. He fumbled for it and pulled up the EMF meter, noticing several of the lights were on. He exchanged a worried glance with Todoroki, and they progressed farther into the room.

His breath came out of his mouth in frosty puffs the further they went. The temperature was dropping, freezing the sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki caught his arm, halting him. “What is that?”

He swallowed, swinging his flashlight around in the direction Todoroki pointed. “Wh-what?”

“There was a shadow, over by the breaker box.”

There was nothing there now. He sidled a little closer to Todoroki as they moved toward the breaker box. The EMF reader in his hand let out a high-pitched squeal, and he held it up in front of them to see that all five lights had lit up.

“Is that bad?” Todoroki asked.

“I think so,” Midoriya hooked the EMF reader back onto his belt and pulled out the thermometer to check the temperature. “Negative two degrees. Guess that means it’s below freezing in here.” The room seemed even darker now. He clenched a fist, wishing he could activate his cowling, even just at a low percentage. Anything to keep from feeling this vulnerable.

Todoroki suddenly swung around, flashlight sweeping around the room. “Did you hear that?”

“What? What!” Midoriya caught his sleeve, hanging on for dear life. “What did you hear?”

“Something breathed in my ear,” Todoroki still sounded calm, but Midoriya was familiar enough with his friend to pick up on the slight change in his expression.

“We should rendezvous with Kirishima and Kacchan,” Midoriya suggested. “We have the evidence we were looking for.”

“Of course,” Todoroki gave a solemn nod. He followed Midoriya out of the room, sticking close to him, still shining his light behind them every now and then to check for more shadows.

They heard the others before they saw them. Kirishima and Bakugou were by the front door, having a hushed but heated argument. When the others grew near, Bakugou flung his hands up. “Finally,” he snarled. “What took you so long?”

Todoroki ignored him. “Did you find anything?” he asked Kirishima.

“Nothing,” Kirishima shrugged. “Lot of static on the ghost box, but I left a couple cameras set up, maybe we’ll catch some activity.”

“You should have been with us,” Midoriya cut in. “We saw everything, right, Todoroki?”

Kirishima’s eyebrows shot up. “Everything?” he leaned forward eagerly.

“Footprints, the EMF reader went up to five, and the temperature was below freezing,” Midoriya explained, ticking the items off on his fingers.

“Oh, dude, that’s excellent!” Kirishima flung an arm around Midoriya’s shoulders and squeezed. “That’s all we needed!”

“You’ve gotta be joking,” Bakugou growled. “I had to sit there while shitty-hair talked to a broken radio, but Deku and Icy-Hot just find everything? Just like that?”

“W-well, I guess we got lucky,” Midoriya started.

“Shut up,” Bakugou shoved away from the wall, stalking into the house. “All right, ghost, I’m not leaving until you show yourself!”

“Kacchan!”

“Bakugou, that’s not a good idea.”

Todoroki raised the camera, pointing it at Bakugou. When Midoriya and Kirishima shot him a look, he just shrugged. “We don’t have a picture of the spirit.”

“I’m serious,” Bakugou yelled. “Come out here and face me, you coward!”

Midoriya opened his mouth to call Bakugou back, but his voice came out as a frightened yelp when his flashlight started flickering.

“Oh, crap,” Kirishima whirled away and tried to open the front door. “It’s stuck.”

Todoroki didn’t seem concerned, and still stood with the camera in his hands. “Is that bad?”

“It means the ghost is hunting us!” Kirishima pushed past the other two. “Bakugou! You’ve gotta calm down!”

Bakugou whirled around and jabbed an angry finger in Kirishima’s direction. “I don’t know how you talked me into doing this, but I’m not just taking Deku’s notes and running out with my tail between my legs. So this ghost needs to—”

His rant was cut-off mid-word. Bakugou’s eyes went wide, and his hands flew to his throat. To Midoriya’s horror, he started spasming and choking as though he couldn’t breathe, and he seemed to lift a few inches off the ground.

There was a bright flash of light, illuminating the shadow behind Bakugou, as Todoroki calmly took a picture.

