#tagging this killed me. you have blood on your hands anon.

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Fire Emblem women who I want them to absolutely destroy me with their strap

Titania

Petrine

Altena

Eyvel

Amalda

Shamir

Minerva

Palla

Sonya

Ursula

Ayra

Nailah

Almedha

(Heroes) Anna

Cecilia

Charlotte

Rhea

Flavia

Nel

Tethys

Igrene

Ladislava

Isadora

Altina

.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x shy Hufflepuff fem!reader

Summary: You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Genre: Fluff 🫶

Warnings: drinking, being drunk

~ directly inspired by the song So High School by Taylor Swift. thank you to the anon who requested this! ily! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Your cheeks burn from your embarrassment and the fire-whiskey in your blood-stream as your ears ring from the loud music dancing around you and you shake your head.

Lily Evans laughs as she glances around the Common Room. "C'mon, this is your chance," she insists, "They're playing Kiss, Marry, or Kill."

When Lily sees your confused and frankly frightened expression, she quickly explains, "It's a muggle game—it's harmless and fun—c'mon," she says again and pulls on your arm.

"Gentlemen," Lily declares when you approach the circle of students near the fire and she looks at the ring leaders of the group, The Marauders.

They're the ones that had planned this party—or Sirius and James had while Remus and Peter tagged along.

Sirius grins when he sees Lily. 

"Aw, are you joining us, Red?" he smirks and then he sees you, "And who's your friend?"

You smile shyly. You know Peter from Care Of Magical Creatures in your third year, and you often seen Remus in the library (you've even spoken to him a few times), but you've only ever seen and heard James and Sirius from afar—

—which definitely never helped the stupid, baseless, soul-crushing crush you have on James Potter. 

Remus, who is sitting criss-cross ext to Sirius, speaks up, "Y/n, yeah? You're a Hufflepuff—I see you in the library." He smiles kindly and pushes on James's shoulder, who has the latter almost choking on his beer, so you can sit next to him. 

James frowns but he recovers quickly and looks up, his glasses crooked on his nose. He's wearing his Quidditch sweater, his brown hair a tangled mess, but he's smiling now.

"Hi," he moves so you can sit next to him and Remus as Lily grins like a fool. You feel her hand on your shoulder as she plops you down next to James and she sits across from you. 

Apart from the Marauders, other students are also sitting around the circle and chatting. Sirius is by far the loudest of them all, and you think James is the funniest. 

It becomes honestly embarrassing how hard you laugh at any stupid joke he says. You can't help it, your tipsiness impairs any rational thoughts you may have, as you cover your mouth and stifle your laughs. 

James notices immediately and he grins. 

"Never had this much success, dove," he says, as charming as always, "You're cute."

This causes you to become even more flustered and you don't even know how to answer him. So, you hide from him, turning your head in the opposite direction. Lily sends you a knowing look.

James leans his knee closer to yours and you have to convince yourself he did that by accident or you'll simply implode. 

"Okay, Jamie, Kiss, Marry, Kill—me, Lily, and our new sweet little Hufflepuff," Sirius suddenly says, pulling your attention to the group again. You still have no clue what this game is and your eyes round.

Sirius seems quite pleased with himself.

James sips his drink, "Hmm, Kill you because you're a pain in my arse—" 

Sirius dramatically puts a hand on his heart, feigning hurt at his best friend's words. "And here I had the ring all prepared," he whines. 

James chuckles and continues. "Then um," he looks between you and Lily for a moment and your heart sinks.

Everyone knows James had a thing for Lily in second to fourth year. How could you, someone who had been too shy and awkward to even talk to him, compete with smart, incredibly witty, and beautifully stunning Lily Evans?

"Kiss Lily and marry Y/n," James shrugs, smiling lopsidedly as he looks at you and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "Lils' seems like she'd be a decent snog, but I like them sweeter for the long run," he reasons and winks. 

Lily laughs and rolls her eyes, "Smooth, Potter."

"No need to get all green-eyed on us, Evans," James says and turns his attention to you again, "Whadd'ya say, lil' puff, June 17th in six years?" he says, planning the future fake wedding.

You look up at him, your eyes round and you blink—unable to laugh it off as your heart thumps so loudly you can barely hear a thing anymore. 

"I think you broke the poor girl," Remus chuckles and then turns to Peter to steer the attention away from you, "Okay, Wormy, your turn."

Thank Merlin for Remus Lupin.

* * *

A while later, you stand in the corner of the room, your mind still stuck on how James's teasing that you don't hear the man in question come up to you.

"Hey, dove," he whispers and you spin around.

"Oh–hi," you whisper. You must look so smitten because you can just feel your cheeks burn.

James smirks. "It's late. Where's Lily?"

You frown as you look around, "She's talking with um—some of her other friends over there—" you point, expecting James to walk to her and leave you behind.

Instead, he stays. "You think she'd mind if I walk you back to your Common Room, you seem a little tipsy."

You're at a loss for words but then you stutter, "O-oh, no, I don't think she would mind," you whisper, "That's very kind of you, James. I c-can walk alone if it's a bother—"

"Nonsense. If it was a bother, I wouldn't have asked," James takes your arm, pushing some hair from your face with his fingers.

"Cute ribbon," he adds, looking at the red ribbon in your hair, "Very on brand with Gryffindor pride," he chuckles as he clearly enjoys the flustered look you're wearing.

"You're adorable," he says and he takes your hand, leading you out into the hall. The corridors are empty and dimly lit at this time in the evening and it feels surreal to walk the halls hand in hand with James Potter—especially when he keeps looking back at you with that look on his face. 

When you arrive at the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room, James turns to you and he keeps his hand in yours. He's blushing obviously now and you can smell the beer on his breath.

"If we weren't so tipsy," he mumbles, his knuckles caressing your skin, "I would kiss you right now."

Your eyes widen and your breath leaves you. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, love—where have you been all my life?" he sounds lovesick and one of his palms press against his warm cheek, "Is this what love at first sight is supposed to feel like? Because I was convinced that was all bullshit until now. What charm have you put on me, Y/n?"

You look away because if you look into his eyes any longer, you'll faint. Your hand squeezes his as his words make you feel dizzy and all fluttery. "I think you're just a little drunk, James."

"Drunk in love, yeah," he half-jokes, his tone soft as he leans in and his lips find your forehead.

You shut your eyes, wondering how he could make you feel like this in a mere matter of hours and although your insecurities creep in, you stay in the moment. 

"Where can I find you tomorrow?" James whispers against your skin. 

"I'm in the library a lot, especially in the mornings," you say, having no expectations of ever seeing James Potter again. You and him live on completely different planets.

"You can find me there if you'd like," you finish and James nods, his lips kissing your temple one last time and then he whispers a small, sweet dreams into your skin. 

* * *

  In the morning, you ignore your hangover and find your usual spot in the back of the library as you open an old book written by an ancient muggle philosopher. 

Last night's events in the Gryffindor Common Room play in your head as you read. 

"Mornin'." You're startled by a familiar voice and you look up from your book. James stands in front of you, a Quaffle under his arm as his hair splays messily across his forehead.

He's still dressed in his Quidditch Uniform and he walks closer, smiling. "Sorry I'm late—practice ran later than usual. Whatcha reading?" he asks, sitting across from you and draping his arm across the chair next to his as the Quaffle sits in his lap.

"You came," you whisper with a smile, your heart fluttering.

"Yeah, 'course I came," James says so casually as he leans over the table and taps your book, "Whatcha reading, dove? Do tell me all about it,"

You feel all warm and fuzzy like all your wildest dreams have come true, when you say, "Only if you tell me all about Quidditch practice after?" you look at him shyly.

"Your wish is my command," James grins, a faint blush on his cheeks.

[guiltyasdave]

28 "No one ever cared about me like you." for Joel or Marcus Pike, please?? Thank you for writing all this amazing stuff for us <3

no one can hurt you now

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~1.2k

summary: You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.

tags/warnings: post outbreak, mentions of infected, fighting and blood, reader doesn’t value her life that much tbh, angst, anxiety, comfort, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n (please let me know if i missed something <3)

a/n: dearest anon, thank you so much for your kind words and for sending this prompt in! this started out as a drabble but got out of control, so i hope you enjoy this little fic 🫶🏻

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

The clicker’s teeth snap at you inches away from your face, your arms straining desperately to hold the creature off. A shot rings through the air and the clicker stills as blood splatters across your face.

You push the now lifeless weight off of you and try to stand back up, your shaky legs underneath you barely cooperating.

“Thanks,” you mutter, gasping for breath.

“The fuck was that?” Joel barks, the gun still grasped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are turning white.

“It was- running at Ellie, I just-“

You’ll admit that you hadn’t really thought it through when you lunged at the clicker that had charged in the girl’s direction without any weapons in your hands. Not her, had been the only clear thought in your head. She wasn’t replaceable.

You were.

“You just what? Thought you’d get yourself killed?”

“No! I don’t know, okay? I still bought us time, and you got it, so-”

You don’t like the way he’s glaring at you, like you did something fundamentally wrong. You took a risk, yes, but his main objective is taking the girl across the country. You’re just… there.

“So?! Fuckin’ stupid, is what it was,” he snaps before he turns around abruptly and stomps further into the abandoned house that you’re hoping to spend the night in. You wait until your legs finally stop trembling before you follow him.

It’s the middle of the night when Joel finally speaks to you again. You had settled down in one of the bedrooms on the upper floor, not before searching the house extra thoroughly after the clicker incident earlier.

You can hear Ellie’s soft snores from across the room and you would have sworn that Joel was asleep too. Your mind didn’t rest, replaying the scene over and over, the way Joel snapped at you making your chest hurt each time.

“You don’t get to not make yourself a priority, you hear me? I won’t let you.”

You flinch at the unexpected sound from his corner of the room, but his voice is gentle, like he’s approaching a scared animal.

“But Ellie-” you still try to protest.

“I care about Ellie just as much as you do.” He hesitates for a second. “But I also care about you.”

You feel heat flushing your cheeks and you avert your gaze, even though it’s too dark for him to see your face anyway.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, “she’s the one that matters.”

“So do you,” he grumbles.

“Not like her.”

He heaves a sigh and you hear him moving closer to you in the darkness.

“Listen to me.” His tone is gruff, but you can feel the intensity behind his words. “I couldn’t- shit, I couldn’t do this alone. Just take care of yourself. Don’t be stupid. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree in a hushed voice.

You know that this is the closest that Joel Miller will ever get to admitting that he doesn’t hate you. You try to fight the feeling, but warmth is spreading through your chest at the thought that he actually wants you around, that he’s not just letting you tag along because he doesn’t know what else to do with you.

It’s your first real night in Jackson, the first time that you’ve arrived at a place and didn’t immediately make plans on where to go next. The first night that you’re spending in a real bed in god knows how long. The first night that you don’t have to sleep with one eye open, always waiting for the next danger to find you.

And the first night in a bed with Joel. Neither of you had protested when you were assigned to one house with him and Ellie. You know what Joel and you look like, from the outside. You don’t think that you care, not really.

The house has three bedrooms anyway, so it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you thought, until you had all said good night to each other and you were lying alone in the darkness, wide eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, as you were trying to stop the anxious shivers running through your body.

