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ethereal-night-fairy · 6 months

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Silver Tongues, like Bullets

Werewolf!141 x female reader

Trusting four men in the forest when you were lost was possibly the stupidest thing you could have ever done. Now you find yourself scrambling to escape their clutches.

Warnings: MDNI, Dark themes, implied kidnapping, manipulation, hunting, mild injuries, manhandling, non-sexual touching, non-con touching.

The lovely @gogh-with-the-flow came up with the name for this. (I love you xoxo 💋)

Silver Tongues like Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 3.7k

-27/11/2023 present time

Your feet race through the jagged terrain trying to find any hint of a trail to lead you back into town. Though it was near impossible to see. Your only friend was the crescent moon creating a gentle stream of light to guide your steps as you hurried across, dodging trees and bushes. The air sliced against your skin like icicles but you know you couldn't stop. They might be hot on your trail. You could almost envision their hot breaths coming out in pants as their morphed forms chased after you. Large bodies on all fours tearing up the forest in pursuit of your scent. But they weren't behind you, they couldn't be you haven't heard them in a short while. It was a miracle you even managed to evade their claws this long. God knows how you managed to get this far.

Had someone warned you that you'd be chased by four beasts who you had sought help from at one point you'd think they've gone completely mad. Maybe you've gone completely mad. Maybe this was all a dream and your brain is just trying to wake you up. Your legs were numb from the cold but you continued running, you couldn't stop, not now. You prayed that you'd just wake up in your warm bed. To your cozy home and familiar town. You ran through a particularly thorny bush, creating small cuts all over your arms. But you still continued even though all you wanted to do was lay down and hide somewhere until morning. Until you could see clearly and find a way back. You crane your neck trying to make out sounds over your laboured breathing and pounding heart. The blood rushing into your ears was making it difficult to hear anything noteworthy. Maybe you had lost them or maybe they thought you were too much trouble and had gone back but you were thankful nonetheless.

The trees start to thin and your heart feels like it'll force its way out of your chest. Were you approaching a road? A trail? It didn't matter your force to your legs to run faster. When you finally break through the treeline and onto the dark road you look around frantically. Cars!? Were there any cars nearby? You try to listen to the best of your ability as you calm down your breathing. Hot breaths condensing into the cold night. Your legs felt like jelly and standing up straight was proving to be a problem. You crouched down slightly, giving yourself a moment when you finally hear the smooth rumble of an engine. The light blinded you for a second when you saw the vehicle turn from the bend. You cover your eyes but stand off to the side so you don't get hit, waving your other hand like a mad woman hoping to get noticed. The lights get dipped and you get a better look as the truck slows to a stop.

The familiar black truck has your mind reeling. Your blood runs cold much colder than the air that was cutting blood circulation in your toes and fingers. You recognise the truck of your kidnappers. Fate seemed to be enjoying your torment. She wouldn't be putting you in such a predicament if she didn't. The car lights shine on you comically as if you're a criminal that just escaped prison. Before anyone could hop out you turn to run into the forest. It didn't matter how much your limbs hurt, you were going to escape!

You only get two steps in before you're grabbed by the back of your shirt. But you hadn't heard the doors open. Were they out in the forest waiting for you to slip up? Another pair of hands restrains your arms behind your back. You scream and claw trying to weaken their hold. Fighting tooth and nail trying to escape but you just weren't strong enough to rival the two holding you. Your hands were numb, much like the rest of you. You couldn't really feel if your blows were creating any impact.

You only see who grabbed you when you were pushed cheek down on the hood of the car. Soap had your arms twisted behind your back sporting a very deep scratch to his left cheek and many more on his arms that you had left before escaping. Ghost held your neck fully covered in his usual getup. It was firm but alot gentler than Soap. His gloves felt warm against the back of your neck. But you didn't let it placate you. You let out a huff of curse words and try kicking your legs backwards as the truck doors slam shut.

“Aye will ye give it a rest!”, Soap hold you tighter making you wince from the pain. He was clearly angry at you but was holding back for your sake. Wouldn't want to hurt their mate too badly now. You already didn't like them.

“Hands off”, you hear the clear rumble of the Captain's rugged drawl. Suddenly all the warm from your body disappeared, the two men had stepped back giving room to their Captain. Gently a hand ran down your back and spine causing you to shiver. You whine and place your face into your hands knowing you weren't going to escape tonight. You didn't want to look at them and you didn't want them looking at you. The fear and shame of failing was eating away at your insides. Not to mention the punishment that was coming when they finally bring you back to the cabin.

“It's ok luv, we've got you now”, it's Gaz's sweet voice that breaks the tension in the air as Price continues to rub your back gently trying to ground you. You wanted to collapse in on yourself to get as far away as possible as you could from these men. Gaz being the most deceptive of the four. He lured you in with sweet words and promises only to lock you up. You had trusted him when he said he'll get you home. That promise never came to be. How many days has it been now? Maybe weeks have gone by. You couldn't tell anymore the days have started bleeding in together. You wondered if anyone was looking for you.

“Let's get you back now shall we? We can figure out an appropriate punishment when you're safe and sound”, Price's voice vibrated through the silent forest where even the owls gave him authority over the night. You don't know why he was posing it as a question, it wasn't like they were going to listen to you. Your tears obscure your view as you're led to the back seats with Gaz and Soap. Soap stays silent holding one arm while Gaz coos and shushes you gently wiping away your tears holding you close, warming your cold body from being ill dressed in the elements. The truck starts the sound of the engine being the final nail in the coffin on your attempted escape.

- 23/11/2023

The leaves under your feet give a loud *crunch* as you stomp your feet through the familiar hiking trail. You come to a halt when the road breaks up into four different directions. You pick a path and start walking without much of a care. Your latest arguments with your parents had you fleeing to the comfort of the forest. You didn't understand why they wouldn't let you leave, you wanted more from life, more to experience, just more than this tiny town could offer you. You had finally gotten your dream job in the city after working tirelessly to improve your photography portfolio. You did all you could do to make sure you were always the best behaved child. You made it a point to do well in your studies and do your best to make your parents proud. You made sure to get a job a soon as it was legally allowed. You supported yourself throughout college even going as far as giving your parents money when you could spare it. Yet they still denied you their love and support when it came to things you wanted.

Your parents wanted you to stay close for their own convenience. They wanted you to stay to help them rather than pursue your dreams. They've been guilt tripping you since you graduated from college to not to leave town. That they needed your help with your younger siblings. That it was unfair and selfish of you after all they did to raise you into adulthood. That you would never make it in the city. That you wouldn't amount to anything without their help.

Leaves and twigs snap under your feet as you trudge through the rough terrain of the forest. Your anger and frustration carry you onwards despite your fatigue. Your camera in hand as you stop from time to time to take scenic photographs.

Time passes and the sun begins to dip in the sky, you suddenly come to a halt realizing that path you thought you were on now had turned into mud and grass. You quickly glance around trying to figure out what part of the forest you found yourself in. There was no trail in sight. Maybe you had steered off course when you were following that white rabbit. How long had you been walking for? You crane your neck to listen to try to hear some sounds of civilisation, cars, voices, dogs, anything to give you an indication that you haven't gone too far. But you were greeted with the wind rustling through the trees and some small birds chirping. You were too far in. The heavy feeling of dread settled in the pit of your stomach but you refused to let it consume you.

You glance at the sky. It was late afternoon, you knew the sun would be setting in a couple of hours. You wrack your head on what to do.

“Think! Think! What did I learn in scouts? Resources! What resources do i have?”

You pat your pockets to find anything useful. You grab your phone to turn it on again. You didn't have anything else on you except a warm jacket and your camera. Regret was simmering in the back of your mind as to why you stormed out like you did. Your breathing becomes labored as you try to prevent a panic attack. The screen loads up to show you you've missed several calls from your parents and a few from your siblings. Your bars are low so try to get to some higher ground to get a signal to call them back. You climb a tree leaving your camera on the ground nearby to get better reception but you could only manage one bar. You try calling a couple times before the call finally connects.

“Mom? Mom!, I'm in the forest. I think I'm lost. Mom?”, you try to speak but your mother's voice comes back broken and in a static state. She couldn't hear you. You try your best to communicate with the signal you had hoping she could piece together enough broken words to send help. You strain your arm up trying to get a better signal when your foot slips on a branch and you come tumbling down. The call cuts and you groan out in pain.

Your hands scrabble for your phone looking to see if it was damaged. The phone to your utter disbelief had landed on the boulder nearby and had shattered the screen to the point of it being unusable. You curse and shout in anger and frustration at your horrible luck.

You had stayed put after letting out your anger. Hoping that maybe your mom had understood enough to send help. The sun was getting low in the sky, you didn't have anything on you to build a fire or some sort of shelter so your best option was to conserve energy and wait to be rescued or try finding a trail in the morning. Not to mention the nasty bruises you were nursing now. You had tried looking around the vicinity to try to find a trail to follow after your phone broke but it just felt like you were going deeper as the fog got thicker the more you walked. So in the end you had to turn back. Not that it made much of a difference the fog was settling where you sat on a pile of leaves to protect yourself from the cold ground. It was doing very little from starving the cold from your ass though. The warm jacket you wore wasn't feeling so warm anymore as the heat of early autumn was disappearing with the setting sun.

You prayed someone would find you soon or pray that you lived to get back home on your own tomorrow. But with the way the icy wind was chilling you to your bones, you growing weary. Sitting in one place wasn't keeping you warm, you needed to keep moving to create some friction and get blood flowing again. So that's what you did. For the next 20 to 30 mins you jogged on the spot and did some jumping jacks to starve of the cold. And it worked until you tired yourself out and sat down again.

You kept your ears open to in hopeful delusion that you'd hear footsteps or maybe a group of campers in the distance that could help you. You waited and waited craning your neck when you heard the slightest snap of a twig or a whistle that sounded human. But maybe you were going crazy. Or maybe you were actually right and someone else was in the forest. You keep hearing distant whistling but it stops just as quickly as it starts, making you second guess yourself....

You hear the whistle again! And again this time closer! You get up slowly, your legs numb from sitting. You steady your feet the best you can gathering your belongings as you follow the sound of the gentle tune. The sun was setting and you needed to hurry before it got dark.

You weren't paying attention to your surroundings even though you know you should. This was how you got lost in the first place. But in your cold and desperate mind you needed to find the source of the whistling before the night forest claimed you as its own. You stumble and trip as you make your way to the gentle humming that was resonating through the trees now. The fog got thicker and got harder to see but you continued on especially with the blanket of darkness looming closer. The trees seemed to be growing hands the longer you stayed in one spot so you had no choice but to keep moving. The whistling had stopped suddenly, making you panic as you stood still. Thinking your mind was playing tricks on you but then the humming started and you continued to follow the comforting sound. You couldn't find a direction to follow without it. It was difficult to see more than a couple feet from where you were standing with the fog so thick. You had tripped and fallen many times scraping and bruising yourself further. You probably looked a sight. At least your camera was ok. It was probably running low on charge though.

In the distance you saw the soft glow of fire? Or some sort of lamp, you didn't know and you didn't care. You continue to approach it. Light meant civilisation right? Someone lived here, you could ask them for help. With the distance you had trekked today you hadn't realised how sore you were especially now that the adrenaline had worn off and your tender muscles were screaming from the falls you endured. The ground underneath you evened out a little as you got closer and it became much easier to walk.

Finally you reached the clearing. And look up towards the large cabin in front of you. The fog surrounded it ominously but you didn't seem to care. Your mind wasn't functioning properly due to the cold. You beeline for the open fire once you see it. You glance around quickly to see if anyone was around but there wasn't. But meat was roasting on the fire as you fell to your knees trying to get blood flowing to your fingertips. You glance at the cabin when you warmed up enough, there was a single oil lantern on the entrance but the cabin itself was dark. As if no one was inside. But there was a truck parked up on the side. You've never seen this cabin before, was it always here? Or perhaps you've never come close to this section of the forest to really notice. The best option was to wait for whoever was cooking this meat you think to yourself. Guessing from the size of the freshly cut meat it might be for a small group. You hoped as much anyway; a group of friends enjoying a trip to a cabin. You sat near the fire staying warm salivating from the smell, you hadn't eaten anything since early morning today. It was beginning to take a toll on you.

The soft whistling started again from the edge of the forest where the trees dwarfed the cabin. You hastily get up to get away from the fire not wanting to come across as rude to your potential saviors. You stand there awkwardly waiting for someone to emerge from the tree line, rubbing your hands together while blowing on them.

The heat in your lungs condenses into steam as you let out huffs of air. A figure emerges from the fog, someone tall wearing a red flannel shirt carrying wood and an ax. It's only when he gets closer do you notice does he sniff the air and stop dead in his tracks to look up. His coal eyes pierce you with great intensity. You stare back not really comprehending the situation. You wanted to say something, to let him know you weren't a threat, just someone who was lost and needed a little help.

But your throat seized up and the chilly air freezing up in your lungs preventing you from speaking. The temperature took a dip despite you being near the fire. He took long measured steps towards you as you stood frozen and unable to look away or speak.

Your mouth hung open trying to get words out but it felt like your muscles had stopped working. His eyes glowed orange from the fire as he got closer, his muscular body standing taller as he approached shoulders drawn back in a defensive stance. His dark skin looked radiant under the glow of the embers, his sweat shining on his exposed chest where two buttons were undone. You look down at your feet when your eyes locked with him for the briefest second. You don't think he appreciated you ogling his toned body.

He crouches down, adding a few logs to the dwindling flames and tossed the rest and the ax to the side like it weighed nothing. He got up again and fixed you with a stare, posture still defensive. Waiting for you to say something.

“I'm lost”, the words finally left your mouth in a hurry not wanting to anger this man when you were hoping to receive his help. “I-I didn't m-mean to intrude, I-I just heard some whistling. And I t-thought maybe you c-could help me find my way back”, you stuttered a response even through your nerves as the man continued to stare for a bit, his eyes dissolving of hostility.

“What town are you from?”, he asks gently while rotating the meat.

“Milster”, you say softly hoping he'd know the way back.

“Night has fallen and the forest is covered in a thick fog. We won't be able to show you the road back until morning”, he explains gently while proding the meat.

“We?”

As if on cue you see two more well built men appear from the three lines just like the man in front had a few minutes ago. They were all 6 feet or taller by reference to your own height. The blond one, a head taller than his friend.

It felt kinda intimidating that all of them were so fit. One had a knit mask over his face while the other was rocking a very questionable mohawk. Another man appears behind them with a very old fashioned beard but it suited him. He had a rugged charm about him and a friendly face to compliment it. They were all conversing while bringing in their hunt, not particularly paying attention to what was in front of them. The man roasting the meat goes over to where they were.

They came to a halt a few meters away from you. They all turn their head to bore their eyes into yours. You swear they glowed an amber hue for a second. You awkwardly shift your feet from side to side not knowing what to do. After they shared a couple hushed words they all came over towards the fire. The one with the mohawk came towards you while the others stayed on the other side of the burning wood, analyzing you but not in a hostile way. Almost as if they were viewing a small animal in the wild. Except for the mohawk, his eyes told another story.

He circled you like he was sizing up prey. A cold shiver made its way down your spine despite the heat from the rekindled fire. Your nerve endings were screaming at you to run or hide, muscles twitching in your legs trying to get you to move. He finally came in front of you again making direct eye contact. His ocean eyes transfixing you in your place. His boyish smirk exposed his overly sharp canines. It unnerves you completely.

You shouldn't be here! You shouldn't have asked for help! But before you can backtrack and leave the area his deep Scottish accent rings out.

“Aw ah poor little bunny, lost are ye? Dinnae worry we'll help ye find yer way home."

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junkdrawerfics · 9 months

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First Suspicions

And final findings.

Summary: Two instances when your curiosity gets the best of you and Jasper has to distract you from the truth. And one instance when he's not there to do so. Curiosity might just be the thing that kills you.

Words: 1768

Note: I like this part a lot more, so I hope you guys also enjoy it! I tried to do a quick but believable process of discovery. Longer note at end.

Also @little-miss-loves-fictional-men your comment on my last post almost made me cry. Thank you for that.

---

“So you’re not related to your siblings, right?”

A month into the semester, and Forks feels like home already. Largely in part to Jasper, not that you’ll ever tell anyone that, especially him. It took only a few days for you to become fast friends. Being around him felt easy, maybe because he never seems to judge you for your odd habits, or maybe just because he’s one of the kindest, most empathetic people you’ve ever met.

Whatever it is, your friendship quickly breaks from the confines of the school. Whether it be studying at you new favorite coffee shop - though you’re thinking of going somewhere else since he rarely wants a drink or anything - or going on a walk through the woods as you’re doing now.

Jasper offers a wry smile as he helps you over a large log, “Just Rosalie, I’m afraid.”

You shoot him a disapproving look, though he catches the glimmer of laughter in your eyes, “Don’t be mean, Jasper Hale. She doesn’t seem that bad.”

It is strange though. Except for their matching gold hair, there’s not a singular similarity between him and Rose. They’re honestly the most different out of the family, personality-wise at least. Maybe that’s normal for siblings though.

“No, I suppose she’s not,” Jasper murmurs, looking up at the sky, which is practically hidden behind the canopy of pine needles. “Though I’d much rather listen to Edward go on about Bella than her talk about herself.”

Bella Swan. The girl who moved to Forks just one year before you. You have a class with her, and you honestly like her quite a bit. While you’re both awkward, it’s nice to know someone else who’s close with the Cullens.

And she might know things that could answer your growing list of questions.

Like why are they all so pale? Why do they avoid most of the school? Why do you never see them on the rare sunny days Forks gets?

“So why do you ask about my siblin’s darlin’?” Ah. Right. You weren’t being too subtle, you guess.

“I just think it’s crazy how similar you all look,” you explain, keeping your eyes glued to your shoes. Mud sticks to the sides, both dry and wet. You’ve been walking for a while now. “I mean, you all look different, obviously, but you all have the same eyes. And you’re all gorg-”

You bite down hard on your tongue and come to a stuttering stop.

That wasn’t supposed to come out.

Jasper stops right beside you, lips drawing into a wolfish, slanted smirk. You stand completely frozen, eyes wide as he steps closer, too close, leaning forward against the tree behind you. Your heart flounders wildly in your chest. Sometimes you forget he’s so tall.

“I’d sure like to hear you finish that declaration, miss (L/n),” he hums, tone bright with barely concealed mirth.

“Nope!” Your heart lurches as you duck under his arm and scuttle away. Heat burns across your cheeks despite the chill in the air. His laughter echoes behind you, warm and deep and lovely. Too lovely. Your face goes darker. “You didn’t hear anything. I didn’t say anything. Oh hey, look at that tree!”