Bakugou’s body dropped, the shadow vanished, and Midoriya’s flashlight was a strong, steady beam again.

“Kacchan…” he started forward, but Kirishima caught him by the arm.

“Let’s go!” Kirishima forced him around and shoved him out the door, which opened easily now.

“We should check on him,” Midoriya protested. “He might be alive!”

“He’s dead.” Kirishima sounded oddly cheerful. “Let’s get in the van and get out of here.”

Midoriya climbed in and sat down on the floor, far enough back from the door that the other two boys could get in. “That was horrible.”

“Nah,” Kirishima grinned down at him as he slapped the keypad near the door. “I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Todoroki sat next to Midoriya, idly checking the pictures he’d taken. “It might be interesting to try again.”

Midoriya let out a shaky sigh and rested his head back against the wall. The room around them went dark, then he blinked his eyes as light slowly filtered through transparent headset he’d been wearing for the game.

“Dammit!” Bakugou cursed nearby, shoving up out of his chair and wrenching his headset off. “All right, we’re going again!”

“Dude, chill,” Kirishima laughed. “We’ve got this place booked for another hour, there’s no rush.”

“No way,” Bakugou shook his head. “I’m not gonna let Deku beat me in this.”

“Aren’t we all on the same team?”

“Pipe down, Icy-Hot!”

Midoriya let out a shaky laugh. “I might need a minute before we go again.” He pulled his headset off and turned it around in his hands. “That was really something.”

“Immersive VR at its finest,” Kirishima announced proudly. “Okay, let’s do something really scary. How about the asylum level?”

Bakugou threw himself down in his chair and shoved his headset back on his head. “Let’s do it.”

“Midoriya?” Todoroki looked at him questioningly.

He managed a smile. “I guess it could be fun?”

It was just a game, after all. What’s the worst that could happen?

#whumptober2022 #no.21 #famous last words #my hero academia #fic #apparent character death #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro #midoriya izuku #todoroki shoto #friendship #fear #ghost hunting #inspired by phasmophobia #strangulation #bakugo ain't afraid of no ghost #cinnamon roll todoroki

[tipsycad147]

Grounding in under a minute: Energetic quick fixes

by Michelle Gruben

If you've done even basic energetic or ritual work, you're probably familiar with the practice of grounding.  Grounding allows excess psychic energy to be released and re-establishes contact with the physical body.  It's especially important after energy transfers, trance work, and group rituals.

While beginners often disdain grounding practices as un-magickal, experienced workers know that it's an essential part of healthy, sustainable psychic work.  Neglecting to ground properly most often results in a mildly unpleasant "spaced-out" feeling.  But it can also lead to loss of appetite, entity attachments, fatigue, and other more serious side effects.

Grounding works best and feels best when it's done in a controlled, deliberate manner.  Most practiced Witches can ground themselves with simple visualization and Will.  But there are times when you may need to ground in a hurry--like when confronted with an overwhelming amount of energy, or when your normal visualizations just aren't working to get you back inside your skin.  There also may be times, at group rituals, for instance, when you need to help a less experienced person to ground.

Here's a "cheat sheet" of grounding shortcuts, roughly arranged from most gentle to most jarring:

1. Touch yourself.

(No, not like that.) Light touch reminds you of the edges of your physical body.  It is a very easy and effective way to start the grounding process.  Rub your arms and torso with your palms, pat your hair, and pull gently on your fingers, lightly clap your hands together.  When working energy with a partner, you can take turns doing this for each other.

2. Look in a mirror.

Like touch, looking in a mirror reminds you who and where you are.  Try brushing your hair and touching or washing your face and hands.  The morning ritual of grooming is an especially good way to come "back to Earth" after a night of active dreaming.

3. Hug a tree.

With roots buried in the soil, trees have a role in many, many grounding meditations.  If you can find an actual tree, then you have a willing helper in your grounding efforts.  (At least, I hope it's willing, because it can't go anywhere!)  Trees have a natural energetic flow through their roots, branches and leaves.  Place your chest or back (or the palms of your hands) against the trunk of the tree and breathe deeply.  The tree's energetic channels will catch up your excess energy and send it earthward and skyward, without any effort at all on your part.