It was too quiet, the mattress too soft, the room too… empty. You had gotten used to the steady breathing of two other people around you, and now that they weren’t in the room with you, everything felt wrong. What if you woke up tomorrow to find them both dead, to find yourself alone in the world once more? How were you supposed to make sure they were safe when you weren’t with them?

Before you could overthink it, you got up, checked on Ellie who was sleeping soundly and padded over to the room Joel was in.

“Can’t sleep?” his low drawl had greeted you as soon as you cracked the door open.

You wordlessly shook your head and he sighed.

“Me neither. Doesn’t feel right like this, does it?”

That’s how you ended up under the covers next to him. No touching of course, both of you keeping a firm distance. This was just so you could both catch some sleep. Just for tonight.

Except that you’re still not able to let sleep drag you under. Your body is tense, acutely aware of his presence next to you, his body heat easily traveling the short distance between you. You could bridge it just as easily, just reach your hand out to - do what, exactly?

You huff out a breath and turn onto your side, shuffling the sheets with your movement.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is barely above a whisper and before you can open your mouth to respond, his fingers find your face and graze over your cheek in a barely there contact.

He had touched you before, of course, checking you for injuries, soothing you with a hand on your arm or a brush over your hair, but never like this. Never in the darkness of the night and never when you could sense the tension in the air between you, could almost feel his breath on your face. You have never been so acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers that’s seeping into your skin right now.

“I just- I never thanked you for taking me here, for taking care of me.”

It’s not what’s on the forefront of your mind, not the thing that’s plaguing you in this moment, but it’s still true, and much easier than admitting to him that feeling his body so close right next to yours has you practically burning up, has your fingers itching to touch him, to breathe him in.

Joel hums.

“You don’t have to. Of course I did that.”

You try swallowing the lump that suddenly builds in your throat.

“No one ever cared about me like you,” you admit in a whisper.

“Hey,” Joel mumbles, alarmed at the thickness of unshed tears in your voice, “come here, sweetheart.”

Both of his arms reach towards you and his hands splay over your shoulders to pull you into his chest. His warmth engulfs you and you feel the tension in your body subsiding as you’re resting your head over his steady heartbeat.

“We’re safe now,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging - nothing would make me happier 🤍

[misojunnie]

DELICATE ─ psh. ☆ (teaser)

does love ever cross the line?

# genre: rich kid!enemy!sunghoon x fem!reader, forbidden love, enemies to lovers, slow burn, family feud, non idol au

# warnings: substances, lots of pining/angst, cursing, insults, mature jokes, implied sex, I have no idea how businesses work plz don’t roast me

# featuring: sunghoon & enha! + le sserafim

# playlist: delicate by taylor swift, take care by beach house, love by kendrick lamar, babydoll by dominic fike, hurts so good by astrid s

# a/n: hi y’all! I got this request a long time ago and only recently got to it, so I hope y’all like! lmk if u want to be added to the taglist! pls enjoy <3

# word count: 13.2k

# taglist: @lovialy @minniejenseo @powerpuffstuts @mnxnii @idkdykilr @ionlyreadforfanfics @heelovesmeknot @100520s @simjyunnie @scrumptiousloser @eneiyri @pinkkami @milkycloudtyg @enhypenlovre @pinkkami @m3chigo @saythenameseventeen178 @desistay @capri-cuntz.@taerifin open!

# unable to tag: @hohohobo

this was written upon anon request; check it out here!

when your father’s company cratered after a faulty business deal, a vendetta was formed between your family and the biggest export company in south korea. but that rivalry begins to falter when you fall in love with the ceo’s son.

[more under the cut!]

˗ˋ☆ˊ˗

Awards banquets were Sunghoon’s least favorite part of being in business. Forget the ruthlessness and backstabbing, dressing up in a suit and pretending to be successful blew all that warfare out of the water.

“It’s too tight.”

“It’s fine. You’ll be fine. Just stop complaining.”

“I’m not kidding, Jake. Loosen it or I’ll kill you.” Jake sighed, tugging on the navy blue tie until it was hanging loosely around Sunghoon’s neck, a stark and messy contrast to his crisp black suit and neat button up.

“Jesus Christ. After fifteen years, you’d think you’d know how to tie a tie.” Jake said, shaking his head as his best friend checked his hair in the mirror.

“Are you sure we have to go to this thing tonight?” Sunghoon huffed, brushing a stray piece of hair into place.

“Don’t be stupid. You’ve been going to these galas since you were six, and dragging me along with you.” Jake scoffed, pushing Sunghoon’s head from behind and ruining his hairstyle yet again, the latter glaring.

“You love it.” Sunghoon teased, tearing his eyes away from the mirror after checking his hair a last time. “God, I can’t believe we’re still having these idiotic galas. Everyone just knows they’re a coverup for big corporations to distract from the fact that they’re abusing their poor workers.”

“Nobody cares these days. Put a bow on anything and the media will eat it up.” Jake said, adjusting his tie before slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Ready to ruin some lives? Destroy some young futures?”

“Not funny.” Sunghoon warned, pointing his finger at Jake while trying to tug on his shoes with the other hand. “You know how much I hate the company.”

“Say that as much as you want, but you’re still wearing shoes bought with your daddy’s blood money.” Sunghoon huffed.

“Hm...I suppose you’re right.” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the ball, Prince Charming.” Jake dragged Sunghoon out of the room by the wrist, locking it behind him, Sunghoon in tow.

Sunghoon sighed. God, how he hated his life. A legacy built on deception, and nothing he could do about it. Him and Jake made their way to the elevators, his dull eyes disappearing behind the closing doors.

He didn’t belong anywhere. Certainly not here.

˗ˋ☆ˊ˗

On the other side of the city, you were having an entirely different conversation.

“Take that off, Chae.” you said, biting into an apple. Your red lipstick bled into the fruit as you stared judgingly at Chaewon’s enormous diamond necklace.

“But it’s so pretty.” she crossed her arms, but you gave her a stern glance and she turned around to change with a roll of her eyes. “And you, put that out.” you swatted at Jay’s hand, a lit cigarette perched between his two fingers, roiling smoke spilling from the top. “You’re gonna make my new dress smell like smoke.”

“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Jay asked, putting out his cigarette on the corner of the coffee table, which made you frown. “No need to stress. You’ve done this business routine a million times over.”

“I’m just nervous, I guess.” you said, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“I thought you didn’t care what the Parks thought about you.”

“I don’t.” you said firmly, tongue poking into the flesh of your left cheek. “I just want things to go smoothly, that’s all.”

“So you’re not gonna stand up to those fuckers that ruined your life? No protest?” Jay asked, resting his chin on his hand. “You always wanted to take them down.”

“Of course I do. But tonight’s not the night.” you sighed, rubbing your forehead, smudging your foundation and cursing when you realized what you had done. “I just want to be put together, just for one night.”

“Well you certainly look the part, honey.” he said, eyes trailing over your floor length red gown. “You’re a proper businesswoman.”

“I hope so.” you laughed.

“You’re gonna kill it. I know it for a fact.” Jay said, pressing a kiss to your cheek before standing. “Now let’s get you to this ball.” You grinned up at him, getting to your feet and brushing the dust off your skirt with determination.

“Let’s show these people who our company is.”

˗ˋ☆ˊ˗

[kykyonthemoon]

If it’s not too much, could I ask for the Love and Deepspace boys who accidentally hurt the (if you could gn) reader’s feelings? (They argued and they were wrong but lashed out either way sorta thing?) if not, completely understandable! Tysm!

The Hurts

Loving someone is giving that person the chance to hurt you and trusting that they will never do so.

🌻 Rafayel/Xavier/Zayne x Reader Tags: gn!reader, hurt/ comfort, angst A/N: I can't see our LIs to be the type to lash out at their loved ones, so I modify the request a bit. Thank you for requesting, anon-san. Hope you enjoy this story.

Masterlist

Request a fic

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Loving someone is giving that person the chance to hurt you and trusting that they will never do so.

You had given him so many chances, and what you got in return was being hurt over and over again.

Like sitting on a never-ending roller coaster, that's the feeling when you were with him.

He made you happy, he made you sad. He gave you surprises and he also shattered many of your dreams.

Then, you had enough.

You trudged back home with heavy steps after a difficult mission. Blood drenched your uniform. The blood of Wanderers, and the blood of your comrades. The mission was a complete failure. There were a lot of people injured, and it was completely your fault.

Because you trusted someone who shouldn't have been trusted.

Rafayel was standing on an empty street corner, waiting for you. He knew you would always take the same route home. You were too predictable, that was why he played with you like a toy.

You grit your teeth. You and Rafayel each held one end of the rubber band. But he was always the first to let go.

It hurt, the feeling of being betrayed hurt so much. But you still kept walking. You did not want him to see you miserable like that. You would not give him the opportunity to trample on your feelings and trust anymore.

Rafayel's dark eyes gazed at you. You saw scales sprouting out from his face and neck. That was the day when Lemurians were at their weakest.

Nevertheless, he made the decision to stand here and wait for you to come home. As soon as he had heard the news from his spies, he immediately ran to find you even though he was in his weakest state. You stopped moving when you were just close enough away from him, to look straight into his eyes with full of indignation.

“I will explain everything.” Rafayel spoke up. And he should, but you were sick of it by now.

“That's enough, Rafayel.” You cut him off before he could say anything else. “You've said enough.”

You trusted his intelligence, only to lead your comrades into a trap. He always took advantage of your absolute trust to hurt you and the people you cared about. Especially when there was something related to the Lemurians, he suddenly became a different person. Someone you did not know.

“Your secrets…” You said, “Just keep them to yourself… I think I've had enough of your lies.”

"I did not lie." Rafayel reached out towards you but you backed away. “Everything I told you about that operation was true. I simply…”

“You simply didn't tell me the whole truth.” You said bitterly.

Rafayel withdrew his hand. He appeared so frail that he may pass out at any time at the side of the road. This time, you would not care as much. You would just leave him be.

“You showed concern for me, then you left me alone. You helped me, then pushed me into a trap... What is real, Rafayel? What is the truth that ever comes out of your mouth?”

Rafayel was silent, staring at you with pain. What an excellent performance. You almost believed him, one more time.

“What are you going to do, then? You could kill me with just one blow right now.”

“Don't challenge me.” You threatened with a glare. You hurried past Rafayel, wanting nothing more than to get home and clean off all the blood on your body and calm yourself down. Yet, despite his extreme weakness, he still has the ability to draw you in. Your eyes met his sadness. In an instant, it seemed as though you had descended to the ocean's lowest point.

“You asked me what was true.” He said, his voice shaking. “You may not believe anything else I say… But this, this alone is the truth… I will never, ever let anyone hurt you… I will never lose you again…”

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You stood in front of Xavier's house waiting impatiently. As soon as the door opened, you immediately rushed inside without even saying hello.

“Is there anything wrong?” Xavier asked gently, but his innocent look made you even more angry.

“You crossed me out of that mission, didn’t you?” You replied in anger. There were several rolled-up reports in your palm, ready to be torn apart. You aimed it in his direction. “This was originally the mission assigned to me! Why did you request to do it on your own?”

Xavier saw the problem as soon as he glanced at those papers. He tried to explain:

“That mission is too dangerous. I can't let you do it by yourself.”

“Then would it be better if you went alone?”