Jasper watches you dash away, relief warring with his amusement as he follows close behind. You’re observant, more observant than he expected. He’ll have to be more careful. At least he was able to distract you.

This time.

---

“Do you always run this cold?” You poke Jasper’s shoulder as you pass him on the way to your desk.

The blond glances up from his textbook, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this, “I suppose I do.”

“Maybe it’s cause you don’t eat enough,” you muse, reaching for the bag of chocolate you keep hidden in the bottom drawer. You hold it out to him with a conspiratorial smile, “I always like to keep a secret stash, want one?”

“No thank you, darlin’.” Jasper smiles, though it’s tighter. Maybe you only see it because you’re looking for it, but you swear he looks uncomfortable for a split second.

“I feel like I never see you eat,” you admit, putting the bag back in its hiding spot, “Even at school. None of you eat.”

Jasper’s brow furrows. He can feel your concern, but also your curiosity. They radiate off you in equal degrees, so he can’t tell how carefully he should tread.

“My siblings and I are on a…special diet,” he explains slowly, eyes falling back to his textbook. He can’t hold your worried gaze while he lies to you, even if it’s not really a lie. “We prefer not to talk about it.”

You tilt your head, pouting softly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

Guilt. Jasper can feel it biting at the back of his mind. But he smiles and murmurs a soft, “Thank you for understandin’.”

You nod. It still seems strange, though. The more you think about it, the more questions you have. You’ve hardly seen him even drink water, and that can’t be normal, even more for a special diet. But it’s not like he looks unhealthy. No one can look that good if they’re not eating enough.

A sudden heat creeps up your neck. Coughing awkwardly, you turn your attention to your own homework, trying to not focus on just how good Jasper always looks. The man is surprisingly fit under all those sweaters -

Then why does he run so cold? The thought comes back to you, like an annoying fly circling your head. You’ve noticed the same thing about Alice when she gave you a hug. Their touch is like ice, cold enough to leave you shivering after the smallest graze. It’s the kind of cold you read about in your murder mysteries, when someone is dead.

Curiosity burns hot in your chest, making you all but forget the slight warmth in your cheeks. Some things just don’t add up. And you know you shouldn’t pry, it’s none of your business and you don’t want to push him away. So why does it matter so much to you?

“Do you need help with that problem, darlin’?”

You jump, glancing up to find Jasper looking over your shoulder at the worksheet in your lap. You didn’t even hear him get off the bed. It’s almost like he’s a ghost.

“Um, sure, yah.” Your growing anxiety seems to slip away with him so close, and with it goes your curiosity. Shaking your head, you cast him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted I guess. Did I space out?”

Jasper squeezes your shoulder warmly, voice tender with something fond, “You were starin’ at it for a few minutes. I figured it might have been givin’ you trouble.”

“Yah, yah, I guess I’m stuck.” To be honest, you don’t even know what worksheet you’re on. Help can’t hurt though. “Thanks, Jasper.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Another successful distraction.

---

“Huh.”

You pause in your reading, jaw dropping a little.

To end the quarter, your U.S. History teacher was allowing you to do a report on anything that has been covered in class. You decided to do research into the Civil War, specifically the confederate army since you felt like it was often dismissed in class discussions. Understandably, since it’s an uncomfortable topic for most.

But you were curious, as always. There’s no doubt they were on the wrong side of history, proven by how things ended. Even if you hate what they stand for, you want to know both sides of it.

So you dug up some old books. And by old, you mean old. Written very close to the time period of the war old. They’re only digital copies, since there’s no way you could afford them otherwise, but still. And it took searching some obscure website to find them.

It makes this all the more confusing. You double check the publication date. The copyright. All of it. They all confirm the age of the book.

So how are you looking at what seems to be a carbon copy of Jasper?

It’s an old photo, dated 1862. Black and white and a bit fuzzy. A young man sits perched on a horse, decked out in a full confederate uniform and a cowboy hat. His hair is longer, light, brushing his chin, just like Jasper’s. But that’s not it. No, it’s something about his face. About the lopsided grin on his lips.

You quickly skim the few paragraphs next to the photo, eyes going wider with each word you read.

‘Jasper Whitlock, born in Texas, became the youngest man to earn the rank of Major in the Confederate Army. Major Whitlock was labeled missing in action in the year 1863, when he disappeared while evacuating U.S. citizens who were at risk in the wake of the war.’

Jasper.

They even have the same name. Different last names, but still. Can that be a coincidence? Maybe they’re related, you try to reason. That wouldn't make sense, after all. It’d be crazy. Absolutely crazy.

You decide to google this man, Jasper Whitlock, but only a few generic results for ‘jasper’ show up. Nothing about the young Army Major. You lean back in your chair, brows furrowing. That doesn’t make sense either. Unless-

“What are you reading?”

You shriek, slamming your laptop shut.

Bella holds her hands up, eyes wide.

“Oh my gosh, you scared me!” You press a hand to your chest, laughing breathlessly. “I thought you were Jasper.”

The brunette looks at you strangely, “Why? Are you hiding something from him?”

You flinch. That’s straightforward. For Bella at least.

Trying to give her an easy-going smile, you explain, “No, he just has the tendency to sneak up on me. I’m working on a history project, that’s all. He knows all about this stuff and I definitely don’t, so I’m trying to spare myself some embarrassment.”

You hate lying. It makes you feel gross, but you don’t want to freak Bella out. There’s a lot of ways this could be explained, you’re sure, and you’re probably overthinking all of it.

Yah. There’s no way that this Jasper Whitlock could be connected to your Jasper. It’s impossible.

Right?

This time, Jasper isn’t there to blow out the spark.

---

Unless.

The word rings around in your head.

Ringing and ringing and ringing until you jolt up in bed later that night and snatch your laptop from your nightstand.

‘cold skin’

‘doesn’t eat’

‘avoids sun’

‘doesn’t age?’

You click enter and only one word comes back.

‘vampire’

---

So! I was so excited to incorporate the whole history thing! My headcannon is that Jasper would have been recorded in history because of his accomplishments (I mean, the real youngest major of the confederate army was 36 so him being 19 is crazy) but the Cullens have worked to to keep his name off the internet somehow. I'm sure one of them could pick up some computer skills with all that time.

And that's why you only see him mentioned in old, written text. I don't know, I think it's something really cool to think about! And what a cool way to do a reveal!

Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed this!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #jasper whitlock is a minor historical figure and you can't prove me wrong

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blueraineshadows · 1 year

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*slams credit card on the table*💳💥 💳💥 i would sell my soul for a continuation of where seb and mc left off after he slipped that ring on her finger

😆 gotta love a cliffhanger! Here is the fic where Seb slipped a ring on her finger ---> HERE

Picking up where Seb has Apparated MC and himself away from the confrontation in Hogsmeade, and they are now in his Feldcroft cottage. NSFW 🌶🔥❤️

She didnt know how long they had sat, kissing, on the floor. She thought that maybe it could never be long enough. They had so much time to make up for. But then, Sebastian stood and held out his hand to her. MC took it and he helped her to her feet. He cupped her face, gently. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. The adrenaline of facing up to William like that had worn off, and tiredness pulled heavily at her, but she felt safe. "If someone had told me I would be standing here with you at the end of the evening, I would have thought them quite mad."

"Same," he said, smiling. His thumb brushed against her cheek, his smile fading. "Any regrets? I mean, what he said about your reputation, your job. Would he really make life that difficult for you?"

"He might," she sighed. She put her hand over his, her finger tips grazing gently over his knuckles. "But I could never regret leaving with you. I just wish I'd had the nerve to find you sooner."

"Well, we're together now," he said. "Let's not worry about William tonight. He can't get to us here. We can figure out our next move tomorrow, but whatever it is, I am going to be right there with you. And next time, I wont think twice about hexing his arrogant mug."

She nodded. At his mention of being here together, alone, her eyes drifted towards the curtain that closed off the sleeping area of the cottage. Her pulse skittered and she looked back at him.

"There are two beds," he said. He really had a talent for reading her like a book. "We don't have to share one if you'd rather not."

MC was reminded of the offer William had made to her only that morning, the very reverse of this one, trying to convince her to share a bed with him. The very thought had made her blood run cold.

Now, standing here with Sebastian, she realised that the thought of being parted from him, even if only across the room, was too much to bear right now. It had taken them years to finally be able to hold each other. How was she supposed to let go?

She cleared her throat. "Is there somewhere I can freshen up?"

"Of course," he said.

He warmed some water for the basin, and found a shirt for her to wear. When he went out to fetch some more fire wood, MC went behind the changing screen and began to loosen the ties for her dress. The corset was so tight, the back having been laced by William's house elf, a grim mouthed little thing she hadn't much cared for.

MC tugged and gave a frustrated groan at the blasted thing. She hated corsets and frivolous silks. She missed the freedom of cotton blouses and duelling trousers, much preferring sturdy boots to little kitten heels. She kicked off the offending heels and tugged the stockings from her legs.

The sound of the door announced Sebastian's return, and MC paused to peek around the changing screen. He put the logs in the basket before kneeling before the fire, feeding it to boost the flames. A swirl of chill night air had come into the cottage behind him and goosebumps spread up her arms.

She bit her lower lip, watching the way his shirt moved across his shoulders as he stoked the fire. Her intake of breath was a little shaky, and she pressed fingers to her collar bone, smoothing along the skin he had kissed, remembering hia searing kisses. She shivered.

She ducked back behind the screen, turning to face the wall, hand pressed to her throat against her fluttering pulse. "Sebastian?" She called. "Would you mind? I could do with a hand."

She heard his footfalls as he approached, her heart in her mouth, but she didn't turn to look as he paused by the screen. She could hear his breathing, feel the burn of his gaze on her back. "Could you help loosen the laces of my corset, please? It's too tight for me to do it properly."

"Of course, seeing as you asked so nicely." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

He joined her behind the screen, and anticipation made her body burn, the seconds stretching between the pause of his step and the feel of his fingers on the laces.

Her own fingers toyed with the silk of the gown, the bodice of which was pooled at her waist. He tugged at the laces, a knuckle brushing against the skin of her back, and she felt the corset begin to loosen. She sighed a little in relief, her breasts relaxing after being squished behind their bonds.

Once the corset was undone, her hands fluttered in front of her breasts, nervous. Should she hold the corset in place and dismiss him? Or, should she let it fall away from her flesh? She felt the last lace pull free and the corset sagged. She realised she was breathing a little faster, the sound soft in the confined space behind the screen.

Sebastian placed a warm palm between her shoulder blades, the touch gentle, and then his hand smoothed up to the nape of her neck. She sighed again, closing her eyes. She felt her breasts tighten at the touch, the peaks hardening against the loose corset.

Then, he was sliding the pins from her hair, slowly, one by one, his fingers easing her locks free to spill down her back. Another shiver washed over her at the feel of his hands in her hair. It was intimate, personal, and it filled her with a need so strong she could almost taste it.

His hands cupped her shoulders, smoothing down her arms to her hands where he linked their fingers. He lifted her arms just enough and the corset slid forward, exposing her. He was closer, she could feel the heat of his breath at her ear, it was as fast as her own soft gasps. She squeezed her fingers around his, hungry to feel those hands on her skin.

The heat of his mouth moved lower and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. She tilted her head to give him more access. His lips moved, his kisses becoming firmer at her willing invitation. The corset slid to the floor, forgotten, his hands releasing hers to skim her waist, sliding smoothly over her skin to settle below her breasts.

Her head fell back with a gasp, the movement lifting her breasts, begging for his caress. He was so gentle, a whisper of skin against skin as he cupped her, a thumb teasing softly over one hard nub. She moaned, the sound so close to his ear, it made him exhale sharply.

So intent was she on the feel of his hands caressing her breasts, she hadn't even realised that one of her own arms had reached up to thread fingers through his hair. His caress moved to her sides, finger tips smoothing over the reddened marks where the corset had pinched her. He bent to press a soft kiss there, just below her breast, his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin.

She turned, needing to see him, his face was soft, his eyes darkened by his desire. She felt a sudden shyness, her arms hovering in front of her breasts. He held her close and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "We can stop," he whispered. "As much as I want you, I would never do anything you didn't want. You're safe with me."

She fiddled with the front of his shirt. "I want you too," she said. She felt a blush warm her cheeks. "It's just...I've never done anything like this before. I've never..."

She swallowed and looked down, but he caught her chin with gentle fingers, lifting her gaze to his. "Never? Not even with your fiancé?"

She shook her head. "He wanted to, but I couldn't. I didn't want to because...he wasn't you."

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise, he even blushed a little. "I'm not sure I deserve such an honour."

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she wondered how many girls he had kissed, how many times he had taken one to his bed. It hurt her heart to think of it, but how could she blame him? He had owed her nothing. But, how could she ever live up to the girls who had come before her? She wanted to please him, she wanted him to feel the pleasure that he gave her. The brief touches she had already tasted held so much promise, her body burning desperately for him. She wanted to return that.

"Can you show me how?" The words were a whisper. "I don't want to disappoint you."

He held her face. "Listen to me," he said, firmly. "You could never disappoint me. You must never think that. Look at you! You're beautiful, just one look at you sends me spiralling. It drove me crazy seeing you in the pub earlier, so close and yet so out of reach."

"When you touch me it's like I'm going to be swallowed in flame," she admitted. "I've never felt like that with anyone. Just you."

"I have to admit, I do like the way that sounds," he said. A gleam entered his gaze. He leant his forehead against hers, his eyes on her mouth, his breath hot. "Mine, and only mine."

Her pulse fluttered and she stared at his lips, her tongue sliding to wet her bottom lip. "Will you take it?" She breathed. "Take what is yours, please."

The passion in his kiss seared through her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, claiming her as she had asked. She clung to him, arching her body to feel the warmth and safety she craved from him. He tugged at the last fastenings of the dress, his patience now gone and he yanked hard, the rending of torn silk reaching her ears. The dress sank to the floor and he lifted her out of it, carrying her to the bed.

He placed her on top of the blanket, pausing to shed his own clothing before joining her. Her eyes were greedy, taking in the toned muscle, the soft trail of hair that led down below his navel. And, of course, the hard shaft of his arousal.

She leant up on her elbows, a little breathless at the sight of him, even a bit intimidated by the size. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought of him inside her. But then he was kissing her, his mouth tasting her skin, moving down to take a breast into his mouth. She gasped, her hips lifting to aid him as he slid her underwear free. Now, they were both naked.

She pulled him against her, moaning at the feel of their skin finally pressed together. She moved against him, delighting in the friction.

"You feel so good," he gasped. His hand moved to her hip, rocking her against him, his arousal digging eagerly against her thigh.

She smoothed her palm over his behind, moulding it, loving the feel of it after admiring the way it curved through the fabric of his trousers. She moved her hand over his hip, hovering close to where he throbbed eagerly for her. He took her hand and guided her, wrapping it around his length. She looked down, fascinated, as he showed her how to stroke him. A sound left his throat and she smiled. She was making him feel good. It made her feel empowered. He wanted her and she could give him what he needed.

He returned the favour, his fingers seeking out her heat and she gasped, her thighs instinctively parting for him. He stroked with slow, deliberate caresses, her slick spreading to ease his teasing. She couldn't help the sounds that fell from her lips, her head fell back, and she was like a desperate, wanton thing. He swirled over her clit and she cried out, a pressure building as he stroked to a rhythm that had her panting and clutching at him.

She didn't think it could feel any better, but then he slid downwards and she stared, wide eyed as he moved his mouth close to where his fingers worked. Heat flooded her cheeks at the intimacy of this gesture and then he was kissing her there. His tongue replaced fingers and she thought she might actually die, the fire inside her flared so dangerously. She was soaring to a height that made her head spin, her pelvis rocked, the need to grind against him almost unbearable. "Sebastian," she panted. Her fingers gripped at his hair. "Oh...oh..."

She felt the dip of his fingers, probing gently, sliding slowly into her as his tongue drove her higher. He pumped his fingers, twisting and curling them, picking up the pace. She could hear the wet, desperate sound of herself, the pressure almost unbearable but Merlin's beard, she did not want it to stop. Her arm flung out, fingers gripping the blanket, tugging at the fabric as though she was about to slide off the edge of the world.

And then she felt a deep clenching sensation, fiery waves of delicious release washing over her, and her eyes squeezed shut, an animalistic sound bursting from her lips. She was breathing so hard and fast as her body became fluid, sinking back into the mattress, spent.

Sebastian withdrew his mouth and fingers, she whimpered, not just at the loss of him, but also at the little pulses of aftershock. He gathered her in his arms, pressing kisses to her breasts, her neck. His hand smoothing along her waist and down to spread her leg wider for him.

"You're amazing," he whispered. He kissed her mouth, his lips and tongue hot and wet. She could taste herself, and wondered briefly how he would taste if she took him in her mouth. She moaned, her hips flexing. She felt him reach down, the press of him against her slick folds.

"Relax," he urged. "Deep, even breaths. You're doing great, so fucking perfect."

He moved to kiss her ear, his tongue sliding along the outer edge. She could feel the fire reigniting, the coil of her need twisting into life. He pressed into her, his tip nudging gently, in and out, easing her. "That's it," he whispered into her ear. "Good girl. I'm going to fuck you, I'm going to make you mine. Is that what you want?"

She flushed hotly at his filthy words. Her breathing hitched madly in her throat, her body arching greedily. "Yes," she moaned.

He pressed in deeper and she felt the sting, the stretch. He stroked her, kissed her ear, easing back out and then in again. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "I need you."

She gripped his hips, lifting her own to meet him, her heels digging into the bed. With each gentle slide of him, in and out, the sting lessened. She moaned as the new, full feel of him began to send waves of tingles deep inside her. She glanced down, watching as he thrust.

His face was set in concentration, his brow creased, his lips parted with his pleasure. She could see the restraint he was clinging on to. The sting was gone, and he felt so good, so right.

"More," she urged.

He met her gaze. "Does it feel good?"

She nodded. He watched her, eyes lidded, and he thrust deep. She groaned and he slid right back, for a desperate moment she feared he would pull out all together, and she sank her finger nails into his hip, urging him to stay in. He smirked and thrust firmly, sinking all the way in. Her moan was his reward.

She couldn't tear her eyes from his as he kept up these deep, hard thrusts. She could feel that pressure building, making her soar higher again. This time, she knew what it meant, and anticipation tingled on her tongue.

He looked down at where they were joined. "Oh fuck," he panted. "Fuck, yes."

