#I feel preoccupied or distracted and writing that way just ends up feeling bad to me

[criticalcrux]

Shadow post

[virgoilluminati]

can u please write a jude fic where your in a talking stage and he comes over and you both make out for the first time 🤭

It's been a long time coming...

A/N: this is my first request in absolutely ages so tysm you have made my day ✨❣️ As I am now unemployed (😜✌️) i have a lot of free time before i head back to university. So please if anyone has any ideas lmk 🥹

Inspo: Jude and You have been close friends since high school, but after one very drunken night, you admit your feelings for him, right before he leaves for the euro's. When Jude arrives home, he has only one goal, to give you that kiss that you've been waiting for.

Oh, you had royally fucked up.

So royally fucked up that you probably shouldn’t leave the house for at least the next two days, perhaps a week, even a month.

You’d told your best friend that you liked him, in a sweaty club, the night before he was going to the Euros. With the drink loosening your tongue, you blurted it out without thinking. The look on his face said it all; he was stunned into silence.

You and Jude had known each other since high school. He was in the year above you, but you both shared a huge interest in football. While he played for the boys’ squad, you played for the girls’. You got really close in the last year of high school as he began prepping for the under-21s football team while you were preparing for university. You became each other’s anchor, someone you both could rely on, no matter how tough it got. You told each other absolutely everything. So when you blurted out that you liked him, it was as if you had shattered an unspoken rule.

You had been drunk. That was the justification you were giving. You didn’t know what you were thinking; you couldn’t control what was going through your head. You couldn’t face him, not now. The memory of his expression replayed in your mind, a painful reminder.

You had sent him one text message, mentioning nothing about the incident, just wishing him luck in the Euros. Maybe he’d just forget it even happened. After all, he was pretty drunk too.

You had spent all morning preoccupying yourself with your uni work, taking the dog out for a walk, cleaning your room… basically anything to distract from the impending apocalypse. But it was pointless; every other second, you would check the blue tick on the message, with a simple “read” underneath it.

Hey, I hope the head isn’t too sore from last night ahaha. Best of luck in the Euros, I’ll be screaming your name at the local, love ya. (Read)

His response came about three hours later. In that time, you had gone through all five stages of grief. First, Denial: you denied that you even told him, that it was a huge mistake. Anger: you were angry that no one stopped you, as it was an open secret between all of your friends but him, but they had let you blurt it out. Bargaining: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you know. You could just say it was a mistake or you didn’t remember. Depression: this would be the end of your friendship—that he’d no longer look at you the same way ever again. Acceptance: your life was doomed, and that was the end of it. However, when his response came, you hadn’t actually prepared yourself.

Yeah, my head’s fine ahaha, though I think you drank more than me in the end. Currently on the way to the airport, Trent says hi. Pretty nervous about the Euros, I can’t lie.

You sat there staring at the three dots, wondering what else he was thinking. You cringed at him mentioning your drunkenness. He not only knew but he must’ve remembered. Oh god, this was going to be awkward.

You didn’t respond, noticing the frequent three dots on his screen going rapidly on and off. Sighing, you attempted to make a joke, quickly sending back a response.

I’m sure Trent is feeling it right now ahaha, how many shots did he have last night again? Don’t be nervous, you’ll be ace!

His reply came almost instantly.

Enough to need a new liver, I’m sure. Thanks for the vote of confidence. We’re about to board, talk later?

You couldn’t help but feel relieved. He wasn’t addressing your confession at all. Maybe he really had chosen to forget about it. Or perhaps he was giving you a way out, a chance to pretend it never happened. Either way, you seized the opportunity.

Sure, have a safe flight! Catch you later.

With that, you put your phone down and took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn’t ruin everything after all. For now, you’d focus on the positives: Jude was still talking to you, and you still had your friendship, even if it was a little shaken.

The next couple of days were a whirlwind of activity. Jude was swamped with training and media commitments, so your interactions were mostly confined to texts. Despite the busyness, he made sure to check in frequently, sending you updates and little messages that kept the connection alive.

After the Slovakia game, which they won in a nail-biting finish, you received a call from Jude. You could hear the adrenaline in his voice, the excitement of the victory still fresh.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Did you see the game?”

“Of course I did! You were amazing! That last-minute goal!" you replied, unable to hide the pride in your voice.

“Thanks. It felt good out there tonight. The fans were crazy. Nearly thought we were goners—"

"Nah, I knew you'd pull through."

"Really?" His voice sounded hopeful, as if he had more to say, but instead, he coughed and continued talking. "Uh, listen, there is something I need to talk to you about.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said."

"What I said? When?" you responded, your heart beating faster by the minute.

"The night before I went, about you liking me. I thought I could just put it aside and focus on the tournament, but… I can’t.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jude…”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel. And the truth is, I like you too."

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. I hope you don't mind, but I told Dec and Trent, and after they completely humbled me, they made me realize—I think I've always had a bit of a thing for you. It’s just… I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jude let out a breath. “Okay. One step at a time. I like the sound of that.”

For the rest of the night, you talked about everything and nothing, letting the conversation flow naturally. The tension from the confession began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of hope and excitement.

The next game was against Switzerland, and you decided to go out to the pub to watch it with a couple of your pals. The place was buzzing with excitement, filled with fans donning jerseys and scarves, and the energy was infectious. As the match began, you found yourself nervously scanning the screen for Jude, your eyes automatically seeking him out every few seconds.

Your friends, of course, noticed.

“Honestly, if you stare any harder, you might burn a hole through the screen,” teased Sarah, nudging you playfully.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the blush that crept up your cheeks. “I’m just… making sure he’s doing okay.”

“Sure, just making sure,” Mark chimed in with a grin. “We all know you’re head over heels.”

“Guys, can we please just focus on the game?” you said, though you couldn’t help but smile.

As the match progressed, every time Jude touched the ball, your heart seemed to leap into your throat. You could hear your friends’ comments in the background, teasing you about how intently you were watching him.

“There he is again, Y/N! Are you taking notes on his every move?” Sarah laughed.

“Come on, give her a break. She’s just a supportive friend,” Mark added, though his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

You tried to ignore them, but the truth was, they weren’t entirely wrong. You were more invested in Jude’s performance than anything else. When he made a particularly brilliant pass, you couldn’t help but cheer louder than anyone else.

“Wow, you’ve got it bad,” Sarah remarked, shaking her head in amusement.

The game was intense, with both teams playing aggressively. Jude was in top form, making crucial plays and demonstrating why he was such an asset to the team. As the game neared its end, with the score tied, the tension in the pub was palpable.

Just then, your phone buzzed with a message from Jude.

Jude: Gaffer gave us 5 minutes, couldn't wait any longer to not text you.

You: What are you doing?! You're supposed to be on the pitch.

Jude: I think this is going to penalties, I feel it.

You quickly typed back, trying to infuse your message with as much confidence as you could muster.

You: Don’t worry, you’ve got this. I believe in you.

There was a brief pause before his next message came through.

Jude: Listen, how about this: if we win, I’ll take you out on a date.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at the screen, rereading his words. A date. With Jude. Your heart was racing now for an entirely different reason.

You: Deal.

The penalties were agonizing to watch. Each kick, each save, each miss, had the entire pub reacting in unison—groans of despair, cheers of relief, gasps of anticipation. You were barely breathing, your eyes fixed on the screen as if willing the ball into the net with sheer force of will.

Jude stepped up to take his shot. The pub fell silent. You could almost hear your own heartbeat. He took a deep breath, ran up, and kicked. The ball sailed past the goalkeeper and into the net. The pub erupted in cheers, and you jumped up, your shout of triumph mingling with everyone else’s.

The penalties continued, and finally, it came down to Trent. The pressure was immense. If he scored, England would win.

The pub fell silent again as Trent prepared for his shot. You could feel the tension in the air, your heart pounding louder than ever. He took his position, focused, ran up, and kicked. The ball flew towards the goal, past the goalkeeper, and hit the back of the net.

The pub exploded in cheers. People were hugging, high-fiving, and celebrating. You couldn’t believe it. They had done it.

Your phone buzzed again.

Jude: We did it! Can’t believe it. Guess I owe you that date ;)

You couldn’t stop smiling, your heart soaring with pride and excitement.

You: You were amazing! We're so proud!! I can't wait x

Jude: Trust me, I’m looking forward to it. See you soon, Y/N.

You spent the rest of the night celebrating with your friends, the victory and Jude’s promise keeping your spirits high. Amidst all the revelry, one thing was clear: your relationship with Jude was about to take a new and thrilling turn.

The next few days were a whirlwind of emotions and excitement. Jude’s team had just secured a 2-1 victory against the Netherlands. The pub you were in was filled with joyous celebration and raucous cheers. You knew Jude would be over the moon, and you couldn’t wait to hear from him.

Soon enough, your phone rang with an incoming call from Jude. You stepped outside, away from the pub’s noise, to answer.

“Hey, Jude!” you answered, your voice bright with excitement. “Congrats on the win!”

“Y/N!” Jude’s voice was noticeably slurred, and you could hear the background noise of a lively celebration. “I can’t believe we did it! We actually won!”

“I know, it was amazing!” you said, smiling. “You were incredible out there.”

“Thanks!” Jude’s words were slightly jumbled. “I’m just so… so buzzed right now! Remember when we were kids and we’d dream about moments like this? It’s really happening!”

“I know, it’s like a dream come true,” you said warmly.

“And you were always… so pretty, you know? I never really understood why you’d hang out with me,” he continued, his voice full of affection. “Everyone loved you, and I was just this goofy football guy.”

You felt a blush rising. “Jude, it didn’t matter. We had so much fun together.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “I always thought… thought you were too good for me. I was just this guy with a big dream, and you were this amazing person who could have been anywhere.”

“Well, I was where I wanted to be,” you said softly. “With you.”

Jude’s voice grew more tender. “I’ve always admired you, Y/N. Even back then, I was captivated by you. The way you carried yourself, the way you looked—it was like you had this light that drew me in. I was always amazed by how stunning you were, both inside and out.”

You could hear Bukayo’s voice faintly in the background. “Jude, mate, turn the phone off. You're pissed-"

Jude chuckled, though his tone remained affectionate. “I can’t help it, Bukayo! Y/N, you have no idea how incredible you are. I mean, just thinking about you—how beautiful you looked back then and how stunning you still are—drives me crazy.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Jude, you’re making me blush.”

“I’m just speaking the truth,” he said earnestly. “You’ve always been this amazing person, and I’ve been lucky to have you as a friend and now… maybe something more.”

You felt a warm flutter in your chest. “I’m really glad we’re sharing these moments together. It means a lot to me.”

Jude’s voice grew more serious, though still a bit tipsy. “If we keep winning, I want to make sure we celebrate together. I can’t imagine doing it without you.”

“I’d love that,” you said, smiling. “For now, enjoy the celebration. You’ve earned it.”

Jude’s laughter was warm and content. “Alright, I’ll let you go. But I’ll call you again soon, okay?”

“Sure thing. Enjoy the rest of your night, Jude,” you said.

As you ended the call, you couldn’t help but smile. Jude’s heartfelt, tipsy confessions and the sound of his celebration had deepened your connection, making you realize just how much you both meant to each other. The future felt full of promise, and you were excited to see where this new chapter would lead.

When England lost 2-1 to Spain, the crushing disappointment was felt by everyone, especially Jude. As he and the team made their way back, he couldn't shake the feeling of defeat.

You, back home, had been anxiously awaiting any word from him. After a few hours, you decided to check in, hoping he was doing okay.

You: Hey Jude, are you alright? Just wanted to check in.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a message from Jude. The text was brief, but the words were heavy with the weight of the loss.

Jude: Not great, honestly. It's been a rough night.

You felt a pang of sadness reading his message.

You could picture him, lost in thought, longing for comfort.

You: I'm so sorry, Jude. I wish I could be there with you too. You wanna hang out tomorrow? Watch a crappy horror movie and crash on my sofa?

The reply came back quickly.

Jude: Sure. I could use a little cheer up. I'd better go, journalists want a chat before we board.

You stared at the phone, hoping your words brought him some measure of comfort. You knew how much this loss meant to him, and how hard he had worked for this moment. The idea of him being alone in his thoughts broke your heart a little more.

You wanted to do something special for him, something that would show him just how much you cared. An idea started to form in your mind, and you sprang into action.

First, you pulled out his favorite hoodie from the closet. It was slightly oversized on you, but it felt like a warm hug. You wore it while you tidied up the apartment, making sure everything was perfect for when he got home.

Then, you went into the kitchen to start cooking his favorite meal. The process was therapeutic, each stir of the pot a way to channel your nervous energy. As the aromas filled the room, you felt a little more at peace, knowing that you were doing something to help him, even from afar.

As the hours ticked by, you kept checking your phone, hoping for any update on his flight. Finally, a message popped up.

Jude: Just landed. See you soon

Your heart skipped a beat. You quickly finished setting the table, dimming the lights to create a cozy atmosphere. You lit a few candles, their soft glow adding a touch of warmth to the room.

When you heard the key in the lock, you rushed to the door, your heart pounding with anticipation. As the door opened, there he was, looking exhausted but so incredibly relieved to see you.

Without a word, he dropped his bags and pulled you into a tight embrace. You held him close, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body as he buried his face in your neck.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

"I missed you too, Jude," you replied softly, running your fingers through his hair. "I'm so glad you're home."

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with gratitude. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you."

You smiled, cupping his face in your hands. "Come on, I made your favorite dinner. Let's sit down and talk about everything."

Later on, after you had let him get everything off his chest, you decided to watch a movie, something that would probably become background noise. As the movie played, you and Jude sat side by side on the couch, the tension between you that seemed to dance in time with the flickering images. You could feel the heat of his body next to yours, and every time your arms or legs brushed, a jolt of electricity shot through you.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

He was staring at the screen, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. The furrow in his brow, the way his jaw tightened, the constant fidgeting-he was still wrestling with the aftermath of the game.

You wished there was something you could do to ease his mind.

As if sensing your thoughts, he turned to you, his eyes softening. "I'm sorry I've been a grumpy sod."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. "No, don't be. I'm your friend!" You smirk a little as you made eye contact with him for the first time that night. "I'm just glad you're here."

The movie continued, but the air between you grew thicker with unspoken words and emotions.

"Listen. About what I said-"

"We don't have too-"

"No we should! Because, i know I've been swept up with all of the euro's but- I meant what i said. I like you."

"I like you too."

You could feel his gaze lingering on you more frequently, and each time you met his eyes, it was like a silent conversation passed between you.

"Do you remember the last time we watched a movie together?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You chuckled softly. "Yeah, you fell asleep halfway through."

He grinned, the first genuine smile you'd seen from him all night. "I was exhausted. You have a way of making me feel very relaxed. Always have done."

"It's a very good thing," he replied, his voice low.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity in his eyes. The movie, now a distant background noise, was all but forgotten. The distance between you seemed to shrink with each passing second.

"Jude..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. "I-." His eyes looked up and down at your lips as you settled into his embrace. He looks for any uncertainty before he continues.

"You make me feel seen. Like I can't hide anything from you. It's scary really-"

"Is that so-" you smile, your eyes casting over his lips.

"Mhmm. You make me such a good person-"

"Jude, just kiss me already." You laugh. He smiles instinctively,

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. "Can I...?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. The world seemed to hold its breath as your lips finally met in a soft, tentative kiss.

It was like a spark igniting a fire, the kiss quickly deepening with a hunger that had been building all night. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss grew more intense.

You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed against him, the kiss growing more intense. His lips were insistent, exploring yours with a desperate need. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, mirroring your own racing pulse.

Jude's hands roamed, tracing the curve of your back, sending shivers down your spine. Your skin felt electrified wherever he touched, each caress igniting a new wave of desire. You gasped as his lips left yours, trailing hot kisses down your neck, nibbling and sucking gently at the sensitive skin.

"Jude," you moaned softly, your fingers tightening in his hair. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against your throat as he continued his exploration, his hands slipping under your shirt to caress the bare skin of your back.

Your breath hitched when his lips found the hollow of your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. You arched into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. The heat between you was almost unbearable, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf you both.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for breath, you looked into his eyes and couldn't help but smile. "Do you know how long l've wanted to do that?" you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of relief and desire.

Jude chuckled, resting his forehead against yours.

"Probably as long as I have," he replied, his breath warm against your lips.

You both knew this was just the beginning, but for now, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was the two of you, tangled in each other's arms, finally giving in to the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.

[capquinn]

Two Hearts | Q. Hughes

summary: you and quinn drift apart, only to be drawn back together, held by a quiet, unspoken pull that lingers even after the breakup. it’s a constant ebb and flow, where the pain of separation and the comfort of reunion blur together, making it hard to truly let go. pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: lovers to exes, angst, just super sad in general word count: 8.3k note: i've been listening to birch by big red machine and what's left of me by grace vanderwaal a lot at the moment and the next thing i knew i was writing a breakup fic. anyway, godspeed! ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

When you first met, it was like falling into step with someone who already knew the rhythm of your heart. You were always together, moving through life side by side, sharing the little moments and the big ones, too. He was your person, the one you called with every piece of news, good or bad, the one you turned to without a second thought. And for a while, it felt like you’d found something unbreakable, a connection so strong it seemed like nothing could touch it.

But slowly, things changed. There wasn’t a single moment or a reason you could pinpoint, just a gradual drifting apart, like you were both holding onto something that was already slipping away. You both knew it, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud, as if giving voice to the growing distance between you would make it real, would make it impossible to ignore. So, you held on, hoping that things might shift back, that the comfort and ease you’d once shared would return. But it never did.

Eventually, you both knew what had to be done. The breakup wasn’t loud or dramatic; there were no screaming fights or betrayals. It was just the painful acceptance that something that once felt infinite had an end. You’d sat across from each other, trying to find the right words, but all that came out were half-smiles and empty reassurances, promises to stay friends, to still care. The kind of promises you both knew were hollow, meant to soften the blow but only making it sting more. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The bar is buzzing, a steady hum of laughter and clinking glasses, your friends leaning into the evening with carefree energy that you’re trying your best to match. You’re at a table near the back, surrounded by people, but the only thing that holds your attention is the TV mounted high on the wall, where the Canucks game plays on in vivid colour.

You hadn’t planned on watching, had spent the past few weeks avoiding his games entirely ever since the break up, even changing your route to work to bypass Rogers Arena and the massive banners that displayed his face. But here, in this bar, the game is impossible to ignore. 

You’re nursing a drink that’s lost its chill, your eyes drawn back to the screen again and again, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Maybe it’s the few drinks you’ve had, or the way your friends seem preoccupied with their own conversations, but for a moment, you let yourself lean into the pull.

You scan the bench, looking for the familiar outline of his face, the way he used to smile just before the game started, that quiet confidence you knew so well.

And then, as if the universe heard your silent plea, there he is.

The camera lingers on him, and he’s just sitting there, helmet off, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. The sight of him after so many weeks avoiding him is so sudden that it hits you like a punch to the chest, the pain of missing him crashing over you in relentless waves. He looks good — strong, steady, like the man you fell in love with. 

You sink further back into your chair, your chest tightening, and you feel the sting of tears welling up, but you blink them away. The last thing you need is for your friends to see, to ask questions, to try to distract you with shallow reassurances that you know won’t help. You’re here with them, but in this moment, you feel impossibly alone, wrapped up in a silence that even the loudest crowd can’t break.

It’s strange, this hurt. You thought time would soften it, would dull the edges, but instead, it feels sharper than ever. You’re hit with memories of all the times you’d cheered him on from the stands. The pride that would swell in your chest as he skated out onto the ice, the way he’d look up at you after a win, his smile saying more than words ever could. And now, here you are, watching him from a distance, a stranger in a bar, trying to reconcile the person you knew with the one you’re seeing now.

One of your friends nudges you, pulling you back to the present. You manage a smile, nodding along as they talk about something trivial, something that barely registers as you try to focus, try to be here with them. But it’s useless. The only thing you can feel is the cold, empty space where he used to be, the sense that you’re still tethered to him, still bound by a connection that won’t let you go, no matter how hard you try.

You glance at the screen one last time, watching as the camera shifts, capturing him from a different angle, and it’s like he’s right there, close enough to touch, yet impossibly far away.

You pull your gaze away, focusing on your drink, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake the feeling that you’ll never really be free of him. Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how many miles or weeks separate you, it feels like he’s still there, a constant presence that haunts you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Quinn drops his duffel bag by the door, letting out a long, slow breath. He’s just come off a stretch of back-to-back games, all of them wins, and the rush of adrenaline from the ice still lingers, though it’s beginning to fade now.

The apartment is dark and silent, and it feels colder than he remembers. It’s the first real stretch of time away since the season started back up and since the breakup, and the silence feels more profound than ever.

This is the part he used to look forward to — coming home, dropping his things, feeling the weight of the road lift from his shoulders as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

But now, that sense of relief is nowhere to be found.

He flips on a light, and the glow seems almost too harsh, too bright against the empty space. It wasn’t like this before. He’d come home from these trips and find you there, waiting for him, a warm smile on your face and something simmering on the stove, like you’d been anticipating his return all day. The routine was one he hadn’t even realised he’d come to rely on. He’d walk through the door, and the world outside would fall away, replaced by the comfort of you, by the way you’d wrap him in your arms and hold him tight, as if to say, you made it back. You’re home now.

But tonight, there’s no one waiting for him. Just the echo of his own footsteps and the faint hum of the fridge. He heads into the kitchen, out of habit more than anything, and opens the cabinet. There it is, your favourite mug, still in its place, untouched since you left. He closes the door, pushing down the ache that rises in his chest. The space is the same, but it feels foreign without you there, without the sounds and scents that made it feel like more than just a place to sleep between games.

He moves to the couch and sits down, staring at the blank TV screen. There are still traces of you everywhere, even though it’s been months. He hasn’t had the heart to remove them, as if by keeping these small reminders around, he can pretend, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. But it has, and he feels it in every inch of the apartment, in every corner that once held your presence, now empty.

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushion, and tries to breathe through the quiet. He’s used to routines, to schedules, to the grind that keeps him going, but no amount of preparation could brace him for the silence that waits for him here. 

The season is in full swing, and he’s supposed to be focused, sharp, ready for every game. But sitting here, with the emptiness pressing in on him, he wonders if he’ll ever really shake this feeling, if the apartment will ever feel right again.

He knows he should get up, unpack, settle back in, but he can’t bring himself to move. Instead, he sits there, letting the silence stretch out, knowing that it’s just another part of what he has to face now.

Another piece of you he has to let go.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a chilly evening downtown, but the bar is warm, buzzing with people, laughter, and the steady thrum of music. Quinn is surrounded by his buddies, all of them relaxed, sharing drinks and catching up like they used to. It’s the first time in months he’s felt something close to normal. The weight he’s been carrying seems to have lifted, and for the first time since the breakup, he can feel himself starting to breathe again. He even catches himself laughing, really laughing, at something one of his friends says, and it feels good. He feels almost like himself again.

As the night goes on, his friends nudge him, pointing out a girl at the bar — a brunette, leaning casually against the counter, a slight smile playing on her lips as she looks his way.

“She’s cute,” his friend says, giving him an encouraging nudge. “Go talk to her, man. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Quinn hesitates, glancing over at her. She is cute, and a part of him wonders if maybe he should. Maybe it’s time to try, to start moving forward for real. He takes a breath, thinking he could do it, just walk over and strike up a conversation, let himself take a step into something new.

But as he watches her, a strange feeling begins to settle in his stomach. He feels off, like something isn’t right, like he’s crossing a line he can’t quite see but knows is there. He looks down, his fingers tapping against the side of his glass as the ache starts to creep back, that dull, familiar ache that he thought he’d left behind. 

It doesn’t feel right. It feels like betrayal, like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t want to lose, even if he knows it’s already gone. And suddenly, you’re there, filling his mind, your laughter, your smile, the way you used to look at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He realises he’s not ready — not for this, not for anything new. Because it still hurts, even if he thought it didn’t. It still feels like he’s leaving a part of himself behind.

He shakes his head, offering his friends a small smile. “Nah, I’m good,” he says, pushing away from the bar. “Not tonight.”

His friend raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press, just claps him on the shoulder, his expression softening. “Alright, man. No rush. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

Quinn nods, grateful that his friends don’t push it further. He stays with them for a while longer, listening to the conversations, trying to immerse himself back into the lightness of the evening, but it doesn’t quite work. The feeling lingers, a quiet ache that sits heavy in his chest, and he knows he can’t ignore it.

Later that night, when he’s walking back to his apartment, he pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over your name in his contacts. He knows he probably shouldn’t, knows that reaching out might only reopen old wounds, but he can’t help himself. He needs to know if you’re feeling it too, if maybe, somewhere in the silence between you, there’s still something left.

He types out a message, keeping it simple, but the words still feel heavy, loaded with everything he can’t quite say: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Hope you’re doing okay.

He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the send button, wondering if it’s a mistake. But in the end, he sends it, letting the message fly out into the silence, hoping that somehow, it finds its way to you, and maybe, just maybe, you’re thinking of him too.

As he walks the empty streets back to his apartment, Quinn's phone buzzes in his hand, lighting up with a notification. He stops, heart skipping a beat as he reads your name on the screen. He hadn't expected a response — not tonight, maybe not at all. He'd half-convinced himself that you were moving on, that the silence between you was something you both needed, even if it was painful.

But there it is: your message. His chest tightens, relief and trepidation flooding through him as he swipes to read it. 

Hey, I’m doing alright. Thanks for checking in. Hope you’re okay too. 

It’s simple, almost too simple, but he can feel the weight of it, the way it wraps around him, bringing back memories he’d been trying so hard to push down.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, his grip tightening on the phone as he reads your words again. He can almost hear your voice saying them, that familiar tone that used to bring him so much comfort. 

Quinn leans against a lamppost, the cold seeping through his jacket, but he barely feels it. He’s lost in the past, in flashes of you laughing beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, the way you’d curl into him like you belonged there, like you always would. The distance between you has been unbearable, and as much as he’d thought he was moving on, your message reminds him just how deep the ache goes, how much he misses you in ways that he thinks no one else can fill.

He thinks about replying, about saying something that might bridge the gap between you, something that might crack open the door that he knows is probably better left closed.

But his fingers hover over the screen, unsure, caught between the pull of wanting to say everything and the fear of saying too much.

Getting there, he types, pausing as he considers the truth of those words. Then he adds: I miss talking to you.

He sends it before he can overthink, and as he waits for a reply, a nervous energy builds in his chest. The night feels colder now, lonelier, as if the silence between you is stretching even further, more pronounced. The moments pass, each one a reminder of what he’s hoping to find in your response, and he knows he’s standing on fragile ground, balancing on the edge of everything he’s been trying to let go.

The phone buzzes again, and he glances down, his heart pounding as he reads your reply. 

Yeah, me too. It feels strange not having you around.