You gave Xavier a glance. He was trying to calm you down, but every step he took closer you moved further away. You were upset because he decided to enter a risky area without you, maybe endangering his life, and you were unaware of it until everything had been taken care of. Even with you by his side, he carried the weight of everything by himself. You did not want that, because you felt compelled to share everything with him.

"I'm sorry." Xavier was honest with you. “I should have asked you first. I decided on my own because I thought it was the best thing for you.”

“What's best for me?” You retorted. “Do you even know what is good for me? To participate in my own mission, to decide to do things as I wish, or to fight by your side!”

Only silence covered the room. You collapsed into his couch, burrowing your face into your hands. You hated this feeling of helplessness. He took away your right to make decisions, your right to accompany him on this dangerous mission. The thought that he did not need you was so painful.

“You don't believe in me…” You spoke up after a long while. When you looked up, you saw that Xavier was still standing there, looking regretful and helpless because he was unable to touch you at the time. “I thought we were a team. If we're a team, we won't hide missions from each other, we won't sneak around alone behind the other person's back..."

“I'm really sorry. That mission is much more dangerous than area N109. I can't let you risk it.”

“That means if you had to choose again, you would still do the same and hide it from me, right?”

Xavier remained silent, but you already knew the answer.

You did not know what hurt more; Xavier hiding that mission from you, or he not trusting you could complete it?

You got to your feet, looked at Xavier, and proceeded to the door.

"I truly put in a lot of training to be in a team with you. But maybe that's not enough. If you think you can do it all by yourself then so be it, I don't see the need to stay here anymore.”

"Don't." Xavier seized your hand fast to hold you there. “Don't say such things…”

You drew away from him fiercely. Xavier let out a cry and embraced his left chest at that very time.

It appeared like he was hurt. You scowled and extended a hand to touch him.

“Are you injured?”

Xavier tried to smile, but his face gradually turned pale. He took that opportunity to pull you back and wrap an arm around your waist to keep you in place.

“It's only a little cut.”

“How can it be small when you look so painful?”

Xavier struggled to breathe. He replied:

"I'm sorry. Maybe it's true that I couldn't do that task alone. You were right. We are a team, I need you.”

You feel pleased, but still very angry with Xavier. It was because he chose to go alone that he got injured like that.

“From now on, I will definitely not hide anything from you anymore. So… don't leave me alone, okay?”

You were silent for a while, but wrapped your arms around Xavier to hug him. “I have to check your wound first.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

The more you care for someone else, the deeper the wound they cause you.

It had been a month since you could contact him. Just like that, he disappeared, again.

You were frightened. Just like when you were a child, suddenly one day, the friend who used to make snow seals for you disappeared without a trace. No one could hear about him. He had also covertly assigned your monthly health check to another physician without you knowing until you got to the hospital. The last time you had heard about him was when Dr. Greyson told you he were rushing off to the Arctic on urgent business.

How funny it was to learn that from someone other than him. No farewells, no assurances not to worry. And for an entire month, he was absent. Although you didn't have the authority to make him tell you his schedules, at least you wanted to know how long he was going to be gone and whether or not the mission was risky.

You grew more afraid and then angered as you considered him going missing once more. How could he do this to you, after everything you had been through together? Yet he dared to show his face to your house on a rainy night.

When he saw that you were covering yourself from the rain with your jacket, he moved forward to shield you. But you dashed over to the porch. You just looked at him from a distance, but near enough to see that he was alright. After that, you entered and slammed the door in his face.

Not a word was said to each other. He did not even call your name or send a text message. He stood in the pouring rain for a long, long time. You couldn't care less. That night you went to sleep fitfully, and when you woke up the next morning, your auntie neighbor told you that he had just departed a short while after your room's light went out.

You did not try to contact him again. This cold war was initiated by him, so let it be. It was now a week after his return, and you had to go to the hospital for a check-up before an important mission. When you saw the name of the physician assigned to you was Zayne, you requested for another.

Dr. Greyson found you in the waiting area. He asked about your refusal to let Zayne examine your health. Honestly, you could not find any reason to answer that wasn't too personal. So you just sat in silence.

“The first thing Zayne did when he got back was to read your files. He wanted to make sure you were fine while he was gone.”

Dr. Greyson said. You lowered your head and looked down at your clasped hands, experiencing a range of conflicting feelings.

“I don't know what happened between you two, and maybe it's none of my business, but Zayne is a friend, and I need to butt in just this once…”

You looked up at Dr. Greyson.

“Zayne went to the Arctic to seek assistance from his teacher. Things got worse as it became more and more difficult for him to control his Evol. I caught him injuring himself with his Evol. He made the decision to suffer alone until things got in control in order to protect others.”

You were shocked. Zayne had been suffering because of his Evol for the past month without you knowing, while you were blaming him for leaving you.

"Perhaps he refrained from telling you out of concern that you would worry and accompany him there."

The rest of the conversation drifted away. Then you stood up, tried to hold back your tears as you walked to Zayne's office. He sat behind the computer screen, looking up at you with mixed emotions in his eyes, although his face still remained calm.

You entered slowly, noted the scars on his hands. There were fresh cuts that were not yet healed. He must have been very hurt and lonely. What must you do to make him open up to you? What must you do so that you can share the burden with him?

“You… What's wrong?”

As soon as Zayne spoke, you hid your tears by walking towards him in a haste and pulled him into your embrace.

“Please don't go without a word... I won't be able to bear it if you disappear again..."

[fairysluna]

the reward.

You come back home after two weeks, and with the victory in your shoulders. Cregan, who was still recovering from his wounds, is esger to thank you for what you've done.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader.

TAGS/TW — smut (clit play, praise, cunninglus, humping, public sex), cursing, mentions of murder, blood. If something is missing pls let me know!

AUTHOR’S NOTE — this is based on this ask (thx anon, ily). Just so you know, reader gave birth to Elion four weeks before this happened. I didn't proof read it, so if there's any mistakes I'm sorry.

WORD COUNT — 3.2k.

FEEDBACK, SHARES AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!!

When the big wooden doors were opened, all eyes fell on the two silhouettes that walked inside the main hall in the castle of Winterfell. Cregan stood up from his chair almost immediately, his eyes widening with surprise at the sight, and feeling the relief calming down his senses after he finally proved you were not dead.

Two weeks have passed since the last time he heard about you; two weeks in which he was losing his mind for not being able to get up from the bed and go to search for you. Your letters had ceased suddenly and unexpectedly, creating worry not only on your husband but also in the castle. And yet there you were; your hair was covered in ashes and dirt, your face having traces of dried blood and sweat. You were wearing armor which covered your chest, leather pants shaping your legs, the scabbard on your hips was dripping with blood coming from the blade of your sword. By your side, the stern and serious frame of your beloved brother Aemond was standing in the same conditions as you.

But everyone’s eyes were fixed on the giant’s head hanging from your hand. You walked inside the room with pride, your chin up as everyone bowed for you. Your husband was taken aback, for there was too much information in front of him at that moment, it was such a bizarre scene.

Cregan took a sharp breath as he stared at you once you stood in front of him, only a big, long table separating your bodies. The giant’s head was dropped by your hand on top of it, and the man looked down at you with a weird glance on his face. He analyzed your whole shape, from head to toe; from your messy battle braids to your ash-covered shoes. Cregan caught himself feeling some kind of unexplainable sensation of lust in his veins; and you were the only one who was capable of recognizing it.

“My dear husband,” you started, and all the whispers shut down almost immediately. “I’ve brought you a gift. I’m not certain whether this was the one who harmed you, but take it as a symbol… no one hurts those who I love.”

He looked to the head, then at your brother, and lastly at you. He took a deep breath, as if he was about to utter some words, but Lord Karstark opened his mouth.

“Princess,” he said, shock reflected in his voice, “what- how were you able to-?”

“My husband gifted me a fine Valyrian blade a few years ago,” you explained, looking right in the eye of the tall man to whom you call your lover. “Giants are above the size of a regular man, which is what makes them easy to behead from a dragon's back. I couldn't kill them all, but I killed enough to make them yield.”

“They yielded?” Cregan finally spoke, to which you nod.

“Yes, my lord, they did,” the mere pronunciation of those two words almost sent Cregan to outer space. Your voice sounded so deep and seductive without even trying. The man was almost drooling because of you. “They returned beyond the wall as they promised to never cross it again. Those who dared to defy our terms died by the flames of Aegarax, which worked as a warning to let them know what would happen if they disobeyed.”

“We had a few losses, my lord” Aemond interrupted in the conversation, and still Cregan was unable to take his eyes off of you. “They were brave men, killed in battle by those savages. Allow me to present them with honor with a feast in celebration for our victory. It is also well deserved for those who survive.”

“Let it be done, brother,” Cregan said. "We might as well celebrate your bravery, and your efforts for bringing my wife safely back to my arms."

“Ser Aron, please put the giant's head on display for the people to see. It is a sign of peace now,” you ordered.

“Of course, princess,” he bowed swiftly before getting close enough to the head to pick it up and walking with it out of the Hall.

“My lord, if I may, I would like to go and spend some time with my nephews and niece before tonight’s celebration,” Aemond asked, using that polite and courteous tone that was so typical of him.

Cregan nodded, “of course, brother,” he said.

Aemond walked to your way and left a soft kiss on your forehead before squeezing your shoulder and leaving the hall towards the nursery room where you children were. The silence ruled over the room as everyone was expecting for either you or Cregan to speak further into the matter, but all they received was the comfortable silence you and your husband shared as your hazes would refuse to look away. The lack of each other’s presence these last weeks had clearly made a big impact in your lives, for there was an invisible magnet that was pulling you both closer and closer to each other. Your bodies craved each other's touch in a way that would even make you look desperate.

“We won the war, my lord husband,” you said, a slight smirk crossing your lips as you noticed his jaw clenched. “Mayhaps we should celebrate, don’t you think?”

Your eyes gazed upon his face, begging and pleading for something you knew only him could provide you. The nights in the camp were cold and lonely, making you long for your husband’s warmth. Your breathing trembled at the mere thought of his big hands roaming around your body in order to touch those places that he knew so well.

“Everyone,” Cregan raised his voice in order to be heard by all the people present in the room. His low tone echoed around the room. “Leave, now.”

The lords, knights and soldiers were soon walking towards the exit doors as Cregan walked around the table and reached your side. Your smaller frame looked so fragile in front of him even when your body was covered with that hard material which had some scratches in it. Cregan looked up and down to your state, and he inevitably bit his lip as his hand reached for your hip and pulled you closer to him. A small gasp left you, starting to feel his breathing against your skin. Soon you find yourself being a prisoner of his arms, for they surrounded your body and held you tight against his broad chest.

“The children have been missing you terribly,” he whispered, so close to your lips that you were able to feel his breath against them.

You gave a quick peak to your surroundings just when the door was closed and the last man left the room. Your gaze fell upon your husband’s face once again and a little smile appeared on your face. Your hands went to his broad chest as his started to go down your body until reaching your arse.

You were dirty, sweaty, a complete mess, and yet Cregan thought that you had never looked more desirable.

“Only them?” You asked, teasingly playing with the laces of his coat until it fell down surrounding his shoes.

“No,” he shook his hand, pulling you closer and making you feel his hardness through the fabric of his pants. You sighed, eyes already getting blurry with the aching lust between your legs. “I was scared… frightened.” His lips brushing against your jaw. “I thought I had lost you, I forced myself to heal faster only to go and look for you, my love.”