4. Eat something.

Have a few sips of juice or nibble on some bread.  The act of digestion helps restore the body to its natural physical functions.  Go slow and don't choke:  Trance states tend to suppress the swallowing reflex.  (If you've ever seen someone drooling while in trance--well now, you know why.)

In my experience, psychic work usually diminishes the appetite--but the opposite can happen as well.  If intense hunger strikes as you're grounding, pace yourself.  It won't help to replace an energy rush with a carb rush.  Later, a full meal will help you ground completely.  

5. Alcohol.

Of course, alcohol isn't suitable for everyone (or allowed in all traditions), but it's very effective way to ground quickly.  Alcohol slows down the body's rate of vibration and gently closes the psychic centers.  It's no coincidence that rituals all over the world--from Catholic Mass to business negotiations--end with a sip or two of the strong stuff.

6. Wrap up in a blanket.

Grounding too quickly can result in sudden, unpleasant chills (or even mild shock).  There's also an icky "skinless" feeling that comes from being too psychically open when you don't want to be.  Covering your entire body helps in both cases.  A warm blanket or shawl will ward off shivers, and give you a sense of enclosure until your auric shield is back to normal.

7. Salt.

Place a pinch of salt on your tongue.  Salt represents the element of Earth and is very useful for grounding quickly--hence its place on many Wiccan altars.  Strongly sour and bitter foods have a similar effect.

8. Iron. (Yuck!)

I learned this one from a Feri Witch who kept an iron nail on his altar to ground with after trance journeys. (I later adopted an iron railroad spike for my own toolkit.)  Iron is especially effective for Fey-natured practitioners, but it works on everyone.

Iron resonates with the blood and is one of the most strongly protective and Earth-y substances on the planet.  Grabbing an iron bar, or putting on a necklace of iron will slam the door on any open energetic connections and ground you in a hurry.  It's unpleasant and should be reserved for when other methods aren't working.  If the touch of raw iron is too much, you might want to work instead with an iron-containing gemstone Hematite, Red Jasper, or Carnelian.

9. Cold water. (Double yuck!)

Yep, freezing water will bring you back real fast!  A priestess friend tells the tale of a "trance diva" in her grove, who once earned a bucket of ice water over the head for her recurring post-ritual fits.  I don't actually recommend grounding anyone with the full dunk--at least, not if you ever want to work with them again.  A few friendly sprinkles on the hands and face ought to be enough.

I hope you've found this helpful!

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/37361985-grounding-in-under-a-minute-energetic-quick-fixes

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader-insert #rough day #no-droids #smut

[etherealeeknow]

the fwb rules

• rated m for mature

• pairing: fwb!hyunjin x fem!reader

• wc: 4.559

• tw: explicit language, light characterization of an insecure reader, unprotected piv sex (stay safe, lovelies!), fingering & oral (f), nipple play, cream pie— i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: last time i said long fic isn’t my forte and this time i’ll still say the same hahahahaha. but still, i hope i don’t disappoint 🥺 please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes. feedbacks are always appreciated because i’d love to grow! thank you for waiting and enjoy 💞 pretty banner made by my bestie!! ilysm 😽😽😽

• tag list: @charlieshelves @es-kay-zee @formidxble @oh-my-sparkle @bobateastay @http-hyxnjxn @lyralurexrattle @hyunsluvv @healinghyunjin @sailorhyunjinz

—

what happened to the rules?

it didn’t start off like this. you can’t remember when exactly you started wondering about the five word question. all you know is that you were one bite away from gobbling a spoonful of jisung’s ice cream when it struck you: since when did you and hyunjin stop going by the rules? he’s been occasionally texting you out of the blue lately just to know what you’re up to, and today he even asked you to stay the night at his, and as much as you want to believe they’re all normal, again, it didn’t start off like this. from the beginning, you and hyunjin have come up with three rules so your relationship can work: one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking. but look at you now, lying naked and out of breath under his blanket while facing his ceiling, driving yourself insane over the haunted question. you have to get it off your chest somehow, but how? 