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut, the raw truth in them piercing through the layers of resolve he’d tried to build up over these months. He looks up at the night sky, the city lights hazy in the distance, and he wonders if this is how it will always be: an endless loop of trying to move on, only to be pulled back to you, back to the place where everything feels right but is so undeniably broken.

He feels a shiver run through him as he reads your reply, the simple admission that things feel strange without him, that you miss him too. It's enough to reignite that small, flickering hope he’s been trying to ignore, the one that tells him maybe, somehow, there’s still a way back.

He types out a response, his fingers moving almost on their own, trying to capture the words that have been caught in his chest for months.

I thought I was moving on, but I still miss you. More than I want to admit, he writes, his thumb hesitating over the send button. But then he sends it, and the words are out there, suspended in the space between you, a bridge he can’t cross back over now.

He waits, his phone clutched in his hand, eyes glued to the screen. The minutes tick by, the cold night air biting at him, but he doesn’t move. He keeps checking the screen, hoping to see the familiar three dots, a sign that you’re there, that you’ve read his message and maybe, just maybe, you’re willing to give him something in return.

But the dots never appear, and as the silence stretches on, the hope begins to fade, replaced by a creeping sense of dread.

He reads the message back to himself, the rawness of it hitting him harder now, and he realises that he’s laid himself bare, offered up the part of himself he’s been keeping close, only to be met with silence.

He tells himself that maybe you’re busy, that maybe you’ve fallen asleep. That there’s some reason you haven’t responded. But deep down, he knows. He knows that sometimes, silence is its own kind of answer. It’s own kind of goodbye. He knows that if you’d wanted to respond, you would have. That maybe, despite everything, you’re trying to move on in a way he’s not ready for.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The back-and-forth between you and Quinn has been a fragile line, a balancing act that neither of you seem quite ready to step away from. It’s like you’re both holding onto opposite ends of a rope, loosening your grip just enough to let a little slack, but never fully letting go.

Since the breakup, you’ve exchanged a few messages, each one carefully crafted, as if testing the waters of where you now stand. 

At first, there was the occasional check-in. He’d reached out to wish your mom a happy birthday, a thoughtful gesture that tugged at old memories. You’d replied with a simple thank you, feeling a strange mixture of comfort and unease. A few weeks later, you found yourself wishing him luck for the hockey season, the words feeling heavier than they should. He replied quickly, but there was a hesitation you could almost feel in the silence that followed, an echo of all that was left unsaid. 

And then there were the spontaneous moments — the TikTok you sent one night, hoping it would make him laugh the way it used to, or the photo he’d shared of a sunset from his apartment window, captioned only with, thought you’d like this. These small, seemingly insignificant messages were like tiny threads, keeping you tethered to each other, never fully apart. You both knew the connection lingered, an unspoken acknowledgment that some bonds don’t break so easily.

In the spaces between these moments, you’d both tried to create new routines, to carve out separate paths. You stopped going to the places you used to frequent together, started exploring new spots with friends, hoping it would help you move on. You’d heard through mutual friends that he was doing the same — choosing different haunts, finding new ways to fill his days. 

You’d both done well to avoid each other for the most part, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths would cross again, as if the universe was waiting for the perfect moment to throw you back together.

And then it happens. You’re leaving your favourite coffee shop, the one you’d almost forgotten you shared, tucked into a quiet street just far enough from the city’s usual hustle. You’re caught up in a joke your friend just told, the warmth of laughter still lingering as you push open the door, balancing a cup in one hand and a bag in the other. But when you glance up, there he is, walking towards the door, his eyes finding yours in an instant. The laughter fades, replaced by the hollow thud of your heart in your chest as you both freeze, caught in a moment that feels both inevitable and surreal.

Neither of you move, and for a beat, the world narrows to just the two of you, standing face-to-face in the place that once felt like your own little corner of the world.

It’s awkward, disconcerting, like an unexpected reminder of a past that still holds you both in its grip. And as you hold his gaze, you realise that despite all the little steps you’ve both taken to move forward, you’re both still here, tangled up in the threads of a something that feels far from over.  

He’s alone, a few stray raindrops clinging to his jacket from the drizzle outside. There’s a split second of something unreadable in his expression — surprise, maybe even a little hesitation, before he recovers, offering a small, polite smile. It’s so painfully familiar, that half-smile of his.

Your friend shifts beside you, sensing the change in the air, and gives you a quick, curious glance. You manage a strained smile in return, glancing back at Quinn as you exchange awkward hellos.

“Hey,” he says, his voice just loud enough to cut through the ambient noise, yet soft enough that it feels intimate. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, aware of how forced your tone sounds. “How about you?”

“Yeah, can’t complain,” he says with a shrug, his hands sliding into his pockets, and for a moment, he looks like the Quinn you used to know. The one who was always a little awkward, a little unsure. 

There’s a brief pause, a tension hanging between you as you both struggle for words. He clears his throat, glancing toward the barista before meeting your eyes again.

“It’s been a while,” he says, his voice a little too even, like he’s carefully measuring each word. It feels strangely formal, like you’re two strangers making small talk instead of two people who once shared everything.

“Yeah,” you nod, shifting awkwardly. “It has.”

The conversation stalls there, the weight of what neither of you are saying settling uncomfortably between you. It’s weird, this distance — how you can be standing so close to someone you once knew inside and out, yet feel miles apart.

You don’t know where to look, your eyes darting from his face to the floor to the cup in your hand, as if it might hold the answers you can’t seem to find.

He shuffles slightly, one hand still gripping the coffee shop door, the other hovering at his side like he’s not sure what to do with it. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but the words don’t come, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes, the same hesitation that’s keeping you both on the edge of this awkward dance.

The silence stretches, and in the back of your mind, a question gnaws at you, growing louder with each passing second: Do you still miss me? It’s the only thing you really want to ask. Because I still miss you. But you can’t bring yourself to say it. Neither of you can.

Instead, you both linger in the spaces between, skirting around the edges of what you really want to say, pretending this is just a normal, chance encounter and not a painful reminder of what’s been lost.

Your chest tightens, and you can feel the ache creeping in, the unrelenting pull of everything that was left unresolved.

“It’s good to see you,” you finally offer, your voice quieter than you intended, the words feeling hollow, insufficient.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze softening for just a moment, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes — something like longing, or maybe regret. “You too.”

Another beat of silence passes, heavy and thick, and then, almost simultaneously, you both step aside to let the other pass. It’s a messy, awkward shuffle, both of you trying to avoid making it worse, and for a second, your hand brushes against his. The contact is brief, fleeting, but it sends a rush of emotion through you that you’re not prepared for. 

You step back, swallowing the lump in your throat, wishing you had the courage to say what you’re really feeling. But instead, you just give him a tight smile, and he nods, stepping past you toward the counter.

As you walk out the door, the familiar sound of the coffee shop bell ringing behind you, you can’t help but wonder if he feels it too — the strangeness, the heaviness. The way this brief, awkward exchange only seems to deepen the ache.

And though you know the moment has passed, the words you didn’t say still echo in your mind, reverberating like a question left hanging in the air.

Do you still miss me?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a rainy evening, the kind of night where you’d rather stay home with a book or a movie, something comforting to fill the quiet. But your friends convinced you that it was time to get back out there, that you deserved to have a little fun, to meet someone new.

You sit there, trying to muster up an interest in the conversation, but everything about the date feels off. The sushi restaurant is beautiful, the lighting warm and inviting, though you feel strangely out of place.

Your date is nice — polite, even a little charming, but there's something about him that feels hollow, like you’re both playing parts in a scene that doesn’t quite fit.

He smiles, asking about your work, your hobbies, the little details of your life, and you respond automatically, going through the motions as best you can. He’s handsome, with an easy laugh and a quick wit, and you know, objectively, that he’s a good guy. But as he talks, you can’t help but compare each small gesture to Quinn, feeling the disappointment settle deeper each time he falls short.

When he leans back in his seat, his posture casual, he doesn't reach for you, doesn't offer that familiar brush of his knee against yours. You realise that you've been waiting for it, anticipating a touch that never comes, and with each passing second, the absence grows more glaring. With Quinn, there was always an unspoken connection, a natural pull that kept you close, like your bodies knew how to find each other even in a crowded room. But here, with this stranger, there's only an empty space that feels too wide and too cold.

You remember how Quinn would glance at you between bites, his eyes softening as he leaned in just a little closer, the quiet smiles that would pass between you like a secret language only you two shared. He had this way of making you feel seen, of making even the smallest moment feel significant. But tonight, everything feels forced, every word an effort, and you find yourself retreating further into memories of Quinn, of the way he made even the most ordinary dinners feel like something special.

Your date tries to fill the silence, laughing as he tells another story, his voice rising with enthusiasm, but it only makes the space between you feel more hollow. With Quinn, you never had to fill the silences. They were easy, comforting, a shared understanding that allowed you to simply be, without the need for constant words. But now, the silence feels heavy, a reminder of everything you’ve lost. 

He catches your distant expression, tilting his head with a look of concern. "You alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, and for a moment, you feel guilty, like you’re betraying him by not being fully present, by comparing him to a past he can’t compete with.

You force a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just…tired. Must be the weather or something,” you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not quite true. It’s not tiredness; it’s the ache of missing Quinn, of sitting here with someone else and realising that the bar had been set so high, you’re not sure anyone else can reach it.

The date continues, but it feels like you’re moving through water, each word weighed down by the memories you can’t shake. When he offers you a bite of his food, finally, you want to feel grateful, but even that feels off — like a poor imitation of the way Quinn would share his plate with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he watched your reaction, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary.

And as the night wears on, you start to feel a strange sadness, a quiet understanding that you’re not ready for this, not yet. Maybe it’s too soon, or maybe it’s that you’re still carrying Quinn with you, a weight that makes every interaction feel too forced. The date ends, and he offers to walk you to your car, but you decline, needing the solitude, the chance to step out into the rain and let the cool air clear your mind.

You slip into your car, the familiar hum of the engine a small comfort as you pull out onto the quiet streets. You could head straight home, but the thought of returning to an empty apartment feels too daunting right now. Instead, you take the long way, winding through the city with no real destination in mind, just the soft glow of the streetlights and the rhythmic sweep of the wipers cutting through the drizzle.

Quinn is all you can think about. It’s strange, this pull he still has on you. You wonder if it’s supposed to be like this. If this ache is a normal part of moving on after spending so long with someone who became a part of your world. You had shared so much — the good and the bad, the mundane and the beautiful. He had seen you at your best and at your worst, and now, even the smallest things feel out of place without him. You’re not sure if you’ll ever feel quite normal again, and if there’s ever a way to fill the space he left behind.

You find yourself circling back towards your neighbourhood, the rain picking up again as you pull into your driveway. The car is quiet now, save for the soft ticking of the engine cooling down, and you sit there, letting the weight of the evening settle over you. 

You sit there for a while, the rain tapping softly against the windows, and before you know it, you’re reaching for your phone. You don’t want to tell him about the date, about how out of place you felt — there’s no point in bringing that up. But you can’t shake the urge to reach out, to bridge the distance with something small, something that feels familiar. 

You type out a simple message, something that feels safer, something that isn’t about the night or the ache it left behind:

Just wanted to say hi. I hope you’re doing well.

It’s casual, almost impersonal, but as you read it over, you feel a tiny sense of relief. It’s enough to reach out, and to say something without opening wounds that haven’t quite healed. You don’t want to give him too much, but you can’t keep holding onto the silence, either. You hit send, feeling your heart quicken as the message goes through.

The rain continues to fall as you wait, unsure if he’ll reply. You know he might not, that he’s probably moved on in ways you haven’t yet. And you know that whatever comes next, you’ll have to face it, step by step, without letting him fill the spaces you’re supposed to fill yourself. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s late, and the city is wrapped in the soft glow of Christmas lights, the streets lined with decorations that should feel festive but instead make the loneliness press down harder.

You wander back to your apartment, past shop windows filled with ornaments and garlands, through a crowd of strangers bustling with bags of gifts, their laughter ringing out like echoes of a life you don’t quite belong to. The air is crisp, biting at your cheeks, and with every step, you feel the emptiness settling in deeper, gnawing at the edges of your heart.

You reach your building, climbing the familiar stairs, and as you push open the door to your apartment, you’re greeted by the silence. It’s the same stillness that has greeted you for months, but tonight, it feels heavier, more oppressive. You set your keys down, shrugging off your coat, and glance around at the empty rooms, the walls adorned with a few half-hearted decorations you’d put up in a moment of optimism. But they only serve as reminders that you’re here alone, far from the warmth of family, from the comfort of familiarity.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hand, and before you even realise it, you’re scrolling through your contacts, your thumb hovering over his name.

Quinn.

You can almost hear his voice, the way it would ground you, steady and reassuring, cutting through the quiet like a lifeline. He’s been your person, the closest thing to family in this city, and though you know you shouldn’t, you know that calling him will only complicate things, you can’t shake the longing, the ache that’s been building all night.

You take a deep breath, your fingers trembling as you press call, and the ringing fills the silence, each tone making your heart race, a mix of anticipation and regret. But there’s also a strange sense of relief, a fleeting comfort in knowing that he’s just on the other side, that he’ll answer, because he always does. You know it’s selfish, reaching out like this, when you’ve both been trying so hard to move on, but tonight, the loneliness is too sharp, the absence of him too much to bear.

He picks up on the second ring, his voice soft and familiar, and in an instant, the loneliness fades, replaced by the warmth that only he can bring.

You close your eyes, leaning back, letting the sound of his voice wash over you, anchoring you in a way that nothing else has since you left. You make small talk, the words simple, but there’s a comfort in them, a reminder of all the late-night conversations you used to have, when he was the person you’d always call, the person who made you feel like you weren’t alone in the world.

“Hey, everything OK?” he asks, his voice soft and warm, as if he can sense the tremor in yours, the way the silence on your end stretches a beat too long.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, though the words feel thin, fragile, as if they might shatter at any moment. You hesitate, searching for the right words, but all that comes is the truth, raw and heavy. “Just... wanted to hear a familiar voice. The holidays feel different this year, y'know? I’m away from my family and…” You pause, the words catching in your throat, the unspoken weight of everything you’re holding back pressing down on you. “I miss you.”

There’s a silence on the other end, but it’s not empty. You can feel his presence through the phone, the way he doesn’t rush to fill the space. Doesn’t need to because he understands. He’s always understood. He doesn’t even have to say it, but you can feel it in the quiet, in the way his breath catches ever so slightly, in the way you’re both suspended there, clinging to the edge of a past that neither of you can quite leave behind.

“Would you…” He starts, his voice hesitant, as if he’s weighing each word before letting it slip into the space between you. “Would you like to come over? Have dinner? I could use some company tonight, too.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s a vulnerability there, a longing that mirrors your own, as if he, too, has been holding onto this moment, waiting for the chance to bridge the gap that’s kept you both apart.

The offer hangs in the air, filling the empty spaces in your heart, and you realise that this, more than anything, is what you’ve been needing. Not just a familiar voice, but him — his warmth, his presence. The way he knows you without you having to explain. It’s more than you had hoped for, and yet, in that moment, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You nod, even though he can’t see you, the word slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “I’d like that.”

There’s a quiet relief in his response, and though he doesn’t say it, you know that he’s missed you too, that he’s been feeling the same hollow ache. The same pull that’s brought you back together tonight. It’s a fragile peace, this shared loneliness, but it’s enough for now. 

The air is biting as you make your way to his building, the chill cutting through your coat, but you barely notice. Your thoughts are tangled, a mess of anticipation and uncertainty as you stop to pick up a bottle of wine — a peace offering, an excuse, something to occupy your hands and steady your nerves.

By the time you reach his door, your heart is pounding, and you almost consider turning back, slipping away before you even have to face him. But then the door opens, and there he is, with that same steady gaze, the one that has always been able to calm you and unravel you all at once.

You step inside, and the warmth of his apartment wraps around you, the familiar scent of him, of the space you once shared, filling your lungs and pulling at memories you’ve tried to bury. You look around, and it’s like nothing has changed. The walls, the furniture, the soft, warm lighting — all of it is just as you remember, a snapshot frozen in time. But then your gaze drifts to the empty spaces, the subtle absence of things that once belonged to you, and the weight of it settles in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t your home anymore.

Your favourite mug, the one you’d always reach for first thing in the morning, is gone from its home by the kettle. The cosy pair of slippers you kept by the door, ready for nights when you’d settle in and make this place your own, have vanished too. You hadn’t expected them to stay, hadn’t imagined that he’d keep these remnants of you around, but somehow, seeing the empty spaces where they once were makes it all feel final, the quiet confirmation of what you already knew: it’s over. 

And suddenly, the regret hits you, sharp and unforgiving. You shouldn’t have called. You shouldn’t have come. This is only going to make it harder.

Quinn takes your coat, his fingers brushing yours as he hangs it up, and there’s a brief, awkward pause, a silence heavy with everything you both want to say but don’t. He gestures toward the kitchen, and you follow him, the bottle of wine clutched tightly in your hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a seat on the stool by the island. He moves around the kitchen with that same easy grace, his focus shifting from the stove to the countertop, to the little tasks he always made look so effortless. You pour a glass of wine, taking a long sip, letting the warmth spread through you, settling your nerves as you watch him.

The quiet between you feels heavy at first, stifling, as if you’re both waiting for the other to break it. But then, slowly, you feel the familiar rhythm return, that easy flow you once shared, the quiet comfort of simply being in each other’s presence. He chops vegetables, stirs a pot, reaches for spices, and it’s like slipping back into an old dance, one you both know by heart, even after all this time.

You find yourself talking, sharing little bits of your day, your voice filling the space between you, and he listens, nodding along, his gaze softening as he glances over at you. There’s something so natural about it, the way he tilts his head when he’s listening, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It’s a rhythm that feels almost instinctive, and before you know it, you’re leaning into it, the awkwardness fading, replaced by something warmer, something almost comforting.

As you sit there, watching him cook, sipping your wine, you feel a flicker of something that almost feels like peace. The familiar hum of the kitchen, the scent of food filling the air, the quiet, unspoken understanding between you — it’s all so familiar, so intimate. And yet, there’s a bittersweet edge to it, a lingering sadness that tugs at the corners of your heart, reminding you that this is temporary, that you’re only borrowing this moment.

Quinn gives the sauce a stir, tasting it with a spoon, and you lean forward, squinting at him with a familiar look of playful skepticism.

“Are you sure you’re not overdoing it with the garlic?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shakes his head. “I thought you loved garlic.”

“Yeah, but I also like to taste the rest of the dish,” you reply, laughing softly. “Remember that time you made pasta, and the entire apartment smelled like garlic for days?”

He chuckles, the sound light but carrying that old warmth. “Hey, I didn’t hear any complaints back then ” he says, turning back to the stove with a grin.

You shrug, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him. “Maybe I was just being nice.”

He throws a glance over his shoulder, his smile softening as his eyes meet yours. “You’re always nice,” he says, almost under his breath, and for a brief second, the room feels like it used to — filled with that easy, comfortable rhythm that was yours alone.

For a moment, it’s like the past few months slip away, and you’re both just there, together, sharing space like nothing ever changed.

You take another sip of wine, watching him as he moves around the kitchen, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend that nothing has changed, that the empty spaces don’t matter, that you haven’t been living separate lives. Because in this moment, with him just a few steps away, his gaze meeting yours, you feel like you’re home again.

And then when you take a seat at the small dining table, a quiet smile lingers on your lips as you watch him bring over the plates, setting one in front of you with that same familiar care. It’s a simple dinner, but the warmth of it, the way he moves around the room with such ease, makes it feel like more. 

You glance around the room, your gaze landing on the bare walls, the empty spaces where twinkling lights and garlands used to hang. There are no Christmas decorations, none of the usual signs of the season that used to fill the apartment with warmth and light, and it feels strange.

“You didn’t put up any decorations this year,” you remark, trying to keep your tone light, though the words carry a weight you hadn’t intended.

You know how much he used to love transforming this place. How he’d indulge your excitement with a grin. How he’d string lights across the windows and set out little ornaments, creating a space that felt so alive, so full of holiday cheer. You hadn’t thought much of it until now, but seeing the absence of it all hits you harder than you expected.

He shrugs, looking down at his plate, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t see the point,” he says softly, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sadness that tugs at your heart. “I only ever did it because you were around. I’m not really here much over the Holidays, and if it’s just for me… It just seems sort of pointless.”

The confession hangs between you, fragile and raw, and you feel the air shift, a connection sparking in the space between you, as if something unspoken has finally found its way to the surface.

You’re both quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting the weight of them settle around you. There’s a warmth building in your chest, a tenderness that you’d thought had faded, but here it is: lingering, soft and undeniable.

Without thinking, you reach across the table, your fingers brushing against his, and he meets you halfway, his hand warm and familiar in yours. The touch is gentle, hesitant, but it feels like a step back into a place you both thought you’d left behind. He squeezes your hand, his thumb tracing a soft, slow circle against your skin, and you can feel the pull, the quiet magnetism that’s always been there, drawing you closer, even now.

After dinner, you linger in the quiet warmth of his apartment, neither of you ready to say goodbye just yet. There’s a fragile comfort in this old rhythm, a sense of normalcy that feels almost like it belongs to a different lifetime. The conversation drifts between light memories and familiar silences, and you feel yourself clinging to each moment. To the ease of it all, knowing it’s only a temporary reprieve.

You’re both leaning against the kitchen counter, a faint smile playing on his lips as he talks about something inconsequential, something that makes you laugh even as you feel the weight of the evening pressing down on you.

You’re both a little tipsy, the warmth of the wine clouding your judgment, softening the edges of everything, and when he stops talking and looks at you, really looks at you, there’s a beat of silence, a tension that feels both familiar and terrifying, and without thinking, you lean in, and he meets you half-way, closing the distance between you.

When he kisses you, it’s almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that you’ll pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you, letting it chase away the cold that’s settled in your bones since you walked out of his life. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and in that moment, it feels like everything is slipping back into place, like you’re finding your way home again. 

The kiss is soft, tentative, but it quickly deepens, and for a moment, you lose yourself in it, letting the warmth and the memories wash over you. It feels so easy, so natural, like slipping back into a dream, and before you know it, you’re in his bed, lying beside him in the dark, your heart pounding as the reality of it all settles in.

He falls asleep with his arm draped over you, his breathing steady and slow, and you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything. It’s so familiar, the feel of his body next to yours, the quiet intimacy of sharing a bed, but this time, it's different. It's more painful, more final, as if the weight of the breakup is settling in all over again, sharper and more relentless than before.

He had held you with a tenderness that was both familiar and agonising, his hands tracing the curves of your body, his lips mapping paths across your skin. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, as if all the pain, all the distance, had melted away beneath the heat of his touch. You felt needed, wanted, loved in a way that you’d almost forgotten, and you let yourself sink into it, surrendering to the comfort, to the longing that had been building for months. It was intimate, but not in the way it used to be. 

His touch had been gentle, yet filled with an urgency, as if he, too, was trying to memorise the moment, to hold onto something that was slipping away even as it unfolded.

His fingers brushed your skin, sending sparks through you, the warmth of him pressing into you, grounding you in a way that felt both right and utterly wrong. You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift on the wave of pleasure… on the feeling of being close to him… of feeling his heartbeat against yours. 

But now, lying beside him in the aftermath, you feel the full weight of what you’ve done, the painful clarity settling in. It felt so nice to be held, to be wanted, to be wrapped up in him again, but now the emptiness is stark, the regret deeper. You’re left with the cold reality that no matter how close you get, no matter how intimately your bodies fit together, there’s a distance between you that can’t be closed. An ache that physical closeness can’t mend. 

He shifts in his sleep, pulling you closer, and it only makes it worse. The familiar weight of his arm and the closeness of his breath against your skin a reminder of everything you’ve lost, of everything that can never be again. You know that this was a fleeting comfort, a brief return to something that once felt like home.

But now, the sweetness of the moment has faded, replaced by a hollow ache and by the realisation that this isn’t the way back. 

In the quiet, you feel the tears slipping down your cheeks, the warmth of his body beside you a painful reminder that what you shared tonight wasn’t reconciliation — it was a goodbye that neither of you could speak aloud.

And as you lie there, his steady breathing filling the silence, you know that no matter how much you both wanted to hold on, some things can’t be undone.

Some things can’t be saved.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[liliewrites]

Let's see then 🤔🤔 Ngl lately I've been having such a hyper fixation on Arlecchino's hands, like not even in a sexual way (although.. 😏), I just think her hands are absolutely beautiful and the prettiest thing I've seen sooo...

Could I request sitting next to Arle while she's working or literally doing whatever and just absentmindedly playing with her hand cause they're just so pretty and how she might react to her s/o liking that part of her so much 🙏 Would NOT complain if it somehow lead to nsfw but I'm perfectly fine with maximum fluff 😌

Honestly, wdym "enough yapping", there is never enough yapping about Arlecchino.. I just think she's neat fr, I wanted to hug her so bad while catching up on the Fontaine story quests as well as her companion quest lol. And I am absolutely here to hype you tf up 😤😤😤💪💪 Keep up the great work as always ! Have a wonderful day

-🔥

HELLLOOOOOOO 🔥 ANONN!!:)) AHAHAHAHAH thank u for the ask, oh yes , FINALLY i have the opportunity to write about arlecchino's hands.. hoyoverse did her justice like oh THEY KNEW what they were doing to the sapphics.

- warning/s ; no smut, but a bit of suggestive content at the end:)

(men please dni utc!)

"hello, darling!"

you cheerfully greeted your wife, whom was working in the study room. she looks at you, nods at you, then looks back at the papers.

"hello my beloved, are the kids asleep?" she asks as you sit down beside her. you nod at her question, scooting over to peek at her papers, but not too close to invade her personal space and interrupt her. "yes, my love. the kids are taking their afternoon nap but.. what are you working on, hm?" you ask, staring down at her hands that held the papers. you could make out numbers and lengthy paragraphs of formal and fancy words, all of which arlecchino was reading and signing.

"just some financial reports, darling. nothing special, i was thinking of expanding our home to better.."

oh, you tried to listen, but as soon as your eyes focused on her hand, it made it hard for you to listen. "... and then we could improve our training facilities.." you heard, absentmindedly nodding at her words. ".. so we could make the children have more.." again, you nodded.

damn it, your wife wouldn't mind it if you held her hand just so you could focus better on her words, right?

so you grabbed her right hand in yours, the one that held the pen. she wasn't using it anyway since she was busy explaining to you her plans and ideals for the orphanage. "- and so i was thinking, beloved. in order to raise the children's competency, i wanted to have them isolated in the mountains, without any kind of support whatsoever. it will help improve their surviv-"

"WHAT? NO!"

you immediately cut her off, looking her with an absurd stare due to her suggestion. how could she even suggest that in the first place?