His words sent sparks of flame through her. Who knew she liked dirty talk? The rough edge to his voice was a massive turn on, she wanted more. She slid a palm down his chest, her finger tips trying out a teasing pinch of his nipple. He moaned, the sound giving her a thrill, so she pinched again, harder.

He shifted to lean on one elbow and then he began to thrust harder, faster, his other hand reaching down to grip under her knee. He bent her leg up, easing her open so she could take him even deeper. She felt the slide of him against somewhere deeply sensitive inside of her and she arched, his name spilling from her lips.

Her release gripped her, a sudden deep clench that made Sebastian utter a low growl, he buried his face into her neck, his teeth biting down into her skin. She whimpered, stunned at the raw emotions rushing through her, her body pulsing around him. And then he, thrust deep, holding himself there as he spurted his own release. She could feel the throb of it, her arms holding him close, his heart thundering against her chest.

For a while they lay quietly, holding each other, savouring the closeness. She nestled her face against his warmth, breathing in his scent, feeling a tension slide from her. This was absolutely where she belonged. She had known it back in the Three Broomsticks, and now it was confirmed.

She brought her hand up to look at his mother's ring on her finger, no, her ring. He had given it to her. He wanted her by his side forever. "When do you leave?" She asked.

"We leave in two days," he said. She looked up at his choice of words. He smiled. "How do you feel about Italy?"

"Isn't that where you just travelled from?"

He nodded. "It is, but I want to take you there. I want to see it all again through your eyes."

Her heart danced in her chest. This was actually happening! "I will need to fetch my things, and say a few goodbyes, Poppy will have wondered where I ran off to."

"We can do all of that," he smoothed her hair back from her face. His eyes grew serious. "I will never forget how you stood in front of me, blocking me like you did. When you reached back for me, holding yourself to me..."

He paused, swallowed hard. "I already knew I loved you, but what you did, it said more than any words. When he caught us, I thought you would have gone to him, but you didn't."

"I realised it was what I had always wanted," she said. "I had to stop letting William make my choices for me. It would always be you, Sebastian. Always."

....*....

When MC awoke, the bed beside her was empty. Immediately, she sat up. Wrapping a blanket around her, she moved out from behind the curtain and saw Sebastian with an owl, a letter in his hand. "What's that?" She asked.

He turned to her, pulling her closer to kiss her forehead. "Good morning," he said. He held up the letter. "From Ominis. I sent an owl after you fell asleep last night. This is his reply. He is meeting us in London when we collect your things."

"Really?" It would be nice to see him again, she realised. "What about William?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about him," Ssbastian said, his smile smug. "Ominis thought him a right prick, and has already used his connections to make sure he won't be a problem. Your reputation is perfectly intact. As for William's..."

MC widened her eyes. "My goodness! But, why would Ominis do all that for me?"

Sebastian frowned. "Why would he not?" He took her face in his hands. "I love you, he knows that, and he also cares for you, he wants us to have what we have always wanted. Each other. Like me, he would do whatever he had to in order to keep you safe, happy. People care about you, MC, people love you. You will never have to suffer the likes of William again as company."

Her throat felt rather thick all of a sudden. "Thank you."

"Ominis is also going to bear witness for us," he said. He slid a thumb over her lips, pressing a kiss there. "After collecting your things, we will marry. We can leave for Italy as man and wife. If you still want to, that is?"

"Oh, yes, Sebastian," she said. She wrapped her arms about him, the blanket slipping free of her grasp, but she didn't care. She was no longer shy of him. She clung to him, his arms strong and warm as they held her close. "It is exactly what I want."

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #blueraineshadows #sebastian sallow smut

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writingsbychlo · 1 year

Note

Spirit 👻

you placed one foot in front of the other, slowly, taking deep breaths as cassian followed behind you. the floorboards creaked under his weight, and you jumped. your heart was racing, so fast you could barely feel individual beats anymore. your skin was clammy, a thin layer of cold sweat sticking under your clothes, and you felt as though you might as well crawl right out of your flesh at this point.

"I can feel her spirit, like she's gonna' come back and fuckin' eat me." cassian mumbled, darkness flooding in, and you scoffed, turning on your heel to stare at the vague blur of his figure in the dark.

"would you cut it, you're gonna freak me the fuck out." you reached out, poking roughly, and the warrior before you yelped as you stabbed at his ribs with your finger.

the weaver's cottage was dark and long since abandoned, and yet nobody had dared come in here, to trespass on this haunted land until now. you were searching for a little vase, and you had no idea how you were supposed to find it with only cracks of moonlight between boarded-up windows, and the red glow of cassian's siphons to guide you, but you had to.

something creaked, somewhere else in the house, and you paused, standing stock straight as cassian bumped into the back of you. "did you hear that?"

"who's trying to freak who out now, huh?" he mumbled, tickling a finger along your arm to mimic a spider, and you slapped at him. he was chuckling near your ear when another floorboard creaked, and he stopped abruptly. it was closer than the last. "okay, I heard that one."

something scuffled, a piece of furniture to your right creaked, and then something soft slid over your calf, and you screamed. untrained, unrestricted and utterly powerless, you screamed. cassian copied a moment later as something slipped across his cheek, and your hands shoved at his chest. "fucking run, cassian, move, g-"

an arm slipped around your waist, and you thrashed for all of a second in panic, before a deep chuckle rang in your ear, warm lips pressing to your cheek. the darkness cleared, and as swirling shadows shifted form around his body, the glow of blue met red and you softened in his hold.

"azriel! what the fuck are you playing at?" you pinched at his arm, his laughter only increasing as he dropped you, and you turned to swat at his chest. "you scared the life out of me! what the fuck?"

"oh, c'mon, baby. I couldn't resist. you and cassian have been freaking out about this haunted house for days, I had to come fuck with you a little bit."

you huffed, brushing yourself down as the beating of your heart finally calmed. "you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"what if I told you that I found the vase?" he beamed, tipping your chin up with one finger and tossing the vase to cassian to catch, who was now rooting around in things on the table curiously. azriel leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"alright, I suppose you could-" there was a creak from the livingroom, and you grinned. "you already got us, you can stop now."

azriel only stiffened. "that wasn't me."

the door slammed shut, a heavy set of footsteps upstairs, clear as day and distinct, and yet nothing else moved. the air itself seemed to still. the light outside faded as though the moon itself had fallen from the sky and every star had gone out. the light faded more and more from their siphons with every footstep that came down the stairs, stopping at the bottom. just on the other side of that door.

you could no longer see azriel in front of you, where his face has been bare inches from your own, it was so dark. you only knew he was still there because you were holding him.

warm breath puffed over your cheek.

"boo."

cassian screamed, azriel ducked and tugged you down to the ground with him, and someone else laughed. the darkness cleared a second later, light coming back in, and who else would be propping himself up on the kitchen table, howling with laughter so hard he had tears on his cheeks, other than;

"oh, for fucks sake, rhysand!"

#word games

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purplelupins · 2 years

Text

Sweet Dreams

|The Black Phone|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Part VI

Grabber/Albert x fem!reader

Summery: Getting away from her life as a human punching bag took her somewhere she never could have imagined. But it seemed that even a basement with a masked man watching her could become home.

Warnings: depictions of physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, pet names, power imbalance, sexual tension, mild swearing, mentions of medical trauma, nsfw

Note: PLEASE READ

This is a nsfw DARK story so if you are a minor DO NOT ENGAGE. If you are offended or triggered by the mentioned material, DO NOT ENGAGE. Simple as that. Please note that I do not condone what the Grabber has done in cannon, and I am only using him as a character in my story. If you message me with negativity or harassment, I will not respond. This is Tumblr, not Twitter. Please block the Grabber x reader tag if you are disgusted.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When her eyes began to flutter open, she felt as if she had yet to wake up. There was a bright beam of sunlight that blinded her, and she felt warmth all around her. After months of waking up just a little cold, she wondered if everything had been a dream. A strange, sweet dream. In an attempt to hide from whatever awaited her outside the dream world she had created, she skewed her eyes shut and rolled over to bury her head into the soft warmth; anything to get away from the too-bright light.

“I always knew you weren’t a morning person.”

Y/n sucked in a breath and pulled away from the warm pillow she had buried herself into, only to see that it was attached to a shoulder and a neck and a face. A handsome face; older, but very handsome. He was watching her carefully, toying with a piece of her hair between his fingers. In the daylight, she could see every little detail of his face, and she couldn’t help but grin.

It wasn’t a dream.

“If I get to see this every time I wake up then I might turn into one.” She said shyly, looking down. She ran a hand along his chest, then to his shoulder; he sucked in a breath at her touch. She remembered the previous night. How he had been so tentative to her light touches, and kisses. Even now as she traced his muscles, he watched her so carefully.

A sigh escaped her.

“You’re quiet again.” He whispered. Her eyes automatically shot up to his and gazed at his maskless face.

She grinned gently and smoothed her thumb across his cheekbone.

“I just…I can’t stop looking at you.” She murmured honestly. “Don’t hide this face from me again.” Her eyes flicked up to his, and he stared right back, an eyebrow quirking up. She almost laughed- she love his expressions.

“No? You don’t like the masks?” He teased her, easing his large hand down her waist.

She melted into his warm touch, and hummed contently, “I didn’t say that. But…I would rather see you. You’re the man I…”she started to say, but stopped herself quickly and bit the inside of her cheek.

Too far.

I went too far.

Oh but to him she hadn’t gone far enough.

“Come, come now, bunny. You can tell me-“ he quickly flipped her on her other side so her back was against his chest, “-anything.” One arm was under her, holding her in place, while the other traced the marks on her hip from his hands the night before. She already wriggled against him, arching into his touch.

He already began to feel his cock swell at her responsiveness.

She sighed and turned her head to look up at him hovering just above her from behind. Y/n swallowed and flicked her eyes to the same ones that had plagued her for over a month and sucked in a breath. “The man I’ve…fallen in love with.” She whispered.

He stopped moving for a moment, staring down at her nervous face.

You’re mine…you’re fucking mine.

He watched her eyes dart around the longer he stayed quiet. It was like some little game he loved; her nervousness made his heart beat faster. He wanted to see how long it would take-

“If-if you don’t feel the same, I understand. I can go back downstairs and we don’t have to talk about it again.” She said quickly starting to turn away.

He knew she was embarrassed and horrified that she had said it. Poor sweet little thing all anxious for me…And yet she still didn’t ask to leave.

He sighed out of his nose. “Look at me.” He reached up and stroked her chin.

She turned so obediently, staring up at him.

He closed his eyes momentarily to soak in her compliance, and sighed contently.

“There she is,” he praised her, “You’re not going back down there, okay? Not when I can have you here…but I still don’t think you should go out…can’t have my bunny getting found, right?” His tone was so sweet and gentle that the condescension was lost on her.

Y/n nodded and smiled. She turned her head enough to catch his lips with hers, and moaned when he didn’t hold back. He bit at her lip, and quickly tightened his grip on her to bring her hips back against his so she could feel him.

An adorable little gasp escaped her when his hardened cock was flush against her back, and he swore he almost came right there. “You feel that little bunny?” He rasped.

She nodded, and gasped again when the hand on her chest moved to her throat where he held tightly; this time, he noticed, she did not tense up. Without a word, he slipped a thick finger between her slick lips, and spread the wetness around her entrance before slipping his cock inside her from behind. He stayed still for a moment, feeling her twitch and rock against him.

She needs me…

He tsked her and stroked her throat with his thumb, “Does my pretty girl like that? You like it when I’m inside you, don’t you?” He purred. Gone was the light playful tone she had heard for so long. He very slowly pulled out and pushed back inside her. “You’re mine now. You belong to me, you know that? I’m going to fucking keep you all to myself.” He growled.

She nodded helplessly, bucking her hips against him.

“Mine.” He rasped in her ear with each thrust.

She held onto the arm by her throat, and she could feel the muscles straining under his skin as he held her. She mewled and gasped periodically when he would release her throat every other minute. If it weren’t for the immense pleasure, she might have been wincing in pain from his grip on her hip.

But he was right- he had her. Whether she liked it or not, she was his. Completely.

That day was a Saturday, and she had him all to herself. He carried her into the washroom and ran a bath for them; he even pressed a kiss to her temple as they waited for the water. He got in first, then pulled her into his lap, and held her there against his chest with his nose in her hair. They laid in the warm water for a half an hour before she started giggling about her wrinkled fingers and toes. Just as he had the night before, he took his time cleaning her, and took his time feeling her. His sweet girl would arch into his touch and let her head rest on his shoulder as his fingers skimmed across her skin. Her whimpers and caught breaths in his ears made him dizzy.

He brushed her hair and dried her carefully even though she smiled and told him he didn’t have to.

Of course he didn’t have to.

He didn’t have to do anything.

He didn’t have to let her live.

He wanted to.

Even though he refused to admit it, he needed it too. Almost as much as her.

Where he did not feel love, there was now a certain obsession he felt. A possessiveness that had only grown.

She chose me.

He had succeeded in making her love him, certainly, but he hadn’t accounted for the rush that it would give him when she said it or showed him. Somewhere in the process, he had accidentally become comfortable with her affection.

How she spoke so sweetly to him. Touched him. Let him touch her. How she was excited to see him. How she wore his clothes. How she cared about him.

Everything.

It made him uneasy. But he knew he was in control, and that was what he needed.

He knew her need for him had only grown. He noticed how closely she clung to him. Even when they moved through the house, she was a breath away, holding his sleeve or grasping his hand.

That morning, he dressed her in one of his shirts and smirked when she refused the pants he offered. “It’s a hot day, I’m going to start sweating if I wear too much.” She said with a grin.

He breathed out a light laugh.

“I think that sounds reasonable.” He agreed, and she laughed.

The older man sighed contently and slipped both hands to the sides of her face, stroking her lower lip. They just stood there for a moment in the bedroom, particles of dust getting caught in the sunlight.

If someone were to look through the window, they would have seen a strange couple gazing lovingly at one another. A picture almost too perfect.

But oh how wrong they would be.

If only they knew.

Then, he pushed down on her lip with his thumb, and she caught it between her lips. She sucked the tip into her mouth, and his lips parted as he watched her, his blown pupils evident.

Then she released it with a string of saliva connecting it to her lip.

“Can I cook us breakfast?” She asked, her eyes doubling in size as she pretended nothing happened.

He sucked in a breath and pretended to think about it.

“I’ll allow it.” It was playful, but still reminded him that he was very much in charge.

At his response, she squealed and jumped into his arms, “I’ve been wanting to cook for you for ages I can’t wait! Let’s go, let’s go!” She bounced, but waited for him to walk them there.

No, no she was most certainly not what he had expected when he drugged her that summer night and took her into his basement. He never could have guessed he would wind up with the embodiment of sunshine.

She found the eggs he always made, some bread and a couple links of sausages along with the coffee he always made her.

As she retrieved a pan, she paused and smiled at a joke in her head, “Do…do you like your eggs scrambled by chance ?” She tried to keep in a laugh.

“How did you know?” He asked jokingly as he sat at the small table beside her.

She realised his blue eyes lit up and the lines by them crinkled when he was making a joke.

She realised she didn’t have to rely on his voice to guess his expressions.

“Anyone ever tell you that you stare a lot?” He asked.

She blinked and shook her head, going back to the food. The bread popping out of the toaster was the only noise.

“Are…Are you busy today?” She asked slowly, placing the breakfast on two plates.

He rested his head in his hand.

“Not today. Why?” He tilted his head to the side slightly watching her every move.

So fucking precious…maybe I should just lock her back up…

Y/n placed the plates on the table and went to sit, but his large hands on her hips pulled her to sit in his lap. She struggled to keep her head on straight, feeling him against her and his breath fanning across her face.

He asked you a question.

“This is going to sound silly but…I just…I really want to spend the day with you. I…I want to see you.” She whispered, flicking her eyes around his face. He was definitely older, but she was certain he would be the death of her. He had such nice lips…and his eyes…they could be so gentle one second and hardened the next.

“You can’t get enough of this face can you?” He teased, brushing some hair from her cheek.

Mine.

She shook her head and breathed out a laugh, “No. No I can’t.” It was true.

He smirked.

Good.

“So…can we spend the day together?” She asked hopefully, looking up at him through her lashes.

He hummed and hawed, making a big show about thinking, then nodded, “Yeah. Yeah I think we can Bunny.” He pressed a kiss to her head, and took a forkful of egg and sausage, “Open.” He murmured.

She smiled and bounced in his lap as she opened her mouth. Tasting anything with the egg made her brain explode. She kissed his cheek and took a bite of bread as he ate too. He held her there, feeding her, pressing the odd kiss to her head.

They watched television and she spent an hour trying to get Sampson to let her pet him. It didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t work sweet girl, I trained him that way.

She liked that he insisted on her being in his lap in some way everywhere they went. She liked that he played with her fingers in his larger ones, and knew how to braid her hair. She liked that he kept her safe and kissed her scars.

They laid in bed, and he watched her trace a vein that ran from his knuckles to his bicep.

“Can I ask you something? It’s sort of about you.” She said shyly.

“Go ahead.” He murmured.

She thought for a second.

“What was your mother like?” She looked up at him to gage his reaction.

His reaction was faster than she had thought. His eyes seemed to lose focus. He seemed to think, remember perhaps. “Kind. She was…kind. She…understood me.” He said, his voice growing rough and thick. “She smelled like jasmine. Loved music…”

She would have eaten you up in a second sweet bunny…she would have loved you.

“She sounds like she was a good person.” Y/n murmured.

He sucked in a breath and looked away. “Sampson!” He called. A second later the hound was at the door, panting. He laid down and placed his huge head on his equally large paws, and stood guard.

Y/n knew it was a sensitive subject she had asked about, and pressed a kiss to his chest before laying her head down and curling up against him.

She never asked about his mother again, or about his family. If he wanted to tell her something, he would.

One night, a month an a half after her first night being upstairs, she found out his name. He ran his hand along her back as they laid in bed an evening after he had returned from work. He had bought her a little wrist watch, having not had once since her father had pawned hers off years ago.

Y/n stared at it in the lamp light, “Thank you Mister.” She whispered.

He looked from the glimmering glass to her profile from where he laid perched on his elbow.

“Albert.” He murmured quietly.

She almost didn’t hear him, then turned to look back at him. He was staring back at her, and saw her confusion disappear.

“Thank you, Albert.” Her voice was soft as a feather as she said his name for the first time.

“Sit. Stay- hey! Stay. Good.” Y/n said firmly to Sampson as he stared at her like she had lost her mind. He truly should have been used to it by then. She slowly placed a treat onto the top of his nose, and took her hand away. “Stay.” She cooed told him. His brown eyes stared back, having gone through the same thing for three hours that day alone.