“hey, why so serious?” asks the culprit behind your overthinking, causing you to jump slightly over his sudden appearance and your hands instinctively pull up the blanket to cover your naked chest, which as a result, makes him chuckle. cute. “here. it’s my cousin’s,” adds the topless man as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands you a white shirt that even under the dim light, you can already tell won’t fit you.

“your cousin? the model? hyunjin, she’s tiny,” you utter, hands still gripping onto the blanket. “i’m—“

“you,” he cuts you off, placing a hand on top of yours while carefully glancing at you to make sure you there aren’t any signs of discomfort. “are fine, y/n. now hurry up. i’m sleepy,” he adds before letting go, leaving behind a lingering warmth on your knuckles.

nodding, you turn your back on him to change, and the room falls silent, causing you to hear how fast your heart is thumping even more than it should have. is it because you had too much coffee this morning? or it can probably be because the shirt is too tight that it’s cutting off your air circulation, right? right, of course. you tell yourself because as much as you dislike both reasons, they are still far better than having hyunjin as the cause.

once you’re done, hyunjin already has his back lying against the bedhead, his head tilting slightly to the side, avoiding the light coming from the night lamp on the bedside table, while his eyes bore deeply into yours. unbothered that he’s been caught staring, he averts his gaze downwards till they reach your chest and spot how your nipples are sticking out through the thin fabric.

“see? it fits you just fine,” he says, turning his vision back to your face as he opens his arms and motions them at you, only to have you remain in the same position with your increasing heartbeat.

“aren’t you gonna, uh, wear something?”

instead of a proper answer, all you get is his laugh—hyunjin’s contagious laugh that usually always succeeds in making you laugh too. but today hits differently. has his laugh always sounded this lighthearted before? no matter what the answer is, one thing for sure is that despite how sweet hwang hyunjin and his laugh are, they have never made your cheeks burn like this before, and this is forbidden. it’s against the rules.

“an hour ago we were naked while sucking each other’s face, y/n,” he finally answers after a while. “besides, i always sleep like this. now, come on,” he adds, repeating the same gesture, except this time his hands are open wider, eager to have you near him again because the space around him is starting to make him feel lonely.

complying with him, you fall into his embrace and hyunjin immediately lets his hands travel to the exact places of where they want to be—one around your head and the other around your waist. despite the room turning less cold with his warmth directly passing onto you, your heart and cheeks conditions remain the same especially since you can hear how hyunjin’s heartbeats are beating just as fast as yours when he lets you lay your head on his chest.

“hyunjin,” you call out, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“y/n,” he replies, replacing the collar with his fingers instead, intertwining them with yours.

what happened to the rules?

“do... do fwb do these?” you ask, the bravery in you finally decide to show up, even just for a little.

“do this?” he asks back while squeezing your hand with all his might, as if he’s nervous.

no. not ‘this’, but ‘these’. not only the hand grabbing, but also the fact that he asked you to stay the night, that he’s cuddling you to sleep, and that you’ve been getting unusual symptoms over them until this very moment.

“yes, this,” you nod and hyunjin becomes muted, but his heartbeats are growing louder, and his grip on you has become tighter.

after what feels like forever, he whispers, voice slightly cracking, and hands getting a little colder, “yes. yes, they do.”

then the two of you become muted, but both heartbeats keep growing louder, and everything stays that way until sleep eventually takes over.

—

as a homebody, you’ve always against the idea of sleepovers. you believe home is the sweetest place and your own bed is the comfiest even when your mattress is older than a decade and your favorite plushie has had too many holes here and there. but waking up in hyunjin’s bed has broken your stigma—never in your whole life that you’d have thought someone else’s bed can provide you twice the comfort.

“looks like someone had a good sleep,” chirps jisung as he sits beside you, causing you to wipe off the smile on your face before going back to your laptop.

“wow suddenly my best friend’s a psychic?”

“hey, that’d actually make a great drama title!” he exclaims and you roll your eyes. “please do spill the tea though. what happened?” he adds.