"of course, no, i wasn't serious with that suggestion, darling. i was testing whether you were listening or not, and you probably were not."

oh, you let out a sheepish chuckle, feeling a teensy bit embarrassed for being caught. regardless, arlecchino did not look upset and squeezed your hand that held hers. "is there something the matter, beloved? usually, you always diligently listen to my reports." she asks, genuinely concerned about you and it makes your heart flutter. it made you feel guilty, having to be distracted by a silly little reason, so you decided to listen to her better this time. "nothing, beloved. my mind was.. just preoccupied. let's talk about it later after you tell me your report." you told her, and arlecchino protested no further, explaining to you all over again her plans for the house.

you definitely did listen better this time, with your hands unconsciously fiddling with her hand. you were pressing on her palm, intertwining your fingers with hers, your thumb tracing small shapes and doodles on her palm. your mind taking little side notes like.. the texture of her hand wasn't that rough, but it was definitely a bit different from normal skin. at first, you were worried if this was causing her pain or any physical harm, but she assured you that it wasn't. still, you wanted to know the cause of her blackened skin and the pattern on her arms.

on the other hand (haha get it), arlecchino told you about expanding the facilities of the orphanage, adding another bedroom to make room for more children, etc etc, much to your relief as none of her plans included isolating them in the mountain.

after she talked, now it was your turn to provide your insights and opinions,adding some suggestions of your own. arlecchino listened to you intently as she greatly appreciated you and your passion for the children, she could tell that you genuinely were concerned about their well being and that you loved them greatly. she couldn't help but spare loving glances at you.. and knowing glances down at her hand. now she thinks she knows why you were so distracted.

after finally putting down your suggestions, you decided it was time for a little break. "well, my beloved. i assume we can wrap this up? i think all that should be fine for now." you told her, placing the pen down. for the whole time you had been talking, you never let go of arlecchino's hand. it was either two hands holding hers, but if you had to write, then only one. this didn't go unnoticed by your wife, but you did forget about it halfway into the discussion.

"i agree, i say we talk about some other thing, my dear."

"hm, like what?" you curiously ask. oh, there's more to talk about?

".. like how you've been distracted the first time i talked, but when you held my hand, your focus seems to have returned. perhaps you'd like to confess, darling?"

you only blink for a minute, then looking down at your hands holding hers. "o-oh! oh, right.." you stuttered, obviously flustered that you've been caught. you looked away, slowly letting go of her hand. "i didn't say to let go now, did i?" she told you, before pulling you on to her lap. she held her hands out in front of you, leaning her chin on your shoulder. "now, beloved, what is it about my hands that interest you so much?" she asked, and you thought for a little while, gather your little notes from earlier.

you intertwined your hands with her, and arlecchino saw the cute smile on your face as you started to talk. "your hands.. they're rough and calloused, they've probably done things humankind would deem twisted and cruel but.." you brought both hands to your lips, pressing a kiss on her skin. the small gesture made arlecchino feel her heart flutter, you looked so adorable on her lap, while speaking words of affection. ".. but these are the very same hands that work hard to provide for me and the children, the same hand that gives me warmth and security even on the coldest of nights and.." your thumb brushed against that one significant ring on her left hand, a ring that matched yours. "- these hands belong to the woman i dearly love."

that was it for arlecchino, she couldn't help but burst in joy- and she showed it in the form of spreading soft, ticklish kisses on your bare neck in front of her. you couldn't help but giggle at your wife's attempts at being playful again. she wrapped her arms tightly around your waist, making you unable to lean away from her. "my, you say such sweet words that directly hit my heart- and you expect the knave not to retaliate with an attack of her own?" she joked, continuing to tickle you, wanting to hear more of you sweet giggles. "i-i get it! i get it, i surrender, my love!" you exclaimed, feigning defeat. as the playful little moment between the both of you died down, arlecchino had her arms wrapped around you, a loving smile on her face as her forehead leaned on your back. "hm, can i have a kiss? as compensation for winning?" she asked, making you laugh at her words. oh, it was funny- more so that it came from the woman whom the public claims as dull and emotionless, as in front of you, said woman was currently looking like a fool in love as she held you in her lap.

you got up and shifted your position on her lap, now facing her. at the sight of your pretty, gorgeous face that she's come to love coupled with your weight pressing down on you-know-where, she couldn't help but feeling a certain type of yearning for you. her hand cupped your chin, pulling you in for a kiss that was not sweet nor innocent in any way. her tongue tied with yours, running along your bottom lip, and continued kissing you with intense fervor that you were unable to keep up. when she pulled away, however, a grin on her face that made shivers run down your spine was plastered on her face. her hand on your chin, the other rested on your hip.

"hm.. beloved, do you want to see what else these hands can do for you?"

[justmeinadaze]

Ghost In The Machine (Eddie X You)

A/N: I wrote this a few days ago because I need it more than anything rn.

Title is based off of SZA's song "Ghost In The Machine".

"I give a fuck, I just wanna fuck, eat, sleep, love, happy Can you make me happy? Can you keep me happy?

Can you distract me from all the disaster? Can you touch on me and not call me after? Can you hate on me and mask it with laughter? Can you lead me to the ark? What's the password?

I need humanity You're like humanity"

They do text near the end. Eddie's texts will be in red.

Warnings: Daddy Dom Eddie X Stripper Sub (slight bratty) Fem Reader, SMUT, dirty talk, dry humping, phone smut, slight degrading if you squint, choking), Eddie is kinda mean at first, traumas are alluded to but not expanded on (Child abuse; bad past relationships), light FLUFF with my usual dash of the ANGST.

Word Count: 4060

Being asked to perform at parties like this wasn’t new for you and the other girls. Having the manager of a famous band reach out to your company for some “entertainment” wasn’t odd either. What was odd was that you were told Corroded Coffin had four band members and right now you were looking at three. They seemed content with the girls they had grinding and kissing on their lap so you decided to take a look around the mansion style home you guys had been called to. 

It was extremely beautiful with a bunch of rooms displaying different things. Your fingers grazed the wall at the bottom of the bands framed platinum and gold albums. Turning into what you assumed was a game room, you found a billiards table and a PlayStation with a mini bar in the corner. Around the area, shelfs prominently showed off the band’s awards and accolades with MANY pictures of them in different places. 

As you walked further down the hall, you passed an open-door smelling smoke and hearing light strumming of a guitar. Pausing, you took a couple of steps back to peer into the room, finding that missing fourth member.

He had headphones on over his long, wavy hair as a half-finished cigarette dangled from his lips. His eyes were closed as his fingers ran across the instruments strings as it leaned against his bare chest. His jeaned leg and barefoot tapped to a beat as he listened to his music. 

“Jesus Christ!”, he exclaimed as his eyes shot open feeling a change in the atmosphere. “What the fuck are you doing over here?! You girls are supposed to stay in the goddamn living room.”

“Hey there’s no reason to be rude! Your friends were preoccupied with the other ladies so I thought I’d look around.”

“Uh huh. To steal shit?”

“No! To look. I got bored, ok?!”

“Hm. A hooker who’s bored. That’s something I haven’t heard before.” His tone is dripping with mocking as he rises to his feet. 

“That’s no reason for you to be a fucking asshole!”

“You watch your mouth when you talk to me, little girl. I can make sure you and your ‘company’ never get another job again.”

“Oh, Mr. Tough Rockstar is oh no scary. Fuck you. I’ve handled way worse clients than the number 5 band on the billboard charts.”

The man’s held tilted to the side as he finally drank you in. You were visually different than what he expected when his friends had suggested reaching out to an agency to have some women come over to celebrate with since they were nominated for another Grammy. Eddie didn’t care about that kind of thing; he just wanted to play music. When he heard the car pull up, he immediately disappeared to his room to practice and write some new songs. Not that he wasn’t interested in “entertaining a woman”. This metalhead liked a challenge and he enjoyed even more a strong woman that wouldn’t just cater to his every whim. He didn’t want a woman who would get down on her knees no questions asked. Eddie wanted one who would tell him to fuck off but then after a few consensual activities would be dripping and begging for his cock.

Women were offered to him and his friends constantly. He wanted something he had to earn so that way when she finally submitted, it was all the more sweet.

“What’s your name?”, he asked in a much softer tone.

“Y/N. You?”

“Are you asking to be polite or do you genuinely not know who the guitarist of the band who is number five on the billboard charts?”

“Do you always make things this complicated?”

“Yes.” When he grins at you, you can’t help but smile back.

“Some of the other ladies find catering to a man’s ego really gets them going. I find it’s better to ask them questions, Mr. Munson, especially since most of our clients think we don’t care about them.”

“Do you? Care I mean.”

“Sometimes.”, you shrug. 

“You’re honest. I like that.”

“I don’t really see the point in lying if I’m probably never going to see you again.”

“Do you WANT to see me again?”

This time it was your turn to tilt your head. He said that with a lot of the sass he had been giving you since he saw you but something else was behind his eyes when he spoke, something lonely. Your palm reached out confidently, landing on the bulge in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice his size. The part of him that was against your hand wasn’t even all of him and you gulped as you tried to regain your confident composure. 

“Do you want me to help you feel better now, Mr. Munson?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”, the guitarist mused as he stepped forward, placing his own palm against the wall behind you and trapping you against it. “I hate when my questions go unanswered.”

“You-you must be used to disappointment then.”

His nose grazed yours, grinning a big tooth filled smile before his eyes flicked down to your hand on his cock.

“You must be to, Y/N.” Slowly, his fingers trace down your arm and take hold of your wrist as he holds it still. “Be honest. Have you ever felt a dick as big as mine?” 

You licked your lips as his hips began grinding against your palm, trying to push down the moan that wanted to escape. 

 “Ooo someone’s confident.”, you jest. Something in his look changes as the hand on the wall behind you slides down to your throat. In most situations with your other clients this would be a time to panic but he wasn’t gripping you violently. When his fingers firmly pressed into your skin, your brain felt fuzzy as your pussy clenched around nothing. 

“I’d say I’ve earned the right to be confident. Now, Y/N, this your one warning. Answer the questions I ask you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes Mr. Munson. I understand. N-no. I’ve never felt a dick like yours.”

He smirked as he pressed your palm harder against him. “Good girl.” Your let out a sigh when he released his hold on your neck to push some of your hair behind your ear. “You really are beautiful, Y/N. Fuck and your hand feels so good. I can only imagine how the rest of you feels.”

“You don’t have to imagine. You can have me if you want me.”

Eddie’s smirk grows as he bites his bottom lip. “Honestly, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more but…that’s not how I play. I don’t want you to fuck me because you’re paid to.” He leans in till his lips are right by your ear. “I want you to fuck me because you want to…need me to.” You hear his breathing stutter as he moves his hips faster, his grip on your wrist tightening. “Beg me to.”

“Oh fuck…”, you whimpered at his words. His movements become choppy and grunts before you feel dampness on his jeans. 

He leans back placing his forehead on yours as he licks his lips and softly smiles. “See, what would usually happen now is I’d make you cum to. I bet that pussy is just aching to be touched but see…you’re getting to paid to make us feel good…not the other way around.”

You’re honestly too stunned to say anything or fight back with your typical brand of sass. Right now, all you can think of his him and how bad you need something from him; anything. 

“Can…can I kiss you?”

When he nods, you waste no time connecting your lips to his. You immediately taste the nicotine but that undertone of him has you dizzy. All too quickly, it’s over as he pulls away. He doesn’t just move his head but his whole body as he backs towards his bed, yanking off his now stained jeans and boxers.

“How long are you ladies here for?”, he asks nonchalantly as he sits on the bed and picks up his guitar again. 

“Huh? Oh, um, 2 AM I think.”

He glances at his phone before handing it to you. “Time’s almost up. Put your number in there for me.”

Eddie said it like a command and your instinct was to say something snarky but as you looked down at him strumming his instrument without looking at you, you realized there was more to this man than meets the eye. Most men who begged for your number always watched you intently to make sure you actually did it, you assumed. Of course, you gave them a fake number or the number to the agency you worked for but with this man here his head remained lowered. It was almost like he was afraid you wouldn’t…like he really hoped you would and would be hurt if he watched you decline, giving the phone back. 

There was something about Eddie that you wanted to know more about. He wasn’t like everyone else you had been around. For some reason, you felt like you could trust him. 

After inputting your real number, you placed his device back on his nightstand and sat beside him. “We still have 45 minutes. Can I ask what you’re working on?”

His eyes shoot over to you as he cautiously scans your soft smiling face. “We’re working on this new album and Jeff has this song he wrote but I can’t find the right sound. I was just messing around and recording them to see if it sparked something.”

“May I hear what you have so far?”

“Um, yeah, sure.”

He reached over, grabbing an extra set of headphones and placed them over you head. You grinned as different guitar riffs and melodies began to play. 

“This is all you?” Eddie nods. “Wow. Mr. Munson, you are definitely talented.”

When he pauses the recording and you slide the headphones around your neck. “You can call me Eddie if you’d like.”

“Okay, Eddie.” After putting the headphones over your ears again, he pressed play and you both leaned back in his bed. 

He couldn’t help but be a little shocked that you didn’t try to touch him again. Anywhere he or his band went, people tried to touch his body whether it was meet and greets, walking through the street, or even on stage when overzealous fans would jump on and run at them. Any girl that was lucky enough to be in his bed would insist on touching him until she left as if she knew this would be the last time she saw him. That’s another reason he struggled to maintain any kind of relationship. Besides the crazy rockstar life, he never was keen on being constantly touched. 

He got enough of that with his career and when he was growing up when his dad would knock him around. With his last relationship, they fought constantly because there were times he would come home from a long day and just wanted a moment to decompress alone. He knew she meant well but even after nicely asking her to give him a moment she would still try and wrap her arms around him or try and kiss parts of his body.

What he didn’t know yet was that you understood that feeling all too well. Being in your line of work, men seemed to believe you didn’t even have a line they shouldn’t cross, always touching some part of your body until their time was up. When you were just a stripper at the company you worked for, men were the same but at least you had a bouncer to quickly pulled them back. When times got hard and you told your boss you were willing to sign up for the “side hustle”, it was just you and the girls. 

No one had ever gotten too physical like that but after your client came you just wanted them to roll over and crash or just leave you there till the timer was up. Personally, you chose to stay away from relationships knowing most men wouldn’t like your line of business. Men constantly offered to “save you” but you knew it was all talk. They didn’t really care about you. 

When you moved to the city, you promised you were only going to look out for yourself. You took care of you and had for a long time. The last time you relinquished control like that, you got burned and ran all the way to a new state. 

A small hand tapped your knee and you jumped before realizing it was one of the other girls letting you know time was up. 

“Ok, I’ll be right there.” You turn to Eddie and hand him his headphones. “I really like what you have so far. That last one was beautiful.”

“Thank you. Here, um, let me grab my sweatpants and I can walk you out.”

“Oh, Eddie, no. You don’t have to do that. It’s super late and in your gated front yard I don’t think anyone is going to jump us.”, you giggle. 

“Ok…I’m going to put on pants anyway though because I want to hug you if that’s alright.” Without waiting for an answer, he finds a pair on the floor and pulls them up just below his hips. 

“Do arms not work without sweats?”

“They do but I don’t want to be disrespectful by rubbing my dick on you and making you uncomfortable.”

“Didn’t I just…”

“You made that move, sweetheart. You put your hand on me.”, he grins as he places his body in front of yours. “May I hug you?”

When you nod, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest as your own limbs cling to his upper torso. This was a new feeling for you. It had been so long since you felt safe in someone’s arms. His hand petted your hair as he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’ll talk to you later to make sure you’re alright.”

***

You sighed as you entered your front door, putting away your things, and throwing yourself on your bed as you closed your eyes. A sudden ding on your phone made your eyebrows scrunch as you blindly searched for it on your bed. Swiping it open, you noticed it was from an unknown number but as you read the message, a smile slowly formed on your face. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Just checking in to make sure you got home alright.”

“Are you stalking me, Mr. Munson? Lol. I literally just walked in the door.”

Tossing your phone back on the bed, you figure it will most likely take him awhile to respond but as you go to your closet to change you hear that familiar ding.

“Yup. You caught me. I followed you home.”

“Shit. I just realized that’s probably not a joke I should be making in your line of work.”

“I was just thinking about you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Lol Eddie! If I thought you were like that I wouldn’t have given you my number : ) “

“I’m alright though. Thank you for checking up on me.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you alone now so you can sleep.”

“I actually wasn’t going to go to sleep just yet.” 

You paused for a moment debating on if you should tell him what you were going to do before bed. You were hoping if you did maybe he would talk to you like he did in his bedroom. Hearing him murmur his words and what he said got you wetter than anything else. You could still feel your slick sticking to your legs after you changed your clothes. Hell, it couldn’t hurt, right?

“I just got back from spending some time with this long haired rockstar with a huge cock who got me all hot and bothered so I was going to relieve some of this pressure here.”

You watched the dots on his end appear and disappear. The longer it took him the more nervous you got. Had you crossed a line?

“Don’t talk like that. Be upfront and honest. Talk to me like a big girl. What were you going to do before bed, Y/N?”

You could almost feel his stern eyes through the screen as you rubbed your thighs together. 

“I was going to touch myself and think of you.”

His name suddenly popped up on your phone and you didn’t hesitate to answer the call. 

“Hey Eddie.”

“Are you still wearing what you had on here?”

“No. I’m naked now.”

“Liar.”

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“Call me back when you’re ready to be a good girl.”

Your jaw dropped as he hung up and you huffed as you called him backed. “How dare you—”

“I don’t play games like that, little girl, and I hate liars. I figured since I got you all riled up and you are no longer on the clock maybe I could help you out. I also thought it would be fucking sexy to hear what you sound like when you cum. But if you want to cop an attitude with me, I can treat you how bratty little girls deserve to be treated. Now…what are you wearing?”

“I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt with my panties from earlier.”

He could hear your pout through the phone and it was making him hard all over again. 

“Good. Good girl. Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“I don’t know. I just… I always have to be SEXY; you know? God forbid I show any humanity.”

“Not with me, princess. I imagine you look just as sexy now as you did looking up at me with those big, beautiful eyes against my bedroom wall."

“Thank you, Mr. Munson.”

“Of course. Now tell me, baby. You said you were going to touch yourself and think of me. What about me?”

“I was thinking about the way your lips tasted when you kissed me…so good.”

“The cigarette taste didn’t bother you?”, he chuckled making you smile as one of your hands roamed up your shirt to touch your breast. 

“No. Not at all.”, you giggle back, biting your bottom lip. 

“That’s good. I’ve had some complaints.” You can hear him smile and your fingers run along your nipple as your exhale heavily. “What are you doing over there, honey?”

“I’m playing with my tits.”

“Mmm. You did have some perfect tits. Well, from what I saw under that tight ass tank top.”

That makes you genuinely laugh and his smile grows at the sound. “What else were you going to think about?”

Your hand slides under the waistband of your panties as your finger slides through your dripping folds. 

“I was going to think about your thick cock against my palm and the way you rubbed against it.”

“Yeah? You’re going to imagine me doing that right now between those gorgeous legs? Grinding my dick against your pretty little pussy.”

“F-fuck, Eddie.” Your eyes rolled back as two of your fingers breached your entrance. “Please…keep talking to me…like that.”

“You like the way I talk to you? Was that something else you were going to think about? Picturing me whispering in your ear like I did when you were here?”

You didn’t know but he was leading you somewhere. There was one thing he wanted, needed to hear you say on your own. As soon as he heard it, he was yours and he would do anything to make you his. 

“Yes, I liked hearing you say the things you said.”

Eddie could hear you touching yourself and your little moans were driving him crazy as he quickly pulled down his pants. 

“Princess, is it ok if I touch myself to?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course. A-are you—mmm—still a bit sensitive?” The sound of him spitting in his hand had you clench tightly as you whimpered. 

“Ah, no, baby girl. But with those sexy fucking whimpers and groans I’m not going to last long.”, he chuckled. “How many fingers are you using?” You barely heard him as you thumb began messaging your clit. “I asked you something, sweetheart. What did I say when you were here?”

“If-if—mmm—you ask…me…something I-I answer.”

“Good girl. Tell me how many fingers you’re using.”

“Fuck…two. Two, Daddy.”

Eddie practically growled with pleasure at the word that he had been praying would fall from your lips. 

“Jesus, yes. Good fucking girl. I want you to use three. You…you have to prepare that pretty pussy for… Daddy’s big cock.”

As soon as you did as he asked, the English language completely escaped your mind. 

“I…your…oh my…” He grunted in your ear reminding you of when he was pressed against you sending you toppling over the edge as you came hard. The sound was almost too much for him as he pictured your cunt spasming around him as you moaned his name just as you had. For the second time that night you made him cum as his spend shot out and hit his stomach. 

“Are you ok?”, you mumbled, drunk off your orgasm.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m alright. Are you?”

“I’ve never called anyone Daddy before.” You had no idea why you were being so honest with him. That wasn’t necessarily something he needed to know but for some reason you thought maybe the knowledge of that would make him feel special. You wanted him to feel good. 

“What made you say it now?”

You scoot your body further into your bed as you curl up into your sheets.

“I feel safe with you. I know that sounds so weird. We barely even know each other but I do…”

You listened to the soothing sound of his breath into the phone as he absorbed what you were saying. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

“I can handle the asshole.” You smile when you hear him softly laugh. 

“On Friday, we’re going to be spending some time at the recording studio. Do you want come by and listen to us play?”

“I would love to but I have to work Friday night.”

“How about you come by in the afternoon and then go to work? Are you…um…”

“No, side business Friday. I’ll just be dancing.”

“Ok, cool. Maybe when we’re done, I can meet up with you after.”

“Eddie…I like you a lot but are you sure you want to do this? I strip and I have sex for money. I’m not proud of it but I’m not ashamed of it either. I’m doing what I have to do right now.”

He was silent for a moment as he thought about what you were saying. 

“Y/N, I’m not perfect. I’ve been arrested, gotten into fights with paparazzi, and like I said I can be a bit of an asshole. I like you a lot to but I understand that this is all new. You and I lead interesting lives. I’m not…going to harp on you and I’m not going to, I don’t know, offer to fucking save you or whatever other douchebags say.” You laugh making him smile. “But I would like to take care of you…physically, mentally, emotionally…financially.”

“I don’t know how to give up control like that.”

The way you say that makes him want to scoop you up in his arms and cradle you into his chest. 

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow.”

“Can I come over so we can talk? We’re doing this stupid photoshoot thing but I can come over after and bring some food. Of course, only if you’re comfortable. That’s all that really matters to me, baby girl. I want you to be comfortable.”

You don’t know why but you believed him when he said it. What was it about this man that had you breaking all your normal rules?  Not just rules with the business but in your life. You had been on your own for so long that you didn’t need nor want to become involved with someone. However, it would be nice to have someone take care of you for once…

“Okay, Daddy”

[simplyreveries]

Can I request for Lilia, Trey, Kalim on how they will confess to F!MC?

confessions; lilia, trey, and kalim!

lilia vanrouge

he already has basically indirectly taken you out on dates. for instance, when he once brought you to diasomnia to eat (dont worry, not his cooking) and it happened to be JUST the two of you to make it. with flowers and candles and everything. how convenient. he stares at you from his side of the table with his head in his hands as you look around at the little set up confused... but it's not like you're complaining anyways.

he sort of treats you already like you are in a relationship. i mean, with how close he has gotten to you- sometimes it may just feel that way around him. he likes that. he's always treating you and talking to you how someone in a relationship would. but its also easy to confuse that with how he normally is since he is... pretty eccentric.

with lilia, its truly a mystery on when or how he'll confess to you. lilia has no problem being open with his feelings, he does bring it up to the others in diasomnia. but lilia has basically already confessed to you all the time, he straight up tells you. you could ask him why he likes being around you so much and lilia will simply state "because i love you, why else?".

trey clover

treys mind gets preoccupied for a while, troubled with the idea on how to even confess to you. he'll be what seems to be in thought and ends up getting distracted from tasks and duties often. even you yourself ask what's the matter and he'll snap out and give you a small smile "hm? ah well, rook did something pretty crazy earlier during science club today...." he laughs and brushes it off. nope he was trying to figure you out more, thinking what you would want most in a confession.

unfortunately for him as well, he doesn't have exactly anyone to ask for advice, he's usually the guy people go to for help and such. though he would confide in riddle, his own childhood friend... riddle is not quite experienced with love himself ^^;. and cater is well... cater. probably gave him a bunch of completely over the top ways but trey laughs telling him that isn't exactly his thing.

i've mentioned this before but trey canonically isn't good at professing love or be all smooth with flirting.... like at all. like he's really bad at it. so, he prompts to do something he is actually good at and decides to make a gift basket of sorts filled with your most favorite baked goods. he even decorated them to look cute, he's got good experience when at his family's bakery anyway. with that, he'll write you a sweet but simple letter. since he can't really bring himself to say it in words.

kalim al-asim

you could see his infatuation with you from a mile away. he is so painfully obvious you'd have to be completely dense not to see. nevertheless, kalim still wants to ask you out, the right way! an amazingly romantic way! he'd come excited to jamil at literally an early hour of the morning after thinking about it practically all night. knocking at his dorm door and be like "guess what! i came up with the most perfect plan!!" proceeds to instantly gets the door slammed on him.

kalim spends the whole day getting ready, trying his best to get everything ready. he'll have a normal party/celebration at his dorm and when you're both on a carpet ride boom, he'll confess to you. he spends the whole day smiling like a total idiot as he gets everything ready. at least that's how he imagines and hopes it'll turn out.

he cannot keep his eyes off of you the whole time, he's practically glued to your side. unfortunately, as he WAS about to confess, holding your hands to him, looking at you with a lovestruck smile, there was a mishap on the carpet ride. it wasn't seriously bad and besides, it only led to the two of you laughing together as you get up. even though you two are a bit disheveled and his "perfect plan" got messed up. he'll happily continue and blurt out the rest of his confession right there.