“Get it!” She cried, and he snapped his jaw and the treat finally fell into his mouth. She jumped and clapped, and hugged the hound tightly. Then, the phone rung and she leapt to it. “Hello! Shaw Residence.” She chirped.

She heard a laugh from the other end. “Are you going to answer that way every time bunny?” He asked, having called once every hour since leaving for work. Since day one, she insisted in calling it as such.

“Yep!” She confirmed.

“I’ll be home soon. Just have to close up shop, okay?” His voice sounded tired, but not annoyed.

“Okie dokie.” She smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“See you soon. Be good.” He said. And he meant it.

“Sir yes sir!” She replied. He laughed and hung up.

Y/n got to work, and pulled out what she needed after asking him to get groceries the day before. She went to the turntable he had, and put on a record to match her mood. It wasn’t a familiar tune to her, but she spun and danced with her hair down, and that was what she wanted.

As she finished dinner with her head in the clouds, she hadn’t heard the locks or the door swing open as she swayed and bounced. Albert saw her before she saw him, and he couldn’t look away.

It was only when he shut the door and Sampson began to bark that her head whipped towards the front door. He tilted his head as he toed off his shoes, and she gasped in excitement before she ran to him and leapt into his arms.

“I missed you!” She chirped into his neck. His arms wrapped around her instantly.

When she had first done that on the Monday following her first night upstairs, his eyes had gone wide and his mouth was open slightly in surprise. He might have expected a smile or a kiss on the cheek, but not such an intense reaction.

Even now, he waited for her to bolt at any second or to lose interest, but she never did. For three months, she hadn’t even asked once to go anywhere. She didn’t even ask about the extra locks.

“You talked to me every hour, silly.” He said as she slid down his front to the floor with a little plop.

“I know but it’s not the same.” She didn’t let him go for another moment, keeping her face buried in his chest. But then she pulled away suddenly and smiled. “I made dinner. Oh and I taught Sampson a trick!”

He watched her as she pulled him into the kitchen, and felt himself soften when he saw the beautiful dinner.

How proud she was.

For him.

She’s the cutest damn thing…

But he had to remind himself of who he was. Who she was. Who they were.

He washed his hands, and she waited patiently for him to sit before perching on his knee. He smirked and pulled her closer.

After washing up, they watched a film like they often did. It was a comfortable routine they had created.

After half an hour, Albert pulled her closer to his side, and she rested her head on his shoulder and hooked a leg over his. He began stroking her back, knowing very well that it made her melt.

She, however, also had a trick up her sleeve after living with him. Y/n placed her hand lightly on his leg by her thigh; soft enough that he didn’t notice until she moved it higher and began stroking the area with her thumb.

She didn’t even have time to react before he had her pinned beneath him and he had torn off her panties.

“You think you can just play games with me, hmm?” He rasped as he unbuckled his belt.

Her eyes were all wide in surprise. No matter how many times he pounced on her, she was still shocked by his strength and quickness.

“No sir.” She breathed out, her senses on overdrive.

“I see you still have your fucking manners.” He zipped down his pants and she began to get lightheaded.

“For you sir.” She whispered, ripping off the shirt she had.

“That’s a good girl.” His voice was a complete growl as he eased his cock inside her. They both let out a collective moan, and she started fisting at his shirt, which he quickly removed. As soon as he came back down to her, her hands were in his hair and clawing at his back as he began to move inside her. “Awe sweet bunny, I know it feels so good.” He tsked her as she rocked against him.

His lips were on her neck, biting and sucking at it until she was riddled with more purple and red marks that she alread had from that morning.

His.

She was whimpering and mewling for him.

Only him.

“P-please-“she moaned and latched onto him as he fucked her into the couch.

Her soft plea was music to his ears. He pulled away to stare down at her; inspect his masterpiece. He watched her lazy eyes and swollen lips. His marks on her beautiful skin…

Beautiful…

His thrusts slowed to almost a gentle rock, and she noticed how his eyes softened; she almost asked him what was wrong, but she was quickly silenced when a growl ripped from his throat and he pulled her up so he was she was straddling him. As he settled back inside her, y/n hissed as he reached so much further. After a moment, she began to move, slowly getting used to him again.

“Is it too much for you bunny? You can’t handle me tonight, is that it?” He asked her in faux concern.

“N-no I can handle it, sir…” she whispered through gasps.

“Oh yea? Fucking prove it then.” He rasped, and gripped her hips. She sucked in a breath and began to ride him, ignoring how her legs burned from being fucked multiple times a day, every day.

“That’s it…” he watched where he penetrated her, marvelling at the strings of her slick that would connect them as she came up his cock. Just as he used to watch her sleep, and studied her until he knew what every sigh and twitch meant, he did the same with her when he was inside her. He wanted to know her better than herself.

“Faster.” He growled.

She held onto his shoulders and he gripped her hips even tighter, imprinting her skin to make new bruises to match the old ones.

“That’s…that’s fucking better.” He rasped snapping his hips up to drive her over the edge. He knew she was close. He knew by then that when her thighs began to shake and her speed was more erratic, and her moans were higher pitched, she was about seven thrusts away from washing his cock with her cum.

“I- can I-?” She breathed.

“You’d better.” He growled, slamming her down into him.

Just as he had thought, she tightened around him, and her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red lines behind. That gush of her slick was all it took for him to unload his cum inside her. He gripped her flesh until he touched bone, and was certain his fingerprints were fused into her skin.

He thrust into her shallowly as he emptied every drop of his cum into his sweet girl. The two of them sat there for a moment, and he very slowly released her abused hips, and wrapped his arms around her back, cradling her. He stroked her hair and kissed her head gently.

“My bunny…” he whispered into her hair.

She was beyond exhausted and her mind was gone.

“I…I love you Albert Shaw.” She breathed as her eyes grew heavy. Her darling confession made his heart beat a little louder for one second. He kissed her hair and petted her gently.

Albert could feel her relax more and more into his grasp as she drifted off. He didn’t care about the mess between them; he liked having her there, though he might not wholly admit it.

He wondered if she meant it- that she loved him. He wondered if she had ever been told to not talk to strangers. He wondered if she had ever been considered tough, or if she teased for being weak. Did anyone even notice her?

He knew she was his good girl. Such a good girl. He knew if she stayed with him, that she would be safe. He would treat her so well when others wouldn’t have. He would never let anyone touch her.

She called him handsome and sweet and gentle and loving, but he wondered if it was true. She wouldn’t lie to him, right?

Eventually, he hoisted her up and took her to bed. He laid her there on her back, brushed some hair away from her eyes so it wouldn’t tickle her, and was about to turn away to clean himself up and shut off the television, but he stopped. He gazed down at that strange, strange girl that had begged for his help, and welcomed him into her soul with open arms. All sweaty and sticky.

He wanted to leave her and just go to sleep, but he couldn’t.

Albert found a soft face cloth, and filled a bowl with warm -not hot- water and a little soap. Then, he knelt down beside her sleeping form, and moved her legs just enough that he could clean the mess drying between her thighs. He cleaned her legs, and her hips. He kissed the marks he had left, but when he came to her puffy lower lips, he paused. He did clean them, but hesitantly. He had never seen that part of her close up, but now seeing it all pretty and still like that after he had made it his, he couldn’t resist. He placed the bowl down, and leaned forward, careful to not disturb her too much, and look a small lick. There was a strange sweetness to it, and he tried it again.

And again,

And again.

And again until he was holding her thighs. He sucked and tasted every inch of her, and he found he couldn’t stop when she began whimpering his name in her sleep. Even in dreams she was thinking of him.

He found her clit and sucked it into his mouth, slipping his tongue just under the hood. He hadn’t started with a goal in mind, he just wanted a taste. But when her limp thighs tensed and she breathed out a moan, he felt a rush of sweetness on his tongue. He pulled away and looked from her to his masterpiece and almost laughed.

He made her cum for him in her sleep.

He lapped up what his pretty girl gave him, and pressed a kiss to her thighs before he took care of himself. Albert shed his boxers and trudged to the bathroom. He considered stroking himself until hot ropes of cum painted his hand, but something didn’t feel…right. It didn’t feel like it used to.

After just a few strokes, he sighed angrily and punched the wall. “Jesus fuck!” He hissed, grabbing the sink, his predicament long forgotten. He had slipped. He had gone soft and easy for a girl. Albert breathed heavily and showered within five seconds. He dried himself harshly until his skin was almost pink, and he slipped on a fresh pair of boxers with much hatred.

He wrenched open the door, and turned into the living room to switch off everything when he stopped dead. The television was off, as were all the lights save for a nightlight in the kitchen.

But that wasn’t why he stopped.

He stopped because there just coming out of the kitchen was his sweet, strange girl in one of his shirts, eyes drooping and a glass of cold milk in her hand. He still wasn’t used to seeing her move so freely in the house. She grinned lazily when she padded up to him.

He stared at her firmly for a moment, his fist clenched tight as his anger with himself was still high.

“Wanna sip, handsome?” She said sleepily, and raised the glass to him as if to punctuate her point.

He wanted to scream at her. Slap the milk away. Slam her against the wall. He wanted to hurt her.

But even as he took a deep breath to throw everything he had worked for in the trash, she started humming that song.

That damn fucking song that he had so foolishly showed her because he thought of her while he listened to it.

“You're mine

And we belong together

Yes, we belong together

For eternity…”

He watched her sway all dopey, completely oblivious to his raging fury, and press a kiss to the middle of his chest.

Her own personal brand.

And just like that, his fist uncoiled.

It was like someone flicked a switch , and Albert was once again in control…not him. His shoulders relaxed and Albert sighed, tilting his head to the side. “You drink that for me, sweetie. Let’s get to bed.” He placed a hand on her back and guided her to their bedroom, Sampson following behind.

She finished her glass, and laid down facing the older man. He brought her closer to his bare chest, and felt her suck in a deep breath.

“You smell nice…”she murmured, though it was barely audible.

Moments later, he felt her chest rise and fall in full breaths as she slipped into sleep again. He gazed down at her little head, and he pressed a kiss there as he let himself join her just minutes later.

That was the first time he didn’t double check the locks.

Over time, their days began to look very much the same. By the fourth month, he stopped having Sampson guard every door. By the fifth, he stopped calling every hour when he was gone from the house.

Then, by the seventh month, he decided something that terrified him. He knew he couldn’t keep her in his home without touching grass forever. Not without running the risk of her leaving. While that would have excited him at one time, he now feared that possibility. He knew he could just lock her up again, but then she would probably grow miserable and hate him…and he didn’t want that.

He wanted her.

So on one Friday evening, in March of 1979, he gently asked her if she wanted to take a nightly walk with him and Sampson.

“Really?” Her sweet voice shook, “You think that’ll be okay? He…he won’t find me?” If he was honest, he appreciated that she was nervous to leave. Albert pulled her into his lap and perched his chin atop her head.

“He’s never going to find you. If he ever lays eyes on you, that’ll be the day he dies.” He rasped, and pulled away to stare at her as if to confirm his words.

Y/n nodded and breathed out a sigh to calm herself. “Alright…can we…can we start out with short ones though? It…it’s been a while.” She murmured, looking down at his hand on her lap, toying with one of his rings.

He chuckled and nodded, “We can start out small if you look at me.”

She grinned and did as he asked. His blue eyes gazed right back at her and she relaxed, pulling him to her for a kiss. It had taken a long time to coax him into feeling more comfortable with kissing her. He never said much about his past but she had pieced together enough to know that intimate affection was not something he was well versed in.

She knew Albert was an only child until he was eight. He was always close with his mother who took interest in him. She encouraged him and listened.

Things changed when his brother was born…but he didn’t say much about the matter other than their mother fell ill shortly after giving birth, and she passed away soon after.

It had been left up to him to look after his little brother while his father began drinking again.

Then the beatings started. He beat Albert until he was unconscious. He would drag him down to that basement and leave him there till morning.

She knew his father served in the Second World War, and that when he came back everything got worse.

The rest was a mystery, but that was alright. She had found s damaged soul to love, and she wouldn’t push him.

By April, they had worked up to taking an hour out in the evenings together. She still held onto him tightly, but by the end of the month, they would have a foot or two between them and she didn’t need to hold his hand.

By May, he let her walk Sampson in the early mornings alone. Of course Albert knew the exact route she took and had each turn timed to know where she was and at what time she would return. But by the end of the month it was comfortable. With her hair so much longer, none of the neighbours even suspected she was the missing daughter of Stewart L/n.

But by June, everything changed.

It was on a Wednesday.

The sneakers Albert had bought her made a slight squeak as she strode down the street. Sampson walked calmly by her side, his chocolate eyes sharp as he surveyed the area to guard her. Their walk was coming close to an end and she turned onto the main road to come back to the little brown house she loved. She was very aware of her surroundings, and that road always made her nervous; it was the most exposed she felt. It didn’t help that it was the same one she had sprinted down when she ran into Albert for the first time. She smiled at the memory.

She loved that man. Even if he didn’t love her, she didn’t care.

Y/n was lost in thought when she felt Sampson freeze. Her eyes snapped up to follow his pointed gaze and she felt her blood go cold, but she remained calm. She had to remain calm. The lone police car cruised down the road towards her, and she did her best to look indifferent as it approached her. Inside, the officer gave her a small half salute, and a nod, which she raised her hand in a small wave to.

The car passed her, and she sighed in relief. She looked back once she was at the intersection, and saw that the car had stopped down the road, and the officer was watching her.

She should have stopped going for those morning walks after that, but she didn’t. She just thought he was a creep who wanted a little eye candy while on patrol.

So the next morning when she kissed Albert on the cheek as he sat with a cup of coffee before work, she had no worry in her mind as she breathed in the morning air. By the time she was halfway through her walk with her guard by her side, she had completely forgotten about that officer and his wandering eyes.

But when she started down that main road again, she felt every limb go numb. For the first time in months, she was terrified. Just a few meters down the road from her was that same officer, but this time, he was standing outside his car with another officer. As soon as she turned down that road, and they stood between her and her home, she not only felt terror, but she also felt threatened.

She saw the officer from the morning before hit the other one and nod toward her. “Mornin’ little lady!” He said in an overly friendly tone.

Y/n took a couple ridged steps toward them in hopes that if she acted normal they would leave. “Morning officers.” She said in a bright voice that did not match her face.

They were just a few feet from her now. “How are you going this morning?” The other officer asked. She looked at their tags. The one from the other morning was Allans and the other was Mathewson.

“I-I’m doing just fine. Thank you.” She said, trying to inch past them. She managed to get on the other side of them so she was towards her home and she half considered setting Sampson on them so she could get away.

“You live around here, miss?” Allans asked.

They know.

“Yes sir.” She said, still taking slow steps. At this point, Sampson was growling. Her heart was beating in her ears.

“Mind if we just ask you a couple questions?”

They know.

“I-I don’t…my-my guardian is expecting me-“

“Y/n?” Mathewson asked. “You’re y/n L/n aren’t you?” They started walking towards her.

Run.

She cracked a smile, “Sorry? No my name is Anna.” She tightened her grip on the leash.

“Y/n l/n.” He said again. They were too close.

Run.

It was all too much, and she lost it. Y/n took off running, letting go of Sampson in the process. But while she was quick, they were closer to her and grabbed her before she could cut through a neighbour’s yard.

“Don’t run y/n! We just wanna help you get home.” Allans said, restraining her arms as they picked her up. She struggled and kicked. Mathewson had his arm right there and she took the chance to latch her jaws around his muscle. It didn’t rip the uniform but she knew she had broken skin by his scream and the smack she received. She wriggled out of their arms three times before they finally got her. Allans swore and smacked her over the face as they cuffed and threw her into the back of the cruiser. She kicked at the door, and screamed.

“Told ya it was her. You remember when she went missin’?” She heard Allans say from the front.

“You kiddin’ me? That father of hers was a real piece of work. Jesus I thought he was gonna tear the town apart.” Mathewson said with a shake of his head.

“Let me go you idiots!” She screamed. “I ran away I didn’t go missing!”

“Damn whoever took her really did a number on her.” They joked.

No.

Albert.

She wasn’t going to see him again.

He didn’t know.

She was going back to …him.

She felt sick.

She was going to throw up. And she did, all over the floor.

“What the- fuck! Look what she did!”

She didn’t even listen anymore. Her eyes glazed over, and she went numb.

She was going back to her father. She had had almost a year of peace…and she knew it would be the only thing she would hold onto. She didn’t know how long she would last if her father took her back.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Albert.

They put her in a holding cell. It was cold, and smelled strange. Before they closed the door to the area, she heard an officer on the phone outside. “Yeah we have that girl that went missing last year…uh Stew-“ and the door shut. Her hands shook uncontrollably and she backed into the cell like a terrified animal.

Half an hour later, Allans came in with his hands on his hips. “Your fathers been notified. He’s coming to get you.” He said unimpressed.

She wouldn’t look at him.

“You took a chunk out of my partners arms.” He crossed his arms.

“Good. Hope he bleeds out.” She spat.

He laughed humourlessly.

“You’re a real bitch you know that?”

She mocked his laugh.

“You would be too if you were being handed back to the man who beat you every night and made you want to stick a rifle in your mouth.” She said finally raising her eyes to his. He was unsettled by what he saw. It was like something not human stared back at him. Something dead and cold. “Why couldn’t you have just left me alone?”

He swallowed,

“It’s my job to uphold the law and a part of that is finding missing people-“

And just then, there was a knock on the door. Another officer poked his head in, “Someone’s here for her. He’s pretty riled up.”

“I. WASN’T. FUCKING. MISSING!” She screamed.

The officer recoiled.

“Good that’s her father.” Allans said, “You’re going home, missy.”

He left her there, and as the door clicked shut, the world closed around her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@lxdyred @ethanhawkestan @honeycovered-bandaids @theroadreader r @eth1calcannibal @ratpackash @doc-blu @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @dogmatic255 @funandfancyfree

#sweet dreams #the grabber x reader #the grabber #albert shaw #the black phone 2022 #slasher x reader

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writernopal · 1 year

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🔮She Doesn't Know How To Rest🌌

I came across this canon piece between Fay and Wilkes from their early days together that needed some love 🥺 They were both quite young and unfamiliar with each other here, but you can see some of their present qualities shine through, and it makes me so proud to see how far they've come! Although, it does make me nostalgic for the days when they were my only darlings 💖

CW: emaciation

“Wilkes. Wilkes, wake up.”