“No need, I’m already here…” You replied. Your eyes would not dare to leave his as your hand reached his growing erection. “I’m here, and I will never leave you again-”

You were barely able to finish the sentence before his delicious lips trapped yours in a lustful kiss that took your breath away. The missed touch had your heart jumping in your chest with excitement, love and lust. His hands grabbed your checks in order to keep your face close enough to devour your mouth with hunger and desire. He was craving for you as much as you were for him.

"Seeing you like this," he murmurs between kisses, his fingers going to the laces that were holding your pants. "I'm so fucking lucky to call you mine. My wife, my love, my princess."

"I did it all for you," you confessed in a whine, pulling his hair strong enough to make him moan. You pulled away as your fist was holding his locks with a bit of roughness that he loved to see in you. "I would make this entire world burn just for you."

His eyes sparkled with devotion as he softened his grip around your face. His gray eyes staring at yours with a glow you were already used to seeing on him whenever he laid eyes on you. The shadow of a tender smile appeared on his face before he leaned to kiss you again. It was softer, more delicate, leaving part of the lust of your bodies behind just to have a more intimate moment. His tongue entered your mouth elegantly, twirling against yours while you sighed and closed your eyes. The warmth within your chest gave you a feeling of comfort that you had not felt since you left Winterfell; gods, you missed him so much.

When he pulled away, he stared down at you. His thumb caressing your cheeks, wiping the dried blood out of your beautiful face. He could not help but smile, all of this was for him. You did it all for him. His heart would only beat faster on the realization of you unleashing the dragon inside you just for his protection.

There was something about that wild and dangerous side of you that made Cregan drool like a hungry puppy.

"I love you," he said, and you smiled.

"I love you," you replied.

But then the lust in his eyes returned, and you knew the soft moment had vanished. His hands went to your hips as he turned you around and bent you over the table. You chuckled softly at his action, feeling how he would rub himself against you as if he was trying to find some relief. You closed your eyes, leaning your head against his chest.

"My little dragon," he murmured against your ear, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. A soft moan was heard from you. "Fuck- I missed those pretty sounds so much."

You felt how he suddenly stepped back, and it was impossible for you to retain the loud gasp that escaped from your lips once Cregan pulled your pants down, dragging your small clothes with it. The coldness of the air caused shivers in your spine, especially after you noticed him kneeling behind you and his big hands spreading your arse cheeks. His thumbs exploring and touching your folds as he could only growl at the sight, your cunt was already dripping, glistening with your arousal.

Cregan leaned, close enough to brush his nose against your labia, teasing as he smelled your sweet scent and his mouth waters. That sweet, so delicious smell had been missed by him, and he could not wait to let himself drink from you until his lips felt sore. At that point, your legs were shaking with the anticipation of his mouth devouring as if you were his last meal.

"You've been such a good little wife, my princess," he whispered, his hot breath reaching your moist folds and making you whine. "Taking revenge for your husband, and bringing victory to our home."

His thumb started to tease your needy clit, proving small touches that were far from being enough to cause the much needed sensation of relief. You bit your lip, sighing with frustration. Your hips moving backwards as you desperately tried to reach a more intense touch, but Cregan would make you wait.

"So, so good…" he muttered, dropping light kisses in the flesh of your ass, "I'm gonna give my wife the reward she deserves, how about that?"

"Oh, fuck, please, my love," you breathed heavily, closing your eyes as the despair only grew within you. "I need you so much."

"Shh… I should be the one begging," Cregan replied.

You felt the fingertips of his thumbs spreading your labia before his tongue lapped at your sensitive folds. A moan, much louder than the ones before, was heard, and your eyes immediately went close at the delicious feeling of his tongue licking all your slick. He was eating you like a hungry man, after being deprived of you for so long he was despairingly trying to make it worth the wait. He had missed your taste, your smell, the way you would clench around his tongue, and how prettily your moans would sound.

The sound of his tongue against your wetness as he drank from you was beyond obscene. A mixture of his spit and your slick would slip down your thighs, making it messier and filthier that it already is. Your nails were digging on the wood of the ancient table beneath you, and your whimpers were getting louder.

His nose was teasing your entrance, causing the pleasure to become almost unbearable. With the birth of your third child and the weeks you spent apart, you had not been exposed to this kind of pleasure for a really long time, and you almost forgot how good it felt when your dutiful husband took care of you.

Once his tongue left your clit and started to go to your clenching hole, his fingers went to your swollen pearl, indulging the pleasure and making you see stars. You were a mumbling mess, not caring about keeping it quiet because you knew how much your husband loved to hear you, and you loved to make him know how good he was making you feel.

"Fuck, I'm- I'm getting so close, love," you rapidly said, breathy words leaving your throat as you moaned. "Your tongue feels so fucking good- oh, fuck! just like that…"

Your words seemed to only fuel his desire, for his eagerness only increased. He shook his head from side to side, his tongue never leaving your folds. You were able to feel the tightness in your lower belly as your legs started to shake. His whole face buried in you in order to give you the pleasure that you needed and deserved.

With a squeal, you felt your juices oozing out of you and falling into Cregan's tongue. You were able to hear him moan, his heavy breathing against your cunt as he was eagerly trying to get all your release inside his mouth.

Your body fell on top of the table, your eyes remaining closed as you tried to regularize your unsteady breathing. Cregan stood up, caressing the exposed flesh of your thighs as he leaned over your frame to kiss your cheek.

"We have the best cooks in the North, and yet their dishes will never be as delicious as your sweet cunt, my love," you both shared a breathy laugh after his words, your cheeks inevitably getting reddish and warm. "Come here."

His arms lift you up without issue, so effortlessly as always. He shifted your position until you were facing him, sitting on the table and with your legs surrounding his hips. His nose brushed against yours, and your hands went to his pants. He immediately stopped you.

"We can't," he said, "the Maester said we need to wait at least three fortnights."

"I can please you in other ways too, you know that," you reminded him.

"No, I just wanted to thank you-"

"And I want to thank you too," you interrupted him, removing his hand and keeping untying the laces of his pants until you removed them, freeing his shaft from the tightness of the fabric. "For all that you've done for us…"

"My love-"

"Be quiet," you silenced him. Your legs pushed him closer to you until his cock was pressed against your pearl. You both moaned at the feeling. "You know what to do now… please, don't make me beg."

"You little, needy thing…" he muttered before starting to move his hips. His mouth dropped open at the feeling of your lips wrapping around his length, it felt so warm and good. "Fuck, my love, I can't wait to be inside you once again." He confessed.

You smirked, "yeah?"

"Oh, Gods, yes…" his face was buried on the crook of your neck as your hand went to his cock to press it against your core. "As soon as you heal I'll fuck another babe inside you. Would you like that?"

"Y-yes," you nodded, your eyes looking directly at him as he sped his movements. "I can't- fuck… I

I can't wait to feel you inside me again. Filling me up so- oh, fuck, so good."

Cregan moaned at your words, getting harsher with his movements. His sack hitting against your slick, as he kept rubbing himself against you, growing desperate to spill himself on you. Your lips soon met on a needy kiss that silenced all the obscene sounds that were coming out of your mouths. It was messy, but none of you care, already drunk in the pleasure.

He pulled away at the same time that a whine left his lips. He grabbed his shaft and started to swiftly stroke it as he kept rubbing the tip on your clit. You came again, moaning his name before he coated your folds with thick drops of his pearly seed. His head fell backwards, his eyes rolling with pleasure as he hissed and groaned. You held your weight with your forearms as you looked at the mess he did on you.

Cregan soon held you tight, hiding his face on your neck once again. You chuckled softly, tiredly, caressing his hair and kissing whatever part of him you could reach.

"Don't ever leave me," he begged, "I can't do this without you."

"I won't, I promise," you replied in a whisper, smiling so bright.

He reached for your lips once again, kissing you gently and lovingly. It was brief, but as soon as he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, enjoying the closeness of your bodies.

"But now I need to go and see my babies," you said, kissing his lips one last time before pulling back.

"Let me help you to clean you up," he quickly moved around, pulling his pants up to start looking for something that could work.

He found a clean cloak and went towards you. You let him help you, seeing how careful and delicate he always was with you. You smiled at him, and once he was ready, he made you stand up and lifted your pants. Next thing he did was throwing the cloak he used with you to the fire in the fireplace.

He grabbed your hand and walked with you towards the exit door, but before you were able to cross it, he stopped you to kiss you once more.

"I love you," he said again.

You bit your lip, hiding the enormous smile on yojr face.

"I love you."

BOLD MEANS I COULDN’T TAG YOU.

GENERAL TAG LIST — @borikenlove @aemondsversion @jvpit3rs @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @valeskafics @clairacassidy @aemondx @randomdragonfires @theminesofmoria @gothtargaryen @melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1

CREGAN TAG LIST — @satansdarlin @aelora-a @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @xfancyuu @megatardisbaby

[take-it-on-the-run]

Rosyln

Dean Winchester x FreshlyTurned!Reader

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Something to get the three of you back on your feet after a year of thinking Sam was dead and no contact between you and Dean.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Vampirism, the reader is turned, angst, hurt/comfort, soulless Sam is slacking, blood, vivid descriptions of smell and pain, vomiting, illness comfort, Samuel Campbell (yes he is a warning he sucks), brief mention of the reader killing Dean

Characters: Dean Winchester, Soulless!Sam Winchester, FreshlyTurned!Reader, Samuel Campbell

Anonymous requested: "hi <3 wasn’t sure if I could request this or not, feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, but can I request a hurt/comfort fic with dean :) like patching up an injury or smth, thank you !!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Bon Iver + St. Vincent title. Okay, I'm going to preface this by saying this went a little off the rails from what the request asked for, and I hope that this is still generally within the realm of hurt/comfort. Thank you for the request anon, and if you don't think I quite hit the mark, I'm sorry. Other than the haywire writing, this was a ton of fun to write, and made me brush up on my season six lore. Every mistake is my own, heed the tags, and enjoy!

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood ran down your chest and stomach, coupled with a hot, searing pain that pulsated from the side of your neck.

The barn you were in was slipping in and out of vision as you tried to focus on a small crack that ran through a few of the ceiling boards.

The reality of your life coming to an end in a barn on the outskirts of a small Midwest town crashed down on you.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt.

Something to get the three of you back on your feet after a year of thinking Sam was dead and no contact between you and Dean.

Rush the vamp nest, take them out, and torch the place for good measure.

It was a fairly simple plan, given the things you three had gone through over the past years. Ghosts, demons, and the damn devil himself. A plan that would’ve gone through perfectly if Sam followed through on his end.

You were supposed to go through one of the top windows, Dean through the front, and Sam the back.

You found two vamps up in the loft, swiftly cutting through the head of one before the other kicked you straight through the loft’s railing, landing on your back a floor below.

Before you could get to your feet, he was on top of you, yanking the machete in your hands and throwing it across the room. He brought his grotesque mouth to your neck, all sharp needles made of bone. The metallic smell of blood caked to the back of his teeth wafted over your senses.

You could feel the muscles in your neck drawing taught as his teeth attempted to rip out the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder. You tried pushing him off, but the harder you pushed, the more his jaw would close. The only thing stopping him from ripping your throat clean open was Dean running behind him and holding the vampire’s mouth open like a wild animal.