“what happened?” you ask back, eyes still on the screen, but the corner of your lips are on the verge of breaking into the smile, knowing full well he’ll complain—which he does by lamely calling you a meanie.

laughing, you tell him nothing happened, but the way he rolls his eyes is a sign he’s not taking any of your bullshit. you are telling the truth though. besides spending the night with each other, nothing really happened, right? it was just another casual fucking session. yes, it was amazing, but that’s no news for jisung. the guy’s practically your wingman—setting you up with hyunjin was his idea because he believes you should, “live your life. have that dreamy college sex orelse you’ll regret it like my old man changbin!”

right on cue, a notification popped out on your big screen, and the sender’s name makes your heart pop too.

“aha, see!” jisung points at it. “y/n, where are you?” he reads out loud, earning yourselves all the eyes from every other student in class.

“oh my god, jisung. shut up!” right when you’re about to log out from the chat app, hyunjin sends another one.

“can i call you?” jisung reads once more and you’re only one second away from smacking his head, but your vibrating phone holds you back.

shooting jisung a glare, you make sure to close your laptop before leaving the class, answering hyunjin’s call even when you’re still half way through the door. right when you’re about to greet him hello, hyunjin beats you to it—his voice a bit raspy, but the softness in his tone still lies within, and it creates endless questions in your mind.

has he just woken up? so is this how he sounds in the morning? why is he calling?

and the list goes on because this isn’t like hyunjin at all. sure, he’s not validating the rules, but he’s breaking his character despite already alarming you to anticipate morning booty calls from him at times. he’s never actually done that though. 

“hi,” you reply, startling yourself with how small your voice came out.

“you left,” says hyunjin and you can hear him sighing from the other line, which somehow causes a slight pang in your heart, wondering if perhaps he is disappointed. “can you come back? wait, actually, let me go to you instead.” he says and you can hear the rustling sounds coming from his side.

“hyunjin, i have class. that’s why i left. i—” should you apologize? but why should you? casual, no strings attached, and no fucks given, remember? “i’m sorry.”

“oh.” hyunjin stops on his track before plopping back down onto the bed, smiling. “i’ll pick you up after class then. when will you finish?”

unconsciously, a smile creeps up your face too, but the realization hits you right after, then followed by the five word question, and you know—you know this is your guts telling you that now’s the time to ask him about it, but your heart hates confrontation. plus, wouldn’t it be rude to reply to someone else’s question with a question? “hyunjin, are you, uh, horny?”

just like yesterday, hyunjin laughs, and with the raspiness in his voice still present, he doesn’t fail to make you laugh along, but at the same time waking the butterflies in your stomach and makes you rethink your decision. mayhaps, you should’ve left him a note or told him that you’ll leave early in the morning; or even, you should’ve ditched classes today and stayed so when he wakes up, you can get him a glass of water, not leaving the boy uncared for like this. but who are you to do so? 

“isn’t it normal for a guy to have a morning wood?” he jokes before quickly adding that he’s not horny. “i just want to see you so let me go get you.”

pressing your lips together, you contemplate on whether you should let him. if you do, won’t you be turning whatever the two of you have right now into something far more complicated? but it’s only until hyunjin adds a desperate “please?” that all of your dilemma disappears, as if you’re being cast into his spell—“okay.”

—

while heading to the gate, you have the biggest urge to book a massage appointment. dodging jisung’s questions and running away from him after the first period was draining, but having to spend the day running back and forth between two buildings because thinking that volunteering as the lecturers’ teaching assistant was draining on a whole new level. other than feeling like your legs are gonna come off, your mind also feels like it’s gonna blow off—you can’t stop recalling all the things you need to start working on as soon as possible, but stepping into hyunjin’s car turns everything to 180 degrees.

you’d like to think that it’s because of the faint lavender aroma coming from his car freshener along with the heavenly cool air conditioner, but no. you know full well it’s because of the way hyunjin’s smile lit up, his eyes disappear into two small crescent moons, and his blonde hair which is becoming one with the warm orange sky that brings peace to your heart.