I opened my eyes, blinking the blurry image of Fay into focus. She was already dressed and had what looked to be the pillow I’d let her borrow in her hands. I propped myself up, squinting at her with a frown.

“Fay…what is it?”

“I wanted to give you your pillow back. Thank you for letting me borrow it.” She said in a whisper.

“Keep it. It’s alright.” I replied, tongue heavy and uncooperative in my mouth. It couldn’t already be morning, could it? No. My parents were still fast asleep, as was evident by my father’s snoring, and that was to make no mention of the night’s chill hanging in the air all around us. “Why are you awake so early?”

“I’m early to rise.” She said without further elaborating and offered me the pillow again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest more?” I asked, “We have a three-day voyage ahead of us. You’ll need your strength for the journey.”

“Oh. I already packed the cot.” She responded quietly.

I tossed a look at where my mother had set up the cot for her, confirming through sleep-laden eyes that what she’d said was true. That wouldn’t do. Especially not after the day she’d had. I reached out and took the pillow from her with a tired groan, then scooted over to make room for her beside me on my own cot. It would be a tight fit at best, but I wouldn’t make her sleep on the floor. I set the pillow down, lifted the furs I was under, and patted the vacated spot tiredly. Her body tensed, and some strange thing flashed in her eyes. Fear, perhaps?

“I’m not asking you for anything. If you don’t want to be close, I can lay on the ground.” I reassured her, “But you need to rest.”

She tightened her shawl around her shoulders and nodded, carefully approaching and making herself comfortable in the space I had made for her. I placed the furs over her gently and pulled my arm back to let it lay against my side, and folded the other under my head so I wouldn’t touch her even by mistake. Kindling that apparent apprehension from before would certainly make for a kind of torture I had no interest in inflicting. She nestled her head down into my pillow and took a deep breath. With that, I closed my eyes and decided that I would try to get some sleep too. At least, that had been the plan.

She shifted, and that’s when I noticed her quivering. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about accepting my invitation after all. I opened my eyes and nearly leapt out of my own scales. There in the darkness, her two round and piercing golden eyes affixed themselves upon me. They arrested any question I might have for her somewhere deep in my chest in a way I’d never felt before.

“I’m cold.” She whispered.

Her voice swept over me like a gentle sea swell, lifting the scales along my spine as it returned to its master, tempting me to be even closer.

“Should I get you another blanket?” I asked, throat suddenly feeling all too parched.

She shook her head and inched closer. One of her skinny arms looped beneath mine and closed around me in a tired embrace. Such a gesture should not bear so much weight, so then why did I feel like I was being smothered?

“You’re really warm. It feels nice…” She explained, eyes falling shut.

Her words slurred just the tiniest bit, making that rasp of hers just that much softer. Lower. Not sweet, but enticing all the same. I— I wanted to hear it again.

“Would you like me to hold you?” I asked, hoping my question and her response might both be loud enough to disguise the furious thumping of my heart.

“No one has ever asked me that before.” She responded in the same slur from before, “But I would like that…”

I wished she’d not been so brief, but she was tired, so I did as she might like and put my arm around her. She was not warm or soft in the slightest. Even through her clothes, I could feel the gaunt bones of her hips pressed to mine and the ridges of her spine under my palm. The flash of her knuckled chest that I’d caught earlier flew back into my mind. She was a veritable twig. I could probably snap her in two if I held her too tightly…

I decided not to think about that too much and produced the softest chuffing I could manage, nursing that gentle warmth in my chest for her sake. Like moth to light, she immediately squeezed me with her other arm and fully cuddled into me. What should have been a soft visage against my form was little more than a skull, tenderly wrapped in skin and hair, but even so, it was charming to see her abandon her previous hesitation. For someone so initially skeptical about the offer, she certainly didn’t mind setting that aside for the warmth she so craved. But she left me no time for amusement at her change in attitude as another quickly followed. Her thin frame soon slackened with sleep, releasing the last of her worries, and I couldn’t help but smile. Were it not the dead of night, I might even laugh. She wasn’t early to rise. She just didn’t know how to rest.

#aasoaf #fay #wilkes #my writing #nopal's vault #cw: emaciation

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jellicle-shifters-au · 8 months

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Found

for Demelurina Week Day 2: Anniversary and (a little early) @whumptober day 20 people don't change, time does; and day 28 you'll have to go through me

TIMELINE: six years after demeter's first captivity

The air tastes different here, on the outskirts of the town, than it does in the heart of it. It’s not the same as the green, there’s still a tinge of smoke and exhaust and restaurant fare in the green, but here in the park there’s less of that, and Demeter can smell more of the greenery and squirrels and other small things lurking in the grass. That, and the hint of ice cream still drifting from the pink-and-white truck parked on the other side of the street. There’s a kind of cold that drifts across the wind, that kind that she recognizes from winter but with something more metallic to it, each and every time the man opens the freezer.

She and Bomba had already been to the truck, and now she sits on a nearby bench nursing a cone—plain vanilla, of course—while Bomba has run off to the bathroom. It’s nice, to just sit there with nothing to do and nowhere to be, with all the time in the world.

The wind blows gently into her face, and with it comes the scents from across the park, the squirrels tucked away in trees, the dogs and their humans, the pines and oaks and the maples. There’s the faint scent of cat, too, others who have been this way but none of them are familiar to her.

None of them except—

“My, my,” she hears, in between the crunch of leaves and the creak of the bench as he sits, and not without a soft, strained sigh as though something about the motion hurts, “it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

The cone breaks under her fingers.

Six years. It’s been six years since she ran off, since she climbed out that window in the dead of night and disappeared into the dark. Six years, that smooth, silky voice has haunted the edge of her dreams, the center of her nightmares, has made her so afraid of her own name she goes by something else entirely.

Six years he had the chance to come after her and he waited until now, six years later, to find her again.

Six years later, when she thought he would have searched the town up and down, every nook and cranny, tore the place apart just to find her—

And all it took was a day at the park.

Cold ice cream runs over her fingers. The taste of it turns to ash in her mouth. The air around her turns bitterly cold, the hint of ice from the truck turns sharp and sour; the cold seeps deep into her bones, not even her compression shirt can keep her warm. The blood drains from her face. She grips the cone a little tighter in her hands, feeling the brittle waffle cone crack under her fingers.

Why? Why did he wait six years? Why now, why not then, why wait so long to come back for her?

And he is coming back for her. Demeter had always known he would.

It’s a feeling that’s been sitting somewhere so deep inside her she’d almost forgotten it was there, but it had always gnawed at her like a flea when she let it.

She’d known, since the day she ran out, that this would always happen.

Her mouth is dry. Her heart races. She can’t look at him. It’s over already, but if she looks at him, she might never come back.

If he ordered her to, she’d get up and follow him back to his car, back to the rats and the dark and the terror and the sensory assault—to her own death—he wouldn’t give her a choice and she wouldn’t give him a fight.

And Bomba—

She’d never see Bomba again.

“You look…well,” he says slowly.

The park blurs. She can’t remember how to breathe.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t hurt anyone. I haven’t come looking for you. I haven’t felt anything.

I haven’t done anything wrong.

She doesn’t know how she responds, but she feels a sound catch at the back of her throat. Warm tears run down her face when she blinks. The park comes back into view. There are parents and their kids on the other side, at the playground. A pair of joggers passes by. A group of adult women mingles around another bench. None of them look at Demeter.

“Where have you been hiding these days?”

She doesn’t know how to answer, even if she could. Every word she wants to say catches and dies at the back of her throat. She shivers, cold vanilla ice cream dripping over her knuckles, and imagines herself to be a lot like that cone—cracking, cracking, cracking under the pressure of Macavity’s hold until she shatters completely.

Bomba, she thinks—Where’s Bomba?— I’ve been living with Bomba—Bomba—

It feels like Bomba’s been gone for hours.

What if something’s happened to her? What if the rats found her? If Macavity found Demeter, then he certainly could find Bomba, his rats could jump her as she comes out of the bathroom, anything could happen—

If he doesn’t know…she can’t give him Bomba. If he knew, if he knew Bomba had been hiding her all these years, there’s no telling what he’d do to her, what he’d do to both of them. She can’t give him Bomba.

The narrow scope of her world goes quiet for a moment, filled with nothing but cold and the ice cream running over her fingers and the terror in her heart. Then Macavity inhales heavily; Demeter whimpers at the sound.

“I asked you a question, Demeter.” And there it is, that patronizing, prodding tone, I want something from you and you’re failing to give it to me, the tone that’s made her so afraid of her own name.

She squeezes the cone tighter, takes a sharp breath, tears running down her cheeks and gives him another whimper. It’s all she can manage.

She’s forgotten how to speak, how to call for help, how to call for Bomba; she can’t reach the phone in her pocket with the fractured cone glued to her fingers, the only lifeline she has.

Another moment, and then he sighs heavily, hisses softly. She’s in trouble, she’s in so much trouble—Demeter would scream if she could—

“Now you’re being rude.”

Demeter’s head snaps up, there’s something in that tone she can’t resist. She looks.

His eyes are glowing orange, his magic grips her with warm claws; he holds her gaze right where it is, even as he looks her over and takes in her new appearance, now that she’s regained all the weight she’s lost and her clothes fit her and she wears compression shirts and she’s not a grimey, matted mess anymore—

And his face, it hasn’t changed in six years. His fiery red hair has a little more gray now than it did then, but there are no new wrinkles around his eyes or mouth or in his cheeks. His eyes still hold the same intensity they did then, still hold her just as easily.

I’m sorry, she wants to say, but still she can’t. Her voice is gone.

“Yes,” he says, tilting his head, frowning thoughtfully, more to himself than to her, “you’ve certainly managed to do well for yourself.” The light goes out of his eyes, but Demeter can’t force herself to look away.

You’re being rude.

“Where have you been?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed. That note in his voice, he knows, he’s known for years, he’s always known, now he wants her to confirm it. She doesn’t know how.

She can’t.

Hkk, is the most she can manage, a thin, choked sound at the back of her throat.

“Hm.”

Demeter shivers. Ice cream drips onto her pants.

It’s not like she’ll have them long, anyway. Her dark jeans will be replaced by frayed gray sweatpants soon enough and the ice cream stains won’t matter then, not that they even matter now, really—

Macavity takes a breath. It’s enough to make Demeter’s head spin; the blood’s drained from her face, the oxygen’s gone from her lungs, she can’t think clearly and yet the way inhales sets off alarms in her head—he’s taking her scent, she smells like Bomba, he’ll know she’s living with Bomba.

He narrows his eyes. “I see.”

Demeter sobs.

No, no, he can’t know, he can’t know about Bomba, if he knows about Bomba, he’ll come after her, he’ll do worse than the three scars on the back of her leg, he’ll kill her, he’ll kill her and he’ll take his time doing it.

Please not Bomba, it’s not her fault, she didn’t do anything wrong, she didn’t do anything wrong—

“What the hell is this?”

Demeter squeezes the shattered cone tighter; freshly melted ice cream runs around her fingers. She gulps in air, the tension in her shoulders fading out as Macavity’s hold on her is broken. The feeling and control comes back into her body, a weight finally lifted off her shoulders. She inches back until she’s pressed against the arm of the bench.

He turns to meet Bomba, his eyes narrowed. His lip curls just enough to show the tip of one sharpened fang. “Bombalurina.”

Terror grips Demeter’s heart again. Bombalurina. No one calls Bomba by her full name, it’s either Bomba or Rina, never Bombalurina.

“I didn’t realize Demeter was your…ward.” There’s a hiss in his voice, a hint of displeasure, annoyance. Anger.

He knows now, he knows about Bomba, he was never supposed to know about Bomba, he can’t know about Bomba—

“Yes,” Bomba answers. Her voice doesn’t betray anything; the one word is laced with venom. She crosses her arms as she moves to put herself between Macavity and Demeter, blocking Demeter from his view as much as she can. “She is. It was my choice.”

For a moment, Macavity says nothing. Then he nods his head to Bomba, and says softly, with careful consideration, “So it was.” He stands, crossing his arms, looking Bomba over with careful thought. “Tell me something, Miss Ford—how much thought did you put into this little…venture?”

“Enough.” A snarl lines Bomba’s words. Demeter looks up. Bomba’s chin is raised, her hair is clipped up at the back of her head in a curly red bun. She stands with her spine straight, looking ever like the Protector she is. “Be warned, Mister Stern, there’s not a Jellicle in this town that wouldn’t fight to keep her out of your hands.”

“Do you really think, Ms. Ford,” Macavity says slowly, “that a handful of Protectors could stop me from taking her again if I so desired?”

He does. He wants her back. But why did he wait six years to do it?

“We'll die trying.”

“Hm. I’m sure.” He takes a step closer to Bomba. “Tell me something else, Miss Ford, since Miss Mayweather is currently incapable of doing so herself—” and it’s not without a sharp glance at Demeter. She shrinks back into the corner of the bench, shivering with fear and cold, the ice cream now a thin liquid still running over her knuckles and between her fingers, the cone a soggy, broken mess. “Has she showed any signs of relapse?”

Bomba lurches forward with a fang-filled growl, her hands forming into fists as uncrosses her arms, only to stop at the last moment, tucking her arms back across her chest. She backs away. “You had your time with her,” she snarls. “If you wanted to be so sure she wouldn’t…relapse—” she spits the word out like a maggot— “then you should have come for her that night. Not six years later.”

“Perhaps,” Macavity answers. His orange eyes flash to Demeter. “But do consider that some symptoms are best measured with time.”

It’s too much, it’s too—

The cone falls from Demeter's hands as she lurches forward and vomits into the grass, the weight of Macavity’s words finally crushing her, pushing her off the bench. Bomba doesn’t have the time to yell at him, tell him to go away, get away from us, get away from her, don’t come back before the man slips away and she’s on her knees next to Demeter, pulling her hair out of her face, rubbing circles on her back, politely declining help from the few passersby who finally stop to see if Demeter is alright, and it makes her sob harder amidst her retching, she burns with anger, they couldn’t help her before, but they could help her now, couldn’t they? Why couldn’t they help her before? Why couldn’t they help her when she sat there sobbing in terror as the man who ruined her life sat there and threatened to ruin it again?

Where were you? she wants to ask. Where were you when I needed you?

Where was Bomba?

Taking too damn long in the bathroom—

She coughs into the grass. It’s not Bomba’s fault, she can’t blame Bomba—

Bomba was the only one to help her—

“It’s alright, love,” Bomba says softly. “It’s alright, you’re alright. I’ve got you, Metra, I’m here.”

Demeter’s retching turns to sobs. She falls into Bomba, the strength and energy sapped out of her limbs. She cries into Bomba’s shoulder, gripping her with what little strength she has left, leaving a sticky, sloppy mess of ice cream on her blouse. It’s a distant thought that occurs to her, under the terror and the frustration and some symptoms are best measured with time.

She cries until there’s nothing left; and later, when they’re in the car, Demeter will stare at the mess of ice cream and shattered cone on her shaking hands and her pants and the mess she’s left on Bomba’s shoulder, and say with her mouth dry and her voice reedy, I’m sorry about your blouse.

Bomba will sigh, heavy and sympathetic, and reach over to take Demeter’s sticky hand in her own. A blouse can be replaced, she’ll say, her own voice tight, but you can’t.

#demelurina week #day 2: anniversary #whumptober 2023 #no. 20 #people don't change time does #no. 28 #you'll have to go through me #demelurina #demeter #bombalurina #macavity #hoping for a brighter day: demeter #cats the musical #cats 1998

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tautline-hitch · 11 months

Note

for the fic title game:

where the grass is greener

and

a mouthful of dirt

hmm. "where the grass is greener" feels like it ought to be bodyswap—let roche put up with iorveth's nightmares; let iorveth enjoy roche's crushingly human joint pain; vice versa—but ALSO i love a good time-twister piece (roche flung backwards to meet a young iorveth? happy and beautiful, but already something of an outsider: not quite elven enough somehow, not quite as inclined to forgiveness and starlight laughter as he ought to be?). of course we could just go with iorveth accidentally hotboxing both of them in an council room in vizima.

"a mouthful of dirt," well. that's ghosts, isn't it. i used to kick around the idea of iorveth haunting roche's bed during and after W3: a little "she moved through the fair," a little "joe hill," a little eros and psyche don't-look-at-me-in-the-light. is he dead? is he just absent? the W3 question writ large. HA i thought i had notes for this:

when he wakes the room is cold, and he lies very still.

“very good,” iorveth says, from the shadows. “now learn to breathe steady, and you might fool an assassin.”

“i am an a assassin,” roche says. he relaxes the hand which had been tensing against his thigh. there is a blade beside him, though it seems pointless in these latter days, under the merciless and unblinking eye of imperial peace. he swallows.

“if you’ve come to kill me,” but there is no creak of a bowstring. swords then. his heart begins to beat.

logic creeps in, stirring the dust.

“you’re dead,” he says. he was informed. silence, shadow.

“death is complicated,” says iorveth. that old purr of amusement at someone else’s expense. “ask the witcher.”

“not an answer,” says roche. i’m not fucking a spirit comes bubbling up to the surface of his mind and he sweeps the thought away.

"hmm," iorveth says, somewhere placeless in the shadows. “you are correct. the price on my head was claimed by an enterprising koviri mercenary company in the employ of the hierarch of novigrad. conveniently.”

rush, flicker. a lie, then? a scheme? somewhere out there past the empire's glorious borders, are there still scoia riders circling? the thought sets a ticking itch at the base of his skull. thought sputters like a pump: i could. i could.

across the room a shadow breaks off from the others: moves, still soundless, through the dust.

“yes, i’m dead,” iorveth says, his hand heavy on roche’s thigh. “does that satisfy you?”

“no,” roche says.

“funny,” says iorveth. close like this he smells of leather, sweat. sense-memory: light through leaves, rotten wood and leaf mould and the stink of the pontar.

“at caelmewedd,” iorveth says, with his face all in shadow, “you wanted me.” his hand on roche’s thigh, a span above the knee: neither warm nor cool through his braes. firm and steady, more a demand than a question.

(“men can change their faces,” iorveth says, “and their fates.” his touch is as cool as steel and his breath is as soundless. “perhaps I’ll come to you in another form.”

“no,” roche says.

silence.)

#lapslock baby #sorry #ask games

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maybebovinity · 11 months

Text

When a Crime Lord becomes a Baker [Aatrox/Pantheon] CHAPTER 6

Read on Ao3

TRIPLE THREAT BAKLAVA

The desert heat suffocates what little breath remains in his lungs. Sweat drips steadily into his eyes and burns like venom, but he cannot lose focus; the streets might have been empty, but empty streets only meant an imminent ambush. He was alone and he couldn’t remember where his team went. He listened for the cry of a lost child, but the streets remained silent.