Through your drowning ears, you could hear Dean yelling for Sam to come kill the monster on top of you, but no such relief came.

You didn’t know where Sam was, but you knew Dean had a choice to make.

Either let the vampire’s jaw go, letting him yank your throat apart as he scrambled for a weapon to kill it, or continue yelling for his brother who was yet to be found.

Your eyes met his briefly through the struggle of his vice grip on your attacker. You could see confusion, followed by regret, flash in his eyes; like you were telling him it was one way or the other.

As strong as Dean was, you knew that he wasn’t strong enough to wait for Sam and still have the energy to hold the vampire on you.

He knew it, too.

You closed your eyes when you saw his hands starting to move away from the vampire’s jaw before they slipped off and he was out of your sight.

You didn’t blame him. It was a tough call to make, and if the roles were reversed, you were sure you’d make the same choice.

That’s the life, after all.

You were barely conscious enough to recognize Dean dragging you away to prop you up against a wall with a grunt. You heard the rotting door of the barn get kicked open, and you blinked your eyes open enough to see Sam finally make an appearance with the med kit that you stashed in the Impala.

“Where the hell were you,” Dean spit at his brother with venom. You heard Sam’s voice, but the words were garbled and you couldn’t put together what he was saying.

Your voice rattled a moan without your control, like a ghastly breath escaping your lungs in an attempt to cling to life. Their voices came to a hush as Dean returned to kneeling at your side.

“Hey, hey sweetheart,” his hand cupped the side of your face while the other remained pressed harshly on the gaping wound in your neck, “I need you to focus on me. Just keep your eyes on me, everything’s gonna be alright.”

You knew you were at the end of your blood tank; in reality, it was a miracle you were still awake at all.

Fuck.

You moved your jaw, Dean’s hand riding on the side of your neck in an attempt to keep the wound covered.

In no human realm should you be awake or alive in this moment.

But, as Sam shoved thick pads of gauze into Dean’s hands, you felt the world stop as a new smell cut through the one of your blood.

A deep, unsatiated hunger, as if you hadn’t eaten since the moment you were born, dawned on your tongue. It didn’t pile in your stomach like normal hunger; it coursed through your body, wracking you with the urge to find the source of the smell.

Dean.

The smell was coming from Dean.

You forced yourself away from him, kicking against the rickety floor of the barn as he looked at you in shock.

“What are you doing? You’re going to bleed out, please, I know it hurts, but…” his words died in his mouth as you slowly stood to your feet, feeling around the site of the wound. Your hand moved on your skin, slipping in your blood but not dipping against the gaping holes you knew should’ve been there.

“I need you two to back up away from me, please.” You stated as calmly as you could. Something was clicking in your jaw, and you guessed it was the new teeth forcing their way through your gums.

The two of the brothers stepped away, Sam a little faster than Dean, as you dug your nails into a wooden beam to stop your feet from moving.

You watched them from a distance, whispering to each other with occasional glances your way.

Dean took a step towards you, his hands in front of him cautiously as you firmly planted your feet to the ground.

“Sam says he and Samuel may know how to deal with this, he thinks they might have a cure. I’m going to grab the guy that turned you,” he turned to the body slowly, keeping eye contact with you, “and we’ll need you to come with us. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You craned your neck to look around before your eyes were burned with the light creaking through the walls. It burned like the sun had come down to Earth and set it on fire, swirling up to your brain and distorting your thoughts.

“Dean,” you heaved out, planting your hands firmly over your eyes, “I don’t think-” your brain felt too light to form more words. Everything was too bright, too fast, too much.

Your body buckled at your hips as you heard one of the pair approach you. Hands lightly pressed at the backs of your legs, and you were swept off your feet.

When you woke up, you were sat upright in a chair, alone in one of the many rooms of the Campbell’s compound. You recognized it as one of the rooms dedicated to the many monsters the Campbell family took in; the barred door locked from the outside.

You gasped, holding back a gag as you tasted your rancid breath.

“Y/N?” You heard someone call out your name from down the hall, and you scrambled to the bars, wrapping your hands around them.

“Dean?” You called out with a weak voice. The owner of the voice turned down the hallway, revealing Dean’s broad figure walking swiftly to you.

He knelt in front of the bars, gaze sweeping over you, taking in your ragged appearance.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “How are you feeling?”

You laughed bitterly. “Like something chewed me up and spit me out.” The words felt strange coming out of your mouth, as if each syllable scraped against your throat, raw and foreign. You tightened your grip on the bars, the metal cold against your clammy skin.

Dean nodded slowly, glancing down the hallway where Sam and Samuel’s muffled voices were discussing… something. Something about a cure. A way out of this. But you could tell by Dean’s face that the chances weren’t great.

“Listen, they’re working on it,” he said. “Sam and Samuel think they might be able to stop this, to reverse it somehow. You just have to hang in there.”

You met his gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of certainty, anything that might give you hope. “And if they can’t?” Your voice was softer than you’d meant, but you had to ask. The hunger clawing at your insides was getting stronger, more insistent, and it terrified you more than anything else.

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against the bars. “Then we deal with it.”

You felt a shudder run through you, half from fear and half from the hunger that twisted your insides at the scent of his blood. “Dean… you don’t get it.” You tried to explain the gnawing feeling, how you could practically taste his blood just by being this close. “I’m not safe, not like this.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll find a way to make you safe. Whatever it takes.”

Just then, Sam and Samuel came down the hall, carrying an ancient-looking book and a glass filled with a thick red liquid. You guessed it had blood in it, by the smell, but various other scents in the drink made you want to double over. Dean turned, his face hardening as he looked at them.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at you behind the bars. “We… we think this might work. The cure’s based on a blood transfusion from the vampire that turned you, mixed with some ingredients Samuel and the family found.” He met your eyes, his expression somber, with a blankness in his eyes. “It’s gonna hurt. A lot. But if you can make it through… there’s a good chance we can turn you back.”

With a nod, you stepped away from the door, allowing Samuel to unlock it with a key he pulled from his pocket. Dean stared at you intensely as Sam crossed the threshold into the cell. He handed you the cup and quickly stepped back out of the room.

Before either Sam had a chance to close the door again, Dean stepped in.

“What are you doing?” Samuel asked, creaking open the door so Dean would have the chance to leave.

“If this has the chance to kill her, I think we owe her enough to not let her die alone in a cell like some damn dog,” Dean said harshly.

Sam looked as if he was going to say something, but Samuel silently closed the door and locked it.

“Dean,” you groaned out, the ache of your new sharp teeth erupting past your gums making it hard to speak, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know you, and I know that out of all of us, you’d be the one with the most control to not eat me alive.” He said wryly, sitting against the wall opposite of you as you leaned against it.

You smiled despite the pain radiating throughout your body. The drink in your hand smelled like blood mixed with something bitter that sat in the back of your throat. You looked a Dean for a moment, before raising the cup a little in a ‘cheers’ motion and starting to slam the liquid down.

It burned like the first time you drank booze, but there was no warm and fuzzy feeling when you finished. You coughed roughly, dropping the cup and leaning over to sputter your inside up. Dean moved to you within a second, hand holding your hair out of the way as you finally opened your eyes to see what was escaping you.

Blood.

Blood shot from your lips over and over, the only relief found in the form of Dean’s hand gently rubbing your back as your body purged the vampirism straight from you.

You didn’t know how long you spent ridding the disease from your body, but it was long enough to create a puddle of blood that soaked into the jeans you were wearing. You brought your nose away from the smell, not realizing that the hunger in you had finally stilled. Every inch of your body was stretched and burning, but the smell that Dean carried with him was finally gone.

He leaned back against the wall again, bringing you against his chest as he whispered near-silent words of encouragement and comfort. The two of you sat in that cell for what seemed like an eternity, not bothering to call out for anyone to let the two of you out.

[jetii]

Hi! I’m the anon that asked about the SFW/NSFW thing. I had an angsty idea for a Crosshair x Jedi. Reader where they both liked each other, but they never said anything. He injures her during Order 66 and believes her to be dead. Later he finds out she survived, but she has amnesia from when he attacked her. She doesn’t remember that she was a Jedi. She doesn’t remember the Batch and how she battled by their side. She doesn’t remember him.

This can end with the reader remembering and they make up, or you can go the extra angsty route and have it so she never remembers and Crosshair watches as she moves on with someone else. SFW please!

Hi anon! Sorry it took me a while to get to this, but this was harder than I thought. I ended up writing this in a different style than I'm used to, but I think it turned out alright. Tried to keep the word count short but obviously that Did Not Happen. Enjoy!

Forgotten, But Not Yet Gone

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 9,425

Tags/Warnings: Imperial!Crosshair, angst, unrequited feelings, medically inaccurate depictions of amnesia and memory loss

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Killing you was the worst thing that ever happened to Crosshair.

Discovering that you were still alive was a new kind of pain entirely.

And it's one he had never prepared himself for.

He had thought there was nothing left of his heart to break. He thought he was done with feeling anything at all. But seeing you now, in the flesh — and not just the memory of you in the back of his mind...

Crosshair realized he had been wrong.

He had felt nothing for so long. And it had been easier, really. To keep it all locked away. To ignore it. To pretend. He had even been successful, for the most part.

But then, there you were, standing in front of him. And everything came rushing back to the surface.

All of the things he had tried to bury deep within himself. The feelings he had spent years ignoring. All of the things that had made him start to become himself, again. The person he was before the chip, before the nightmare that had been the last year.

And now, as you looked up at him with those big eyes of yours...

Crosshair knew exactly what that emotion was.

You had always made him feel something. Something he had never felt before. Something he was only just now allowing himself to admit. Something he was finally allowing himself to accept.

He’s not sure how long he’s been watching you through the scope of his rifle. So long. Too long.

Long enough for him to realize what he feels.

Long enough for him to know it won't ever go away.

And long enough for him to realize you would never want him again.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from moving. He checks his chrono for the time — he’s been up here for hours, watching the movements of the crowd, and nothing has happened — and stands, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he heads for the ladder.

He has to see you. Even if you won’t want to see him. Even if he knows it will hurt more than he ever imagined.

Because he needs you to know.

Crosshair pushes his way through the crowd, weaving through the bodies. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears. His palms are sweating as he clenches his hands into fists, and his throat is dry.

You don’t see him approach. You haven't noticed him. You're busy smiling and chatting with a vendor over some sort of scrap, the kind of things he used to make fun of you for collecting.

He watches you, the way you gesture animatedly, the way you laugh. You're still beautiful, he thinks, the same way you were the day you left. Your hair is longer, pulled back into a messy braid, and your smile is softer, kinder, but it's still the same.

When he's close enough to hear your voice, he pulls off his helmet so he can hear it more clearly.

You're talking to the vendor about something, the details of the conversation lost on him. The words are just noise in his ears. Your voice washes over him, filling his head, making him ache.

Crosshair stops a few yards away from you. His chest tightens, his heart racing as he watches you. You've been talking to the vendor, completely unaware of his presence. He has to remind himself to breathe, to calm down, to be patient.

Then, you turn around.

He's not sure what he expected to see on your face. Maybe shock. Maybe anger. Maybe even disgust. But you look...pleased. Relieved. Happy. Your smile never falters. In fact, it widens, crinkling the corners of your eyes. Your hand lifts into a wave, and in his stupor he finds his own hand lifting, as if in a trance.