[studentbyday]

week 1 / small commitments challenge

Summary: I was not focused on my challenge goals this week. I was preoccupied, thinking about the different paths I could take and weighing my options for the next couple of years. Not a bad thing, except I let the thinking invade every moment of my life I had to myself. That includes when I was supposed to be studying ochem and when I was supposed to be sleeping and when I was supposed to just be getting on with my day and doing mindless self-care stuff as quickly as possible so I can dedicate time to what's urgent. Yes, I needed to weigh my options and gather information across multiple days, but I did not have to go about it the way I did. It led to me becoming overtired and having difficulty sleeping which led to me being unable to get through my ochem goals which prevented me from doing anything else. The more tired I became as the week progressed, the worse it got. So my two new priorities for next week are: No. 1: Get enough sleep with a consistent sleep time (9pm be in bed, 10pm at the latest) and wake time (7am ideal but 8am bare minimum). Soothe yourself until you're calm enough to sleep. Like you would a baby (e.g. swaddle, massage/gentle touch, dark room, don't voluntarily subject yourself to anything stressful or overstimulating in the half hour before bed). That's how you stop and keep out of the overtired cycle. No. 2: Lots of meditation throughout the day! 5-10 mins when I wake up, minimum of 10-15 mins before bed (unless perhaps i feel less frazzled thanks to the meditation breaks which help me stay focused throughout the day? idk), and 1-2 minutes in between big tasks (those that take 2h or more) in order to reset my mind before I move onto the next task and give my brain a rest after processing lots of info on a deep level, so it can sustain that level of activity throughout the day and the rest of the week. I'm hoping that by prioritizing rest, I can succeed at my new study routine (which has also changed from last week as my priorities have changed...yet again) and work more efficiently and quickly while staying cool in mind! A chaotic breakdown of the week aka my sleep-deprived end-of-day gibberish where I try to make sense of everything that's happened lies below 😅

Monday: sleep deprived -> slow start to the day -> quite behind schedule. i listened to 1 and a half chemistry lectures, added to the notes from last week, read and annotated 1 of the 2 sets of notes i'm supposed to read this week, and answered all except 4 questions of a practice quiz on last week's material. asides from this, i did 1/3 of an Algebra 1 lesson, took a nap, and practiced driving.

Tuesday: later start than yesterday bc i wanted to get enough sleep. overall worth it, but that meant there wasn't enough time to get everything done and there were lots of distractions to field. i only did ochem and practiced driving today. i didn't even finish all the ochem i wanted to (i finished 1.5 lectures again, added to notes, started reading the second set of notes for this week, and answered 1/4 of the questions for 1 of 2 assignments for this week). i'm still trying to find a routine that works for this subiect bc it's really condensed (most weeks cover 2 lengthy modules at once 😭) and it's not a subject that's that easy to feel confident in just right off the bat...at least for me 😅 who knows, perhaps for the time being, i'll have to spend more than 4 hours on it a day until i feel confident in the fundamentals?? i also have lots to improve on in my lecture notetaking skills (i.e. trust my memory more and write down notes only AFTER i finish watching a lecture instead of attempting to write notes DURING the lecture and getting confused -> rewinding)

Wednesday: my problem this week is that i'm very distracted. still trying to figure out which path is best for me (i.e. to transfer uni or change program within my uni if that's possible...definitely probably shouldn't stick with my current program tho, that's one thing i've pretty much decided), asking around, doing my own research, trying to think of any combo of reasonable options i haven't explored yet (this is what i was doing for a lot of today). i really hate unresolved issues. they stick around in my head until it's resolved and even if i'm not actively thinking about it, i can still feel its presence in the back of my mind (and if it's big and concerning enough, it will keep bugging me at inconvenient intervals)! 😤 and this issue will stay unresolved until i have made a decision. and even then, i might still question it until enough time passes to show me that it was the right decision 😅 it's like...either i'm in "re-assess" mode aka "question every decision i have made and could make and predict to the best of my knowledge where it will lead me and do i like where it leads me?" mode (WHICH CANNOT ALL BE ANSWERED IN ONE SITTING SO HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SCHEDULE THIS?!?! 😵‍💫😫), or "put your head down and do the work" mode wherein i'm in danger of losing sight of the bigger picture. i swing from one to the other whenever smth happens to make me realize i've stayed too long in one mode. (like in this case where i was feeling very annoyed with my current lifestyle, finally decided to say "fuck it" to my strong desire to stay within my comfort zone, and explored other options and their pros and cons which included grad school admission requirements 🤦🏻‍♀️). i'm grateful to have this many options, but today i got so overwhelmed by them and the deadlines by which i need to have made a decision and the fact that there's a lot of ochem this week to do which is more urgent but also not as existentially worrying that i decided to rid myself of the mounting anxiety with a cardio abs workout. 🥵😮‍💨😮‍💨 it worked...but now i am so pooped and don't wanna get up 😅 (update: i did get up and did a little more ochem)

Thursday: too tired to do all the ochem i wanted to (i did a little reading, a little bit of lecture watching, and finished the last 3 Qs on 1 of 2 assignments this week). i keep letting myself get overtired with my overthinking against my better judgment (like, especially after an intense workout the day before??? girl, you need to sleep!!!). anyway, i've finally pretty much decided to just switch programs at my current uni but i don't think i'll really believe i've made the decision (objectively! all on my own! using a weighted pros and cons list! 😁) until the end of this week. 😅 it will still be a more rigorous program, although not in the ways i expected (but still good!), and it will challenge me in all the right ways but i won't rack up as much expense (thank goodness! 🙏🏻) and it will be a shorter commute and i will get to spend more time with family which is just such a relief. i don't want to fall into the rat race mentality, tho sometimes i think i need to. but perhaps that's just FOMO and comparing myself against others in an unhealthy way. like, i don't actually want a rat-race/hustle culture type of life for myself if i have the option not to live one, yet i sometimes feel like i need to be a completely different person living a completely different lifestyle in order to really make it in this society...well, there are many ways to skin a cat.

Friday: ochem lab, watching another lecture, reading the ch, working on ochem assignment, and driving.

Weekend: sleepy. reset routine and family time. finishing up ochem submissions for this past week (done is better than perfect! 😤) and driving.

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 12

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 1789

Warnings: Pregnancy complications

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks. Also, side note, sorry it's been taking so long to post chapters. A lot's been going on and I haven't been able to write as much as I'd like to :(

Chapter Songs: This Is Me Trying Get To You

****

Hangman

Raptor and Lightning wrestled over a toy in the middle of the living room while Hangman sat on the floor with them, watching and smiling and happy to have a distraction from his worry over Juliette. Four hours passed before he couldn't take it any longer. He grabbed his phone and hesitated over texting Rooster, Maverick, or Ghost. Bradshaw was in a state of panic and may not respond because of that; Maverick was probably just as panicked and trying to deal with that while being there for Rooster; then there was Ghost, who wanted nothing to do with Jake and may not reply at all for that reason. Hangman figured his best option was to text them as a group and hope one of them responded. He swiftly sent the message and impatiently waited for an answer. It came a few moments later. To his surprise, Ghost had been the one to text back.

Mav and I are still waiting for an update. Rooster is back with Juliette. Let you know ASAP once we have more info ourselves. Ghost replied. A second text followed from Maverick stating: Jules is going to be okay. Of that, we're certain. Just not sure what caused her to pass out. They're running tests last we heard.

Hangman breathed a sigh of relief. At least Princess was okay. Still, he wondered what caused her to faint because she'd seemed fine outside of the headache earlier. Jake thanked Maverick and Ghost for the update and told them to keep him informed if they received any further information. He stood up and stretched, suddenly feeling antsy. Hangman hated to sit still for too long. When he did, it allowed his mind to wander to areas he didn't want it to- dark places, dark memories, and dark thoughts.

"You boys want to go get a pup cup from somewhere? I don't think your parents will mind," Hangman said, believing it'd still be a while before Princess and Bradshaw returned. He left a note for them stating where he'd gone in case he ended up being wrong, then loaded the dogs into the backseat of his truck. Raptor and Lightning happily wagged their tails and hung their heads out the window. The trip took twenty minutes, mainly due to traffic, but Hangman didn't mind, nor did the dogs. They happily devoured the pup cups while Jake ate his own ice cream, then they headed home. He tried playing with the dogs, but they weren't engaged, choosing to sleep on the couch instead. Hangman tried watching TV, but the awful news and the bad shows were wholly uninteresting. He even tried napping, and while he fell asleep for a few hours, it was light and restless. Irked, Hangman got up and shuffled to the hallway, deciding the best way to take his mind off things was to work out. Rooster and Juliette had a small gym with just enough equipment that Hangman could keep himself preoccupied for a while. He slipped off his shirt and went to work, jogging on the treadmill for half an hour and lifting weights for another thirty.

Hangman finished his workout with a hefty two-hundred pull-ups. He could've done more, but his body told him to stop. Lowering himself to the ground, he started to readjust his hat when someone shouted over his music, "Jake!"

"Fuck me!" Hangman exclaimed, whirling around to find Ghost standing in the doorway. Her gaze trailed up his body, but she only quirked an eyebrow. Jake bent over to catch his breath, heart no longer thundering from the exercise but from fright. When he straightened himself back up, he said, "Living up to your callsign, I see."

"Just wanted to let you know Juliette and Rooster are home."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Hangman demanded, grabbing his shirt and tossing it on.

"I thought it'd be a rational assumption on your part that if I was here, they would be."

"Yeah, well, hard to think when you nearly scared me half to death." Before Ghost could remark, Hangman hurried to the living room, where he heard Juliette and Rooster loving on their dogs. He came to a halt and smiled broadly at the sight of Jules sitting on the floor with the dogs. "Princess! Good to see you up and walking."

"Glad to be up and walking," Juliette replied, pushing herself onto the couch.

"So? What's the verdict? What happened?"

"I apparently have a rapid onset of pre-eclampsia, which is basically high blood pressure. Add that in with the heat today, and it was a recipe for disaster. They're keeping an eye on it, but I don't need to be hospitalized for it so far."

He patted her shoulder affectionately. "Knew you'd be all right."

"It's going to take a lot more than high blood pressure to take me down," Juliette declared with a smile, albeit a tired one. "Thank you so much for taking care of the dogs. Did they behave?"

"Of course. They even got pup cups. They're happy their parents are home, though."

"They always love seeing their Uncle Jake too." A giant thunderclap effectively garnered everyone's attention. Juliette frowned. "That wasn't in the forecast."

Ghost peered out the window with a grimace, a flash of lightning illuminating her face. "No, but they never get it right anyways. Didn't think the lightning we saw on our way home would turn into this, though."

Juliette glanced at her phone. "It's one in the morning. I don't want y'all driving in this weather this late at night. We only have one guest room, and it's one bed, but-"

"Ghost can have it. I don't mind driving in this," Hangman said, peering at the torrential downpour and trying to hide his distaste. He never liked storms after. It reminded him too much of the day his mom died. "I've driven in worse back in Texas."

"Well, I mind. For my sanity, please spend the night and leave in the morning. You already look like you're about to pass out."

Hangman quickly stopped his yawn in order to argue, but when Juliette placed her hands on her hips, he knew better than to do so. Relenting, Jake said he'd take the couch so Ghost could take the guest bed. She thanked him, hesitated, then shuffled off to her room. Juliette grabbed some of Rooster's clothes for Hangman to use as pajamas, to which Jake joked, "Surprised they don't have Hawaiian print on them."

It caused Juliette to chuckle, and she said, "Oh, he definitely has some, but you didn't hear that from me! On a different note, you know where everything is, so make yourself at home. Are you sure you'll be okay on the couch?"

"Don't worry about me, Princess. Don't want to raise that blood pressure of yours any higher."

Juliette sighed. "Don't remind me. Rooster's staying calm because you and Ghost are here, but he's worried. I can see it."

"We all are," Hangman admitted. "You gave us all a good scare."

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"I'll let the Daggers know in the morning you're okay. For now, I think you better get to bed. Bradshaw's waiting for you. Night, Princess."

"Goodnight, Hangman." He watched her waddle off to her bedroom, then made his way to the bathroom. He changed into the gray sweatpants but opted to sleep shirtless. He'd never liked sleeping with a shirt anyway. He collapsed onto the couch and believed he'd fall asleep within seconds because, truthfully, he was exhausted. Between being in the sun all day, dogfight football, the emotional toll from the phone call with his brother, the heated discussion with Ghost, Juliette's situation and his concern for her, and the fact that his childhood memories had been rising up with a vengeful fury ever since Ghost arrived, it was no wonder. Naturally, though, sleep refused to grace him. He tossed and turned for over an hour. He couldn't blame the couch because the Bradshaws had a ridiculously comfortable and roomy one. It felt like a damn cloud, and he'd fallen asleep on it before with no problem. So why could he not now?

With a sigh, Hangman sat up and checked the time: 1:00 a.m. At least he didn't have an early day in the morning, so he could possibly sleep in a little bit to make up for his current insomnia. Jake got up to go to the kitchen, padding quietly to avoid waking anyone up. As he passed the hallway, he noticed the faint glow of a lamp coming from the guest bedroom. Either Ghost remained awake like him, or she'd fallen asleep with the light on. Both were plausible explanations knowing her.

Hangman made it to the kitchen and rummaged through the tea bags. Juliette loved tea, so he had a variety to choose from, but he knew what he wanted. With the pantry meticulously organized and the tea alphabetized, Jake found the chamomile tea bags easily. He then watched the water boil, falling into a tired trance. Hangman would've stayed like that had he not heard the faintest noise behind him. Turning around revealed Ghost starting to leave, her dog tags clenched in her fist.

"Do you want some tea?" Hangman asked.

Ghost halted in her steps, looking like a deer in headlights at being caught by him. She eyed the tea, briefly debating it, then shook her head, "No, thank you, though. I was just checking to see who was up. That's all. Have a good night."

Ghost departed before Hangman could respond, but he recognized her telltale sign of anxiety. Jake poured the boiling water into his mug, added a large spoonful of sugar, quietly brought it to her room, and knocked on her door. She opened it, staring at him curiously and still clutching her dog tags. Hangman offered her the steaming cup of tea and said, "I know you said no, but you seemed like you could use it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ghost asked warily, although she accepted the tea.

"You fiddle with your necklace when you're anxious or deep in thought. Between having to deal with me since your arrival and handling the situation with Juliette, it's understandable."

"Jake-"

"I'll leave you be. I'm going to get my own tea. Night, Annalise."

"Good night. And thank you for this."

Ghost sounded like she wanted to say more but must've thought better, and Hangman didn't prod. For now, he'd simply appreciate that they'd held a civil conversation- no matter how short it was- without any insults or jabs at each other, and it gave him hope that one day, they could rekindle their friendship.

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021 @kmc1989

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12

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[tera-91]

A rant that took 3 days to reach clarity

Kind of a quick rant but I haven’t been able to write much.

Or rather I have been feeling a little bit restricted in a way. Some of it was within my control and others not. Part of why I haven’t been able to write is time and having to go to work. I had a good idea the other day for a Roman story. I was able to get maybe 200 words written before I hit a hard stop because I had to go to work.

The other part is one of my furballs was, and is still, having a medical issue. Unfortunately, its one of those wait and see kind of things because they don’t know what they can do, or rather what is the best way to treat it until results come in. So part of me didn’t want to miss a symptom by being distracted and writing. But also I really needed a distraction so writing probably would’ve been the best thing for me to do. At least as it is somewhat of a distraction that calms my nerves without said furball being out of my sight.

Just feeling a little bit of a, the word is escaping me. Not quite like a let down but basically I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything that I had set out to do the last several days. I have a bad habit of writing a list that is wayyy to long for the amount of time I have. But also I have a bad sense of how much time something should take me to do. Like if I think I can get a task done in an hour. Yea its more like 2 or 3 hours. So one would think that I should just take how much time it should take me and triple it. Unfortunately that doesn’t work well either as other things, like the ones that I put off the most because I think its going to take way too much time. Don’t take that much at all in the end.

I also have a strange since of accomplishment. For instance, I could get 100% of a thing that took me 3 hours to do done. I would feel like I didn’t get much done. But if I got even just a little bit of multiple things done in that same 3 hours I would feel like I got more done in that amount of time even if I didn’t finish a single one.

Frustratingly, no matter how much I try to listen to my own advise about doing what you can when you can its like I have a mental block. Do I have a hard stop? I don’t even want to start it. I think part of it is because I know that if I get into the zone of something time just goes by so quick that I’m afraid that Ill miss is or be late. Sometimes I can do it, like this post has taken at least 3 days from start to finish. One day I had to work and the first day was an overwhelming day trying to figure out how to help my pup.

The next few days are going to be whirlwind as well as one pup is having surgery. Even though the decision to go ahead with the surgery instead of waiting for another handful of months was a little sudden at least I am off of work so that way I can make sure there is as little discomfort as possible.

Aside from that I think I’m just a bit distracted as well. Or rather my brain is preoccupied with trying to make a decision instead of coming up with ideas. Ive been contemplating quitting my job. Well, quitting it sooner than I was thinking.

I don’t mind the work itself its just the way the manager handles things. I asked prior to this manager making the schedule if I could have shorter shifts so that way I can take care of my pup once the surgery happens as the recovery will influence mobility quality later. I said that I was willing to work more days a week just for not as long and I was brought on with the knowledge that I couldn’t close. The first schedule that came out, only one short shift and it was closing. Luckily I was able to trade and I wont close but its not exactly a short shift either. The second schedule came out and it was basically the schedule that I had already been working. Not a single short shift. There is a coworker that is the same “status” as I am and this manager has accommodated their request for short shifts, unlike me they can close. We are like opposites this coworker prefers to close and I prefer to open and dislike it when it’s the other way around. Sometimes I just dread the thought of going in to work.

Financially I would be able to afford not working there for a little while. I just wont be able to not completely have an income until I am finished getting the training for the better job I want. I have an idea of how I can “survive” in this time period but its just going to be a challenge. It wouldn’t be stable anyway.

Despite those things though. I feel like things are getting a little better at least from when I started writing this. Luckily I had some time off of work that I could somewhat handle what was going on with my one pup. The limited exposure this week has really given me a bit of space to think about things. I know I need to quit for certain now. Its just a matter of when to quit. When to forge ahead with my plans, and how to build a bridge to get there. The bridge doesn’t have to be perfect, it can be missing some planks as long as I can hop over the gaps. A few more days and hopefully ill know more with my pups. Ill do my best to get my time management a little better and do my best to be more productive.

I might be able to get over this mental block I have about posting short things. Maybe do quick blurbs that are 2-500 words, perhaps those can eventually become starting points to spark ideas for longer stories. I started the year almost 5 months ago feeling like it was spring. The other day I felt like fall. The wonderful season of fall. I love my spooky season it is where I feel most comfortable. If I could I would move to somewhere that was perpetually fall. While summer is just getting started I cant wait for the temperatures to become that lovely high 6os to low 7os with a touch of chill to it.

I am ready to take a deep dive into the fall aesthetic and enjoy my time in the feeling.

[k0uhi]

akito's day off

fandom: project sekai tags: newsie au inspo: let's study hard!an; vivid old tale!akito; polyvbs

akito leaves the shop feeling not-quite energized. the newsie hasn't left her house yet, he's made sure since sending the pigeon. he wants to go over, now, the thrum of something to do hovering in his fingers, but he stops himself, waiting for the return.

after the few minutes which felt like an hour, the dastardly bird returns, a small rolled up scroll on its leg. an hates formalities as much as he does, and she has never bothered sending a real missive. he expects no different this time around, and he is greeted with, "busy."

he growls in frustration, tearing the paper in half. busy! since when has she ever been busy! the last time she had been so preoccupied was when the circus came to town and she had been running all over the place to get the details on what was happening. (not like it mattered in the end, since the troupe leader had come knocking on the shiraishi's door well past dark, asking where their top journalist was to write a segment on them, immediately.)

toya was out of town, visiting the conservatory for some endeavor of import. it is an understatement to say that he felt rather incomplete. kohane was busy too. an had been bemoaning that their beloved partner was travelling somewhere with her family for the following week for a wedding. it meant no seeing each other, and more importantly, no practice.

the shop was fine without him for the moment. his sister could man the shop alone, and she was usually busy with her attempts at art than arrangement. their parents were tending the gardens. all three had noticed akito's tension, and told him to walk off his restlessness, but there was no fighting with what he cannot control.

he wanted to sing.

the thought ate at him, his throat itching with the need to do more than just speak his standard phrases. there was a melody in the air that he had been trying to catch all morning, but he had been distracted with his responsibility to tend to the shop.

he glanced down the plaza. for the mid-afternoon foot traffic, it wasn't bad. he could run off to their alley, but going there alone felt wrong, somehow. he couldn't pester an if she already said she was busy, unless he really wanted to get into another fist fight with her.

it's been five months since the last incident, let's not.

he was contemplating on visiting a cafe instead when someone taps him on the shoulder.

he jumps and swivels around to meet face to face with kamishiro. akito scowls.

"my, what a charming face."

"what do you want, detective."

"good afternoon to you too, mr. shinonome. it's a pleasant day."

akito crosses his arms. "what do you want detective? as you can see, i am not in possession of any of those contraptions you call efficiency devices."

kamishiro laughs, the nerve of him. akito doesn't budge, watching warily as the officer retrieves a slip of paper from his waistcoat and extends it towards him. akito waits. there is no way that it wasn't secretly a prank or something. the last time this happened, glitter exploded in his face, and kamishiro took off laughing.

"Ah, shinonome, i am hurt that you don't trust me," kamishiro says. akito would believe it if not for the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "won't you take my token of friendship?"

akito taps his foot. "does detective tenma know you're here?"

"yes, but he's been rather down ever since the young aoyagi had departed for the conservatory." akito tries not to react to that. seeing akito's face twist, kamishiro smirks openly and waves the slip of paper again. "don't you want to know what your young lady has sent?"

he twitches. then, after a moment of trying to decide if kamishiro had been messing with him, snatches the paper from his hand.

"lovely, my hand was just getting tired." akito ignores this, and unfolds the paper with some care. an? but she just sent a pigeon. kohane? they had just seen each other a few days ago, before her travels.

the note was short, a quick but neat scrawl of well wishes from kohane. she wanted him and an to consider the possibility of integrating something new in their performances. that being, instrumentals than just their pure voice. akito frowns. he reads the note once, twice, and then again for the third time in case that he misread something.

"where'd you get this?"

kamishiro, who had just been standing before him all this time, brandished his hands like he was trying to erase something in the air. the performativity was not appreciated.

"detective tsukasa had received a missive from his sister earlier today, informing him of her travels. it seems that she had crossed paths with miss azusawa's family, and had performed with her. enclosed in her letter was miss azusawa's note."

"and you just had the time to deliver this to me?" akito asked in confusion. kamishiro and tenma were, despite their reputation as the academy's most troublesome graduates, the top officers in the area. no way that kamishiro would've been assigned to do a measley delivery job, from tenma no less.

kamishiro snorts, but covers it up with a small laugh. "why, you must flatter yourself."

"you—!"

"i am currently on patrol," he says like akito hasn't said anything. "and the shinonome flower shop is within the range of the plaza. i volunteered, since i was already on the way."

"oh, well." he shifts uncomfortably. "thanks, i guess."

"It's a pleasure, mr. shinonome." kamishiro lifts his cape like an actor and bows, pretentiously. akito does not hide exactly what he thinks about that as kamishiro laughs all the way back into his routine.

consider instrumentals, ah.

he was not averse to the idea, truth be told. the issue comes in with gramophones and vinyls being expensive, old, and impractical to carry around. toya could play the violin, and both him and kohane know how to play piano too. an wasn't half bad with a guitar, though she preferred singing. akito too, was much too dedicated to voice than holding any other instrument. would it mean that kohane wanted to bring in a band? akito could feel the displeasure curl into him.

he'd bring it up with an, later. for now, he might as well look for an audience.

[acciopietro]

I GOT SO EXCITED WHEN YOU OPENED REQUESTS!!! any chance you could write a pietro fic where reader is an avenger and in a battle one of the bad guys has some illusion power and makes them think she died and pietro loses his shniz, but she takes the bad guy out and they find out she’s just injured and pietro is all over her.

at the end of the day - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: a mission goes haywire, and pietro is sure you’ve left him.

word count: 3343

tw: violence, mention of death, blood, and severe injuries

a/n: hi!!! thanks for the request! hope this did your idea justice :)

BEFORE ANY AND EVERY MISSION, Pietro Maximoff had a script. Ever since the battle against Ultron in Sokovia when the team had almost lost Pietro, he took it upon himself to make sure it’d never happen to any other members; in other words, you.

“Be selfish,” he’d tell you, in a small, secluded corner of the Quinjet where he’d dust off your shoulders and let his hands linger. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for anything. At the end of the day, you come first, yes?”

“Yeah, okay,” you roll your eyes, knowing you would do no such thing. “You too.”

Pietro would purse his lips, giving a slow, unconvincing nod and averting his eyes down whilst lowering his hands back down to his sides. He’d stand there before you, silent, and you’d stand there, watching him, waiting. 

Something about this specific mission, however, was different. Pietro gave his speech as always, however, this time his jaw was clenched, his hands fidgeting at his sides. The ‘bad guy’, like Peter Parker often referred to him as, had something they hadn’t gone up against before; it was like he could manipulate their senses, make them see things that weren’t there, make them doubt their reality. 

Wanda could do such things, which eased Pietro’s nerves a bit, however, the foe the group was up against had a level of power that he was unsure if Wanda could match. She had only just begun using her power for good, and he wasn’t sure if she could control it so well. And it wasn’t like he was much help, either— all he could do was run around and hope to god that the other guy would pass out from a quick punch on the jaw.

The ride on the Quinjet felt like it lasted forever; Pietro, after racing to snag Peter Parker’s usual seat beside you, had had his legs positioned where his knee was touching yours for practically the whole flight; neither of you had bothered to move or mention it. The one measly hour it took to fly out to where your foe was located felt like a million, but it seemed to feel less scary when you were so preoccupied with Pietro’s presence beside you.

“You okay?” he murmured when it was time to get off the Quinjet. You hummed and nodded.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Are you?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.”

You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t push him further. He was nervous, you could tell that much, whether it be based on the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot or the way he kept repeatedly pressing on his knuckles as though to crack them again and again. 

Just before the team left the Quinjet, Steve Rogers gave one of his infamous speeches that you didn’t bother paying attention to, too busy fiddling with the lining of your suit and the adjustment of your gloves. When he finished, and the group of you descended from the aircraft, you kept your eyes off of Pietro (knowing he’d distract you) and tried your best to focus on the matter at hand. 

The man (if he was even that) the team was up against had been found to have distant ties with H.Y.D.R.A., loosely related to the Red Skull. According to Tony, he had hopes of gaining power and taking over New York at first, then the East Coast, followed by the nation. Tony had said it would be better to nip it in the bud now rather than waiting for a larger threat.

His headquarters was dark and damp, the air reeking of wet moss and rotten corpses. It was like a dungeon, you thought; all you needed was a magic mirror and you’d think this was a fantasy novel. Pietro stayed relatively close to you whether you liked it or not, and the feeling of his eyes on you never faded as you delved deeper into the building.

“Not here, huh,” Tony had observed, glancing around, the swish of his Iron Man suit echoing throughout the damp basement. His eyes trailed down the tunnels that split off the main room, trailing down into quiet darkness. “Okay, we’ll split up. Rhodey and I go one way, Cap and Wilson over there... Nat, Wanda, and Barton, Thor and Banner, and then... L/N and Speedy over there.”

Pietro and you traded glances. Tony turned to Steve.

“Is it a good idea to put them together?” he asked dryly. Steve shrugged.