He continued along the cobblestone streets as torn carpets hung out for drying weakly flapped in the quiet wind. All the doors and windows were open, but not a soul in sight. As he wandered through the streets a cold realisation washed over him: he was nearing the Darkin executions. It was an empty plaza with a mosaic of the Shuriman Sun Disc, stained with the blood of those unlucky enough to be caught by the Darkin.

He knew the plaza was around the corner, just like the time he went to confront the Darkin for the first time. But that time never came. And today he will not avoid it, he will finish his mission.

The plaza was empty of victims and an audience, but in the middle stood a gigantic creature facing him: its body mimicked that of a man but was red and emitted a pulsating glow, and what wasn’t red was covered in protective black metal. The creature’s visage was that of a man, but demonic metal horns and hellfire eyes removed any shred of humanity it might have once possessed.

The creature did not speak, but drew a sword as long as it from its back and spread open wings that went unnoticed. It stepped forward, the cobblestones shaking beneath its feet, and grew larger the closer it came.

At once Atreus knew what to do: no longer was a Targonian soldier equipped with modern machines and a standard uniform, he was a warrior clad in golden armour equipped with a deadly spear and immortal shield.

“The godling has come to finish me.” The creature spoke, its voice echoing across the universe.

Atreus steadied his spear, but he was no longer Atreus. He could feel it, another name, another soul. He was something greater; something like the creature before him.

“Finish what you have started godling.”

The spear left his hand before he could think, and he watched as it pierced the creature’s chest. But it did not scream nor wail nor fall: it stood tall and laughed cruelly as black blood leaked from its absent heart and restained the Sun Disc.

“Thank you godling.”

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

He woke to a hand gently shaking at his naked shoulder. Disorientated, Atreus turned to see Soraka standing above him: what was she doing here? He voiced his confusion.

“I just came by to make sure you’re gonna wake up~ You don’t want to disappoint Ms. Georgiou do you?”

Still recovering from his strange dream, Atreus groggily sat up and hissed at the cold sting against his naked skin. Regardless if he enjoyed the cold, it always hurt when snuggled up in warm blankets for an entire evening. He twisted to turn towards Soraka who was already dressed for the day. He glanced at the window (curtains never closed) and saw the sky was still abyssal.

“Did you sleep here?” He asked as he slowly got out from underneath the covers and tried to locate his clothes still lying somewhere on the floor. Covering himself around her hardly mattered as neither had any remote interest in each other: Atreus saw little pleasure in women, and Soraka has yet to show interest in anyone. She kicked over a shoe in his direction, which he failed to catch and it bounced uselessly off his shin.

Locating his jeans, he made work of pulling up the cold material and listened to Soraka’s prattling:

“Next time movie night interferes with drama club I’m gonna drag you all with us instead. You should’ve seen the little ones! They had to perform Freljordian folktales and this one group made their own dresses as the three sisters-” Atreus drowned her out as she told the story of the previous evening. He knew she was familiar with the school and its children, but he hardly cared much for them himself.

He was never good with children, and hardly remembered what he was like as a child. He vaguely recalls open fields and a familiar laugh growing old until dying away too young. The memory gave him a sour taste in his mouth and he hesitated as he briefly forgot how to tie the laces of his boot.

“Atreus?”

“Hmm?”

“Forget your bunny ears?” her voice was light and obviously amused by his incompetency. He rolled his eyes, remembered how to tie his laces, and repeated the procedure with the other boot before standing up and taking the shirt Soraka already found and held out for him.

“Aatrox awake yet?” He asked.

“No idea, came straight over here. Mrs. and Mrs. Queen of Sleeping In is, as you guessed it, still sleeping in. Aphelios opened up for me, he came to fetch his sketchbook.”

Atreus reached for the key on the nightstand and carefully closed it in his palm. All he had to do was unlock the door, he didn’t need to go in and wake the man up. His thoughts flickered to his dream, but it meant nothing to him. Dreaming about Shurima was not uncommon. But dreaming of gods were.

Overcoming his irrational fear, Atreus, now fully dressed, followed Soraka out of the room into the hallway. She went directly to the kitchen where he could already hear glasses clinking against each other, and he found himself stood outside of Aatrox’s door. He tried to listen to any evidence of the man being awake, but it was eerily quiet.

The key felt slippery in his hands, and he was brave enough to ask himself: why was he so terrified? But that was not the right question to ask, because he wasn’t terrified. Not of Aatrox. Not of his dream. Not of Shurima.

He felt the same terror he once saw in Leona’s eyes before she disappeared in the middle of the war, only to return once Diana was back.

The fear he felt when Pylas died in his arms.

But Atreus refused to be dictated by fear, so he slotted the key into the polished doorknob and unlocked the door. Carefully, he pushed the door open and peered inside: Aatrox was already dressed and was carefully sitting on his bed. The room was pristine, and the bed was made up so neatly it almost appeared as if it was never slept in. Atreus tried to see if he could spot any sort of luggage, but there was nothing. He realised that in the time Aatrox has been here he has only ever worn the same clothes: jeans, with a plain t-shirt or a hoodie.

But Atreus could hardly judge with his own poor judgement in fashion. Soraka and Taric often tried to adorn him with some sort of fashionable clothing, but habit always brought him back to the comfort of practical clothing.

Aatrox looked up when the door opened and a grimace crossed his face. Atreus, being the adult he so clearly is, made the decision to ignore the other’s behaviour in favour of being civil. But he never considered that Aatrox might not be the one to forget something so… clearly not trivial.

“Good morning.” Atreus greeted autonomously.

“The sun has not yet risen.” Aatrox replied. His window’s curtains were drawn and the only light illuminating his figure was the glow of a distant street light. He reminded Atreus of the demon in his dream.

“The perfect time to get ready then.” Uncomfortable, Atreus pocketed the key and turned away. He could hear Soraka was trying to make breakfast and he wanted to stop her.

“Atreus.” It was the first time Aatrox has said his name.

Atreus stopped and turned around as he heard the bed creaking from being freed of a heavy weight. Aatrox walked over to him and leaned against the doorframe, having to crane his neck down to properly look at the baker.

“Yeah?” Atreus asked after a pause. His chest felt tight with fear.

“It is tiresome to apologise for my behaviour, and I refuse to do so. Nothing I do is without reason, and I have faith in my reasoning.”

Atreus did not react, but the words slowly filtered through his mind. Aatrox has said before about all of his actions having reason.

“No one can read your mind, so forgive me when I find it… unsettling when you decide to kill yourself in my shop and speak about-” Atreus cut himself off, because he did not want to bring up the one thing that was still plaguing him: Aatrox’s behaviour the previous evening was beyond unacceptable. Atreus already had to deal with the stress of almost losing his business and having one of the most dangerous men in Runeterra around him, he cannot handle the man’s vague intentions as well.

Aatrox was frowning and released a deep sigh, “I would ask for us to resume our indifference towards each other.” The words were said almost irritably, and Atreus did not have time to ponder on them as the criminal pushed past him and walked into the kitchen where Soraka excitedly greeted him.

Sett emerged from his room and found Atreus still standing outside of Aatrox’s room. “What’d he do now?” the bodyguard asked in amusement. Atreus only shook his head and mimicked Aatrox.

Soraka made breakfast for the four of them (Leona and Diana will not be waking up for the next few hours). They ate in silence and left the inn together, heading towards the bakery for a day filled with baking and eager old ladies waiting for their goodies.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

Their small routine allowed them to quickly open the shop and get everything ready. Atreus never minded taking a bit longer to open with just him and Soraka, but he couldn’t deny that having the extra hands helped. He considered asking Diana if Aphelios would be interested in making some extra money, but the thought only reminded him that Aatrox (and Sett) would be leaving at the end of the month.

Two weeks.

Two weeks of being infuriated by the Shuriman’s strange behaviour.

Atreus had Soraka in the front (she needed the practice now more than ever) and spent the morning in silence as he desperately tried to concentrate on completing his orders, and not on the brooding Shuriman sending him death glares whenever they accidentally made eye-contact.

Aatrox was as far away as possible from Atreus and was busy absent-mindedly taking down folded boxes, checking them, and putting them back on the pile. Some he unfolded completely and began anew. Atreus ignored his fidgeting, and was more worried about Sett being in the front with Soraka. He must have decided that Aatrox was not a threat this day, but it hardly meant much when Atreus was not in the mood to be anywhere near the man.

He took out a small notebook from his apron and flipped through the pages until he came to the most recent scribbled mess: Two boxes of baklava. A simple enough request from one of his customers the other day, and due for tomorrow.

He went to fetch the necessary ingredients, and when he returned he found Aatrox standing by his little corner he was trying to hide in. The man was leaning against the counter and glaring daggers at the slowly approaching baker.

“Got tired of the boxes?” Atreus asked as he tried to figure out how to move around Aatrox.

“Your silence insults me.”

“You asked us to continue our ‘indifference’” Irritated, Atreus elbowed the man out of the way and set down his ingredients. Aatrox moved from the shove, but his face lost all fight and he opened his mouth as if to protest but nothing came out.

Not wanting the man to interfere with his order, Atreus began sorting out his arsenal of soon to be boxes of delicious baklava. His movements were autonomous which unfortunately allowed him to spare enough attention to glance at Aatrox and see the man still standing there just staring at him.

“Are you always like this?” Atreus began, drawing his attention back to his work. “Say whatever you want and expect others to just know what you’re talking about?”

“Fuck you.” The words were practically hissed. Aatrox was beside him again, but he was using his gigantic advantage to crowd around Atreus and trap him between the Shuriman and his table. Atreus meant to turn around and bravely shove the man off, but when he turned and lifted his arms he found himself more trapped than he thought: Aatrox jerked forward and blocked Atreus off by firmly placing his hands on either side of the unexpecting baker. His muscles pulled tautly as he used all his strength to keep Atreus at bay.

Atreus refused to strain his neck, and settled for glaring at his chin instead. With his arms having nowhere to go, he crossed them and tried to create more distance by leaning backwards (the table digging into his backside), but it only invited Aatrox to move closer to him.

Afraid. Uncomfortable. Expecting. Atreus didn’t bother to place a word on his emotions, because this was worse than the previous night. This was possibly either life-threatening or Aatrox being as socially inept as usual.

“Can I help you?” Atreus asked carefully, briefly reminded of being in a similar situation in Shurima: coming toe-to-toe with a much younger, smaller and inexperienced youth recently recruited by the Darkin. The only difference is that Atreus was able to fight off the child, but he won’t be able to defend himself against Aatrox. Not like this.

“All I want to fucking do is break your neck.” Aatrox whispered harshly. His arms flexed and the threat was clear. “I want to personally force you onto your knees and cut off your head.”

“Why don’t you kill me then?�� Atreus challenged. This only angered Aatrox further: with practised movement, he grabbed Atreus by the hem of his shirt, pulled him away from the table and pushed him into the nearest wall. Aatrox leaned down and forced Atreus to look up with a harsh tug of his shirt. Atreus tried not to slip as Aatrox almost pulled him from the floor.

“How the fuck can I kill you if you won’t fight back ?” Aatrox’s words blew his hot breath across Atreus’ face. A strange calm overcame Atreus as he observed Aatrox’s enraged face: his tattoos and snarl reminded him of the demon from his dreams.

“How do you know I won’t fight back?”

“I can see it. You want to die don’t you?”

Atreus didn’t answer, because he couldn’t trust himself to answer truthfully. Shurima changed him. It changed a lot of people. It was no different than the war Leona and Diana had to face, but it was different to him: if Atreus never went, would Aatrox be standing right here in front of him?

“What about you?” Atreus deflected. “Is that why you signed up? Are you scared of death?”

The question caught Aatrox off-guard. He relaxed his hold and created much needed distance between them. Atreus’ shirt was released, but Aatrox still stood close. Still trapped him against the wall.

“Do you believe death to be my fitting fate?” Aatrox asked, slowly, accent thick. A demon afraid of death, the opposite of the demonic Darkin Lord, propagated across Runeterra as the Shuriman Civil War raged on until everything suddenly stopped. Until the immortal Darkin Lord was captured and locked away only to be heard from again when Atreus’ desperation reached its limit. The same man Atreus was tasked to kill came to save him.

The same man who killed hundreds was afraid of being killed.

“I think you deserve better than Shurima.” Atreus said, projecting his desires onto the man. They never crossed paths during those years, but they must have been aware of each other’s presence: Aatrox hiding himself away as the Targonian soldiers proudly announced themselves wherever they went.

Aatrox has lost all the fight in him. He sighed deeply and backed away a few steps, “Why do you masquerade as a civilian?”

“Because I am one.” Atreus said with a tone he hoped would read as stop asking about Shurima. And it must have worked, because Aatrox nodded and slowly returned to his corner by the boxes where he sat down and stared at his hands with a frown. Atreus paid him no mind and returned to his previous task.

The kitchen was silent once again and the air should have been heavy, but it wasn’t: a calmness hung over their heads as Atreus methodologically made his baklava and Aatrox began to fiddle with the folded boxes again.

“What did you see in Shurima?” Aatrox asked after Atreus finally loaded the ovens. He was still perched on his chair and wore his hoodie once again he materialised out of nowhere.

“I told you, I don’t remember.”

“Lies.” If Aatrox actually thought Atreus was lying or not was beyond him, and Atreus refused to fall for the bait. Only Leona and Diana knew what happened, what he saw and what he had to do. Just like he knew what they went through to find each other. He was well aware that Aatrox’s crimes were far superior than his own, but he still struggled to grapple with some smaller details, orders given to him which he had no choice but to follow.

“I’m sure Shurimans love speaking about the foreigners who fucked everything up while they’re there, why’re you asking me?”

“The group we captured and slaughtered, their deaths were celebrated for a week. My people have suffered from the hands of the Emperor for years, and I have yet to hear them sing when I behead a Shuriman Soldier. What did you see?”

Atreus was unaware of this fact. When he returned to Targon he was forbidden from interacting with what went on, with only Leona filling him in on important details. His squad’s death barely came as a surprise to him when the news broke, but it did surprise him when Diana cried in relief at the news. Or perhaps…

The baker regarded the Shuriman who was calm, much calmer than before. Atreus was well aware the man thought nothing evil of him, but he has yet to learn what the man’s general opinion was regarding Targonians: with all the wars it was easy to forget their ancient history.

“They were criminals. We were criminals, according to Targonian standards. The Demacians would send their dishonoured soldiers to us to die, and Targon sent their dishonoured soldiers to Shurima. I might have killed my best friend, but they have done worse.”

“Worse than the Darkin?” Aatrox’s question was innocent enough, but it held heavy meanings. Atreus checked again on the baklava, deemed it was safe and propped himself against the wall he was previously pushed against.

“What makes the Darkin so bad?” He asked.

“Are the public executions not worthy enough?” Aatrox’s lip twitched in amusement and the question made Atreus uncomfortable. They were entering dangerous territory; but what did Atreus have to hide from the Darkin Lord himself?

“I had to torture an old man for information about shelter.” Atreus said without thought. Aatrox did not react to the information and only appeared confused.

“Your turn.” Atreus prompted. Aatrox’s eyes lit up in understanding.

“I hung a family for not feeding those loyal to me.”

“I killed a man for bread.”

“I bled out a man for days by castrating him.

“I walked away when they had their way with a woman.”

“It must have been the same man.” Aatrox said with some humour, possibly in an attempt to turn the conversation. But Atreus felt compelled to share the one thing he needed for Aatrox to understand: why Atreus could only ever sit back and have those brats do to him whatever they wanted.

“I executed a child.” Atreus finally said. Once he was sick at remembering the child’s face as he was forced to pull the trigger, but as time passed he soothed himself with the thought that it was a better fate than the other children. The Shuriman children slaughtered by Targonians for simply being born, just like the Moon Festival all those years ago.

“You saved a child from the Emperor’s command.” Aatrox’s voice wavered as he spoke, as if it was difficult to push the words out. The man took a deep breath and tapped at the tattoos on his head: “This is not the mark of a Darkin, this is the mark of a falsely freed child.”

“Is that why you became a Darkin? To free children?” The cause sounded almost noble.

“Became a Darkin? You misunderstand, I created them. Without me Shurima would still be under the rule of a cruel leader who kidnaps children for his glorious army.”

“And then you try to kill Targonians?”

“Those are not children. Those are demons in disguise.” Again, Aatrox attempted to divert the conversation with humour. It was interesting to witness, and Atreus allowed the distraction lest he close up early again and retreat home where he would like to stay for the next few days. Aatrox was becoming especially tiring to deal with.

“Atreus!” Soraka called from the front. A small bark followed. Spirits slightly lifted, he beckoned for the Shuriman to follow him as they exited the kitchen and came into contact with Zoe with an elderly yet feisty dachshund protectively clutched in her arms. As soon as the mutt saw Atreus, he began growling fiercely and Zoe tried soothing him.

“There, there Sol, it’s just your uncle Atreus~”

“I am not that thing’s uncle. It is practically older than most people in this town.” Atreus joked as the dog wiggled in Zoe’s arms in an attempt to be free. She settled Sol down and the little dog immediately rushed at Atreus and began tugging aggressively at his shoelaces, but being the ancient creature that it was, it was too weak to do anything other than slightly undo them.

Soraka and Zoe crowded together and cooed at the mischievous dog as Sett enthusiastically took pictures and Aatrox witnessed the display with irritation.

“ Dogs. ” He sneered. Atreus turned to him (a strange weight lifted from him at the sight of Aatrox) and tried to gently kick off the dog.

“Not a dog person.”

“Animals in general. I barely tolerate humans.”

Atreus, losing the battle, bent down and gently picked up the elder dog and firmly held onto him as Sol tried to nip at his face in its eternal battle. Ever since Zoe adopted the creature it had a great hatred for Atreus, something no one could explain but entertained as Sol has yet to draw blood.

Zoe bounced over to Atreus and reached for her pet which he gratefully handed over. Once in Zoe’s arms, Sol calmed down slightly but still growled and barked and yipped as Atreus moved away to join Soraka at the register.

“What brings you over?” He asked Zoe. She used to come over daily, but as the Ceremony draws closer the evenings become busier as she is needed almost twenty-four-seven to babysit the local brats. Making a reasonable living from babysitting alone sounds impossible, but throw in neglectful parents and it pays better than most full-time jobs.

“I wanted to meet Aatrox!” She turned to the man in question and held out Sol as a greeting. “He says nice to meet you.” She took hold of Sol’s paw and waved it for him. Aatrox gave an unsure nod and reached a hand to pat the dachshund firmly once on the head.