Someone jostles his side as he stands there, staring at you. Your eyes slide off of him and you let out a laugh before a small form launches itself into you, almost knocking you off your feet.

You laugh, picking up the little boy who had run up to you and swing him around, pressing kisses into his hair as he giggles. A moment later, a woman joins you, her hands on her hips, scolding the boy gently for running off.

His throat is too dry to speak. His hands are shaking. The world seems to tilt around him.

Crosshair knows what he feels. He had denied it for so long, tried to tell himself he didn't. But he can't do that anymore. Not when you're here. Not when he's faced with the reality of his feelings for you.

Crosshair can't speak. Can't say anything. Not now. So instead, he watches. Watches the boy squirm in your arms, and the woman smiling at the both of you. Watches as the three of you move on, further into the crowd.

As you move on. Without him.

"CT-9904, report. Why have you left your post?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up and activating his commlink.

"There was a disturbance in the market," he says. His voice is steady, cool, emotionless. Just like it should be.

"And?"

Crosshair looks around. There's no trace of you or the child. You've moved on.

"All clear."

"Good. Report back immediately.”

Crosshair's finger hovers over the button on his comm, the one that will deactivate it. He glances up, once again searching the crowd for any sign of you, but there's nothing.

You're gone, and he's alone. Again.

Crosshair's stomach turns, and he takes a breath, his eyes sliding shut as he speaks.

"Understood."

Every day, Crosshair takes up his post and watches the market, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. And every day, he finds nothing. Every day, he returns to his base, his shoulders heavy with disappointment. He starts to convince himself that he'd imagined you.

That's the only logical explanation. You aren't real. None of this is.

But then, one day, he finds himself watching as you walk into the market. You're holding the hand of the same boy he'd seen you with before, and he can't help but wonder if the two of you are related. If you've found happiness. If you're happy.

It's the first time since finding you that he feels like he can breathe.

He watches as the boy tugs on your hand, dragging you towards a booth, where he's pointing at something, chattering. You're nodding along, clearly invested in what he's saying.

He doesn't look like you. Maybe it's the father. But his age isn't right, either. Crosshair frowns, thinking. How old was the boy? Four, maybe five? It couldn't be your child, not unless you had hidden him from him for the last four years.

He watches as the boy drags you into a crowd. You're laughing, your smile wide, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He'd forgotten how much he loved seeing you smile. Forgotten how it felt.

The only thing keeping him from leaving his post is his fear that you'll be gone the moment he does. So he stays.

The boy is still talking to you. You're listening intently, but your eyes are moving, scanning the crowd. You're nervous, he realizes. You've sensed him, he's sure of it.

Crosshair doesn't dare move. He doesn't know how you would react. You're a ghost. A figment of his imagination, conjured up because he's finally allowed himself to feel something again, but one he can’t bear to look away from

A group of people walk by. A woman bumps into you. Crosshair doesn't have a good view of you anymore. He curses, shifting, trying to get a better angle. He needs to see you. Has to.

You're moving farther away, leaving the market, the boy's hand clasped firmly in yours.

Crosshair moves, quickly, not wanting to lose you. He leaps across rooftops, keeping you in his sights, until the two of you leave the market.

The crowds have thinned. People are going home, to their families, to their lives. Crosshair wonders, briefly, where you're taking your son. What your life is like.

The two of you turn a corner, heading toward the residential district. He follows you, carefully. Slowly. Keeping a distance. You haven't noticed him, which is fine. He wants to be alone with his thoughts. He can't get over how beautiful you are. How perfect.

Crosshair slows, realizing the two of you are stopping in front of an apartment building. You let go of the boy's hand and crouch down in front of him, smiling as you brush his hair from his face. The boy smiles, wrapping his arms around your neck and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You squeeze him, and Crosshair can hear the low murmur of your voice as you talk to him, though he can't make out the words.

You're talking for a few moments, and then you're straightening, ushering him into the building. Crosshair can see the door open, a figure standing in the doorway. The woman from earlier, he realizes. He watches the door shut behind you, his heart clenching.

Maybe it's better this way. You're freer than you've ever been without the Jedi or the Empire. He doesn't want to put you in danger. He's seen what the Empire does to rebels, and he knows what they'll do to you if they discover you're still alive. The same thing he'd failed to do.

Maybe he can be satisfied with knowing that you're safe. Maybe he can live with not having you.

Still, a part of him wishes that you'd turned, seen him. That you'd looked up at him, somehow knowing that he was there.

He'd give anything for just a moment with you.

A moment is all he'd need.

He'd tell you everything. How much he's missed you. How sorry he is for the things he'd said and done. For everything. He'd beg for forgiveness, though he doesn't think he deserves it. He'd tell you how much he loves you, even if it's too late. Even if you're happy now. Even if you'll never be his.

It doesn't matter.

He just needs you to know.

He watches. He keeps his distance, but he watches. Every day. Waiting for you to appear.

He finds his mind wandering more often, thinking about the what ifs. What would have happened if he had never been forced to kill you? Would the two of you have made a life together, away from the Empire, the GAR, the Jedi? Or would he have continued to deny his feelings, pushing them away, until it was too late and he'd lost you forever?

Crosshair wonders, not for the first time, if it's worth it. If staying loyal to the Empire is worth losing any semblance of freedom. His life. The life he could have had.

He has no other choice. They're the only ones who will accept him, who will give him a home. His brothers are lost to him. They hate him, he's certain. They'd tried to kill him.

They've never needed him. They've always had each other. They'll be fine. They'll move on.

Without him.

Like they did after you.

Crosshair tries not to think about that. It's easier to focus on his work. The only thing keeping him sane, the only thing distracting him.

It's late. Crosshair's shift ended hours ago. He'd gone back to his quarters, but sleep hadn't come easily. His thoughts were racing, as they usually were, and the longer he'd laid in bed, the more restless he'd become. So he'd pulled on his armor and grabbed his rifle, and suddenly he was standing outside of your apartment.

He shouldn't be here.

But he is.

He has to see you. He just...he has to. He doesn't know why.

His fingers flex against the stock of his rifle as he looks around. It's empty, save for a few speeders parked nearby. There's not a single person in sight. He lets out a breath and slings the weapon over his shoulder.

He shouldn't be here.

But he is.

His boots crunch against the ground as he moves towards the entrance of the building. It's not the worst area of the city, but it's not the best, either. It's quiet, peaceful. There's a small garden nearby, a few trees casting a shadow on the door.

He stands outside the door for a moment, looking at the panel next to it. He shouldn't be here.

His fist pounds on the door anyway.

It takes a few minutes, but the door slides open, revealing the boy from the market. He blinks at Crosshair, tilting his head curiously.

"Hello," he says.

"Hey," Crosshair replies, awkwardly. He doesn't know what to say, really. He doesn't have any experience with kids beyond his few encounters with Omega, and she wasn't a kid, not really. "Uh, is your mother here?"

A pair of hands wrap around the boys shoulders and yank him back.

"Sam, you don't just open the door to strangers!"

The woman he'd seen the other day steps into view, a blaster clutched tightly in her hand. Her eyes widen as she sees him. He suddenly realizes how this looks — an imperial soldier, standing at her doorstep, in the middle of the night.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

She raises the blaster, pointing it at him. The boy is staring at him, and his gaze moves to the woman, his eyebrows furrowing. He slips around her and darts away, further into the apartment.

"Wait, Sam—" She glances over her shoulder. "Sam!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Crosshair says, holding his hands up.

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone," he says, slowly.

"At this hour?" She looks over her shoulder again, and when she turns back to him, her eyes are wide, panicked.

"Yes. I...I need to speak with her." His mouth feels like its full of sand when he says your name, and he watches as the woman's brow furrows with confusion.

"Who?"

"I need to speak with her. Please."

The woman is silent. She stares at him for a long time, her eyes narrowing, searching his face. She looks like she's about to say something, her lips parting, and then—

"Is everything okay, Maris?"

Crosshair's breath hitches.

Your voice. It's your voice.

The woman — Maris — glances over her shoulder. She takes a breath and nods, before looking back at him. You step into view, the boy at your heels, and stop short, your eyes widening as you take him in.

"We don't want any trouble," you say, stepping in front of Maris, shielding her and the boy. "You can't just—"

"I know."

You're standing between him and the other two, the boy's eyes darting from Crosshair to Maris. The woman has relaxed her stance, lowering her blaster. She's still watching him, wary, but she's not pointing the blaster at him.

"Are you going to hurt us?" you ask softly.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No. I...I need to speak with you."

You're silent. Your eyes are locked with his, searching his face. His heart is racing, and he's struggling to breathe. His armor suddenly feels like an impossible weight on his shoulders.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you nod.

"Okay," you say. "Okay. Come inside."

You turn, ushering the other two inside. Maris looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. He can't blame her. He'd be suspicious of a stranger at the door, too. Especially a strange imperial.

He's surprised when you stop just inside the door, waiting for him to enter. Your arms are crossed, your lips pressed into a thin line. You look nervous.

"Close the door, please," you say.

Crosshair reaches behind him, pressing his palm against the door, closing it. He pulls off his helmet and lets it rest against his hip, his fingers tight underneath the lip.

"You said you needed to speak to me?"

He nods. He wants to say so much. To tell you everything. But the words stick in his throat, and the silence stretches out between you.

"Well, what is it?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning. How can he even begin to explain? How can he start to make up for the things he's done? For the pain he's caused you, for the words he'd said, the insults, the hurtful things. For the fact that he was the one to end your life.

"I—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. No. That's not enough. "I'm sorry," he says, finally.

He doesn't know if that's enough, but it's a start.

"For what?"

Your question throws him. He's not sure what to say. His brow pinches as he tries to think of a response, and the longer he takes to respond, the more annoyed you look.

"Look, I don't know what you want, but—"

"I'm sorry," he says again, firmly. "For...for everything."

Your eyebrows furrow. He watches you, trying to gauge your reaction. But you've always been hard for him to read, with your endless calm and steady presence. It had made him feel less alone, knowing someone else had a handle on their emotions.

Now, he finds it maddening.

"I don't understand," you say, finally. "You show up, unannounced, in the middle of the night, and say you're sorry, but you don't say why. For what? What do you have to be sorry for? How do you even know me?"

Crosshair freezes and looks at you. Really looks at you.

There's no recognition in your eyes. No glimmer of warmth or love, or even hate. Just confusion. And annoyance.

"I..."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

Nothing comes out.

"I...I need to go."

Crosshair turns and heads for the door.

"Wait."

You're still standing between him and the door, and when he gets close, you grab his arm. Your fingers press into the armor, digging into the gaps, the skin on his wrist burning where your hand is touching his.

"Tell me," you say. "Why are you here?"

He looks at you. The confusion is still in your eyes, the annoyance. You're waiting for an answer. You don't remember him. You don't know him. He's a stranger to you, and he has no right to be here, talking to you.

"I shouldn't have come."

"No," you say, "you shouldn't have. Tell me why you're here. What do you want?"

Crosshair sighs, running his hand over his head. His fingers linger on the mottled scar, thumb tracing where the chip was. He knows what he wants to say. But the words are caught in his throat, his tongue heavy, his mouth dry.