“Eyes on the mission,” was all he said to the pair of you, staring specifically at Pietro, who lifted his hands up in defense and feverishly nodded his head. Steve nodded and turned to Sam Wilson, jerking his head to his left; off the two of them went.

Wanda came over to Pietro, brushing your shoulder comfortingly with her palm before muttering something in Sokovian to Pietro. He replied in his native tongue before pulling her in for a quick hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“See you, Y/N,” she bid you goodbye. You pursed your lips in a smile and waved. Pietro sighed, facing you.

“Let’s go, then,” Pietro said, his arm brushing yours as he led the pair of you down one of the tunnels. You spared one glance at the main room, watching everyone split up, before you bit the inside of your cheek and followed Pietro into the tunnel.

---

PIETRO DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT. SOMETHING inside of his chest was tightening, flipping, and it certainly wasn’t the same as the butterflies he was feeling earlier. On the jet, his stomach had been fluttering and turning, but he knew that was because of the way his knee rested against yours. The way you held eye contact for just a second longer than usual, your e/c eyes wide. That was a very different nervousness. The one he felt currently was, perhaps, his intuition warning him. Or maybe it was just the smell of the wet tunnels making him sick.

“Should we turn back?” you asked warily, stopping and staring down at the endless darkness of the tunnel. You held up the end of your flashlight, the light fading into the black. “We’ve been walking for so long and haven’t found anything.”

“Don’t know,” Pietro said unsurely, squinting into the abyss ahead. “Maybe something is further up. See, look —what is that, a light? Something’s flashing.”

“I don’t see anything,” you said from behind him, lowering your flashlight. “Pietro, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“So do I,” he admitted, glancing down at you, watching as you fidgeted with the flashlight. Sighing, he ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, scratching at his scalp before placing a hand on your shoulder and rubbing his thumb into your collarbone. He felt you shiver. “But we gotta keep going, okay? Stark’ll be pissed if he finds out we bailed.”

“I’m not saying we bail,” you clarified, your darkened blush hidden by the darkness. “Just saying it seems fruitless.”

“If nothing comes up in the next hour, we’ll go back, all right?”

You pouted. “Fine.”

The pair of you kept walking; Pietro tried to keep his mind on the matter at hand, trying his very best to ignore the goosebumps he kept getting every time your hand brushed his. At one point, the back of his hand accidentally brushed your thigh, and he purposefully picked up his pace so as to make it seem like it never happened. 

The light at the end of the tunnel got slightly brighter, giving him a sliver of confidence that maybe the pair of you would find something. Pursing his lips, he grabbed your arm suddenly and said, “I’m gonna speed us down there. Hold on.”

He looped his arm around your torso and picked you up before racing down the tunnel towards the light; it was blinking, he realized, as you two got closer. His hands tightened around your torso as he slowed down, letting his fingers linger on your waist just as he let you down.

“What is it?” you wondered as Pietro ran his hands over the side of the tunnel. 

The light was coming from the bottom, as though there was a hidden door and the light came from the crack at the bottom. Pietro let his hands find a divot in the metal walls, and when he pulled, he felt the wall come loose. He grinned at you, smirking. “Bingo.”

You were still frowning, however, now he could see the clear red tint on your cheeks. You huffed and gestured your hands as though for him to enter through the passage first, glancing up at him through your lashes. The butterflies in his stomach flapping their wings, he rolled his eyes and complied.

The room, he saw, was what looked like a laboratory back in Sokovia when he and Wanda volunteered at HYDRA. He stepped in, lips parted and brows furrowed at the sight of the place. Just as he entered the room entirely, however, he felt the door slam behind him, and then watched with panicked eyes as the lines of the door disappeared entirely as though they were never there at all.

“PIETRO?” he heard you scream from the other side, followed by the banging of fists on the wall. He shouted your name out, dragging his hands along the wall to try and find that divot again; to no avail. “Pietro, there’s— there’s something in here!”

“I’m coming!” he yelled, banging on the now blank wall. “Don’t move, I’m— I’m trying to get through!”

“Pietro, help! Quickly!” he heard you shout, your voice cracking with terror. “Please, it’s— I don’t know what it is!”

His heart had dropped, a sick feeling of dread flooding up through his chest and stomach as he brought all his force to the door with the weight of his shoulder, throwing himself at the wall to try and break through. He could hear you bawling, fists still slamming against the wall. 

You screamed for him again, gasping with each breath, the banging of yours fists fading. You then, all at once, fell quiet; he could hear your staggered breaths, tiny whimpers escaping your lips.

“Y/N?” he called. “What’s happening?”

“It’s right in front of me,” he heard you whisper. “Please, Pietro...!"

Tears had escaped his eyes now, his breathing becoming uneven as he heard a screech from something unfamiliar followed by a cry from you. He shouted for you, jogging backwards before putting all his force into a running start to crash against the wall. Just as he collided with the wall, it popped open, and he tumbled through, rolling onto the wet floor of the tunnel. 

Lifting himself off, he wiped off his hands, the light from the open door letting him see the red stains his hands had left on the blue-silver of his suit. Panicked, he scrambled to his feet and glanced around before his eyes landed on none other than you, shaking, curled up against the wall, your entire front covered in your own blood.

“Y/N,” he gasped, falling to his knees and wiping the hair out from in front of your eyes. “No, no, I— I tried to get to you, I couldn’t—”

“Pietro—” you started to cough, blood spilling from your tongue and coating your plump lips. “Where— where were you?”

Your voice was wobbly, your face pale and your skin cold. You couldn’t meet his eyes, e/c irises blankly staring off. 

“I— the door, it— it closed behind me, I didn’t know—”

“It got me,” you sputtered, more blood spilling from between your lips. You wiped them off with your sleeve. “It got me, Piet.”

“No, no, you’re gonna be fine,” he tried to reassure you, salty tears streaming down his face. He cupped your cheek, wiping the blood from your skin; you closed your eyes and leant into his touch before slowly lowering your legs from where they were curled up. 

Your chest and stomach were littered with five large curved gashes; your face was left unscathed with the exception of the blood that was smeared around your lips. You coughed again, shaking. Your eyes were fluttering as though you were struggling to keep them open, pupils dilated and lower lip trembling.

“Nu, nu, rămâi cu mine!” he panicked, the Sokovian slipping from his lips without realizing it. “Don’t close your eyes, okay? I’m gonna — I’m gonna get you out of here—!”

“I don’t wanna die,” he heard you say helplessly, staring off. “I’m so scared, Piet, I don’t— I don’t like this—”

“Just stay with me, okay? You’re gonna be fine, I got you, please don’t—”

Tears pouring from his bloodshot eyes, his hair tousled so wildly about his head that it was practically standing upright, he pulled you in closer. You were barely moving, your limbs limp at your sides. “I’m scared, I’m so scared, it hurts so bad—”

“No, no! Y/N, please, just hang in there for me, okay?” Pietro panicked as he watched your eyes flutter back. He grabbed your shoulder, shaking you, before cupping both cheeks and holding you tight. “C’mon, no, don’t do this! Y/N, please, stay with me, stay with me...!”

You didn’t move again, lips parted, eyes closed. You continued to bleed, the red staining his forearms. He let out a cry of anguish, holding you close to his chest, muttering your name.

“HELP!” he shouted out, wanting none other but to run for help but knowing he could never leave you here. His voice echoed down the tunnel fruitlessly, faded into nothingness. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing the last of you in. “No, no, no, no..."

Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder made him jolt up, his head snapping up. It was Wanda, her brow furrowed and her face worried. Behind her was Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, both with bewildered faces.

“What?” Pietro breathed, still shaking. He turned his head to see you, except with open eyes and a blood-free chest. “I— Y/N?”

“What happened?” you asked him carefully. “Are you okay?”

“You’re— you’re okay?” he breathed, before he flung his arms around you and pulled you flush against him. “O Doamne. Slavă Domnului. Te iubesc aşa de mult.”

You wrapped your arms equally tight around him, cradling his trembling body close to you; you locked eyes with Wanda, who stood behind him, trading perplexed expressions.

“Pietro,” Wanda asked him softly when he refused to let go of you. “What happened?”

“You froze when you opened that door,” you told him carefully. “It was like you blacked out with your eyes open. And then you fell to your knees, and I... what did you see?”

“Something... something got you,” he muttered, wiping at his face and peeling away from you. He kept his hand on your hand, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles as though to remind himself that you were here, breathing, heart-pumping. “Clawed through you, and... I couldn’t save you. You were bleeding, everywhere, it was... it was...O doamne...” 

He trailed off, clenching his jaw and wiping at his face again.

“I’m here,” you told him. He shifted his gaze to you, icy blue eyes melting into yours, pupils blown out wide and tears dripping off of his long lashes. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes refused to leave you. Your chest flipped and you squeezed your hand around his. "Nothing’s happened to me.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I could have... I could have sworn it was real.”

You said nothing, only letting him lean himself closer into you. He glanced down at his hands, calloused, pale palms sharply contrasting from your smaller, softer ones.

“There was so much blood. I thought I lost you,” he mumbled. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wanda, Nat, and Steve take a few steps as though to give the pair of you privacy.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” you offered a small smile, your voice lightening in an attempt to soften your tone. He pursed his lips, and you, impulsively, lifted a hand to cup his face, wiping the apple of his cheek with the pad of your thumb. “Oh, Piet... I’m okay. I’m not gonna leave you.”

He gazed over at you, eyes glazed over and cheeks still a pinky-red as you brushed the hair out of his eyes. Brows tilted upwards, he found himself getting entirely lost on your features, the curves and creases of your skin, the slope of your nose, the color of your cupid’s bow.

“Nu puteam trăi fără tine,” he muttered. Wanda made a small noise from behind the pair of you, and you turned to see her quickly drag Nat and Steve away from the scene, hiding in a darker corner out of view. You furrowed your brows but turned back to Pietro.

“What’d you say?” you asked. He swallowed, eyes flickered down at your lips. Your heart leapt.

“I— it’s—” he took a wobbly breath. “It’s not important. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

---

THE RIDE HOME WAS QUIET. Tony and Rhodey had, in fact, found the foe you all were in search of. All of the tunnels ended up conjoining in another room, all leading to the same place, and Tony had managed to shoot the guy down while he was distracted, the same time he was busy messing with Pietro’s mind. 

The boy hadn’t left you since the tunnel. Always keeping at least one hand on you, his shaky breathing had yet to cease, the speed of his heart never slowing. Your tangible presence had helped, but their were occasions during the flight where he’d attempt to sleep, only to jolt himself awake with a terror-stricken gasp; his eyes would snap open and he’d instantly grab ahold of your wrist or hand, fingers digging into the dough of your skin to remind himself that you were there.

He held your hand whilst the pair of you descended from the jet and walked towards the compound. He let Wanda hug him for a moment, let her coddle him, before he retreated back towards you. Pietro had never got like this before, you thought to yourself... he was never so touchy, never so frantic to make sure you were by his side.

“Pietro,” you spoke up once you reached your bathroom. “I need to shower. Are you gonna be okay?”

He nodded his head, slipping his hand from yours and shoving it into his pocket. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll just be... showering, too.”

“All right,” you smiled at him and nudged his shoulder. “You sure? You look a little spacey.”

“I am,” he admitted. “Just... happy you’re here. Trying to appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to appreciate it,” you laughed. “I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

“Hey, I love you, y’know?” he said again, just as you moved to turn around. You turned bright scarlet at the casualness of his voice, but at the sight of his own red cheeks, you loosened up.

“I love you, too, y’know?” you replied, smiling sweetly. He pursed his lips into a small smile, blue eyes glittering. You hummed contently before turning around, putting your hand on the door knob.

You heard him click his tongue before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you in tightly. You sharply inhaled and said nothing, eyes flickering around his face for a millisecond before he swooped down and pressed his mouth against yours. His lips were soft on yours, molding against you so well you were sure you’d be able to stay kissing him for the entire night.

Right as you let yourself melt into him, he pulled away, practically jumping back. Bright red, he stammered out, “I am so sorry. I’m sorry, I— I should’ve asked, I didn’t—”

“Pietro—”

“I’m just gonna go. I’m sorry I did that. It was totally uncalled for and I understand if you—”

“Pietro! Stop talking,” you interrupted, grabbing him by the collar of his suit. You pressed a speedy peck to his lips, to which he almost instantaneously leaned into, his arm lifting to rest onto your waist. “Can we finish this after I shower?”

He froze for a moment, blinking, before he let himself grin. “Yeah, okay.”

---

translation:

“Nu, nu, rămâi cu mine!” - No, no, stay with me!

“O Doamne. Slavă Domnului. Te iubesc aşa de mult.” - Oh my god. Thank god. I love you so much.

“Nu puteam trăi fără tine.” - I couldn’t live without you.

taglist: @childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty

a/n: i’m sorry i hate this. not my best work but i’m not in a good headspace to spend more time writing this i’m sorry IM SORRY.

[xxresi-rotxx]

Jealousy- Leon Kennedy Part 1 (NSFW)

Ahhhh cannot believe I’m writing smut again...oddly feels right XD

Either way enjoy whatever this is! I will most likely not stick to any sort of timeline or actually events from the games so if you’re thinking “that’s not right” you are probably correct lmao, I really only have one objective... ;)

Part 2-

Summary: You’ve been waiting months for Leon to finally come home from his most recent mission but when he does it seems he’s still preoccupied with tying up loose ends. Luckily for you, Chris knows exactly how to change that. 

Warnings: Nothing too nsfw in this part, tipsy reader, jealous Leon, no smut yet but everything is fully consented in all of my writings so keep that in mind. Alcohol, spanking, dom!Leon

1285 Words

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One week. In hindsight, one week wasn’t all that long considering what your boyfriend did for work, but it still irked you relentlessly. Leon had been home for one week since his most previous mission with the DSO but it seemed his mind was elsewhere. The first night he returned was wonderful. Intimate and warm, almost as if the two of you had to remind each other who you were. 

You can’t help but smile at the memory of showering with him that night. Being so close again, relishing in each other's embrace under the hot water; the steam making it slightly harder to breathe. As much as you loved the reunion, that’s where it ended. You didn’t think much of it, nor did you blame him. You knew he must have been exhausted from traveling & truth be told being back in his arms was more than enough. 

At least it was a week ago. Now you found yourself sitting at the local bar, across from Chris Redfield, while you watched in slight annoyance as your boyfriend hounded Chris’s sister Claire for the information she gathered following the events after Leon’s mission. 

Chris took notice of how you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Leon & laughed before taking another swig of his beer. 

“You know, when you came to sit with me I figured we’d at least have a conversation. If you wanted to keep staring, you could have done so back when you were sitting next to him you know.” Chris said as he eyed you from behind his beer with a smug smirk on his face. 

Your attention now on Chris, you rolled your eyes before taking a sip from your drink. “Ugh, I know I know. I just- I’m trying to figure out if I’m being a bad girlfriend or not.” You said before downing the rest of your beer thinking somehow that would help your decision. 

“You a bad girlfriend? Doubtful.” Chris scoffed “You know what we all do for a living and you put up with more shit than I assume most women would. We’ve only been back for a week, I thought it would have taken Leon longer than that to fuck things up.” 

You gazed at Chris utterly confused now and realizing maybe you shouldn’t have had as many beers as you did, because everything was starting to feel warmer, and you could feel your filter slowly slipping away. 

“What? No he didn’t do anything. Well actually that’s the problem.” You slid your hands down your face sighing before putting them on the counter of the bar & staring directly at Chris. “I understand what you all do is beyond important, but I though you invited everyone out tonight to take their minds off of it. Leon hasn’t let Claire have a break since the moment we got in here. Pretty sure he’s been too busy interrogating her to even finish his first beer!” And with that you plopped your head down onto the bar and enjoyed the cool feel of the counter hitting your cheek. 

“Ah” Chris sighed before finishing what had to be his fourth beer. “That’s why you want to know if you’re the bad girlfriend...because he’s been too distracted by work, and you feel guilty about being upset about it yeah?” 

You nodded your head as best you could while keeping it on the surface of the counter. 

“You know, he’s a pretty easy guy to read once you know him well enough.”

This piqued your interest and had you lifting your head to ask Chris what he meant. Before you could, Chris leaned in close; moving your hair from the side of your face and leaning in close enough to whisper in your ear. 

“Bet he’s looking right now, am I right?”

You glanced up from where your eyes had previously been a moment ago and made direct eye contact with Leon, who had his eyes trained not on Chris but on you. You couldn’t help the nervous rush that flooded your system as a result of him looking at you like that. You tore your eyes from your boyfriend’s gaze long enough to look back at Chris who had resumed his prior position sitting slouched at the bar. Chris glanced at you from his seat before smirking and ordering another beer for himself & for you. 

“Bet you’ve got his full attention now.” 

It was taking everything in you to process what had just happened. Was Leon jealous? Is that what his reaction was? ‘Surely not’ you though to yourself, Leon trusted Chris and Claire with his life. There’s no way that little action would catch his attention. Maybe it was just good timing. But as you drew your eyes back up to glance in his direction you realized his eyes were still trained on you. Feeling beyond intimidated you broke the eye contact immediately and brought it instead to the beer now sitting in front of you. 

“Gahh Chris, what did you do?!” You couldn’t help but sink lower into your seat, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong, and Leon’s stare did nothing but intimidate you. You stopped yourself mid sip when you thought ‘why did that intimidate me? Like I did anything wrong’. You let the thought go assuming the alcohol was just fucking with your mind at this point, until you noticed Leon leaving the booth and walking your way. The only other discernable thing being Chris’s laugh that quickly faded as Leon got closer. 

“Redfield” Leon said while grabbing Chris’s shoulder, “mind if I steal my girl away for a bit?” He said as his gaze brought its way back to you.

“Not at all, but she did just start another drink with me-”

Before Chris could finish his sentence Leon had your beer in hand and was making quick work of it. 

“Thanks” he said to Chris while holding a smirk “we’ll be back later.”

He held his hand out for you to take, which giving the events leading up to this, seemed rather sweet. That was until you must have taken too long to reach for his hand and your whole world flipped. The next thing you knew Leon was hauling you out of the bar over his shoulder. When you looked up you saw Chris mouthing the words “fixed it” before winking and getting up to go sit beside his sister. 

“Leo-” you started and abruptly stopped as his hand connected with your rear. You squealed, not out of pain, but surprise. You’d never noticed a jealous side of Leon, how in the world had Chris?!

“Please wait until we get to the car, I’m slowly losing my self-control and would really like to not make as scene in the parking lot.”

A few more strides and Leon was at his Jeep, his firm arm setting you down in front of the back passenger door. As he opened it, you looked up at him in disbelief. 

“I have to ride in the back?”

“No, you just have to get in.” Leon was slowly losing his patience but couldn’t deny how cute you were when you got tipsy. Realizing you might not catch on; he maneuvered you into the back before getting in himself & shutting the door. 

Laying down in the backseat of his Jeep, you looked up to Leon who was now straddling your hips; or trying his best given the limited amount of space you two had. 

Leon held your hands before pinning them above your head and lowering his mouth so that it was hovering above yours. 

“Now” he breathed ghosting his lips over yours “where to begin?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ahhhh okay I actually liked how this turned out more than I thought I would! Part 2 to come very very soon! Please be nice & leave me your thoughts!! 

Thanks:) xoxo -Kitty

[seijorhi]

nostos.

well it’s not exactly monster fucking but um... here there be monsters.

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

TW implied non-con, nsfw-ish, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, um somebody gets munched... 

Every good writer needs peace and quiet. Fresh air and a change of scenery.

You’re not running away, it’s more of a… tactical retreat. Two weeks disconnected from well meaning friends, pushy family members and your eternally irritating editor, with nothing but the beautiful, sprawling forests to keep you company.

The mountains are familiar, if isolating, you think, leaning against the porch railing with a warm mug in hand as the breeze picks up and the tall maple and birch trees rustle in response. The leaves are turning vibrant reds and gold with the falling temperatures and even in the eerie quiet of the cold morning, you can’t deny that it’s breathtaking. 

It reminds you of your childhood, the countless vacations you’d spent here with your family, always in autumn, always in time to watch the leaves change before the first snows of winter set in. Fond memories of running through the trees chasing after cute little bunnies, giggling even when you tripped up and scraped your knees. There was something mystical about the forest back then, something special. But it’s been years since you’ve been here last, and the first time you’ve ever come alone.

And yet it feels different somehow, colder despite the nostalgia. You’re no longer a child, looking at the world through innocent, wondrous eyes. The forest is just a forest. 

Of course, you weren’t an idiot; disappearing off the grid was one thing. Disappearing off the grid without anybody knowing where you were going was another entirely. They’d been surprisingly supportive of the plan – until you told them where it was you were planning on running off to.

‘Why go back to the mountain, honey?’ your mother had asked, her smile wavering and an odd tightness in her eyes. ‘Why not go to the coast instead? Or spend some time in the city?’

But this isn’t a fun little vacation. You don’t want to be distracted by beaches and crowds, you need space to finish your book and time to work through your mess of an emotional state without any interruptions. You want to be untraceable, at least for a week or two.

God knows the last thing you need right now is your ex tracking you down to try and apologise again.

Part of you had thought – somewhat naively, perhaps – that by coming back you’d spark… something. Your memories of the mountains are full of warmth and happiness, but as you stare out into the wilderness, all you feel is a cool chill that runs down your spine and the goosebumps that prickle at your skin. 

Setting your now empty mug down, you pull tighter at the thick knit cardigan draped over your shoulders. Enough reminiscing, your manuscript awaits.

—

The mountain’s too quiet. You don’t notice it so much during the day, the sound of music softly pouring from your laptop and the gentle clacking of keys as you type enough to distract you  from the eerie stillness outside the cabin. Even at night, you’re preoccupied with dinner, and then curled up on the couch with a warm throw rug watching reruns of your favourite shows on Netflix.

It’s only when you lie down, burrowed into the blankets to try and sleep that you notice just how silent the forest at your doorstep truly is. At first you think it’s simply being away from the hustle and bustle of home. There’s no cars driving past, or the sound of neighbours floating through your open windows, there’s not even the distant hooting of owls or dogs barking.

But it’s more than just quiet. There’s nothing. Even the trees seem to still once the sun falls beneath the horizon. And it shouldn't bother you, shouldn’t unsettle you, and yet…

The first few nights, you don’t sleep well. Tossing and turning in bed. When you do sleep, your dreams are plagued with unpleasant things. Not nightmares as such, but an uneasiness that bleeds into otherwise pleasant thoughts. On the fourth night you wake, gasping for air. Whatever dream you’d been in the grips of fades like smoke, and as you draw in another shuddering breath your throat itches and burns.

Water. You need water. 

You don’t switch on the lights as you fumble your way down to the kitchen, trying to preserve what little remnants of sleep are still in your system. Even with the moon almost full and the night sky clear, the canopy shrouds it. 

And it’s in that darkness, as your eyes flicker up from the faucet, that you see it for the first time.

A shape, huge and looming, silk shadow against black. 

For a moment, as your heart hammers against your ribs, a chill creeping down your spine, you don’t dare trust your eyes. Maybe you’re asleep still, dreaming, or your mind’s playing tricks on you, because there’s nothing that should be lurking in the woods outside of your window that size.

Two golden, cat-like eyes peer back at you.

They’re still there when you race to flick on the lights, unblinking, curious as you skitter backwards, hand over your racing heart.

You’re tired, emotionally drained and this–

This is nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination, a child creating monsters from the shadows in their bedroom. Yet even as you run back to the safety of the bedroom, yank the curtains shut and huddle under the meagre warmth your blankets afford you, squeezing your eyes shut, you feel it out there still, watching.

And in the stillness of the mountains outside, you swear you hear footsteps.

—

You wake to fresh snow, too early in the year, even at these altitudes. It dusts the ground, covering the mossy paths in glittering white, clings to the branches of the trees – the red leaves looking like droplets of blood scattered across a grey sky. The snow will undoubtedly melt as the sun rises, turn to slush and mix with the dirt, but for now it’s a thing of beauty.

For a moment, you allow yourself to forget how tired you are, how unsettled, venturing out from the cabin with wide, excitable eyes. It never used to snow when you were here as a kid, and while you get the occasional snowfall back home, it’s nothing like–

You stop dead in your tracks. 

There’s two human footprints imprinted on the snow – only two – right outside your bedroom window, crisp and clean, as if they’d been left just moments before.

—

Your mother sounds worried when you call her. Of course, you don’t tell her about the lone footprints at your window, or the creepy pair of eyes you’d seen through the dark, you know how that sounds. You’re not crazy, and even if some part of you truly believed what you’d seen, your mom is the last person you’d admit it to.

Once upon a time, when you were little, she’d indulged in stories of fairies and spirits, but that was a long time ago. Now she turns up her nose and sneers at the myths and legends that your grandma still spouts, dismissing them with a scoff.

It’s not the kind of thing well-adjusted adults talk about in polite conversation.

She’s a good woman, but you can’t tell her this. 

And you’re not even sure you’re entirely sold on it either. The eyes could have been from a wild animal – big cats might be rare in Japan, but they do exist here. You were half asleep (half terrified) when you had seen them, you don’t want to make a fuss over nothing. The footprints are less easy to explain away. If there’d been tracks leading away, you could convince yourself that it was a lost hiker and nothing more.

But there weren’t any tracks leading away; just the two footprints. And what kind of hiker doesn’t wear shoes in weather like this? It’s possible that this is some kind of prank, a mean spirited trick designed to unsettle you – a job well done, by the way – but you can���t quite bring yourself to believe that either. 

In any case, you’re hardly going to admit over the phone that you’re freaking out over some footprints in the snow. God knows she’s already worried enough about your mental state, has been ever since the breakup, and you’re not going to give her any more ammunition. 

But perhaps there is something to that maternal instinct, because despite your best efforts to reassure her that you’re doing just fine, that your novel’s going great and you’re so glad you came out here, she still sounds entirely unconvinced.

“Honey, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong,” she tells you, her voice strangely hesitant. “You don’t sound yourself, are you sure everything’s okay?”

You don’t know why you called her at all. You always have been a shitty liar, and she’s always been able to see right through you. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly the fresh air’s doing me good,” you tell her. “It’s weirdly quiet here though, I’m not used to it,” you laugh, and even to your ears it sounds hollow and fake.

There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the line, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture it, your mom leaning against the kitchen counter, teeth worrying into her bottom lip–

“I just don’t like you out there all by yourself.”

Relax, what’s the worst that could happen?

The words almost, almost slip out, an instinctive reaction to a mother’s well meaning but overbearing concern. But it feels like tempting fate, and whether or not you’re fully convinced that there is something strange happening, you’re not that bold. Instead you begin to tell her (again) that everything’s fine when she suddenly speaks again.

“Bad things happen in those mountains. Just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Abruptly, the line goes dead. 