“Greetings creature.”

“ Arf! ”

“I think he likes you!” Zoe said as she tried to force Aatrox to hold the ancient creature. He tried desperately to decline and almost failed if Sett didn’t step up and carefully pry the animal away from Zoe’s arms.

“I think a dachshund counts as a legal weapon.” Sett said as he showered the little thing with love. Sol’s tail gave away his pleasure at the attention as the grumpy dog nipped at the hands trying to pet him.

“You’re a big guy!” Zoe said again, standing bravely before the gigantic man. She herself was shorter than average, and often mistaken for a child, but she rarely allowed her vertical disadvantage to get to her: especially in the face of dangerous criminals apparently.

“Really, what do they feed the guys out there? Atreus is our biggest guy yet, and here comes all the other guys. Tell me your secret. ”

Aatrox shifted uncomfortably and took a step back in an attempt to retreat to the kitchen. Atreus took pity on him and instructed Soraka to take Aatrox and finish the baklava. The two vanished with Sett in tow.

“Thanks for the posters.” Atreus said, once alone, as he remembered that Zoe paid Aphelios for them. She dismissed his gratitude with a wave of the hand and bent down to put Sol on a leash unless he tried to attack Atreus’ shoes again.

“Anything for a friend. Who else is going to custom bake dog treats for me?”

“Yeah, friends. Zoe?”

“Yup?”

“Can I ask a favour?”

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

After Zoe left Atreus oversaw the careful packaging of the baklava and made sure that it was separated by fillings: peanuts, chocolate, and dried fruits. He monitored Soraka as she cut the pastry in neat little squares and complemented Aatrox when he decided to try his hand at crafting a decorative bow for the boxes.

The man was embarrassed and revealed that the Bastion sometimes had sewing lessons for the well-behaved, and he once had the privilege of attending one. But those classes ended pretty soon when a fellow inmate lost their temper and murdered the seamstress.

With the boxes packed and ready for the following day Atreus began locking up the shop when Soraka’s phone dinged.

“Diana says she wants to go to the bar tonight.”

As much as Atreus wanted to decline and go home for an early night, he was reminded again of the short time he had left with Aatrox. It wasn’t supposed to matter, but today… Today Atreus realised something terrifying and he wasn’t ready to confront it. Not until Zoe came back to him.

“You ready for another night at the bar?” Atreus asked Aatrox and Sett. Sett eagerly agreed and Aatrox sighed but gave a reluctant nod. His hands were cuffed inside of his hoodie again as they walked down the street. Sett and Soraka took the lead as Atreus and Aatrox followed behind them. They did not push each other or try to engage in awkward conversation, instead they walked silently (content) until they reached Starfall and went inside where Leona and Diana were already waiting for them.

“Another day, another drink.” Diana remarked as she gulped down her drink. Targonian beer was weak, so weak there were hardly any legal drinking ages unless the local law enforcement were getting bored of stopping vandalising.

The group settled around the table and Soraka launched into conversation about the school play. Sett became invested as soon as it was revealed that Aphelios would be helping with the set design, but Atreus and Aatrox distanced themselves from the conversation. Seated next to each other once again, Atreus allowed himself to ignore the world around him as he thought back on the day.

It wasn’t every day the most dangerous man in Runeterra had you against a wall with the intent of murder. He knew Aatrox was dangerous, it was not like the man tried to hide it, but Atreus failed to see how Aatrox was the renowned Darkin Lord. He heard the stories, he saw the bodies, he witnessed the man almost killing himself, but he has yet to see him be the Shuriman Demon everyone claims to have heard.

He was just another Shuriman. Just another soldier.

“ Breaking news…” The group’s attention turned to the TV where Janna Zephyr returned once again with an image of the Immortal Bastion behind her. “ The Immortal Bastion’s Rehabilitation Programme appears to be a success as two of the three Darkin members have successfully integrated themselves within society. Members Varus and Rhaast have formally denounced the Darkin Syndicate and pledged to become model citizens. Varus is returning to Noxus in the upcoming week to receive a new hearing for a plea to be pardoned of his sentence as he claims to have never taken part in the Darkin’s activities. Rhaast will remain in Ionia for the entire duration, but has made an impressive impact on his community. They are eager to see his return. The third member refuses any contact, but we have yet to receive reports about casualties…”

The TV showed mugshots of two men Atreus could only assume were the Darkin members in question: a pale man with a long angular face and hollow eyes, and a darker man with a strong jaw and face covered in intricate black tattoos similar to Aatrox’s.

Atreus turned to his employee to question him about the other’s lack of tattoos, but he held the question to himself as he saw the blossoming anger on Aatrox’s face. The Shuriman turned to Sett, “May I go outside?” He asked through clenched teeth. Sett didn’t have time to answer as Aatrox lifted himself and speedily walked out. Atreus stood up to follow him with Sett in tow.

Outside Aatrox was seated on the sidewalk with his legs carelessly kicked out in the street. He was glaring at the dark and barely acknowledged the pair when they carefully came up behind him.

“Hey big man, what’s up?” Sett asked. Aatrox didn’t answer, but Sett continued. “Miss your buddies? You’ll see them soon you know? Rhaast is coming back-”

“Yes of course. Rhaast is coming back, what joy befalls me on this day to know that the men who have failed me returns from their fucking wonderful lives. ” Aatrox hung his head low and released a shuddering breath.

Worried, Sett turned to Atreus: “I think I should take him back. Can you get the keys?” Atreus didn’t argue and went inside to get the Inn’s keys from Diana.

“Why?” She asked as the little key was dropped into his calm.

“He’s angry? No idea, but Sett wants him back.” Atreus didn’t have time to stick around as he left them and went outside to hand over the keys. Once outside he was first confused because Aatrox and Sett were missing, but a loud crash alerted him to their presence. He quickly followed the sound and found them just around the corner with Aatrox on the floor on his back and Sett sitting on his chest heaving.

Aatrox’s eyes were closed and a dark patch surrounded his mouth. Atreus carefully came forward and saw that his lip was split and Sett’s fist was suspiciously bruised.

“What… happened?” he asked. Sett sighed and shook his head as if disappointed.

“Big man’s not happy about his friends.” Sett heaved himself off Aatrox and hunkered down to drag him up. With a struggle and much huffing, he managed to drag the man to the closet wall and prop him against it. He took out his phone and punched in a number, possibly a lift.

“What do you mean?” Atreus asked as he regarded the unconscious Shuriman. Even when asleep he looked angry. Sett gave a sad smile and tucked away his phone.

“They weren’t supposed to get all comfy. They were all supposed to leave together. Basically, they threw him away. Aatrox has officially nothing left.”

#fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #league of legends #lol #aatrox #pantheon #aatrox x pantheon #aatrox/pantheon #when a crime lord becomes a baker

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thiswasinevitableid · 1 year

Text

Winter Wonders (Indruck)

A brief break from the winter fills to share something that’s been in my head since last winter (credit to Bellafarallones for playing in the space). This takes place in the same world as my superhero AU but can easily be read as a standalone. It is NSFW

The standard perception among villains, and some heroes, is that Duck has survived this long thanks to his enhanced durability and nothing else. This is bullshit, but he lets them believe it anyway; enemies underestimating him usually works in his favor. They don’t need to know he’s one of the more observant heroes in the city, a trait that served him well when he was constantly chasing The Moth.

The Moth switching sides and spending his non-hero hours as Indrid Cold, Duck’s loving boyfriend, hasn’t diminished the need for those skills. Indrid remains cagey about the details of his past and wary of divulging feelings he views as immaterial or foolish. So Duck pays attention, tucks patterns and clues away until Indrid is ready to talk about them.

As December comes to Kepopolis, it brings new habits for him to notice. Indrid keeps pausing when he sees big Christmas displays in windows, he's buying his rats cranberry chews and toys shaped like snowflakes, and he's oddly transfixed by Christmas movies.

It would be easy to dismiss it as all part of Indrid adjusting to a life outside the shadows. But Duck knows the angles of his different smiles, the way wistful thoughts read on a face that long ago learned to hide its hopes. So tonight, as he’s working on a model ship and Indrid is tinkering with a new cloaking device, Duck nudges open the conversational door.

“Anything you wanna do over the holidays?”

“Oh, no, nothing in particular.”

“You sure? It’s our first Christmas together, we could really do it up if you want to.”

Indrid pauses, “Do you enjoy going, ah, all out for Christmas?”

“Newtons tend to get a serious case of Christmas fever. Mine is mild compared to Jane’s. And mom” he chuckles, “she used to have that tree up before the jack o lanterns were even in the trash.”

“Sacrilege.”

Duck smiles, “Maybe, but I was gonna argue with her. Point is, if you got things you wanna do, odds are good I’ll be down.”

Indrid sets his screwdriver aside, folds his hands in his lap and looks at them, “This time of year has always made me feel conflicted. Comfort and joy and such are not things a good villain embraces. And everyone being distracted did make for some very easy robberies. But I…there were nights when I would slip into the back of a church and just listen to people singing, to feel like just one, ordinary person in a crowd as voices harmonized about salvation. And then I’d slink to my hideout, watching the shoppers in bright stores, the families in the warm windows.” He runs his fingers over the folded cloaking device, “I wanted it so badly sometimes and I still do.I want, I want to go shopping somewhere with a big decorated tree, to ice skate in a rink instead of a frozen training lake. I want to wake up to presents with big bows under a tree and open them with someone who loves me.”

Duck leaves the table, kneels on the floor to take Indrid’s hands, “I can make that happen. Tree might be tricky though.” He points an elbow at Chicken, sprawled atop her cat tree.

Indrid meets his eyes, flicker of confidence returning to his smile, “Do not underestimate my ingenuity, chivalrous one.”

Duck kisses his nose, “Never.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

“Do I get to know why we are doing our Christmas shopping somewhere that requires the train?” Indrid’s gaze is placid, but from beside him Duck sees his red smart-glasses are scanning every face on the train for danger.

“It’ll make sense once we get there.” He’s already made his boyfriend promise not to peek at the futures and spoil the surprise.

When they disembark in the heart of the city, Duck leads him through the increasingly dense crowds on the sidewalks until they burst into Macy’s Square.

“Oh” A smile spreads across Indrid’s face as he looks up, up, up at the gigantic Christmas tree. As his gaze glides back down, his hands begin flapping and he chirps, “there’s ice skating!”

“Yep. They've been doing it here since I was a kid. C’mon, let’s go get our tickets.”

Indrid beats him to the ice once they’ve paid, his winter boots equipped with, among other things, retractable skate blades. He weaves through the other skaters until Duck joins him. Duck isn’t as graceful on the ice, but Indrid doesn’t care and instead keeps a slow, steady pace beside him all the while.

When they’ve had their fill of skating, they buy hot cider from one of the nearby booths and sip it as they take in the display windows of the Macy’s that’s the size of a city block. Half the windows are dedicated to displays by the ASPCA, adoptable dogs, cats, and rabbits hopping about in festive decor. After they’ve cooed over all of them and Duck has seriously considered buying Chicken a friend, Indrid takes his hand and pulls him inside to begin their hunt for the perfect gifts for their friends.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid adds a final flourish of red and turns the newly frosted cookie towards Duck, “what do you think?”

Duck raises his eyebrows, “Holy shit, sugar, how’d you get all those patterns on one cookie?”

“A variety of knives.”

“Almost too pretty to eat.”

“Almost” Indrid looks down at the baked good, then shoves it in his mouth like a greedy chipmunk.

Duck snickers, “Don’t eat ‘em all or we won’t have enough for the cookie party.”

“I shall control myself.” Indrid picks up a snowflake shaped cookie and sets to work; he intends to do well at this cookie swap, and when he called Barclay last night for advice on a certain villain, Joseph was making Rugelach from scratch.

As he dusts silver sprinkles across the frosting, he pushes his nerves to the side and asks casually, “could we do stockings? I love the idea of hunting down the perfect little gifts for you.”

“Sure. Think mine is in a box in the office closet, and I can get you one in the next few days.”

Indrid hums, pleased, and then intercepts Chicken mid-air as she tries to jump on the table.

Different projects demand his attention over the next three days, and in the chaos he nearly forgets about the stocking conversation. That night, when he comes home from his patrol, Duck is hanging a green stocking with faded brown, felt reindeer on the wall.

“Homemade” Indrid picks lint from the stocking.

“Yep, mom made ours, just like her dad made hers. Uh, speakin of that” Duck grabs something from the arm of the couch and presents it to him, “here’s yours.”

Indrid takes the piece of black fabric. It’s dotted with red and green felt moths flying between some rather chunky snowflakes. The futures show that if he were to look in the office, he’d see the scraps of the pattern in the trash.

“You made this for me.”

“Course I did. I, I wanted ours to kinda match, so you’d feel like this was really your home too-”

Duck doesn’t get his next words out. Indrid is too busy kissing him down onto the couch to care.

When Saturday morning sun peeks through the clouds the next morning, Indrid has a chance to show off his latest craft project. Duck watches with mild concern as Indrid secures a green pole to the floor with a special adhesive (he made a solvent for it too, so he could put the whole thing away after New years).

Indrid clicks a button and steps back as synthetic branches and pine needles spring into view.

“Ta dah!”

“Oh hell yeah, it’s just the right size for the place. What about-”

“The cat? Observe.”

Chicken pads over to the new tree, but when she’s just out of reach a tiny, robotic dragonfly emerges from the trunk and zips by her. She immediately turns her attention to her prey, leaving the tree unscathed.

“There’s also a spritzer function if she actually touches it.”

“You’re a genius, sugar.” Duck kisses his cheek, “I’m gonna go get the ornaments.”

They spend the morning hanging lights and ornaments on the tree. Among the simple spheres and icicles, Indrid finds one bearing a small photo of baby Duck, a metal heart marking the first Christmas his hero's parents spent together, and a lump of purple clay he cannot identify even though it has Duck’s name scrawled on the bottom.

“What is this meant to be?”

Duck takes one look and winces, “Dinosaur. I made it in kindergarten and they refused to ever get rid of it.”

“I think it’s rather charming.” Indrid hangs the lump on a lower branch and watches it sway; how strange, that digging through a box that sees the light once a year reveals so much about the man humming Silver Bells behind him. That evidence of what shaped Duck Newton into the man he loves and who, against all odds, loves him can dangle in a canopy of deep green as if it isn’t of note.

He glances over his shoulder at his hero, who’s paused his decorating to give each of the rats a treat.

Then again, maybe in the childhood that molded Duck, those loving moments were so plentiful that they faded into the background. Maybe for Indrid they will, one day, do the same. But not yet. They still burn brighter in his mind than all the lights in the city twined together, and he doesn’t mind in the least.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

While Indrid could have handled Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, he’s glad Duck asked him to go to one earlier in the evening. This is partially due to the midnight one being even more crowded, a fact imparted to them by the friendly woman in the pew behind them. But it is primarily because Duck wore a suit to church.

Indrid has never seen Duck in a suit that wasn’t his super one. Uniforms, blazers, sweatpants, tank tops, Duck wears them all well and Indird will never tire of looking at him in them. But the moment he stepped from their bedroom in a gray suit and green tie, Indrid knew he’d think of nothing else for the evening.

It’s not just the outfit flatters the muscles of his arms and the curve of his ass, that the gray makes the green in his eyes sharper than fresh mint. It’s as if the entire ensemble enhances the quiet confidence that always swirls around him, suggesting that no matter what comes, he can handle it.

Indrid wants to get on his knees for him and never rise. Which is an inconvenient thought to be having in church where he can do nothing to act on it.

He does enjoy the service, is glad to sit somewhere other than the last row and listen to the songs. But by the time they’re en route to home, he paws at Duck’s thighs and kisses his shoulder until his boyfriend gently reminds him that he’d rather not crash the car.

When they get inside, Duck immediately fetches Chicken’s favorite puzzle toy. Once it’s filled and the purring menace is occupied, he turns to Indrid with his hands on his hips.

“Strip and kneel by the couch. Got somethin I wanna try.”

Indrid obeys, kneeling in the spot closest to the heater as Duck flicks off everything but the tree and the Christmas lights strung around the room. He produces a length of red, velvet ribbon, his question obvious even without words.

“Why chivalrous one, is this what you were thinking of through the entire service?” Indrid purrs, nodding so Duck will kneel in front of him.

“Nah. You just got that look on your face that means you’re turned on but want me to, uh, take the ropes.” He wraps the first loop around Indrid’s waist.

“So observant.” Indrid kisses his wrist as it passes by.

“You know it. Hands in front of you.” The commands are gentle and so Indrid follows them without fear as Duck makes careful loops over his shoulders, arms, and chest. When his torso is well tied and his hands are secured, Duck sets his hands on the rims of Indrid’s glasses.

“Okay to take these off.”

“Mmmhmm.” Indrid relaxes as they slip off, closing his eyes as Duck sets the glasses on the coffee table.

Fingers gingerly tug and test the ropes, “Here’s how this is gonna go: I got some last minute things to wrap. If you’re real good and stay right here, quiet and still with your eyes closed, until I’m done, I’ll give you an early present. Sound good?”

“Wonderful.” Indrid sighs as Duck plants a single, soft kiss on his lips, then settles back on his heels to wait.

Duck stands and Indrid tracks his steps to the kitchen. A clink of ice in a glass, the pop of a bottle, he’s making himself a drink before he begins.

Nat King Cole drifts quietly from the speakers near the T.V and then Duck is moving through the house. For a while, Indrid follows him in his mind as he opens closets, cuts wrapping paper, and stops to stroke Indrid’s hair and tell him how good he’s being. Gradually, his mind quiets, uninterested in the particulars of Duck’s doings. Duck is here, is watching over him, is happy with him and loves him and oh Indrid will be so good for him.

God it feels nice to be good.

By the time Duck’s finger traces a heart on his cheek, Indrid’s mind is a warm cocoon, the world coming in muffled and soft in the best way.

Something sticks to his hair, one of the bows they put on the packages as Duck murmurs, “Well, well, look at what Santa left under the tree for me.”

“I’d hardly fit in a stocking would I?” Indrid smiles as a warm hand cups his cheek.

“No, reckon you wouldn’t. You can open your eyes.”

Indrid obeys, looking up languidly to find Duck still in his suit, highball in his left hand.

“Did I do well?”

“You did perfect, sugar. Which is why” he crosses to the couch, “you can come get your present.” He sits with his legs wide, smirking as Indrid instantly starts scooting the short distance on his knees.