"I'm not going to stop asking," you say. "Tell me. Who are you?"

He feels the strange urge to laugh. You always were stubborn. It's not an admirable trait, not normally, but it's something that had always drawn him to you. You were one of the few willing to stand up to him, and now, you're standing in front of him, demanding an answer.

"My name is Crosshair."

Your frown. "Crosshair? Why does that sound familiar?"

He looks at the ground. "That's what my brothers call me."

"Brothers?" You tilt your head, confused. "I don't..."

He looks up, watching your face as you try to figure out what he means. There's a small wrinkle between your brows, the one that appears when you're thinking hard about something. Your teeth worry at your lower lip. You look...

"You don't know me," he finishes for you.

You shake your head, your lips pressed together. "I don't."

"Why not?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he can't help but cringe at the way his voice sounds. Childish. Petulant. He can't stop the way his stomach twists.

You're alive.

And you don't remember him.

You frown. "What do you mean? What does it matter?"

Crosshair looks at you, and he can't help it. His eyes roam over your face, searching.

He wonders what happened. Wonders why you don't remember him. If you'd blocked him out because you were hurt, or angry. Or if it was something else. Something more.

"Because we know each other," he says.

"We do?" You blink at him, and your nose scrunches, just a little. He feels a pang of fondness. "How?"

"We...worked together."

"What? Where?"

Crosshair looks away, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He can't do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He shouldn't have come. He should have left things alone.

"You don't remember."

"I told you that."

"Then what's the last thing you do remember?"

Your brow furrows, and you're quiet for a moment.

"I...I remember..." You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. When you open them again, your face is pinched. "I remember running. A battle. People were screaming. I was hurt."

You glance down at yourself, and Crosshair follows your gaze, looking at the spot where his rifle had pierced you.

"What else?"

You look at him. "Nothing. Everything went dark. Then I woke up on a ship, and the people who rescued me, they brought me here."

"And you don't remember anything before that?"

You shake your head. "No. It's just...black. There's nothing there."

Crosshair can feel his heart sinking.

He wonders if the memory loss was deliberate. A defense mechanism, something to keep you from remembering. A way to protect yourself from the trauma. Or maybe it was just a side effect of being brought back to life.

You’d told him once that you could see people’s memories, peel open their minds until they revealed their thoughts and past to you. It was a useful skill in a Jedi, but one you had hated, and never used. Would it work on yourself? Or would it be different, now that you didn't remember anything?

"Are you alright?"

Crosshair glances up at you, and your eyes meet his. He can't look away. Your eyes are searching, searching, searching, and he knows you're trying to understand what's going on. He can see the frustration and confusion written all over your face.

He nods. "Fine."

You sigh. "This is...a lot."

He nods again, looking away.

"Why did you come here, Crosshair?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"But why?"

"Because..." He sighs. "I need to apologize. For the things I said. For the things I did. And for...for this."

He presses his palm against the place where he'd shot you, and you inhale sharply, stepping back. He can't look at you. He doesn't want to see the fear and disgust on your face.

"I'm sorry," he says, again. "I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I wish..." He lets out a shuddering breath, shaking his head. "I wish things were different."

You're silent, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. They're wide, shining with unshed tears, and the sight makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

"I don't understand," you say.

He can't blame you. You've forgotten everything. Every moment, every memory, every feeling.

And he can't do this.

Not now.

Not like this.

"I have to go," he says. "This was a mistake."

"Wait," you say, reaching for him, but he steps away from you, heading for the door.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, not looking at you.

The door opens, and he steps out. He's halfway down the stairs to the street when you call out.

"Crosshair!"

He stops, glancing over his shoulder at you. You're standing in the doorway, the light from the apartment spilling out around you.

"Come back tomorrow. Please."

He hesitates, and you continue, a slight smile pulling at your lips, "I'll be here."

Crosshair turns and starts walking again.

"Promise?" you call out.

He doesn't stop, but he raises his hand in a wave. "I promise."

You're already waiting for him.

Crosshair can see you, standing in the window. He watches you, your form shadowed by the curtains. You're holding a mug in one hand, the steam curling into the air. The sight of it is so domestic, so...normal. It feels like a punch in the gut.

He had watched you do the same thing, years ago. Sipping tea as you stood at the window, looking out at the landscape. It was one of the first moments that had made him realize that he felt something for you, beyond friendship.

Crosshair is so caught up in his thoughts that he almost doesn't notice the boy peeking out from behind you. You lean down, murmuring something, and the boy's face disappears. You take another sip from your mug and step away from the window.

The door slides open, revealing the two of you, and the woman from the other day. She's standing behind you, arms crossed, scowling at him. The boy is holding your hand, and his stare is unabashed.

"Crosshair," you say, smiling. "Come in."

He looks at the woman — Maris — and she narrows her eyes at him, but she doesn't protest. The three of you step inside, and he follows.

The apartment is small, but cozy. It's full of things. Pictures. Sculptures. Pieces of scrap and machinery. Junk, he would have said before, but now, they seem important, somehow.

"Do you want something to drink?" you ask, ushering him towards a chair.

"Water, please."

"Sam, can you get our guest some water?"

The boy nods and hurries to the kitchen.

"So," you say, sitting across from him. "You wanted to talk to me."

Crosshair can feel Maris' eyes boring into him, and he looks up, meeting her gaze. She narrows her eyes and turns away, moving into the kitchen. He can hear the soft murmur of her voice as she speaks to Sam.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

"I—"

"Here's your water."

The boy sets a cup of water down on the table in front of him. Crosshair glances at him, and Sam looks away, suddenly shy. He rushes back into the kitchen, hiding behind the woman.

"So," you say. "Tell me."

"About what?"

"Everything."

Crosshair lets out a slow breath. He glances at Maris, who's still watching him from the doorway. Her expression hasn't changed, her face set in a scowl. She doesn't trust him, and he can't blame her. He wouldn't, either.

“Not here," he says.

You glance over your shoulder, frowning.

"Maris, can you take Sam out, please?"

"We'll stay here," she says.

"Maris," you say, gently.

She looks at you, her expression softening. You nod towards the door. She shakes her head and steps forward, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

"Call if you need anything," she says.

You nod.

The two of them leave, Maris pausing briefly to look back at Crosshair. He holds her gaze, and she narrows her eyes. The door slides shut behind her.

"Sorry about that," you say. "She's a bit overprotective."

"It's fine." He pauses, and he can’t help but ask, "You're close, then?"

"Yes. Maris is a dear friend. She and her brother were the ones who saved me."

"Good," he says. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because someone has to look after you."

You smile, shaking your head.

"You were always a protective one," you say, chuckling.

Crosshair feels his heart drop.

You've said something of that nature to him before. Many times. He'd always brushed it off, told you he wasn't, that he didn't care. That it was only his duty to protect you. But you'd never bought it, and you'd always seen through his façade, calling him on his bullshit.

You had always been good at that.

“You said you don’t remember,” he points out, ignoring how his voice shakes.

You shake your head. “I don’t, but...I can feel it. I can feel things. When I look at you, it feels...familiar. Like I should know you, but I don't."

"And what do you feel, now?"

You're silent, looking at him. His eyes roam over your face, and he can feel himself leaning forward. Your lips part, and his eyes flick down, watching as your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

He leans in further, and—

The door opens, and Crosshair sits back, turning his head to see Maris and Sam standing there, the woman glaring at him.

"Forgot my datapad," she says, her tone clipped.

"Of course," you say, rising from your seat. "Where did you leave it?"

She doesn't answer, and instead, she crosses the room, scooping the datapad off the counter. She gives him another dirty look and then leaves, the door sliding shut behind her.

Crosshair sighs and leans back in his seat. You give him an apologetic smile and sit back down.

"You were saying?"

"Right. What do you feel?"

You're quiet, and he watches as your brow furrows.

"Sad," you say, softly. “But also…like I'm home. With you. It's strange. It doesn't make any sense. But I feel it."

He can't stop the strangled noise that escapes his throat, and he closes his eyes, his hands gripping the armrests. He tries to breathe, but he can't, and the world seems to be tilting around him.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Crosshair, please. Look at me."

His eyes snap open and lock on yours. You're staring at him, your face pinched with concern.

"Please," you say, again, and it's too much.

It's the same thing you'd said before, the last time he'd seen you. Before everything had gone to hell. Before the chip. Before he'd shot you.

"I can't," he chokes out, pushing himself to his feet. "I can't."

"Wait," you say, grabbing his wrist.

He freezes. Your hand is warm, and the way your thumb moves over his pulse point makes his heart flutter.

"Let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," you say.

He can feel the tension in his body building, his fingers twitching. He wants to run. To get out of here. To get away from you, and everything that reminds him of what he's lost. Of what he'll never have.

He yanks his hand from your grasp and turns to go, but something stops him. Something familiar. A tugging at the back of his mind. He turns, slowly, and sees you standing there, your eyes closed, your hand outstretched.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

“I—I’m not sure,” you whisper, and your eyes blink open.

The two of you stare at each other, and then you turn, moving into the kitchen. Crosshair follows, stopping just outside the doorway. You're leaning against the counter, your head hanging low, breathing heavily.

"I shouldn't have done that," you say. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"What did you do?"

"I'm not sure," you repeat.

"But you have a theory," he says. You always have a theory.

"I think...I was trying to reach out, to see if I could read your memories. If I could see what happened between us."

"Did it work?"

"I don't know. I tried, but..."

You trail off, and Crosshair watches as you lift a hand to your head, wincing.

"It's like a wall," you say. "Or a wall that's half there. I can't break through."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure," you say. "It's like I'm remembering, but not. It's confusing. And frustrating. I saw flashes of something, but it didn't make sense. None of it does."

"Like what?"

"You. Me. Fighting. And..." You frown. "Your…brothers? They were there, too."

Crosshair swallows. He has no idea what you're seeing. How much of the memory is intact, or if it's even real.

"What else?"

"I don't remember," you say, shaking your head. "It's gone."

He doesn't know what to say. The two of you stand in silence, and he can't help but feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that you can regain your memories. That he can have you back.

But that's foolish. He's not a child, and he's not that naive. Hope is dangerous. It leads to disappointment. It's not something he can afford. Not anymore.

"I should go," he says.

"No." You reach for him, grabbing his wrist, and he doesn't pull away. "Please, don't go. I need to know more. Please tell me. Tell me about us. About the things we did. About...everything. I need to know. I have to know."

He hesitates. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't.

But you're looking at him, and you're so desperate, so vulnerable. You'd never allowed him to see you like this. You'd always been strong and sure. Calm and collected. Steady. Always steady.

This isn't you.

It's not.

But he can't help but feel a small pang of hope. A tiny spark of optimism.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

"Alright," he says. "Alright. I'll tell you."

Crosshair keeps coming back.

It becomes a routine. He stops by the apartment, talks to you. He tells you stories, and he watches as you try to remember, but can't.

Sometimes, he catches Maris watching him. Her gaze is always wary, guarded. She doesn't trust him, and he can't blame her. But she tolerates him. She never says anything, not to him, and not to you, but he knows she doesn't like him.

The boy, Sam, doesn't seem to mind him. He's curious, and he has endless questions. He's a smart kid, and Crosshair can't help but feel a small spark of pride every time Sam comes up with a solution to a problem, or manages to repair something that was broken.