Pulling the phone from your ear, you glance down at the illuminated screen, only to frown when you see the little ‘SOS Only’ flashing in the top corner. Huh, you’d had a few bars when you’d started the call, but… 

The weather’s gotta be messing with your signal. Stranger things have happened, right?

Shaking your head you resolve to give her a call tomorrow. And yet, even as you try to put her parting words from your mind and throw yourself back into your writing, you can’t help but feel that familiar sense of cloying unease seeping through your skin once more. 

What the hell had she meant, ‘bad things happen in those mountains’?

—

A good night’s sleep can do you wonders. 

Well, theoretically speaking. You can’t remember the last actual decent sleep you’d had, but regardless, the point stands. All you need is an uninterrupted eight or nine hours, and this… paranoia will go away. Things’ll be clearer in the morning, so long as you sleep.

The mantra doesn’t help you any, of course. 

You don’t need to peer through the window to feel those watchful eyes staring. And maybe it would be easier to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of your neck if it weren’t for the noises.

Music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the mournful wails, like a wounded animal crying out in pain. It’s incessant, inescapable, reverberating inside of your eardrums until it’s all you can focus on.

It’s instinctual, you think, the urge to creep from your bed and try to find the creature making that sound and help it. But even as your feet touch the cool floorboards, your gut clenches, hackles rising. Something deep inside of you warns you from leaving the safety of the cabin.

Whatever creature is making those noises, it’s not calling for help.

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but you must have because at a certain point in the morning you blink your eyes awake, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

And this time it’s not snow that greets you, but the mangled remains of a doe ripped apart on your porch. Deep, jagged gouge marks run along its flank, organs spilling from the cuts and there’s little left of its neck, the whole thing torn out with teeth. Yet for the gruesome injuries, the only blood you find is congealed, pooled beneath the poor creature.

Whatever happened to it, it didn’t happen here. The knowledge doesn’t soothe you like it should – the park ranger you spoke to on the phone mentioned that while it’s rare, sometimes bears venture a little too close to buildings, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it.

He sounds even less interested when you tell him this doesn’t look like a bear attack, but promises they’ll send someone down in the next few days to check everything out. In the meantime, he suggests, it’s best to stay indoors. 

Yeah, not gonna be an issue.

And so with no feasible way of moving it, you’re left with the butchered corpse of a doe just outside your front door. And the thing that bothers you isn’t so much the body, though you still can’t look at it without wanting to throw up, but the fact that it was just… left there.

Not eaten. No, aside from the missing throat, the deer’s all there. Ripped apart with its guts spilling out, but otherwise untouched. Growing up you had a cat, the sweetest little thing, but every once in a while she would get out of a night, find some poor little creature to torment and without fail, she’d bring it back home, leaving it half dead on the doorstep like a gift.

‘See what a good hunter I am?’ she seemed to say, smugly sauntering back inside. 

It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t hunger that drove her, but instinct. As you stare out the window at the doe, at the milky white emptiness of dead eyes, you wonder whether that’s the same here. There’s no tracks in the dirt, no blood smeared across the ground – it wasn’t dragged here. No animal could’ve done this. 

A gift? 

Or perhaps something less benevolent. A threat. You’ve crossed into territory you don’t belong and the deer, cruelly ripped apart and left to bleed out on your doorstep is a line in the sand.

Either way, as tears fill your eyes, a sob tugging free from your chest, you realise that it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know whether you trust your eyes and your ears anymore, but there is something deep inside of you that tolls like a warning bell and as much as you’d like to bury your head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong here, you can’t.

Bad things happen in those mountains.

You need to leave.

The next ferry to the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but it’ll have to do. Once you stop shaking and calm down enough to carry a conversation, you call the local cab company to arrange a pick-up first thing.

You can survive one more night, you just need to throw yourself back into your writing… if you can only just ignore that sense of foreboding prickling at the back of your neck.

—

There’s a boy running through the trees, giggling as he glances back at you. His hand’s outstretched, wrapped ‘round yours tugging you along as he laughs at you to hurry up.

It’s late, the sun dipping below the horizon, but you don’t wanna go back just yet.

You’re having fun, playing in the forest. And the light is golden, filtering in through the pretty red leaves, your sides burn a little from all the chasing and laughter but it’s a good kind of ache. You don’t want today to end.

His name is Kohsuke, you remember, and he lives down in the village by the valley. He’s only one year older than you, and you’d follow him anywhere. 

You think you might be a little in love with him.

‘C’mon, hurry up! It’s only a little further!’ he calls, and you nod, scrambling over the fallen trunk of an oak tree. There’s old spirits who live in this forest, he’d told you, and today you’re finally gonna see one.

It’s dark now. Cold too. You’re tired and hungry and you kinda want to go home, but Kohsuke won’t let you. ‘Just a little longer! Don’t you wanna see them?’

You do. Of course you do. It’s just that you’re starting to get a funny feeling in your stomach… Can he hear the footsteps too? Is somebody following you?

There’s a voice in your ear, a soft, silky purr that makes a shiver roll down your spine, but you can’t make sense of the words, they’re not in any language you understand. You don’t tell Kohsuke – he can’t hear it, otherwise he would have said something. You just clutch his hand tighter, skipping closer.

‘W-we should go back, Koh,’ you murmur, wincing when it comes out in a childish whine. ‘We’re gonna get in trouble.’

You aren’t supposed to stay out playing after dark, he knows it as well as you do. ‘You trust me, don’t you? Stop being such a chicken!’ he snickers as your cheeks heat.

The voice at your ear growls, low and threatening. You need to go back, now.

You blink, and the scene changes.

You’re curled up on the forest floor, hands covering your eyes. Somebody’s screaming – Kohsuke – crying out your name through ragged sobs, pleading–

There’s a crunch, a ripping sound, a wetness sprayed across your cheek. 

Kohsuke’s not screaming anymore.

Something warm and heavy touches your head, drags through the locks of your hair and you just huddle tighter, eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf as more tears spill. You don’t wanna die here. 

The crunching sounds continue, and you keep your eyes tightly shut. It can’t hurt you if you don’t look. 

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look. 

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look. 

It can’t–

A loud knocking jerks you back to consciousness, your body jolting upright, almost swiping your laptop off the table as you try and gather your bearings. Right, you’d been working on your novel, sitting up at the kitchen table, you must have dozed off… A quick glance out the window tells you that you must have been out of it for a while – the late afternoon shadows are starting to creep in, the sky a golden orange. 

What the hell was that dream?!

“Hello? Uh, anybody home?” a masculine voice calls, another loud knock sounding. “We got a call about a wild animal attacking deer…”

Oh, you think, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, the wildlife people, yeah. You feel a little nauseous, feverish and trembling, though maybe that’s just the result of your erratic heartbeat. 

Swallowing down the bile in your throat, you turn your attention to the door. Truly you hadn’t actually expected that they’d send anybody out to investigate, much less that they’d arrive before you left, but you can hardly turn him away now.

Especially not when there’s a freshly butchered deer corpse lying only a few feet away from your front door. Quickly, you run a hand over your hair, taking a moment to try and collect yourself before you answer.

It doesn’t work – there’s a knot in your throat and for every step you take towards the door it feels like your legs are gonna give out from under you. You move in a daze to unlock the door, only just remembering to school your features into an expression slightly less alarming as it swings open. 

A ranger, tall with a shock of black, messy hair that reminds you oddly of a rooster greets you with an easy grin. “Oh good, I was starting to think nobody was home. You the one that called?”

Distantly, you nod, fingers clutching at the edge of the doorframe. The ranger glances over at the remains of the deer, still lying in a pool of half dried blood, studying it for a moment, hazel eyes sweeping over the deep gashes in its side. You can’t bear to follow his gaze, you’re not sure you can look at that thing again without throwing up. 

He whistles lowly, shaking his head, “Well you don’t see that every day,” he laughs.

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. It’s not his fault, you know that, but you can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks at the cavalier attitude. This is just his job, you get it, but you don’t exactly feel like laughing right now. 

“You still think a bear did this?” you retort, the words coming out a little sharper than intended. 

But the ranger takes it in stride, shrugging as his smirk widens. “A bear, huh?” Amusement glitters in his eyes, sharp and mocking. “Why don’t I come inside and you can tell me all about it?” he offers, stepping closer towards you. 

And there’s no reason for your heart to skitter, your blood running cold as he looms over you in the doorway, still wearing that stupid, irritating smirk. There’s no reason for your insides to clench either, or for the tiny, jerky step backwards you take, your body moving of its own accord.

The ranger pauses, head tilting to the side as he stares at you.

Really stares, like he’s waiting for something. And as discomfited as you are (and as much of an asshole as this guy is), a weary apology is halfway to your tongue when he shifts slightly, propping an arm up against the door – the last, dying rays of light catching his face. 

It’s just for a second.

A heartbeat.

But long enough for you to watch those hazel eyes shift to gold, pupils elongating into slits. 

You stumble backwards, breath coming in a short, ragged gasp as your eyes widen into saucers. “What are you?”

The ranger before you chuckles and you catch a glimpse of his teeth; pearly white and glinting, sharper than they had been only moments ago. “Why don’t you let me in and find out for yourself, kitten?”

You shake your head, retreating further into the cabin, heart pounding. 

“No? You don’t like this body, is that it?” he asks, a cruel edge to his smirk as he takes a half step backwards and slowly spreads his arms. “Something more familiar, then.”

And you don’t think there’s any room left in your heart for more fear, your stomach already twisting in sickening knots, but you blink and standing right there in front of you is Kohsuke.

It’s a punch in the guts, a knife slipped between your ribs, yanked ruthlessly through your still beating heart. He’s beaming up at you, those same adorable dimples, the same ridiculous bowl cut, bleeding youthful innocence. “How about now?” he asks, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers like he expects you to take it. “You’ll let me inside now, right?”

A strangled noise escapes you as you fall to your knees. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision – you blink them away but more take their place. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, and you wail in response.

It’s too much. You shake your head, hugging yourself tightly, as if your arms are the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely. 

He calls your name – not in Kohsuke’s childish lilt, but that deep, ancient purr that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me in.”

“Go away,” you gasp through tears. “Please– please go away.”

The creature shifts again, the dark haired ranger back in Kohsuke’s place. He eyes you, those unnatural gold irises watching with utter enthralment as you sob pathetically on the floor, still pleading – though you know it’ll do you no good – for him to leave. 

“Last chance, kitten. Let me in, or I’ll make you come out.”

He – it – doesn’t sound nearly as put out by the prospect as it should be. 

And you don’t know why giving permission matters, all you know, all you care about, is that it’s keeping that thing at bay for now. It can’t come inside and so long as you don’t leave the safety of the cabin, it can’t hurt you. The words are nothing but an empty threat.

Right?

You shake your head, defiant even as your voice hitches and trembles, “No.”

“Stubborn little thing,” the creature croons, the smirk on its face widening until the visage no longer resembles anything human – mouth splitting its face in two, rows of long, sharp teeth revealed. “So be it.”

A low growl resonates in its chest, and you can only watch, petrified, as thin, vein-like black marks begin to appear over pale skin, growing thicker, cracking as shadow curls from underneath. The creature itself starts to grow too, limbs elongating as muscles ripple and swell, claws bursting forth in place of fingernails, shoulders broadening – until it’s towering over you, wreathed in thick shadow, grinning with that terrifying mouth. 

This is the thing you’d glimpsed that first night. A creature ripped from nightmares and primal fears, strong enough to tear you apart with a single hand. That’s what it’d done to Kohsuke, to the doe, what it’d do to you if you gave it half a chance.

“You wanna play, kitten?” it asks, head tilting to the side. 

Slowly, it backs away from the door, keeping its gaze fixed firmly on you. For a moment, you think that it’s going to disappear back into the forest, or plant itself by your window to watch for another night, waiting you out till dawn, but instead it stops by the old oak that overhangs the porch and stills entirely, simply… waiting.

“Let’s play.”

Abruptly, the oak beside it bursts into flames. It takes only a heartbeat for the entire thing to be engulfed, red and orange flames licking along the trunk, the gnarled, spindly branches, even the leaves are alight, burning away into ash and floating off in the breeze. The heat from one tree alone is searing, the crackle of burning wood and your own horrified, shuddering breath the only sounds in the night.

It snowed only a few nights before, but the fire spreads with unnatural ease, flames racing across the canopy, embers lighting up the undergrowth, and in the space of a few seconds there’s an inferno raging through the forest before you. And through the smoke and the red, burning haze, the creature watches, smirking.

The heat from the wildfire sears painfully at your skin, the air around you suddenly thick with smoke, stinging your eyes, choking your lungs, and yet you can’t seem to tear yourself away. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, some kind of… hellscape.

And for a moment you forget that there was a purpose to this, too lost staring in mute horror as the forest you’d played in as a child burns–

At least until a single leaf from the oak tree, edges curling as it’s consumed by flames, falls, carried by the breeze and lands on the wooden railing of the porch. With a soft whoosh, the old wooden beam catches fire, and with your chest heaving, panicked breaths falling from parted lips, you rise to your feet as flames spread, the fire eating everything in its path until the entire porch is alight, burning.

Run. 

You don’t know if the voice in your head is yours or not, you don’t have time to care. You scramble for the back door, throwing it open, and you run.

Run until your lungs burn, til’ your bare feet are scratched and bleeding, run, pushed forward by the sweltering heat at your back, the chilling crackle of laughter that follows. You run through tears, through pain and air so thick with smoke that it hurts to breathe.

And you know the creature’s giving chase, you know that you won’t – can’t – outrun it, nor the inferno that blazes around you. You know that it’s futile, that you’re probably running to your death, but that’s human, isn’t it?

To run when you’re scared?

The sky’s awash with a hazy red glow when it catches you, throwing you to the ground, and still you try to crawl. Desperate, choking on broken pleas and sobs, nails raking through the dirt as you try to pull yourself forward. 

And when your pants are ripped from your legs, a puff of warm air ghosting over the nape of your neck as you’re shoved back down, those long, black arms settling either side of you, caging you in – you know that you’ve lost.

“Mine,” the creature growls, and you barely have time to scream before its cock shoves into you with one brutal, merciless thrust. “Mine.”

[helloalycia]

lose you [three] // leigh shaw

summary: just when you think Leigh is finally listening to you and giving you space, she happens to do the opposite

warning/s: mentions of loss and implications of death/grief

author's note: so this is the final part! this was fun to write ngl – i hope you like the conclusion! :)

part one | part two | masterlist | wattpad

"I think the colours look great like this, don't you?" I asked Jules, pointing to the screen of her laptop

She hummed in agreement as she sipped her smoothie.

"Or maybe this...," I said, preoccupied with trying out something different. "Okay, hold on, let me see."

We were both sat in this smoothie place a few stores  down from her workplace, working on some more promotional material for another set of classes she was setting up.

"You know, we could easily do this at the studio," Jules commented in a knowing tone. "Or even at my house."

I glanced at her before looking back to the screen. "It's better this way."

She knew what I meant, so I knew I didn't need to elaborate. Ever since Leigh had finally gotten the hint and left me alone for the week, I'd been keeping away from her as much as I could, still trying to figure out what I was feeling. This also meant not going to her workplace or her house in case I bumped into her.

"So, you're not gonna tell me what happened between you and my sister?" Jules asked curiously, for the millionth time, leaning forward.

I scrunched my nose as I shook my head. "Not this time, Jules, sorry."

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. "Leigh won't say anything either, so that's no fun..."

Not knowing how to respond, I simply kept quiet and continued to play around with the colour palette of the designs I'd put together. Jules watched over me, inputting her ideas every now and then and explaining her 'vision', before our time was interrupted with her phone ringing.

"Hello," she answered it casually, before continuing to speak to whoever. "...No, I've got one... no need! I'll pick one up for you."

I gave her a sideways glance as she looked the other way quickly, as if hiding something.

Her voice lowered as she continued to speak to whoever. "Yes, we're here..." She sighed. "She's fine, Leigh."

I rolled my eyes as I looked back to the laptop, trying to distract myself.

"Okay, I'll see you soon, bye," Jules mumbled before hanging up and looking back to me.

It was quiet for a moment, neither of us speaking as I clicked away on her trackpad. Figuring she wouldn't speak, I chose to.

"Was that Leigh?"

Looking down at her smoothie awkwardly, Jules nodded. "Er, yeah."

I shot her a look. "You know you can have a normal conversation with her. She is your sister after all."

Jules ran a hand through her hair. "Yes, I know, I just... I don't want to make you feel awkward."

"It's fine," I reassured her with a small smile, before looking to the screen. Unable to stop myself, I asked, "How is she?"

A pause, then: "She's good."

I nodded nonchalantly, though I was glad to hear. I wasn't heartless – I still cared about her. But my stubbornness, as Taylor liked to constantly point out, was keeping me from hearing Leigh out. Her words still rang clear in my ears, the implication louder than the words themselves. And then that made me angry all over again and I found myself in a constant cycle of needing space from Leigh and wanting to hear her out.

Trying to ignore my conflicting thoughts for the girl who wasn't even present, I continued to work on Jules' designs before she had to get back to work and so did I.

"Are you okay to come over tonight to finish those off?" she asked as I packed away my things.

I hesitated, chewing on my lip. The whole point was to avoid going to her house.

"I'll make sure Leigh isn't there," Jules promised, noticing my silence, before adding with a playful smile, "Or is that new promotion of yours too time-consuming for you to spend time with me?"

"You know that's not true," I told her with a suppressed laugh, before relaxing my shoulders and nodding slowly. "I... I guess I can come around for a little while."

"Only a few hours," she promised me.

I nodded. "Okay, sure. I guess I'll see you tonight, Jules."

She grinned. "Awesome! See you tonight."

—

I probably should have figured out that Jules was lying to me. I'd known her long enough to tell when she was playing me, but I must have been so distracted by everything that I failed to realise what she was doing until it was too late.

When I got to the Shaw residence that evening after dinner, Jules answered and let me in, promising that her sister and mum were out on a girls night so wouldn't bother us. That was the first major hint – Leigh hated spending 'girls night' with her mum.

Then, when I set my bag down in the living room, waiting for Jules to join me, I heard the front door slam shut.

Spinning around and staring into that direction of the house, I called after her. "Jules? You still here?"

Instead of Jules, Leigh stepped in the doorway, dressed in a jumper and joggers, hair messy but small smile on her lips. That's when I realised I'd been tricked.

"I'm out of here," I said instantly, grabbing my bag to go.

"No, please stay," she said pleadingly, taking a step forward, but stopping when she saw how much I didn't want to be near her right now.

"I can't believe you'd resort to such childish methods of trickery," I admitted with disbelief. "And just when I thought you were finally listening to me and giving me space."

She pressed her lips together firmly as I spoke, before saying, "You wouldn't have come if I'd called, Y/N. It was the only way to get you here."

"Of course I wouldn't have!" I said with frustration, hand on my bag strap tightening. "I didn't want to see you!"

"I know you didn't, that's why I left you tons of messages!" she exclaimed, before rolling her eyes bitterly. "Your stupid, love-struck assistant is clearly terrible at delivering said messages."

"You mean the assistant with the boyfriend?" I retorted with a glare.

Her eyebrows creased together with confusion. "She has a boyfriend?"

I groaned loudly before moving forward to leave. "I'm going."

Leigh's bitchiness dispersed as she realised what was happening. "Wait, Y/N– just wait!"

Ignoring her, I continued my approach to the door and pushed past her without sparing her a glance. I was afraid that if I did, I would say something I'd regret.

"Please!" she called after me. And I was a mere few centimetres from the door before she shouted, "I love you!"

I widened my eyes with surprise, wondering if I'd heard that right. Stopping in place, I turned around slowly and saw Leigh standing in the living room doorway with teary eyes and a quivering lip.

"I'm in love with you," she repeated, confirming my hearing. Green eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she continued, "I was stupid how I acted and I– I've treated you so horribly and you always put up with it. But not this time."

She paused, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she raised a shaky hand to move her hair from her eyes.

Swallowing hard, she said, "I p–push people away and I've pushed so many friends away, but y-you never left. You stayed this whole time a–and I've already lost so much, but I can't take losing you. I c–can't lose you, Y/N."

Forgetting my anger for a moment, I felt my heart ache in my chest as Leigh broke down before me. I'd seen her at her worst before, but this was different. She was choosing to be vulnerable and that never came easy to her.

"Leigh, I'm not going anywhere," I said gently, frown on my lips. "We're in a fight right now and I'm angry, yeah, but I would never leave you. Not for good."

"You say that!" she snapped, clenching her fists as more tears streamed down her cheeks. "You say that, but then blocked calls and wanting space turns into leaving because you can't take it anymore. You can't take me anymore. And I can't take it, I can't take pushing you away. I can't lose you."

She clenched her jaw, eyes piercing through me with sadness and guilt and anger all at once.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she said, her voice softer and very unlike herself. "The kiss it– it scared me because I wanted to do it for a long time, but you're my best friend and best friends don't do that. So, I tried to forget about it, but I ended up blaming you in the process and it's not you who's at fault here, it's me. And because of that, you're going to hate me and leave and I'm going to be a–alone again and I can't do that again, n–not again, n–not–"

I drew closer to her and pulled her in for a hug, unable to take her hysterics any longer. It hurt too much, seeing her pour her truth out in such a volatile way that had clearly been building up for a while.

She cried as I held her close, pressing a kiss to her hair and rubbing her back slowly. I never meant for it to get like this. I didn't know that she was going through all of this turmoil and now I felt bad, even if she'd hate that I did.

"I'm not going anywhere, Leigh," I promised her, my own tears burning the lids of my eyes. "I swear. you're not going to lose me and I could never hate you. Don't even think that for one minute..."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I led her to the bench by the front door and held her close, not caring that her tears were soaking my shirt or that she was clinging so tightly that I would never be able to pry her off, not unless she let go by choice.

I wasn't sure how long we sat there, but her cries eventually turned into sniffles and her head found it's way onto my shoulder. My arms wrapped around her torso, still rubbing circles onto her back, and hers clung around my shoulders tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered guiltily into my neck, her warm breath tickling the skin and sending shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard. "I know you are. I forgive you, Leigh."

She didn't say anything and I wondered why she was unable to let go and meet my eyes. Maybe it was easier to talk when we weren't looking at each other.

"I would never leave you, you know," I told her quietly, letting her know again. I'd let her know forever if it meant she'd believe me. "You can be such a bitch sometimes, but I put up with it because I love you, too."

She sighed. "But not like I love you."

I tried not to smile. "You're kidding, right? Of course like you love me. Why do you think I got so upset at your stupid date the other week?"

Finally pulling away from my neck, she faced me with confused eyes. "You said it was because I didn't reply to your messages."

I rolled my eyes. "It was because I thought that you didn't care about kissing me. I was scared that you didn't like me like that. That you thought you'd made a mistake." 

Her eyes flickered between mine, as if trying to understand what I was saying. Realisation passed through them as she stroked my neck with her finger, arms still laced around my shoulders.

"So, the kiss. You didn't– you don't hate me?"

I shook my head, squeezing her waist gently. "I don't. And if you'd given me a chance, I would've kissed you back. Properly. Like–" I sucked up a nervous breath. "Like you deserve."

She didn't say anything for a moment, eyes merely reading mine intimidatingly. For once, a rare instance between us, I couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"Now's your chance," she finally spoke, before capturing my bottom lip between hers in an instant.

Unlike last time, I got over my surprise quite quickly and closed my eyes, pulling her closer by the waist and returning the kiss. Her lips were soft and salty and addictive, and when she rested her hand on my chest to gently push me away after a moment, I immediately chased her lips down again, refusing to let her go so quickly. Not when I'd waited so long for this moment.

She gasped as I swiped my tongue across her bottom lip, asking for entry. Using that as opportunity, I slipped my tongue between her lips and met hers in the middle, revelling in the taste that was Leigh Shaw. It didn't go beyond that and that was okay, as I was too busy focusing on how perfect she fit next to me, my one hand on her waist and the other on the back of her neck.

Finally pulling apart for air, she rested her forehead against mine and I opened my eyes to be submerged in pools of green. Licking her lips, she breathed out slowly.

"I don't want to lose you," she admitted in a whisper.

Pushing her hair behind her ear, I rested my hand on her jaw and caressed it. "You won't. I told you. I'm not leaving you. Not now. Not ever. I promise."

She closed her eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

I realised she was probably thinking back to her late husband and I didn't blame her. She'd suffered through so much and I couldn't imagine the fears she had.

"I'll keep it for as long as I can," I told her, kissing her  forehead. "But know for sure that you won't be getting rid of me that easily."

She cracked a small smile through her teary eyes, nodding slightly. "I'll try to be less of a bitch."

"Hey, be as bitchy as you want," I told her playfully. "I'm not going anywhere, remember?"

She let out a small snort through her nose, barely a laugh, but it was music to my ears and it brought a smile to my lips. Finally opening her eyes, she looked to me with adoration and it made my heart beat a little faster.

"I love you," she said with the utmost sincerity.

I wiped away a stray tear of hers with the pad of my thumb and met her gaze. "I love you, too, Leigh."

Glassy eyes watched mine, content for the first time in a long time, before she pulled me in for a hug, tucking her head into my neck like it was her favourite spot in the world. I knew the feeling of her there was definitely mine.

"What do you want to do now?" I asked quietly, not wanting to break the peace we'd created.

"I'm really tired," she admitted, lips brushing my neck as she spoke.

I pressed a kiss to the side of her head, mumbling into her hair, "Let's get you to sleep then."

She hummed in agreement and I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd closed her eyes already.

"I want you to stay," she added. "To sleep with me."

Pausing, I tried not to laugh, which she realised and nudged me in the gut lightly.

"Not like that, idiot," she said, definitely giving me an eye roll even though I couldn't see her. "I mean, yes, eventually like that. If you want. But not now. Now, I just want you next to me."

Smile of adoration on my lips, I squeezed her gently. "Hmm, I'm not sure. I've got work in the morning. Early start."

She pulled away from me suddenly, frown on her lips and eyes flickering between mine disappointedly. I sighed, raising my hand and stroking her cheek.

"I'm kidding," I told her with a knowing look. "I mean, I do have work, but I'll stay if you want me to."

"Jerk," she mumbled, before standing up and pulling me up with her. "You're staying."

I kept ahold of her hand and intertwined our fingers, tugging her closer to me. She still seemed disgruntled from my joke, so I kissed her cheek, lingering for a second longer than usual, before smiling.

"Come on, grumpy pants."

She narrowed her eyes at me childishly, but continued to lead me upstairs and to her bedroom. As we walked, I remembered something.

"So, does Jules know about us? Since she helped you to trick me tonight?"

Leigh didn't bother flicking on the lights to her room when we entered, instead closing the door behind us and letting the streetlights from outside her window guide us to her bed.