By the time he reaches Duck’s feet, the hero’s fly is undone and his soft cock peeks through his boxers. Indrid carefully leans forward, nosing the fabric and tugging as best he can with his bound hands until he’s able to take the head into his mouth.

Duck groans happily, tipping his head back as Indrid sucks hungrily, his own cock stirring as soon as he feels the weight of Duck’s cock on his tongue.

“That’s it darlin’, take as long as you want.” Duck’s free hand tangles in his hair. It doesn’t push or pull, it just rests there, a comforting pressure that reminds Indrid who he belongs to.

He moans, licking and sucking messily until Duck is fully hard. He finds a way to brace his arms that lets him tease the base with his fingers, Duck’s hold tightening slightly as he does. He loves this, loves that Duck lets him this close and trusts him with such delicate, intimate touches. It’s an excellent present, and to show his appreciation he pulls off and drags his tongue from root to tip with a long moan.

“Fuck” Duck cums on his chin, gripping his glass so hard it cracks. He clumsily sets it on the table as Indrid continues teasing him with his tongue and rolling his hips hopefully.

“Come on up here, sweet thing.”

Indrid scrambles up and into his lap, teetering awkwardly until a strong arm loops around his lower back.

“Yes, yes” His head drops to Duck’s shoulder as a hand closes around his cock, “please, I’ve been good, please let me cum.”

“Course I will.” Duck holds him closer, kissing along his tensing shoulders, “you don’t ever gotta beg for that. Like seein’ you happy. Makin you feel good.” He kisses the shell of Indrid’s ear, “you deserve to feel good.”

He cums with a gasp, twitching in his bonds as he spills down Duck’s fingers. He’s so happy, so safe, that he collapses with a pleased chirp against Ducks chest.

They rest there, carols swaying through the air, until Indrid purrs, “You are never taking this suit off.”

“Gonna make both my day job and my hero job kinda hard.” Duck begins untying his wrist, massaging each patch as he goes.

“Nonsense. I will make you fireproof ones. Ones with weapons. Ones for every day of the week.”

“Or we could keep it for special occasions. Got more of those in my life now that you’re here.”

He blushes, tucking his head under Duck’s chin, “You deserve them.”

As the ribbons continue to fall away, Duck runs a comforting hand over his back and whispers, “we both do.”

#indruck #winter fills #indrid cold/duck newton #superhero au #duck x indrid

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schwarzwaldcr · 2 years

Text

An old shorty from the old blog. I still enjoy it though. Have some Wulf being brought back...

Actually the dribble that was written to match the song used in the old promo: x

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She hears the clack of leaves and branches far above her in the canopy.

The way the light shifts and undulates with the moving leaves, the gloom in the Grove appears alive with rivulets of golden light mingling with the green overcast in her blurred vision. She cannot see the way the canopy ebbs and crests like green waves on a sea of foliage, but she knows that it is by sound and knows what it means.

Autumn is changing. Winter is coming.

The Solstice festivals will begin soon in many hamlets, and Central will hold the biggest one of Midwinter. Perhaps the Merchant’s Guild will travel there this year. It is always impressive to see their small village spread across tamed Patrol Trees that actually do what they’re told. A sliver of the faerie tale-esque nature of Schwarzwald.

The air is getting cooler now, the smell of frozen snow and the cold river water beginning to permeate more frequently. The Fog Tides will roll down the mountains, as they do between autumn and winter, and spring and summer. A perfect tell for the change of seasons.

The perfect reason to get up and get going. She doesn’t want to freeze in her Beech, not when she has returned so soon.

Fingers run along the edge of her Beech’s wooden cradle, her vision starting to sharpen and her senses returning to her with the warm brush of moss against her face. She can recognize the uncanny curves of the wood above her in the shape of her totem, familiar in a way a child knows its mother’s face.

The last few moments are lost in her memory, but she knows there is a new scar somewhere on her body she might find later. As she rises to sit up and brush the leaves fallen against her away, she is keenly aware of the way her heart stutters a little in her chest, the smells that permeate her nostrils and the crisp air that fills her lungs. Of the way her muscles have begun to warm against the disuse for the past day or so.

As she digs through her coat to find the case that holds her pipe, she stands and moves stiffly, feeding fresh energy into her crackling joints. The silver wolf’s head pipe is smoking when she finds it and pulls it out to settle in its place behind her left fang. A long inhale still gives her a taste of the sweet clove oil on the earthy undertone of tobacco, despite there being none in the cup.

Change is coming…

The hulking caskets of Beeches to either side of the Grove simply serve to remind her not only of her sacrifice, but the simple humble joy of knowing that she is alive again. She looks down the avenue between the old trees to where the golden gloom darkens and turns more green, inviting her back into Schwarzwald’s embrace.

It is a call she will heed again and again, without hesitation.

#Dribbles #My Writings #still havent decided what exactly killed her this round #but it was clearly in the name of Schwarzwald #because she's back again

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cherish-lou · 7 months

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“Cherish Lou!”, she looked back with a smile on her face.

4 years ago, she was still running around high school, chatting away with her friends. everywhere she goes, you could hear people murmuring her name. well, some might shout away her name, like earlier. so, who is this person people have been raving about…..?

a soul as passionate as red, and as pure as white. everything she did, she did with her whole heart. whether it was the way she greeted the morning sun with a heartfelt smile or the way she sang her heart out to the open sky, her passion shone through every action. many thought she was just a perfect little girl from Korea who enjoys shopping for cute things and music. well, no one is perfect一 including Cherish.

her enemy, love. she has seen the highs and lows, the laughter and the tears that it brought. somewhere in her heart, she was scared that love might take over her completely. she wasn’t the smartest in her school, of course. however she is knowledgable enough to pour this fear of hers into something better: 𝑚͟𝑢͟𝑠͟𝑖͟𝑐 ✧˖°

the inability of receiving love from a significant person turned into a piece of art. the songs she wrote, the melodies she sang, everything screams 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲. of course, she had a circle of friends who loved her dearly. warm and comforting love was always offered to her, the kind that came from years of shared laughters and secrets. yet, she couldn’t help but feel a void in her heart, and life. she yearned for a love that was conveyed through infamous love songs, something 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲, and 𝗮𝗹𝗹-𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴.

“when will you stop being stuck in your room singing about love on a Saturday night and ACTUALLY go out and talk to someone?”, her friends joked.

the thing is, it was never that easy. see, Cherish was a hopeless romantic, and still is. the lyrics kept deep in her notebook painted vivid pictures of love stories she had only dreamt of一 amusement park dates, drinking coffee together, stolen kisses, and the kind of love that made the world disappear.

born since 2002, she has been pretty content with her life now. I mean, she got to hang out after class, goes to a karaoke and sings her heart out and goes back home to her loving family. now in university, she is still that social butterfly that people know and envy as all they see from her and her life is beauty, brain, talent, and popularity. when people thought her life couldn’t be more exciting, a pamphlet blown by the wind arrives in front her as she walks to the grocery in one cold autumn morning.

“we are open for auditions…?”

as curiosity washes her, she decided to give them a call. the next thing she knows, she is sitting alongside a row of people just waiting for their name to be called.

“number 049, please come in to the audition room.”

a week has passed since the audition, Cherish has went back to her peaceful daily life, oblivious that she might be accepted into one of the biggest music label known. that is until she receives a phone call from an unknown number. she picked it up with suspicion, being mindful of scammers out there. what she did not expect is to find herself sitting in a nondescript room, nervously listening to the terms and conditions from two strangers sitting across her.

“𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨, 𝙇𝟭𝟵𝟲𝟴”, they greeted.

now this. this is where her actual journey starts. her journey to reach out to the world, to showcase her voice to people who needed, to seek for friendships, happiness, and a soulmate along the way. what happens next would be up to Cherish and her new blank workbook. 🪶

⊹ 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝐶𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠𝘩 𝐿𝑜𝑢. ⊹

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barnaes-arch · 2 years

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BIRDIE BYRD SAYS : I LIKE HAVING YOU HERE AT NIGHT.

outside, stars make patterns in the sky as the moon settles in place, the clock ticking languidly through the hour almost daring movement. there’s poetry in the feeling of her hair tickling across bared chest, the way her voice falls so soft he almost cannot hear it at all. for a moment, the world narrows down, noise away from them fading back to the rise and fall of @musecraft‘s chest pressed by his side, the feeling of a body by his. the path to this moment has been littered with his own doubts, piles of them rotting away at the base of his spine, the way his happiness feels like a betrayal to everyone around him, a state he doesn’t deserve based on all he has done. and yet, she lets him in, permits him access to her home, to her heart, to her bed; that’s the only kind of magic he knows how to believe in.

❛ is it me being here or is it the fact that you have somewhere warm to put your freezing cold toes? ❜ the tease falls gently from between his lips, coming with huffed out laughter and his fingers tracing patterns up her arm. he thinks he could find an addiction to the smooth of her skin, the delight that drips out so freely when it finds her, the way it feels to house her in his arms. there’s an ease to him as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, curls her in tighter, a memory from another time when this body might have been more than a weapon, might have known how to exist in soft moments. he’ll learn. he’ll spend a lifetime learning if it means keeping her here, having a space carved out for him by her side. that promise at least he can keep. ❛ i’ll stay anytime you want me too. ❜

#they suck i love them.#( ... ) MUSECRAFT — BIRDIE BYRD.#( ... ) ANSWERED — THE PAIN SAYS I OWN BUCKETS AND I OWN TORCHES. YOU PICK TORCHES.

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outercrasis · 3 years

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Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary: You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?"

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it.

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s.

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling.

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone.

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you.

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here.

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not.

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it.

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…?

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt.

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off.

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message.

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.”

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense.

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face.

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away.

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all.

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck.

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin.

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more.

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later.

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.”

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face.

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #modern!au #modern!din #din djarin fic #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandocrasis fic

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filwld · 3 years

Text

You shine just as bright.

Summary: you go star gazing with Alcina and have a sweet moment together. Warnings: Fluff (:<

(THE NSFW FIC IS STILL IN THE WORKS IM A PERFECTIONIST AND LIKE IT TO BE PERFECT SO UNTIL THEN HERE!)

Castle Dimitrescu was so beautiful at night. The way the moon light would shine through the windows would bring you so much joy, naturally you were happy but you had this sort of connection with the night since you were a mere child that you just couldn't explain.

Staring up into the night sky you smile softly letting out a relaxed sigh, shoulders relaxing releasing all the tension from your body. You sip your tea while sitting on the open window seal feeling the cold breeze go against your skin, it was a summer night so you knew it wasn't to cold for the girls just in case they barged in. You often found yourself like this in the library at night. Just sitting, staring up at the moon waiting for your lover to be done with her work, sometimes you consider bringing her with you to stare at the moon but always choosing otherwise because you don't want to bother her with your silly interest in the night scared that she might laugh at you. You knew deep down that, that statement was far from true. Alcina would never laugh at you over something that brings you joy but that didn't stop your insecurities from flooding your mind. Sighing you look down staring into the teacup that was now almost empty. You twirl the cup watching the liquid swirl inside, you were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice Alcina had entered the room and called your name softly which goes unnoticed by you to far lost in your own head. So.. Alcina just admired you smiling softly. The way the moonlight showered on your skin, and the light making your eyes shine a little brighter than normal.. She couldn't help but feel her undead heart beat once more, all for you. All for her little maiden. All hers. You finally noticed her and let out a surprised yelp jumping slightly and putting a hand over your heart breathing heavily. "Jesus! My love you must say something before sneaking up on me like that." You breath out after taking a few deep breathes to try and calm your racing heart. Alcina chuckles walking over to you with a few large strides due to her long legs. "I'm sorry for frightening you little one but I did call out to you.. But you were to caught up in thoughts to notice. Is everything alright?" Alcina asks you softly while moving a strand of hair out of your face smiling down at you softly before taking a seat beside you on the window seal luckily being one of the bigger windows she didn't have to worry about her size causing any discomfort. You lean into her touch smiling while putting your hand over hers staring up into her eyes loving the way the moonlight danced on her face. "Yes dear I'm alright just.. Relaxing simply." You answer her question and love the way she visibly relaxes and smiles down at you. You chuckle to yourself. Alcina raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny draga mea?" You shake your head smiling, before answering her. "Just thinking about how adorable you are." You watch her eyes widen slightly before chuckling lifting her hand from your cheek to your hair petting you gently. "You are the only one to ever refer to me as 'adorable' but ill take it if its coming from you." Alcina says chuckling. You smile shaking your head before returning to look at the moon. Out of the corner of your eye you see her follow your gaze before looking back at you. "Star gazing tonight little dove?" You hum to the question, drinking the rest of the tea before setting the cup down onto your lap without turning to her you respond. "I do this every night." You could tell she was shocked and slightly annoyed that she didn't know this. Alcina always prided herself in the fact that she knew everything that happens in the castle so hearing that there was something she didn't know obviously bothered her. "What? How have I never notice this? Draga mea why didn't you ever tell me." Alcina responds, you smile at the annoyance in her voice. Turning to face her you see the annoyance in her eyes, but mostly shock. You take the hand that was rested in her lap and placing it on your own. "Darling take no offense to this, I just simply didn't think it would matter to you.” You respond watching as Alcina's eyebrows furrowed and she pouted slightly grumbling out. "Everything about you matters to me pet.." You

can't stop the wide grin that appears on your face at the sight of her pout. You lean up to kiss her softly placing a hand on her cheek, she sighs softly into your mouth moving both of her hands to grab your waist and place you on her lap bringing you as close as physically possible.

You giggle at her face as you pull away, moving to caress the side of her head staring deeply into her eyes. "Alright dear I'm sorry, but now you know. So why don't we stay here awhile and enjoy the moonlight together?”

You ask her watching as her pout disappears and here comes her charming smile that made you weak in the knees. She hums running a hand up and down your side loving the warmth that radiates off your body. "Yes.. let's, but before we do that I have to show you something." before you could protest your picked up bridal style and being taken to wherever she see's fit. She begins walking you down a hallway that you've never seen before, furrowing your eyebrows wondering how you've never seen this part of the castle even after all these years of being here. not soon later you reach a door leading to outside you assume by the handle, you watch as she pushes the door open with one hand, the other holding you close to her chest. You gasp at the sight behind the door, there in front of you was the most beautiful garden you've ever seen, all type of flowers going from roses to peony to even hibiscus flowers! All blooming beautifully under the moonlight.. In the middle of the garden was beautifully cut grass and the view... Oh the view was beautiful, you could see the whole village. You look up at Alcina surprised and see her already staring at you, smiling lovingly down at you. Eyes widening at the expression before you smile and express your love through your eyes placing a hand on her cheek and pulling her down slightly to kiss her softly on the lips. She hums and deepens the kiss tilted her head slightly for a better angle. Alcina pours all her feelings into this kiss, and you do well to do the same. The way the moonlight is shinning on both of you felt amazing, making it feel so intimate.. So peaceful. You never wanted this to end. Not now, not ever. The softness of her lips brushing against yours.. Nothing could ever top this feeling you get when your with her. Soon she parts and allows you to take a minute to breath before her lips are on your neck pecking it softly before letting you down, you whine at the lost of connection. She chuckles before patting your head. "We have the whole night to kiss away darling, but why not somewhere more comfortable yes?" Alcina says while walking forward towards the grass. You raise an eyebrow wondering what she's doing before they widen widely. Alcina grabs her dress and goes to sit on the grass getting comfortable before looking back at you, your jaw drops at the sight of her getting her dress DIRTY just to sit in the grass with you. "Are you just going to sit there pet or are you going to join me?" Alcina says smirking well aware of the effect she has on you. You blush quickly going to sit besides her just before your butt hits the floor you feel hands on your waist. You yelp feeling yourself being placed onto something much softer than grass, turning you notice Alcina was smirking down at you after placing you on her lap wrapping her arms around your waist, bringing your head closer to her chest. You feel her warm breath on your neck as she whispered into your ear, "Now you can see the sky so much better don't you say pet?" You know your ears are burning red from how flustered you are. To far flustered to speak you simply nod. You feel the hot air leave her mouth as she chuckles, Alcina nuzzles her nose into your shoulder taking a deep breath breathing your heavenly scent in before sighing in content. The way the moonlight showers over the two of you making everything so romantic to the point you feel like a princess in one of those romance novels you read. You smile to yourself at the thought before focusing back on your love at the feeling of her nibbling on your neck beginning to giggle at the feeling, slightly ticklish in that area your eyes widen feeling Alcina smirk at the realization. She tries to continue tickling you but you yelp and quickly turn around throwing your arms around her neck shaking your head. "No no no, don't even THINK about it

Alcina!" You say trying your hardest to make a intimidating face, Alcina stares at you surprised by the face before whole hearted laugh escapes Alcina to the point she even throws her head back. You glare at her and she notices laughing even harder but still looking at you. After a moment she collects herself before staring down at you smirking "Oh well aren't you scary little one?" Alcina says teasingly. You blush but hold the glare. Soon she sighs smiling, "Oh alright little one no tickle fights tonight." Alcina says and goes to caress your cheek. You grin at the victory throwing your hand up into a first saying a slight "yes!" to no one in particular. Alcina watches with kind eyes smiling so hard it looks almost painful.

After your little "Victory dance" You look up into the sky at the perfect time and watch as a shooting star goes across the sky, your mouth falling open in awe at the sight. "Wow.." You whisper, you look to Alcina to see if she saw it and see her looking at the sky with a peaceful look on her face. The laugh lines showing as she smiles, the peaceful look in her eyes, the way her chest moves up and down with each breath. You smile before continuing to look up into the sky again joining her.

You both just stay there for some time, staring up into the sky loving the feel of having each other near. After some time Alcina breaks the silence. "I think I understand why you like this so much now pet." You look back at her and raise an eyebrow. "Really?" You respond to her. Alcina nods her head and without looking at you, she continues. "The sky is so peaceful to stare at.. I find myself getting lost with trying to count how many stars are out." You nod understanding what she means fully. Admiring her as she talks falling even harder for her. You go to respond before you shut your mouth shut as she opens her mouth to continue. "But I found myself loving the night simply because YOU love it dear.. The sky is just the sky to me normally. But you make it have such a deeper meaning draga mea.. And I want to thank whatever made you but ill settle for thanking you. You make me enjoy even the simple things pet, And I cannot thank you enough.." Alcina finishing and returns to looking at you, staring softly at your expression. Eyes tearing up you throw your arms around her neck pulling her close crying silently into her shoulder. "Oh Alcina.. I love you so much.. So so much.." You whisper to her. You feel her hum and tighten her hold on you bringing you closer. "And I love you.. My shooting star."

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