“hi,” he breathes out the moment you close the door, and you do the same except for looking at him, which causes hyunjin to furrow his eyebrows while speeding away.

the way home is silent, just the way you like it, but you know full well that it’s not hyunjin’s cup of tea. he doesn’t need to say it, his action is showing it all as he’s been fidgeting non stop, wiping his sweaty palm along his jeans while occasionally licking his plump lips. hyunjin’s a very vocal person. he’s talkative and loud—including in bed. you press your warm cheeks over the realization of your own thoughts, embarrassed. you can’t possibly suspect hyunjin for being horny in the morning when you yourself are being like this in the afternoon. it’s uncalled for.

noticing you from the corner of his eye, hyunjin calls out, asking you if there’s anything wrong, totally catching you off guard. what should you say? lying is not your forte, but being honest clearly isn’t the best option right now, at least, not before you shower and appear presentable in front of him—but wait, since when did that matter so much? a few months ago, you even fucked after you ran a marathon.

“y/n?” calls hyunjin for the second time.

“look, hyunjin, really, it’s okay if you’re horny. you can pull over and i can, uh, relieve you and i can just take the bus home after,” you spit out shamelessly while looking at him straight in the eyes, eager to get far away from hyunjin as fast as possible before you go out of your mind.

just like the night before, hyunjin laughs. and just like the night before, his laugh hits differently and it does nothing other than burning your already burnt cheeks for the worse.

“i swear to god, y/n, i’m not horny. i genuinely want to take you home. nothing more,” explains hyunjin, head straight at the road but eyes repeatedly stealing glances at you. “and nothing less,” he adds, voice barely audible but you caught it.

“o— oh.” is all you manage to respond before the ride quickly turns quiet and hyunjin’s hands begin fidgeting again, all the while you’re trying to decode what he has just said—what does he mean by genuinely wanting to take you home? do fwb do this too? what happened to no fucks given?—and it goes on until hyunjin hits the break in front of your old apartment building.

“we’re here,” says hyunjin, breaking the silence by unlocking the car door.

“we’re here,” you repeat after him, already opening the door and setting a foot out. “uh, thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” hyunjin shoots you his signature smile the moment you lower yourself to meet his eye level from outside the car; this time, you have no choice but to fall under his spell.

“hey, uh, you wanna come in?” you ask, biting your lower lip as a way to punish yourself for being so indecisive. one second you want to run away from him and the next second you want to be near him. come on, get a grip.

as if the punishment isn’t enough, hyunjin declines your offer, all while chuckling with his head thrown back. “for the third time, y/n. i’m not horny. go in and rest up.” 

“if you say so.” you shrug, giving him a small smile before turning around, making sure not to look back, only to fail when you hear the engine driving away.

—

you can’t quite tell—no, you can’t tell. you don’t get it. there’s an unexplainable empty space in your heart that is caused by hyunjin’s rejection. is it because you’re just not used to see him without having to fuck him? or is it because you’re hurt over the fact that he’s not in the mood to touch you? is it because of last night? is he finally sick of your flaws? things would probably be different if you had retouched your makeup or at least combed your hair before seeing him, would they? either way, you’re fully aware you shouldn’t be torn over your friend with benefits, yet your aching heart says otherwise.

and so when the doorbell rings only a few seconds after you get in and the figure you see through the peephole is no other than the man in question, you spare no time to swing the door open. hyunjin, in return, spares no time to lock his lips with yours right after he utters a brief apology. just like the way hyunjin sneaks his playful hands down your ass, you sneak your tongue in his mouth, and your action makes him smile into the kiss as he leads you back into the room and kicks the door shut with his long legs.

the way to your bedroom is actually pretty short, but with your tongues moving in sync, bodies pressing—glued, even, and eyes continuously closing in pleasure, the short way to your bedroom consists of endless stumbling, tripping, and bumping the door. once inside, you break the kiss and are about to undress yourself when hyunjin beats you to it, settling you down on the bed as he begins taking off your attire one by one ever so effortlessly. and in just a matter of seconds, his lips are back on yours again, floral scented hair falling and brushing against your cheeks, leaving you no time to wonder over the fact that it’s the first time hyunjin has ever undressed you. 

as the kiss continues, you can feel yourself gushing more and more that you start grinding on him mindlessly, needing to feel more than just his bulge poking you. your hands leave his blonde strands to tug on his hoodie, only to have him stop you—one hand around your grip and the other rests on your hip.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

“need you. need to feel you,” you mumble, desperation so visible through your cracked voice. 