"She knows we argued," she answered delicately. "I didn't know how to tell her about how I felt when I–" She sighed. "When I didn't even know how to tell you."

I nodded, not bothering to ask her about if she wanted to tell her tomorrow, or tell her mum tomorrow. Or if she wanted to wait and tell them later when we were settled into our relationship. I trusted her to talk to me when she was ready and there was no rush anyway.

"Jules is out with a friend tonight and my mum is working late," she explained their absence. "And you've slept over before so this is no different."

"True," I agreed.

A yawn escaped Leigh's lips and I couldn't help but smile at how cute she looked when she stretched her arms and scrunched her face tiredly. When she finished, she opened her eyes and saw my expression.

"What's got you all smiley?" she asked with a quirked brow.

I shook my head dismissively as she grabbed some pyjama pants from her drawer. "You're too cute is all."

Groaning loudly, she said, "God, Y/N, don't do that. Don't be all couple-y already. Especially not when it's–"

"What?" I cut her off with amusement, as she threw the pants in my face. "Complimenting you?"

"Exactly," she said like it was obvious, before waving her hand with irritation. "Just take your pants off so we can go to sleep."

I chuckled. "Eager much?"

She groaned again, but I saw a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. As I changed out of my jeans, she got under the duvet and got comfortable. I joined her soon enough, just about pulling the duvet on top of me before she grabbed my arm and forced me to roll over and spoon her from behind.

I stifled a laugh as she entwined our hands, resting them on her waist, and sighed contently.

"So, guess I can't be little spoon tonight then?" I teased, making her kick me with her foot.

"My bed, my choice," she muttered, voice heavy with fatigue.

Settling in behind her, I put my leg between hers comfortably and pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck where my head lay.

"I don't mind being the big spoon," I reassured her, though I knew it wouldn't make a difference. If Leigh wanted to be cuddled, that was the end of it.

It went quiet as I appreciated how pleasant it felt with her in my arms, her body pressed closely to mine and her self radiating a comforting warmth only she seemed to possess. I could definitely get used to this.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

She stopped, breathing out slowly. "Thanks for staying."

"Well, you asked so nicely and–"

"No," she cut me off quietly. "Thanks."

It took me a second to realise that she wasn't talking about just now. I smiled to myself.

"Always, Leigh."

[221bshrlocked]

Be My Enemy, Be My Remedy

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Reader

Words: 9647 (again, I wish I was sorry but I’m not)

Warnings: Angst and Smut. Rough sex. Breeding kink (sorry not sorry). Touch “kink” due to touch starvation.

Summary: You couldn’t really consider him as a friend, not because you didn’t want him to be but because he never gave you any inclinations for wanting to change your little “happy-hunting” arrangement, whatever that even was. So, that left you as partners...at best. But a mission gone wrong forces the Mandalorian to reevaluate his relationship with you, finally realizing you were not his enemy but the complete opposite.

A/N: Fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, here is the second Mando fic. I seem to be incapable of writing Smut without Angst, I don’t know why. Please let me know how I’m doing in the comments and how I can improve. Thank you!! Some quick notes: Beskad is a Mandalorian Sword and the Whistling Bird releases small guided munitions from the vambrace (forearm brace). I planned on including some *whispers* weapon porn but I got sidetracked and so expect some beskad and glove smut in the next fic enshallah.

For a bounty hunter who prided himself in never getting distracted from the hunting trade, the Mandalorian sure was preoccupied by the crystal spires reaching farther than the eye could see. You couldn’t blame him though, Christophsis was among the most exquisite of planets and not just those belonging to the Savareen sector. You followed behind and continued to glance next to you to make sure the crib was floating nearby. 

“Where are you you doshing little shabuir? I know you’re around here somewhere.” You whispered to yourself as you kept moving away from the busyness of the noisy bazaar, hoping to the maker that the child wouldn’t wake up from the sharp calls of drunkards and sellers arguing over horribly brewed spotchka. 

“Hey, told you to watch your language around the kid.” The Mandalorian hissed at you from ahead, turning his head slightly towards your narrowed eyes and glaring at you through the visor. Or at least that’s what you thought he was doing. With the way he was currently moving through the quieter streets, you knew he was definitely not happy with where the three of you ended up, let alone your lack of respect for his ‘parenting’ methods. 

“Relax big guy, he’s in his crib dreaming of all the frogs his soft little heart wishes he could eat. Besides, you told me I need to practice my Mando’a.” You motioned towards the crib and rolled your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow when you saw the minuscule shake of his helmet before he looked down at the tracking fob.

“Not around the kid…” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his response because he just had to always get the last word in. Mando hoped his rough response would distract you from the way his body seemed to react to being called ‘big guy.’ He knew what you were referring to and yet he felt goosebumps erupt on his strictly covered skin at the thought of you saying those specific words but under different circumstances. 

“Waadar Ke'sush'.” He hissed more to himself than you and didn’t bother to respond when you asked him what those words meant. 

As you made your way towards the skirts of the town, you felt a pair of eyes boring into your neck and knew instantly the quarry must have known you were here. And you knew the Mandalorian could sense his presence as well when he placed the tracking fob back into his pocket and trailed his hands down to the blaster on his hip. You wished you could ask him why he continued to walk towards the forest but knew better than to question his methods. Any conversation held between the two of you might spook the bounty and the last thing you needed was to make a scene on a planet you weren’t that fond of being on to begin with. 

But it was getting a tad bit annoying once you were far enough past the trees and the Mandalorian continued to walk through the brightly-colored plants. 

“Shouldn’t we-” Before you could finish the question, Mando was turning around and shooting at a large tree not twenty feet behind you. You pushed the crib out of the way before taking out the beskad as well, squinting your eyes to try and see where the wanted Rodian was. 

“Dank farrik!” You swore when you realized the Mandalorian was more likely to get a better shot than you because of the heat-sensors in his helmet. You felt useless, torn between shooting wherever he was and making sure the kid wasn’t harmed in the crossfire. 

“Watch out,” it took you a second too late to realize that Mando was yelling at you and you fell backwards as one of the beams roughly grazed your thigh. As you attempted to wrap a band around the wound, you heard the familiar sound of the crib opening and before you could do anything, the child was already approaching you, his eyes filled with worry as he stretched out his little hand and shut his eyes. 

“Oh no you don’t,” you put the hand down and make quick work of the wound, about to stand up and put the kid back into his crib. 

“Haar'chak,” you looked up as soon as you heard the Mandalorian swear at the top of his lungs, the vocoder not hiding his anger and causing you to lose your equilibrium for a split moment. This was not the time to dwell on the effects his voice had on you or the fact that he was angry at you getting hurt. You wished to dwell on the latter thought for a little bit longer but shook your head to clear the haze his voice placed you under. 

Putting the sharp Mandalorian weapon back into the holster, you realized you were of no use to the Mandalorian now that you were compromised, deciding to make sure the child was safe instead of running after the Rodian with him. But that plan was gone as soon as it came once you looked down and realized why the Mandalorian swore. 

The kid wasn’t next to you. 

In fact, he was nowhere near you.

Turning around, you saw the bounty holding the child against his chest, a knife in one hand and a blaster aimed at the little one’s head in the other. 

“Wait,” you held out your hands against your partner and the quarry, refusing to let anything happen to the kid because of some stupid bounty. And as hard as you tried to dismiss it, you felt hurt at knowing that the Mandalorian was angry because the kid was taken and not because you were hurt. 

“You’re getting soft Mandalorian,” the bounty, Tig Bayantik, smiled as he taunted the man behind you and you hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

“Let him go,” the growl that emitted from the vocoder could have brought you to your knees under other circumstances, and you turned to look at Mando before returning your focus on the kid. Your heart broke at the thought of him getting hurt because of one simple and stupid mistake you made. A mistake that should cost you your life and not his or his father’s.

“Alright alright, everyone just calm down.” You forced a smile and kept your hands in Tig’s eyesight so he wouldn’t misinterpret your movements. “Let’s solve this like the rational adults we are. Tig, what do you want...besides us not coming after you?” You raised your eyebrows at him, hoping to steer the conversation your way until you trapped him with an offer. An offer you were most definitely going to regret as soon as it left your lips. But there was no other option. The last thing you expected was for something like this to happen. The child was only ever in dangerous situations when one of you was caring for him, never when the two of you were around. This was not ideal and you hated what you were willing to do to ensure his safety. 

“Simple, your chain code for the kid.” He pointed at Mando and smiled when he noticed him shift uncomfortably. 

“Why?” The Mandalorian hissed his question and you sighed annoyingly because since when did he ever question anything that had to do with the little womp rat. 

“Since when do you ask questions Mandalorian?” Tig screamed and held the kid too tightly to your liking, causing you to lean forwards when you heard him cooing and moving his little hands towards you.

“Alright,” hoping he would follow your lead, you reluctantly took the beskad out of its holster and threw it at Mando, ignoring the obvious discomfort shedding off of him. As you asked him to give you the tracking fob, the Mandalorian thought of ten different ways where this could go from bad to worse now that you gave him the main weapon you had on you. He titled his head to the side when you asked him for the tracking fob and reluctantly threw it at you, watching in annoyance as you dropped it to the floor and stomped on it twice until it broke beneath your feet. 

“I’ll do you one better, me for the little womp rat who couldn’t stay in his fucking crib a second longer.” You could see Mando’s little head tilt from your peripheral vision and weren’t sure if it was because he hated that you swore in front of the kid again or because he was most certainly not going to follow along with the sharade and considered the idea incredibly idiotic. Before he could say anything, you took a few steps forward, hands aimed towards the turquoise skies while silently praying to the maker that your hunch would be correct. When you saw Tig’s hands twitch and begin to lower the blaster from the kid, you knew you had him. 

“You must be desperate.” Tig held onto the kid tighter and you hoped he wouldn’t question you anymore because at this point, you were sure you would be the one doing something stupid to get him back. 

“No, I’m just the moof-milker who wasn’t supposed to care about some tinman and his foundling...and yet here I am.” Your admission filled the silent air and you thought you heard the bounty hunter lightly gasp behind you but knew better. Call it wishful thinking but if you were to ever make it alive out of this situation, with no one harmed, you were going to think of finally telling him how you feel. How you’ve felt ever since you joined his clan. No, that wasn’t it. You weren’t part of his clan. You just...were.

“I don’t have a single weapon on me...not even a whistle. Plus, I’ll fetch for a good price on Malachor…” You turned to your partner and held back from smiling once you saw the minuscule nod he threw at you. He couldn’t afford one of the munitions from his whistling bird hitting the kid, but he could use it if you took his place...or so you thought at least. 

“That’s the...they pay in-” As Tig tripped over his words, you held back a sigh of relief because he was finally falling for the trap. 

“That’s right baby, they pay exclusively in Nova Crystals...only a moron would let the opportunity slide from his fingers. Come on, what do you say? Last I heard, I was worth five-” Before you could finish your sentence, Tig was setting the child down on the ground, the blaster instantly aimed at your head so you wouldn’t think of escaping. You waited until the kid ran to the Mandalorian before stepping towards the Rodian in front of you.

“Smart man,” you hissed when he grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back before pulling you flush to his chest, making sure the Mandalorian didn’t have an opening to shoot him. 

“Our business here is finished Mandalorian,” Tig warned the beskar-clad hunter and you instantly felt sorry for him because it was one thing to threaten the kid but a whole other to warn him. As he stepped back and took you with him, you took a deep breath and shut your eyes, praying that if and when the munition hit you, it wouldn’t hurt badly. You snorted loudly before you could silence yourself and the Rodian dug his nails into your forearms. “What’s so funny girly?”

“Girly? Oh you’re dead meat now.” Almost instantly, you heard the Mandalorian fire two small munitions from his vambrace, falling backward in pain when sure enough, one of them broke the skin of your hip right before it hit the bounty in his side. He immediately rolled you down beneath him and was about to shoot you right between your eyes if it weren’t for the Mandalorian running towards the two of you and kicking his head. Your eyes widened in surprise when you realized he fainted from how hard the hit was, gaze instantly landing on the man standing above your battered body. You could tell he was definitely killing you in a thousand different ways but feigned ignorance at the obvious anger, smiling when the green goblin waddled towards you and stretched his hands out again. 

“I thought I told you not to do that,” you warned him again, struggling to stand up and ignoring the heat rushing through your clothes when you felt Mando support your back. He let go when he noticed the way you reacted to him, thanking the maker for the helmet that hid his hurt expression. As you put the child back in his crib and shut it to ensure he wouldn’t get out again, you turned around and found the Mandalorian violently cuffing Tig and forcing him to stand up. He was a little dazed but knew better than to attempt and fight the Mandalorian. If you could feel the rage rolling off of him, then the Rodian was certainly aware of it as well. You kept on glancing at him and noticed the way he was clutching the beskad, a part of you hurt that he didn’t return it to you once he cuffed the bounty. There weren’t any more dangers, to your knowledge, but it still felt like he was purposely ignoring the weapon in his hand. Maybe he just didn’t trust you with it at the moment. You couldn’t blame him if he was reluctant to hand it to you ever again. It was a most valuable position and he was technically crossing a line by allowing you to use it so the fact that you felt the need to give it back to him must have struck a sensitive nerve. As your eyes took in his rigid form sulking and strutting ahead of you, you hated the way you were reacting to him holding onto the beskar sword and shook your head at how absolutely fucked up your mind was for thinking of him using that beskad a little differently on you.

The four of you made your way back to the Razor Crest in silence and you could tell the couple merchants left in the bazaar were staring at you as you made your way through the alleys. But you didn’t care for any of that because you now had another issue at hand. There was no way the Mandalorian wasn’t going to ask about why there is, or was, a bounty on your head. Those on Malachor who wanted you were known across the Outer Rim Territories, not because of the nature of their work but because of the history tied with them. Only a fool with a death wish would mess with the Zabraks and the Mandalorian was no idiot. He’d heard you saying how much you were worth. You knew he would never try and take up that bounty for himself, at least you hoped he wouldn’t. Not after everything you’ve been through.

But there was no way he wasn’t going to ask you to leave. The longer you thought about it, the quicker you realized he was probably going to just leave you on Christophsis. The kid was too important to him and he couldn’t afford losing him. 

Hell, he was too important to you. Both of them were. And you wouldn’t want to take that chance if you were in his place.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the Crest, clutching at your side and looking around you to make sure no one was following you. You pushed the crib up the ramp and vaguely heard the sound of the carbon freezer going off, muffling the rage of the Rodian who was sure he was going to be richer than the Empire in a matter of hours should he have taken you. 

Reluctance filled your heart and you thought it better to not bother and attempt to get on the ship when you knew its owner no longer welcomed your presence. Looking to the side, you saw a dimly-lit turquoise tree bark on its side facing the lake behind the ship. Barely making it across, you threw yourself down and sighed, opening your eyes and looking out to the different shades of blue coloring the luminescent lake. You weren’t sure how long you were sitting there and you didn’t care. It was too beautiful to let your worries run with you. 

It was bound to happen. 

“What did I say about wasting time we don’t have?” The Mandalorian’s voice broke your daydreams and you jumped at the modulated voice, crying in pain when the gash at your hips oozed out more blood. 

“Pfassk!” Hearing him swear beneath his breath before getting down on his knees to get a better look at the wound gave you butterflies in your stomach and you thought back to what happened earlier with the kid. Maybe he did care if you got hurt after all. 

“It isn’t bad. The bacta spray will take care of this.” He grabbed your arm and helped you to your feet, his visor turning away from you when he met your eyes. 

“You mean...o-on the ship?” You wished you didn’t sound so helpless but the thought of not being turned away from him put you at ease and you hoped he wasn’t just going to help you get back on your feet before leaving you. He wasn’t that cruel...

“No in the cantina.” His response was instant and you couldn’t hold back the laughter from bubbling up your throat even if you tried. 

“Did- did you just make a joke? Maker, you...hah, you actually made a joke. Did I hit myself on the head or did you j-”

“Enough,” his grasp tightened around your upper arm and you swallowed the lump in your throat when his gruff voice hit your core. As soon as you went up the ramp, Mando was shutting it behind him, pushing you towards your cot in the back before leaving for the cockpit. You didn’t know what else to do so you decided to sit there until he returned. The bacta spray was in his quarters and there was no way in hell you were going to go there. You were barely hanging by a thread and feared how he’d react if he found you going through his things. 

The bounty hunter, on the other hand, purposely left you there for a few moments to try and get himself together. As he plotted the course to Nevarro, and made sure everything was in place, he thought back to what you were willing to do to ensure the kid’s safety. And he wished he didn’t feel his heart swell with anticipation following your confession. Sure he knew you care for the child, you’d proven on many occasions that you have. But hearing you admit you cared about him stirred something into his chest, a feeling he purposely ignored these past few months of having you on the ship. A feeling which he tried his hardest not to humor because as far as he knew, you were strictly business partners, and nothing more. Hell, the two of you barely considered yourselves as that considering how often you headbutted during the hunts. He was forced to bring you on board because a pair of extra eyes were necessary to make sure the kid was safe. Had anyone asked him weeks ago about what he thought of you, he would have said he considered you as an acquaintance, since the word ‘enemy’ would have been a little too harsh. 

Of course that would have been a blatant lie because this same feeling residing in the pit of his stomach grew every time he saw you interact with the child. Something about seeing you switch from being a deadly bounty hunter to a caring m-, a caring woman, made his chest swell with need and...dare he say, hope. It was a feeling unlike any other.

A feeling which quickly turned into a deep yearning when he finally noticed the effect he had on you as he tried to help you onto the Crest. He felt guilt wash over him because the purpose of the heat sensors was to track his bounties and not to fill his eyes with your heated skin and warm c-

A loud crash brought him out of his haze and as he descended the stairs and looked towards your cot, dread filled his soul. You must have lost more blood than he initially thought because you were lying on the ground with the child attempting to move out of his crib.

In an instant, he was carrying you into the makeshift bed, head shaking when he looked at you and saw you deliriously giggling at him. 

“Must I almost die for you to finally remember I-” You attempted to joke to put him at ease but regretted it immediately when you realized it had the opposite effect on him. 

“Shut up.” He left you sitting on the bed before bringing the kid to his quarters, warning him not to get out of his crib before aggressively grabbing the kit and returning to your side. 

“Take your shirt off.” He barked out the command without giving too much thought to it and winced when he realized how careful he must be when he’s talking to you, especially now when you looked so weak and...fuck. No. He can’t think like that. 

“P-pardon?” You were visibly shaking at the sudden request and wished you weren’t thinking of-

“Do you not speak Basic anymore? Take the kriffing shirt off.” You flushed under his gaze and looked away from him as you tried to remove the ripped article of clothing. When you hissed and lowered your arm, Mando sighed in annoyance because of course you wouldn’t be able to raise your arm.

“Not all of us can hide the pain behind a mask Mando, I just ne-” He didn’t let you finish your comment, setting everything aside and softly grabbing the hem of your shirt. You forgot how to breathe for a moment, looking at him quizzically when he remained unmoving for a few seconds. It occurred to you that he was probably waiting for your permission and you nodded slightly before looking everywhere else but him. Mando tried his hardest to control his reaction at seeing your soft skin and he was sure he was doing a good job until he saw your nipples harden behind the chest band. 

Clearing his throat once, Mando stood up and helped you take your shoes off before preparing the bacta spray. “Will you...can you remove your pants?” His question was filled with reluctance and you wished with all your heart you could tease him about his tone but didn’t trust how he’d react to you. 

“I-I’m sorry I- can’t. It hurts to bend d-”

“Okay.” For maker knows what time that day, Mando cut you off and moved closer to you, willing himself to take deep breaths as he unzipped the front of your pants and held them at your hips. As you raised yourself to help him get the pants off, you couldn’t help but gasp as soon as you felt his gloved hands make contact with your skin. Mando stopped moving and kept his visor away from your face towards the medical supplies on the bed to give you some form of privacy. He could hear your heartbeat elevate, could feel your skin growing hotter beneath his touch, could almost smell the scent of your arousal sticking to the humid air. But he chose to ignore it, all of it. 

Slowly pulling the pants off, he maneuvered you around until you were facing towards the wall.

“This might hurt a bit Ad'ika.” The endearment left his lips before he could stop himself and he felt you still under his touch. 

“What- what does that mean?” Your voice was weaker than usual and he didn’t know he could feel any guiltier than before but the way you responded to his touch and his voice had him growing hard in his pants and if it weren’t for the fact that you entrusted him with caring for you, he would have pushed you down to the bed and swallowed those little sighs and whimpers until you begged him to stop. 

“I’ll tell you later.” The Mandalorian was never one to avoid such simple questions and you knew he could definitely see goosebumps growing across your skin once you realized why he might be refusing to tell you now. 

You felt the cold sting of the bacta spray spread across your thigh and grabbed the nearest object to you which so happened to be his forearm. Shutting your eyes harder than intended, you hissed out in pain when you felt him mirror your actions and tighten his fingers around your wrist. 

“Ni'm Ni ceta, Cyar'ika.” He whispered as he moved you around to face him, not giving you a chance to adjust to the position as he sprayed your hip. You didn’t let go of his arm once and felt hot tears rolling down your cheeks the more he pressed the medication into the open gash across your hip. He continued to whisper in Mando’a and you found it more soothing than you liked to admit even though you understood absolutely nothing of what he was saying. 

“M-mando please...I can’t- s-stop ple-” You cried out when the bacta spray hit the deepest corner of the cut, hands instantly moving to his shoulder and fisting into his cowl before unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Mando placed the top of his helmet against your forehead, willing himself to continue and care for you even though his touch was only bringing you pain in that instant. He almost shook his head when he noticed what he was doing, the gesture going completely unnoticed by you because he never told you what it meant in his culture to lean one’s head against another’s. He enjoyed the moment and whispered his apologies the harder you began to shake in his arms.

“Gedet'ye Cyare, I’m almost done. Take a deep breath for me,” he waited until you sucked in as much air as you could before applying the bacta spray to the last corner of the wound, setting it down and staring into the gash until he saw it slowly closing. You weren’t sure how long he sat there looking at you but you knew he could see the effect he had on you because his visor moved back and forth from the wound to where your thighs shifted. Once he was sure the skin was almost healed, he stood up and stepped away from you, already missing the heat of your skin touching his clothed armor. 

“Vor entye,” you weren’t sure why you felt the need to thank him in his mother tongue and hoped he wouldn’t dwell too much on it as you attempted to stand up. As you held out your arms to keep your balance, the Mandalorian was next to you in the blink of an eye, holding onto your waist to prevent you from falling over.

“You need to get some rest.” He half-yelled at you and you wished he wasn’t standing so close to you because one more rough command and you were going to fall on your knees and beg him to fuck your mouth. 

“No, I need to use the refresher.” You were surprised by how steady your voice came out and refused to be distracted by the way his fingers continued to twitch against your bruised hips.

“You can barely stand without my help.” Mando was frustrated beyond measure and recalled back to what he was thinking of when he was in the cockpit. A slow realization came to him and he stepped away from you when he knew it was never anger that bugged him whenever you challenged his commands, but frustration. More particularly, sexual frustration. Because if there was ever a time you looked absolutely divine, it was when you were fuming and yelling at him at the top of your lungs. And for some odd reason, he loved seeing you stand up to him. 

“I am using the refresher. I feel sweaty and disgusting and wet a-” You probably shouldn’t have said that last bit because Mando was letting go of you and collecting the supplies, not bothering to look back at you as he unlocked his cot and set the kit aside before checking on the kid. 

You mentally smacked yourself at the ridiculous word vomit and grabbed the nearest dry shirt and undergarments before wobbling to the refresher. Once the Mandalorian was sure you were in the refresher, he took the child to his little space near your cot and rubbed behind his ears until he fell asleep. He kept on looking at the door of the refresher, a part of him worried you’d slip and hit your head if it became too foggy in there. 

He was finally allowing his thoughts to become less hostile and worried when he picked up on a faint groan. Standing against the refresher door, he remained silent and shook his head when he heard you moan a string of ‘fucks’ a few times before something fell. 

“Pfassk,” shutting the curtain around the child, the Mandalorian walked to his cot and began to strip out of his armor. He refused to dwell too much on what he was about to do and the meaning behind his actions. Before long, Mando was standing in the middle of the Crest as nude as the day he was born and he took a deep, calming breath before taking off his helmet and setting it on the ground. Walking to the control box, he shut the lights off and ignored your sudden cries at losing sight of the room.

He approached the refresher and hoped what he was about to do wouldn’t pull your relationship apart, whatever that relationship was. Unlocking the door, he waited at the foot of the small room before stepping in, the heat of your shower already making him lose his mind. 

“Mando?” Your voice came out hoarse and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from jumping on you right then and there. 

“Hmm.”

“Why...w-what are you doing?” He hated how much fear was laced in your words and realized you might completely misunderstand his actions. 

“Making sure you won’t fall and die on me.” The Mandalorian hoped his voice emitted some semblance of control and when you said nothing, he panicked and thought of the worst. Unbeknownst to him, you were struggling for a response not because you wanted him to leave but because he wasn’t wearing his mask. He chose to take his mask off and be in the same room as you. True the lights were off and you couldn’t see even a foot ahead of you but it was still a big deal, even more so for him. And maker, his voice was smoother than the finest Opaline Creed honey. You weren’t sure what you expected it to sound like but you genuinely thought the vocoder was what made it sound so guttural. Turns out, it was already smooth and deep and was just intensified through the helmet. You felt your legs shaking at the knowledge of hearing that same voice whispering the filthiest things in your ears and instantly decided to move away from that grey area.

“T-thank you.” The soft exclamation shot through his spine and he didn’t bother to slow his movements as he pushed open the door of the even smaller privy and stepped through. Years of adapting to the mask as well as walking around in the darkness of his ship without it allowed him to see where you were standing. He could just make out the shape of your curves and held back a moan when the water hit his tired muscles. You refused to move an inch, afraid to break whatever spell fell over the two of you and allowed you to be in close proximity. The bounty hunter rarely articulated his inner thoughts and emotions so anything you could say might genuinely spook him. 

When your hand fell from your chest to try and readjust the heat of the water, it accidentally trailed over his skin and you gasped when it finally occurred to you that yes, he was very much as naked as you. His mask was not the only thing that was off. You weren’t sure what that meant for him or for you apart from the fact that he felt the need to strip off his armor, physically and metaphorically, to ensure your safety. 

“M-mando…”

“Mesh'la, if you keep calling for me with that sinful voice, I- I am not sure I will be able to restrain myself.” For the first time since you’d joined him on the ship, Mando was losing his patience and control, and he hoped his words wouldn’t scare you away. He never sounded so...breathy? Was that even the right word? It took you a few longer moments to finally register what his words meant and you set the soap on the shelf before stepping towards him. You could sense the moment he acknowledged just how close you were to him because he finally let himself react to your heat and gasp at knowing you were within arm’s reach.