“what happened to the girl who was all flustered to sleep with me last night just because i was shirtless?”

autumn nights aren’t supposed to be hot, but hyunjin has proven he has the power to make the impossible happen just with his words and mocking smirk. but the rising heat on your cheeks is nothing compared to the emptiness you feel below, clenching around nothing surely isn’t the best feeling.

“please, jinnie,” you whine, tugging on his hoodie once more, hips moving against his hold.

“fuck.” is all he manages to say before getting off the bed to disrobe himself—hoodie and track pants thrown across the room, now showcasing his toned body and thighs altogether as he hovers over you.

“please take this off too. it looks suffocating,” you say, index finger running faintly through the bulge forming from his tight boxer, making it stand up even more and hyunjin has no choice but to obey you. “put your hair up too please,” you add just when he’s about to dive right back in, and again, your wish is his command.

biting to pull off his hair tie from his wrist, hyunjin smoothly ties his hair back and you’re only given a few seconds to admire his feature before his plump lips coming in contact with your hardened nipple while he toys with the other using his fingers—rubbing and pinching, making your breath hitch over the sensation, fingers digging into his bare shoulders because you don’t want to mess up his hair, and hyunjin’s low grunts pretty much indicate he’s loving it.

“more, please. give me m—”

hyunjin retreats his hand and tongue away from your breast, moving them to your naked pussy,  drawing circles on your outer labia with his middle finger. he teases you just enough and quickly slides in his digit and at the same time sucks on your clit right before you’re about to complain, making you tingle from head to toe.

“you hear that?” he asks, voice muffled, the effect of being too tongue tied from licking every part of your heat, but finger working its magic perfectly, creating loud wet noises from your fluid. “drenched. my pretty y/n is drenched,” says hyunjin, and as much as you want to comment on him for the pet name, you’re too caught up on how his lips vibrate against you the moment he starts palming himself with his unoccupied hand. if he keeps it up, you know you would come undone there and then, and you don’t want that—not yet. so you ask him to stop and he instantly does as told.

“what’s wrong? did i hurt you?” there’s fear written across his expression and heard from his tone, but you’d like to believe your eyes and lips are just playing tricks on you.

“n— no. i just,” you pause to avoid his gazes, but something within you pulls your attention back on him. “i wanna cum with you inside me,” you confess, voice barely audible due to embarrassment; all this time, it’s always been hyunjin to say such things, but perhaps, all the strange tension lately has finally gotten the best of you. you hear him mutter a low “fuck” while his pupils shakes for a brief moment before they somehow appear a shade darker. licking his lower lip, hyunjin pulls you by your legs and rests them on his shoulders, and proceeds to align his tip with your entrance, once again teasing your throbbing core.

the moment you whine is the moment hyunjin pushes himself inside ever so gently, but the stretching still has you throwing your head back, while hyunjin letting our airy moans upon your walls clenching around him. none of you can tell how it’s possible for your vagina to remain so tight after all the countless fucking session for the past half year, but hyunjin doesn’t find that troubling. in fact, he lives for that and it shows from the way his eyes roll to the back of his head as he begins thrusting in and out of you—slowly but steady, veiny hands secured on your hips, vision goes back and forth from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

hyunjin leans down to kiss you for a couple of seconds, and when he lets go, he quickens his pace—leaning down once more so his length can go deeper in you, hitting your g-spot. at that very moment, you mentally praise yourself for placing the bedroom mirror right across the bed. it presents you with the magnificent view of hyunjin’s rounded, firm ass bouncing rhythmically whenever he snaps his hips, and placing your hands around them, squeezing them, nearly makes you drool over the sight. with hyunjin constant thrusts, the familiar knot in your abdomen starts to bubble up.

“oh my god,” the two of you whimper in unison as hyunjin begins to lose his tempo, moves also grow sloppy, but never once misses your spot.