“T-then don’t…” The words were left hanging in the damp air around you and you thought you crossed a line which he so obviously sounded like he didn’t wish to move past.

But Mando was on you in the blink of an eye, grabbing your hips and pushing you roughly until your back hit the cold wall, the feeling of his wet skin sliding against yours turning you on way more than it should. Before you could have any time to react to the sudden movement, Mando was leaning down and hoisting you up against the cool metal, moaning against your cheeks when your legs crossed behind his back and pulled his achingly hard cock to your heated core. 

“Mando, oh fuck- I...y-you’re-” You wrapped your arms arond his neck and felt the soft hair at the nape of his neck tickle your skin. You couldn’t hold back even if you tried, fingers instantly fisting in his hair and finding it much longer than you thought it would be. Mando groaned and felt himself growing harder as you bucked your hips against him and the thought of finally sheathing himself inside you drove him mad with lust. He felt how warm your cunt is and his knees almost gave out when for a moment, he brushed against your clit and felt you whimper beneath him.

“Ad'ika, I- I need you...I burn for you. Please, sweet girl, will you let me have you? I can feel you pulling me in...can smell your wetness calling for me.” You were sure you died and joined the stars because the man before you rarely spoke and here he was spilling his heart’s deepest desires unabashedly and rather enthusiastically. You threw your head back as he bucked his hips against you and bit down on your neck, smiling when you knew you’d wake up to numerous bruises and marks coloring your skin and showing the universe whom you belonged to.

“Please...pl-please, I'm yours Mando, do what you want with me. T-take whatever you want, ohh ffuh- fuck me until I...till I can’t feel anything but your cock. Kriffing hell I-” Mando couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. He knew he should prepare you for him. He knew he should make sure he wasn’t forcing you into anything. But your words nudged at that primal lust he reserved for you and in that moment, only one thing mattered. 

Making sure he marked every single inch of you until he didn’t know where he ended and you began. 

With as much focus as he could muster up, Mando trailed one of his hands down your thighs and took himself in his hand, jerking the head of his cock against your wet slit and feeling you shiver at his ministrations. Bracing his feet better against the warm floor, Mando ceased to breathe as he thrust harshly inside you, swallowing your moans as he brought his lips against yours. The two of you couldn’t move a muscle for a few seconds and Mando thanked the maker you weren’t trying to meet his hips because he was sure he would cum right then and there should you clench any harder around him. You couldn’t get enough of the way his tongue danced against your lips and you tried your hardest to keep kissing him for as long as possible. But then he was pulling away and nipping at your neck, and you swore he was going to be the death of you because you never pictured him with a beard and now you were feeling it rubbing against your already hyper-sensitive skin.

“Mand-” You whimpered into his lips once more and felt him become more aggressive by the second.

“None of that...my name is- it’s Din. Remember it, memorize it...fucking say it as you take my cock into that wet, tight cunt of yours. I-I want you to scream my name as I fuck you sweet girl...I want to hear these walls shaking with how much I pleasure you.” You couldn’t wrap your head around what he’d just willingly allowed you to know. It was too much to take in and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks as you realized what this man has done for you in the span of a few hours. Din faintly heard you sniff  and hoped he wasn’t hurting you in any way. 

“Din,” he curled into you as soon as his name left your lips, unable to stop himself from pulling out and plunging back into you time and again just to hear you whisper his name in his ears. He was intoxicated by the little sounds you were emitting, squeezing your thighs and making sure you were holding yourself up as he began to pound into you until the only sounds left in the small room were his skin slapping against yours and the running water. 

“Oh- gah...D-Din, I-” You couldn’t form a proper sentence even if you tried, fingers digging into his back as you felt his cock hit near your cervix. Before you knew it, you were clenching around him, screaming his name as you arched your back and came on his dick. Din growled when he felt you squeeze his cock, his hips stuttering for a moment before he continued to fuck you with abandon, carrying you over the edge once more until you were a moaning mess. 

“Fuck, ah Cyare...you’re everything I dreamed of a-and so much kriffing better...I- I want to brand you darling...I want to leave my mark on every single one of your holes. So, fucking, good for me,” Din couldn’t believ what he was saying because a part of him felt guilty for using such filthy language with you. But he didn’t want to stop, he wanted you to know how much you affected him. He yearned for you and wished with all his being to become one with you in every single possible way.

“Din, Din...oh pfassk- cum for me. Cum for me please, fill me up...let me feel you hot and deep inside me.” You begged for him and prayed to the stars he wouldn’t be turned off by what you were asking of him. 

“Mesh'la...you- is that what you want? You want me to cum inside this sweet little cunt? Want to walk around with my seed leaking down your thighs- ah fuck, you’re a dream. A kriffing dream...and you’re all mine. Mine to fuck when I please, mine to mark- ah by the gods woman...mine to fucking breed when I feel like it.” Din was no longer in control of himself, grinding his teeth before he leaned down and attacked the skin of your chest. You clenched around him when you felt his teeth nip at your nipples a little harder than you liked. But you didn’t have the heart to tell him to go easier on you. It was intoxicating how much he wanted you and you didn’t want this to end because now that you’ve had a taste of how much of a generous lover he is, you didn’ want to give it up, even if it meant having purple and blue spots coloring your body the following day. 

“Yes, yes...Din, ‘m all yours. Please-” He wasn’t sure if it was your desperate pleas that forced him to cross that threshold or if it was how sinfully warm your cunt felt as he thrust into you time and again. But it didn’t matter because Din was close to losing his mind as he stilled all his motions, cock pulsating and shooting his seed so deep inside you he was sure you were going to have another kid running around the ship. In all honesty, the Mandalorian was not sure he wanted to have another child but the image of your grown belly was engraved into his mind now and he didn’t know if he could ever stop himself from bending you over every part of the ship, at any given moment in time, and breeding you until you couldn’t feel anything but his hot cum filling your insides. 

You were gasping for air at this point, leaning down and sucking on his Adam's apple just to get a rise out of him. You smiled when he unintentionally jutted against you and somehow managed to push his hot seed deeper inside you. Maybe he was more touch-starved than you initially thought...

“Mine. All mine,” he whispered right before slowly setting you down on the ground and you hissed when you felt him pull out, the sudden emptiness making you wish he could stay inside you just a little while longer. 

“Come on, it’s going to get cold soon.” His words seemed calculated and you almost got a whiplash from how quickly he managed to compose himself. As he shut the water off and stepped out, you were met with a thousand doubts and the Mandalorian must have sensed your reluctance because he grabbed your arm and forced you to get out of the privy, quickly wrapping a towel around you before opening the door of the refresher and pulling you along with him.

A quick look at the child’s curtain and Din knew he was still fast asleep. Not knowing what to say after your activities, Mando unlocked the door to his quarters and turned around to face you, taking hold of your towel and softly passing it over your wet skin until he was sure you were dry enough to not catch anything. You waited patiently until he dried himself off and stood there in silence, hoping he wasn’t going to turn you away. 

You felt a faint touch smoothing through your fingers before engulfing the palm of your hand and you let yourself smile at the thought of Din being so shy with you even after the last hour or so. You stepped closer to him and rested your head on his chest, rubbing your cheeks on him before kissing across the scarred expanse of his skin. Din was having a hard time, in more ways than one, keeping himself in check but feeling your lips leave open-mouthed kisses on him broke the thin thread he was hanging by. 

Before you could say anything, Din was leaning down and carrying you in his arms, immediately taking your lips into his as he kneeled down and stepped into his cot. He quickly shut the door of the semi-private corner in hopes of not waking the kid. Now that he knew how loud you were capable of screaming, he wasn’t planning on terrifying the child and making him think he was hurting you in some way. 

“Din-” You melted into his arms as his fingers massaged down your arms, stilling when they reached your navel before slowly pushing your thighs open. 

“Cyare...the things I want to do to you. You make me want to lose control.” His admission twisted your stomach and you turned your head to the side to avoid his words because as much as you enjoyed hearing how much you affected him, it was embarrassing to listen to him praise you in such a way when up until hours ago, he barely managed to keep a conversation for more than five minutes. Din noticed the shift in your body language and retracted his fingers, choosing to lay them on the covers beneath you so you didn’t feel too overwhelmed with his presence.

“Did I offend you sweet girl?” He grinned against your cheeks before laying lazy kisses across your clavicle, smiling when he coaxed more needy moans out of you. 

“N-no, no it’s...I- I’m just not used to-” You tripped over your words and wished he wasn’t distracting you with his lips so you could try and tell him what you were thinking of.

“Being told you’re a good girl?” Mando could tell he struck a nerve because you shifted your thighs and arched your back against him when his hand shot to your legs to keep them from closing. 

“I- uhh, that’s n-not wha-”

“Come on Mesh'la, since when do you get so tongue tied while talking to me?” Din knew he was pushing all your buttons and wished you could finally lose it and try to challenge him because he was as ready as he’d ever be now that he sort of knew where you stood with him.

“Din, I don’t want you t- to think that I...that you need to do...this, because I...I can’t bear the thought of you pushing me away if you...oh maker, if you regret this tomorrow.” 

Whatever the Mandalorian thought you were going to say, he was certainly not expecting such a nervous response to his actions. He wished he wasn’t so hostile with you since you joined him but he was only trying to protect the kid, and himself. The fact that you thought he was with you out of pity and not because of how much he wanted you was preposterous and as much as he wanted to ease all your worries away, he couldn’t deny how hard he became just from hearing your small voice telling him to not regret sleeping with you. 

Without giving you any warning, Din pulled away from you, grabbing your hips aggressively before turning you on your stomach. You barely had any time to react as he forced you on your knees and shoved his hands into your hair to pull you against him. Your hands shot to his calloused ones and grabbed onto them like your life depended on it, whimpering and shaking in his arms as you felt his cock slide across your wet slit.

“Feel how much I want you Cyar'ika, how much I crave being inside this sweet cunt,” Din shoved three fingers inside your pussy and growled when he felt his cum mixed with your wetness and rolling down his palm. “You drive me mad with lust baby and there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this universe, that will ever convince me to not want you.” 

“D-din…” You cried his name as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, not bothering to let up as he felt you reach your peak and gush down his hand onto the covers. You tried to grab his wrist and beg him to stop but he didn’t, couldn’t if he tried. Letting go of your hair, he slapped the hand grabbing at his wrist away before wrapping those same fingers around your throat, pushing you back against his chest as he continued to finger you until the only sounds he heard were your desperate pleas for him to slow down

“That’s right, scream my name sweet girl. Fuck...I could smell your cunt. L-let me have a taste, please.” Not bothering to wait for a response, Din pushed you down and laid between your thighs, immediately descending on your heated slit like a parched man in the middle of Tatooine looking for a drink of water. Your hands shot to his hair and pulled on it as soon as you felt his beard tickle the inside of your thighs. He was being rough, he knew he was being overbearing and a little too much. But he didn’t know how to respond to your doubts so he thought it best to show you just how much he needed you.

Din groaned as he licked and sucked on your clit and when you tried to push him away, he clasped his hands above your navel and kept you close to him, not caring that your thighs were crushing his head as he took your clit between his lips and roughly swiped his tongue on it.

“Ahh D-din I can’t…please n-no more-”

“You’ll take what I give you Mesh'la,” Din let go of you and kneeled above you for a few moments to allow you to catch your breath. When he could hear your heart rate almost return to normal, he once again turned you around on your stomach before raising your hips up against him. Spitting on his fingers, he jerked his cock a few times before repeating the action and rubbing it across your pussy, chuckling when you tried to lean away from him.

“Don’t even try to run away from me. You asked me if I really wanted to fuck you so, here is my answer. Take my cock like the sweet little girl you are,” nudging your wet lips with the painfully hard head of his dick, Din snapped his hips forward until he was completely sheathed inside you, his chest shaking with anticipation at the thought of being able to fuck you again. 

“Oh kriffing hell you feel so tight around me, so wet and tight and perfect. Can you feel me Cyar'ika? Can you feel how much I burn for you, how much I need you- oh maker, you’re better than what I’ve dreamed of.” He didn’t care what that last admission implied because if it meant putting you at ease then he’d say it over and over again until you believed him. As he thrust into you relentlessly, you didn’t know what else to do except bite down on your forearms and beg for him, not sure if you wanted him to slow down or fuck into you harder. 

“Ner...all mine. Don’t want anyone else, ne-never wanted anyone else. You’re it for me Mesh'la. Oh fuck, I could feel you pulling me in deeper sweet girl.” The Mandalorian could feel you shaking beneath him and his chest filled with shameless pride at the thought of knowing he was the one bringing you this much pleasure. He forced himself to keep his eyes open so he could see your dimly-lit body obeying his every command. When he saw you biting down on your hands, he fell forward on top of you and brushed your hair to the side, biting at your shoulder blades as he rutted against you.

“Your sounds belong to me...your sighs, your moans, your fucking pleas. They belong to me so don’t fucking hold back.” Din growled his commands into your neck before wrapping one arm across your sternum while the other maintained its violent hold on your hips to help you meet his thrusts. He pulled back up again and took you with him, continuing to whisper in your ears as he felt your cunt squeezing his cock before pushing it out. Your whole body convulsed in his arms and Din couldn’t believe what he felt rolling down his thighs. He maintained his hold on you as he rammed his dick inside you again, barely managing to turn your head around so he could kiss you. 

And as he swallowed your whimpers, he marveled at how much you were willing to give him, feeling his heart skip a beat when he realized you have placed complete trust into his hands and allowed him to do what he wanted. The desperation of wanting to be with you in every possible way drove him mad and he barely recognized his own self when he pulled from your mouth and breathed heavily against your cheek.

“Fuck, ah kriffing hell- I don’t want to leave this cunt...want to fill it up with my cum till you can’t fucking breathe from how full you are. Fucking beautiful, letting me touch you, brand you...breed this tight pussy over and over again.”

“Din I- please...cum for me, I want to f-feel you cum inside me- I need you to- I can’t wait. Oh maker I l-lah ahh-” Din lost his rhythm as soon as he heard what you almost said to him, pushing you down beneath him as he shoved his cock a few times inside you before you felt him pulse against you, hot streams of his cum painting your walls and driving you over the edge one more time before completely stilling. His hips continued to buck against you and you knew he was trying his hardest to ensure you wouldn’t lose a single drop of his seed. 

The two of you fell over and you hissed when Din pulled out and turned you over, immediately pushing his softening dick back inside you once he found a comfortable position. You laid your head against his chest and smiled when you heard his heart beat against your cheeks. The two of you sat in silence, with Din drawing patterns on your shoulders while you kissed the scars painting his skin. 

It was a while later when you heard him sigh once that you knew what he wanted to say but was reluctant to admit.

“Go ahead, I know you want to ask.” You whispered to him, hoping any loud voice would break the blissful haze and make him turn you away, even though he told you there was no chance of him ever letting you go now.

“I didn’t want to presume I had a right to ask.” He leaned down and kissed your head before wiping away the wet hair from your face. 

“You have the right to do anything you want with me, Din.” The Mandalorian was surprised by how matter-of-fact your admission sounded and he couldn’t understand how you made such an amount of trust sound so easy and straightforward. 

“What do the Zabraks want with you, Cyar'ika? There are only a few of them around so you must have done something deserving of their attention.” He didn’t want to make it seem like he was judging you and hoped you didn’t misunderstand why he wanted to know. 

“I- I may or may not have found an ancient “artifact” that belonged to an important ancestor of theirs...and I may or may not have given it to-” You didn’t know if you should tell him about the mutual friend and felt your chest tighten when he urged you to continue. 

“To whom?”

“Ahsoka Tano.” His silence made you nervous and you were about to ask him if he was angry at you for not saying anything but he returned to massaging your back before speaking up again. 

“That’s why she recognized you.” You heard his smile when he spoke and felt at ease immediately because he really was much softer than he let on.

“You noticed that did you,” you chuckled against him and hummed in pleasure when he pulled you up to kiss him. 

“Did you mean that?” Din asked as he continued to touch every inch of your skin he had access to.

“Hmm?”

“That I have the right to-” He couldn’t finish the sentence because while he knew he meant every word he said, he wasn’t too sure about what you wanted from him. 

“Yes, Mando.” Din frowned at your use of his nickname and rolled you under him, ignoring the way you whined as he slipped out of you. 

“Don’t...please, sweet girl. Please say my name...when we’re alone.” There were so many promises hiding behind his request and you weren’t sure what you were supposed to say at such a heartfelt admittance. 

“Din, I-”

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Anything you want with me, from me...I’m yours Din, always.” You laid your hands on his cheeks and pulled him to your mouth, swirling your tongue against his before tightening your grip around him as you felt him nudge at your entrance. 

“Mesh'la...Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni nu’ru'kir. A Ni vaabir.” His voice was soft as he whispered those words against your lips and you wished to ask him what he was saying but decided to bug him about it later. Right now, you wanted to enjoy the moment and feel his warm skin slide against yours. A part of you, a very small part, hoped he would have a slower stamina because you weren’t sure if you were able to do anything else in the next few hours. But you knew, in your heart, that you would give him anything, and all of you, even if he didn’t ask you to. 

Translation (which are not always accurate but I tried):

Doshing - A “derogatory” modifier

Shabuir - extreme insult; "jerk", but much stronger

Waadar Ke'sush' - Pay attention. 

Haar'chak - Damn it!

Moof-milker - A term for a dimwitted individual

Pfassk - An adaptable expletive

Ad'ika - Little one

Ni'm Ni ceta, Cyar'ika. - I’m sorry.

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Gedet'ye - Please.

Cyare - Beloved

Vor entye - Thank you

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Ner - Mine

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni nu’ru'kir.  A Ni vaabir. - I love you. I shouldn’t. But I do.

[kpostedsum]

daddy issues; D.M

summary: you and draco bond over issues in 6th year

word count: 2.4k

warnings: err angst, comfort, illusions to sex

song: daddy issues (the remix) - the neighbourhood

a/n: i tried not to make it stereotypical bc i didn’t wanna make it seem all “i like older men lol”, probably my fav fic i’ve written, also arent these anime gifs so cute

masterlist | taglist

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

Tongues battling for dominance, bodies rubbing against each other searching for a feeling. It’s become routine now, a different person in your dorm swallowing a new pill, entangling limbs with someone just to feel something.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

It was a constant cycle, putting yourself out there seeking the male attention you crave, seeking validation, constant reassurance and trusting too easily. That’s how you ended up with a different guy who always in the end leaves. You trusted too easily and people took advantage of how trusting and naive you are just for a quick shag.

You wished it wasn’t like this but that’s all you knew, wanting to be the best version of yourself for someone just to feel needed, no matter if the person was good or bad for you. You didn’t care, you wanted love from anyone you could get it from even if it just hurt you more.

You’re familiar with the absence, something stable made you feel a bit wary. It wasn’t something you were used to. Your father wasn’t the most present in your life, and even though he's there, he's never really there.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

You always wondered where you went wrong, he preferred your siblings over you and doesn't pay you a piece of his mind. Constantly going out of your way to get his attention whether it was academically or acting a certain way just to get some sort of reaction. But he was too preoccupied with his other children, even if they were from your mom or his affairs.

That’s how you found yourself right now sitting in the astronomy tower past curfew watching the rain fall, trying to clear your head while humming softly to yourself to keep yourself distracted.

You hear distant chattering from below and quickly get up from where you were sitting and make your way to your dorm unnoticed by anyone.

Except one person, Draco Malfoy.

I tried to write your name in the rain

But the rain never came

So I made with the sun

The shade

Always comes at the worst time

He’s seen you before, you’re known around Hogwarts for how you put yourself out there and how ‘desperate’ you are for some affection. He almost feels bad for you, but he’s in no place to judge. With his dad in Azkaban Draco had so much more to worry about, like his task and how he can succeed. But there was something about you that intrigued him that he couldn't ignore.

He saw you again in transfiguration the next day and noticed a few hickeys littering your neck that you had tried to cover but it didn’t work. He wondered why you gave yourself up to so many people, but once again he was in no place to judge. He noticed the way your tongue would stick out when you focused extra hard, the way your hands would tighten around your quill when you got a question wrong and your face.

The same face that many boys including the older years would fawn over, the face that entranced and attracted many, the face of someone who would do anything for someone for some affection and the face of someone who seeked out all the wrong things.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

You walk out of transfiguration on your way to the owlery to send a letter to your parents and feel eyes watching you everywhere. You like it, the attention, it’s something that you thrived in, but you couldn’t help but feel a new set of eyes on you.

Once you reached the owlery you realized you weren't the only one there, Draco Malfoy was also there sending a letter to who you assumed was his mother.

“y/n, right?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yea, listen i’m sorry about what happened with your father i know you really looked up--”

“Dont worry about it, he wasn’t as good an influence as I made him out to be,” he sighed, looking away.

“My dad isn’t the best either if i’m being honest, i guess we’re in the same boat” you let out a light chuckle.

And that’s how you found yourself hanging out with draco malfoy bonding over your shared issues.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues

It’s been weeks since you two started hanging out since the interaction in the owlery and have been getting closer ever since. You both sat down together in the astronomy tower, backed against the wall as the cool wind blew against your faces. The aura between you two was calm, a comfortable silence.

“So tell me about your dad, how is it with him in Azkaban?” you asked, tilting your head towards him.

“Mother’s not taking it well” he frowned. “I can’t even say potter’s wrong for getting him locked up because he deserves it. All my life he praised the dark lord and taught me to be selfish and always defend my blood, but he was never there for me when I needed him. I would have done everything just to hear ‘i’m proud of you’ but it never came. It’s worse now because mother’s all alone. I wish I could have stayed with her” he sighed looking out the tower watching the stars twinkle.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been much quieter this year as well, you stopped making fun of people. It’s not that nice on the receiving end huh?” you said with a teasing look on your face.

He shook his head at you scooting closer to you, it’s like the demeanor between you two have changed over the past few weeks. You found yourself pining over him rather than being in someone's bed. But this is how the cycle always goes, you get attached and they leave, you couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t the situation this time.

“Tell me about your father”

Daddy stuck around but he wasn't present

Cheated on your mom but she never left him

First I didn't get it, now I understand

He broke her heart, left money in her hand

So everything got paid for

She made sure you and your brother had way more

Than she ever had growing up

And when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up

“ I don't know if i’d even call him my father at this point, he doesn't want me.” you sighed. “He's been cheating on my mum for years now and she still won't leave him because she thinks they can work it out. He’s had affairs with different pureblood women and has children with them. But what hurts the most is how he treats them as his own children and treats me as if I don't exist” you said, looking down as tears pooled your eyes.

Draco moved closer to you and brought his arm around your shoulders for a sense of comfort and waited for you to catch your breath so you can continue.

“I just want him to love me” you cried. “I go out my way to try and get his attention with my school work but it never works. That's why I get along with so many guys. I seek the validation, the comfort and the reassurance that I can get from him from others and I am so tired of it. I just want him to want me draco.” tears slipping out your eyes as you looked up at him, you’ve never confessed this to anyone before.

“Everyone always leaves, please don't leave me” you cried

“I’m not going anywhere” he turned his face towards you, leaning forward cautiously as if you were made of glass.

You leaned forward, wanting the exact same thing. Both very hesitant he gently pressed his soft lips against yours and they moved together in sequence, only taking a break to go back to his dorm and to breathe, limbs tangled together for the rest of the night until the sun rose.

I can see it on your face it was rough left a bad taste on your tongue

And she didn't even take any drug

She would rain all day

Couldn't wait for her son to shine

And you made it shine

There when she cried, you saved her life

It's been a week since that night in the astronomy tower and draco had already been avoiding you. It’s humiliating, but you should have known. You thought the ‘bond’ you had with him would last, it felt so genuine this time. So real.

You’d see him around the halls snogging pansy on your way back to the ravenclaw tower, lowering your head down so he wouldn’t be able to see you so you could get by quickly and unnoticed.

But he saw you.

He stared you right down in your teary eyes as he made out with pansy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal, for someone who promised he wouldn’t leave you like everyone else, he did the exact same.

You did the only thing you knew of, you ran.

I keep on trying to let you go

I'm dying to let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

But now that you're dead it hurts

This time I gotta know

Where did my daddy go?

I'm not entirely here

Half of me has disappeared

Draco followed you to the girls lavatory, hearing your shallow cries coming from one of the stalls. He approached the stall you were in trying not to make too much noise so he doesn't startle you.

He felt awful.

He promised he would never leave you, after you both poured your hearts out to each other but he still left. He had too, he was putting you in danger just by being with him. If Voldemort ever found out about you and hurt you he wouldn't be able to live with himself, that's why he took it upon himself to hurt you first.

“y/n are you in here?” he called out even though he knew the answer.

You recognized that familiar voice anywhere. “What do you want draco?” you said, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying.

“I want to talk to you, please”

“No,” you said getting up and pushing yourself out of the stall. “You don't get to just throw me away after I told you everything and just come back into my life like nothing ever happened. Just go away, that's all you guys are good for” you spat.

“Just listen to me, it was to keep you safe. I didn;t want to but i couldn't bear seeing you hurt” he tried to explain.

“Safe?” you laughed. “ and what exactly do i need saving from, malfoy.”

“From me” he said as he pulled up his sleeve revealing his dark mark to you. Your body instantly tensed, you knew he was having problems and his family was involved with the dark lord but you never knew it was like this.

“Draco i-” you tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat. He stood there looking at you desperately like he was waiting for you to tell him everything was okay, you wanted to be there for him but you didn’t know what to do. You trusted him with everything but he couldn't trust you with this? You thought the bond you had made would have made him trust you in the slightest, but clearly it's always you who’s more trusting.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d leave me, you were the only good thing i had. Please don't leave me” he begged, salty tears escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks as he looked at you with desperation.

“So you thought pushing me away by snogging pansy was better?” you yelled, as he continued to look at you slightly taken aback by your lashing out.

“You know what, go ahead and cry little boy. You know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through. You gotta let it out soon, just let it out” you taunted walking closer to him looking straight into his teary eyes.

“This time I'll be the one that leaves.” and with that you were gone.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

It’s been months since that night in the girls lavatory, and you missed him. You wanted to visit him in the hospital wing once you heard what happened with Harry Potter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. He left you, and you were tired of always going back to people who just hurt you.

Now here you were at the battle of Hogwarts, standing with everyone while Voldemort and his death eaters stood across from you all.

“Draco, draco come here” you heard narcissa call from across the scene. He looked hesitant, as if he was waiting for someone to stop him but no one did. So he started walking over to his parents.

But you grabbed his hand.

“Stay please” you whispered looking up into his eyes.

He looked back at his parents and back at you like he was contemplating his answer.

“I’ll stay”

If you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

—————-

tagging fun ppl nd ppl who interacted (so srry if u don’t wanna be tagged)

@hellohellook @astoria-malfcy @justfangirlthingies @sfdlm @falling-loki @notvasi @gwlvr @malfoytookmyheart