“y/n, i— ah— i’m so close. fuck,” he breathes out, sweat forming on his forehead, wetting his baby hair down to his neck and chest, and you can only drool helplessly at the sight.

“me too. please cum inside me, cum with me, hyunjin, please, please,” you beg, voice a pitch higher, almost sounds like you strain your throat, and it stays the same. when you feel hyunjin twitch inside you, your hands automatically reach for the bed sheet again, but it only lasts for a second before they’re being taken by hyunjin’s own hands—he has never done this. while intertwining your fingers, his cock twitches again and his eyes roll to the back of his head, jaw falls open as he calls out your name—you naturally do the same, fingers pressing flat against his white knuckles

“hyu—”

“cum, baby,” he cuts you off, averting his hazy eyes on you, and that’s all it takes for you to break—your orgasm washes over you like waves and you cum undone around hyunjin, shaking and mewling altogether while feel the wet coldness around your inner thigh. hyunjin follows right after, shooting his hot cement inside of you; the man can no longer keep his eyes open as he buries his face on the crook of your neck, his choked moans bring music right to your ear all a while his hot breaths bring goosebumps to your unrecovered body.

after riding out your highs, none of you move. hyunjin stays on top of you, his chest rises and falls according to your hard breathing. somehow, it’s calming you down, but it shouldn’t.

“hyunjin, you’re heavy.”

“oh, sorry,” he chuckles and even without looking, you can tell his eyes are smiling too. with his remaining strength, hyunjin pushes himself up and rests on your thighs to pull his dick out of you, momentarily admiring the mixture of his juice and yours dripping down your cunt before fixing his eyes on you to study your face—also something he has never done before. 

“i’m sorry,” he mutters a few moments later, eyes now on you.

tilting your head, you sit up, resting your upper body with your hands on the bed. “all of a sudden? i came? you always make me feel good.”

“that’s what i’m sorry about. i— i didn’t mean to— i mean, i—”

you reach out to him, gently patting his thigh. “hyunjin, calm down. this isn’t like you,” you whisper the last sentence, knowing that perhaps, now’s the time to talk things out, to stop whatever is going on, and go back to how things are used to be, maybe? your heart’s just been restless for too long and apparently, hyunjin seems to be in a similar situation too.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to keep using you like this. i genuinely meant what i said. i only wanted to take you home, but we ended up here and—”

“isn’t that what fwb do?” you pull your hand off his thigh, and a frown painted across his face as if he’s questioning your question. “that’s what we agreed on. we have our fwb rules, remember?”

“one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking,” says hyunjin, proving he has memorized every words to the back of his mind.

nodding, you carefully bring back your hand to his thigh, repeating the same movement you did before. “exactly. so you don’t have to be sorry. don’t worry, i’m not feeling used at all.” you end it with a smile.

hyunjin mirrors you, he smiles too; his eyes fall to where your hand is. “but what if i’m breaking them? the rules,” asks the boy whose cold hand is now on top of your warm one. “what if i like you?” his eyes find their way back to you, and that’s when you know. the difference between your temperatures; the difference between your smile and his—the sadness that lies within.

that’s when you understand. everything finally makes sense; every one of hyunjin’s unusual acts. the constant texts and calls, the undressing, the pet names, the facial expression, the hand holding.

what happened to the rules? feelings. that’s what happened. to hyunjin, it’s his feelings over the rules.

but you, what about you? the butterflies, the irregular increasing heartbeats, the flushing cheeks, the overthinking, the disappointment at some point.

“y/n,” hyunjin calls out and you don’t get to get back to him because he’s already an inch away from you, momentarily eyeing your lips before he closes the distance. once again, his blonde hair falls down, brushing against his cheek before meeting yours and it tickles you, but not in the same way as how his kiss tickles your heart; giddy.

what happened to the rules? unwanted feelings. that’s what happened. to you, it’s the unwanted feelings against the rules. and for now, the unwanted feelings are too strong for you to push him away, so you pull him close instead. for now.

—

gen’s masterlist

repeating this!! special note: HUGE THANK YOU for my awesome bestie for the banner 🥺💞💞 ily, bish!! thank you for being my beta reader too 😽😽😽

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