He's a good kid.

He reminds him of Tech.

"Do you have any brothers?" Sam asks one day, his hands covered in grease.

Crosshair's stomach twists at the question. He nods, and Sam's eyes widen.

"I have a brother, too. We don't look the same, but that's okay."

"I have brothers who don't look like me," Crosshair replies, and Sam smiles.

"That's good."

Crosshair smiles back.

After that, Sam starts to ask him questions, about his life, his family. His brothers. He can't help but answer, though he tries to keep it vague, giving Sam the barest details. You watch him, and he can feel your eyes on him. You want answers too, but you don't push.

It's easier when it's just the two of you. Easier to talk. Easier to tell you things. Easier to try and find some way to connect.

Easier to fall back into old habits.

"Do you remember that time on Vanqor?"

"The one where I almost drowned in a pond, or the one where I had to save you from that pack of gundarks?"

"Both."

You laugh, and the sound is like music to his ears. "Yes. I remember. You were such a brat about it."

"I was not," he huffs, and you give him a look.

"Yes, you were."

He can't argue. You're right. He'd been a brat. And an asshole.

But he can't help it. You bring out the worst in him. And the best.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Maybe a little."

You smirk and shake your head, and the two of you continue to chat. The conversation shifts, and he's talking about his brothers. How they used to get into trouble. How they'd pull pranks, and he'd end up in the middle of it. How you'd always had his back.

Crosshair can't help but wonder if this is how it would have been, if the two of you had been able to have a normal life. Would you have ended up together, anyway? Would the two of you be happy? Would you have been able to start a family of your own?

He'd never thought about it before, but now, it seems all too possible.

Too tempting.

"What are you thinking about?"

He looks up, startled, and realizes you're watching him, a faint smile on your face.

"Nothing," he says.

"Tell me."

"It's nothing. I was just...thinking."

"About what?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

He pauses, his mouth going dry. He shouldn't say it. He should change the subject. But he can't.

"What we could have been."

Your expression softens, and your eyes shine with sadness.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I wish I could remember."

"Me, too."

The two of you fall into a heavy silence. The air is thick, and he can feel the tension growing. You're still staring at him, your gaze searching. He's not sure what you're looking for, but you seem to find it, because you stand, and walk over to him.

"Can I show you something?"

He nods, and you take his hand, leading him to your room. He can't help but notice how your fingers fit perfectly between his, or the way his skin tingles underneath his gloves when you touch him. You step inside, and close the door behind you, sealing the two of you inside.

Crosshair doesn't know what to expect, but it's not this.

"Sit."

You motion towards the bed, and he does, slowly, feeling his heart race. You move to a dresser and open the top drawer, pulling out a box.

"I found this," you say, sitting next to him, "a few days ago."

You set the box between the two of you, and slowly, carefully, you lift the lid. Inside is a collection of items - a haircomb, a few pieces of jewelry, a datapad, a pair of gloves.

"What is this?"

"I don't know," you say. "Maris found them in my things. She says I was wearing most of this when she and her brother found me. She kept it for me. I think...I think they might have been important to me."

You pick up the datapad and press a button, bringing it to life. The screen lights up, and you stare at it, your brow furrowing.

"It's locked," you say, frowning. "I don't remember the password."

"Have you tried any?"

"No," you say. "I haven't touched any of this. I wanted to wait for you."

He can't hide his surprise, and you smile, a faint flush spreading across your cheeks.

"I think," you say, slowly, "that they're memories. And I think you might be the key to unlocking them."

Crosshair's breath hitches. "How?"

"I'm not sure," you admit. "But...when we're together, I feel...something. A connection. Like a catalyst. I can't explain it, but...I know I need you."

He feels a warmth spreading through him, and he looks away, his heart pounding.

"Do you think we could try?" you ask, tentatively.

He nods.

"Alright," you say. You pick up the datapad, and hand it to him.

"I don't know if I can," he says, taking the device.

"Please."

He swallows. His mouth feels dry, and his hands are shaking. He takes a deep breath, and then types in a code.

The datapad beeps, and the screen lights up.

"How did you know that?" you ask, softly.

He shrugs. "It was a guess."

"A good one," you say, smiling.

"I'm full of good ideas," he replies, smirking.

You roll your eyes, and the two of you share a quiet chuckle.

"So," you say. "Shall we see what's inside?"

He nods, and you scoot closer to peer over his shoulder. He unlocks the datapad, and a folder opens. Inside are dozens of files - audio, video, and holos. He looks at you, and you nod, indicating for him to click on the first one.

The screen goes black, and then an image appears. It's of the two of you standing in front of a waterfall. He remembers the moment. It was from a mission, the first time the two of you had really worked together. He didn't like you then. Not at all. But he can't deny that you were efficient, and had a sharp eye. You'd impressed him, and the two of you had formed a tenuous bond.

"I took a lot of holos," you murmur, and he can't help but chuckle.

"I remember," he says. "You were a damn nuisance."

"Yeah, but look."

You point to the holo, and Crosshair looks, and sees himself. He's standing next to you, and there's a hint of a smile on his face.

"That's you," you say, poking his shoulder.

"Yes," he replies, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "It is."

You move on to the next file, and it's another image of the two of you. And the next. And the next. Until finally, the holo changes. It's a video. The two of you are in the cockpit, and he can see his brothers sitting behind you.

"We were on our way to a mission," he says as he sees the date stamp. "We'd just gotten the brief."

"Play it," you urge.

Crosshair presses the play button, and the two of you watch as the holo begins.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" you ask, glancing at him.

"Of course," he replies, not looking away from the viewport.

Tech looks over his shoulder, frowning. "Statistically speaking, there is a thirty-two percent chance that we will—"

"Shut up, Tech," Crosshair snaps.

"It's alright," Hunter says. "We'll be fine. We always are."

Wrecker laughs, and the sound is booming in the small space.

"And if we're not, well, that's what we have her for," Crosshair adds, nodding towards you.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Nice to know I'm the only one who can bail your asses out."

"You're welcome," he smirks.

You huff and shake your head. "Just be careful."

"Always," he replies.

The video cuts off, and the screen goes black. You're quiet, and Crosshair glances at you. You're staring at the datapad, your expression thoughtful.

"That was...me," you say, slowly. "I can't believe it. That was really me."

"Yes," he says. "It was."

"It was so...familiar," you murmur. "But also...not."

"It will come," he says, softly. "I promise."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because it's you," he says. "I know you. You're stubborn."

"You're one to talk," you say, laughing.

He can't stop himself. He reaches for you, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You lean into the touch, and he cups your face, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"I've missed you," he confesses.

"I'm right here."

"I know."

"You don't have to miss me," you say, gently. "Not anymore."

He looks at you, and the words are there, on the tip of his tongue.

But he can't say them.

He can't.

Not now.

Not yet.

"Crosshair," you say, softly.

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"What is it?"

You hesitate, and he watches as your brow furrows, the small wrinkle appearing.

"Were we ever...together?"

"Together?"

"Romantically," you clarify.

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He drops his hand, and turns away.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," you say. "But...I feel like we were. Or...maybe could have been. I'm not sure."

"We..."

He trails off, and his eyes flick up, meeting yours. You're watching him, your gaze intent, and he knows you won't let this go. Not now.

"No," he says, finally. You look…he isn’t sure how you look, actually, but it has him continuing before he can think better of it. "But we could have been."

"Why didn't we?"

Crosshair looks away, his hands clenching into fists. He can feel the anger, the guilt, the regret, all of it, rising up inside him, threatening to consume him.

"It was my fault," he says, his voice tight.

"What was?"

"Everything," he replies, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is," he says. "It's my fault. All of it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a monster," he snaps.

You're quiet, and he can feel the anger burning in his chest, his blood boiling.

"That's not true," you say, finally.

"You don't know that," he growls.

"Maybe not," you say, evenly. "But I know you. I may not remember everything, but I know enough to know that you're not a monster. I know that you love your brothers. That you care about me. That you're a good man. Maybe not a perfect one, but a good one. One I trust."

He closes his eyes, his chest tight. He can't believe you. He can't. You're wrong. He's not a good man. He's not. He can't be. Not after everything. Not after what he's done.

"It's okay," you say, softly.

"No, it's not."

"Then let me help you."

"There's nothing you can do," he says, shaking his head. "I don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves to be happy."

"Not me."

"Crosshair," you sigh, exasperated.

He looks up at you, and your eyes lock.

"It doesn't matter," he says, the fight going out of him. "It's too late. We can't go back. I can't change the past. And you...you don't remember."

"I will," you say, fiercely.

"Maybe," he replies, unconvinced.

"No," you say, your voice firm. "I will. I will remember, and I will know you. The real you. I will."

"I don't—"

"Crosshair," you say, firmly.

He stares at you, and he can feel his resolve breaking.

"Fine," he says, finally.

"Good," you say, nodding.

"But you have to promise me something," he says.

"What is it?"

"Promise me you won't push yourself," he says. "Don't try to force it. Let it happen naturally. Promise me."

You're silent for a moment, and he can see the wheels turning in your mind.

"Okay," you say, nodding.

"Promise."

"I promise."

"Thank you," he says, his shoulders slumping in relief.

"You're welcome," you say with a grin.

He shakes his head, unable to stop the small smile that tugs at his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says. "Just...you."

"Me?"

"Yes," he replies, his tone wry. "You're infuriating, and stubborn, and—"

"I'm starting to remember why we never got together," you say, teasingly.

He lets out a startled laugh, and the two of you lapse into silence, a comfortable one, filled with a familiarity and a warmth that he hasn't felt in years.

"Do you want to look at more holos?" you ask, gently.

"Sure," he says, leaning back.

The two of you settle down, and he holds the datapad, while you lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder. He feels a familiar warmth spreading through him, a sense of belonging, and rightness.

He doesn't know how long the two of you sit there, watching the holos.

He doesn't care.

He's home.

Crosshair keeps coming back.

Every day, he returns. He tells you stories. Shows you holos. Shares memories.

Slowly, things begin to return. Flashes, mostly. Nothing concrete, but the pieces are there. Small ones, at first. The scent of a flower. The sound of a song. The feeling of the sun on your face.

As time passes, the memories grow stronger. Clearer. More detailed.

And still, you continue to search for answers. You ask questions. He answers, when he can.

Sometimes, it's too much, and he can't. When it is, you change the subject, and the two of you talk about other things.

You tell him about your life. About Maris and her brother, and their family. You tell him about the boy, Sam. You tell him about the work you've been doing, helping to rebuild the city.

You ask about his life, too. His family. His brothers. His life before.

He answers, when he can.

As the days pass, Crosshair finds himself falling back into old patterns. The familiarity of it is comforting, and it's easy to pretend, if only for a moment, that nothing has changed.

That you're the same people, with the same lives, and the same goals.

It's a lie.

But it's one he allows himself, for a while.

One day, you're sitting on the couch, the two of you lost in conversation. He's telling you a story, and you're listening, a small smile on your face.

"Wait," you interrupt. "I remember that."

"You do?"

"Yes," you say, eagerly. "Tech and I were working on modifying my armor, and he asked you to go get us some food. You came back, and—"

"And Wrecker spilled paint all over me," he finishes, his voice bitter.

"Yeah," you say, your grin widening. "And then I had to help you clean it off."

"It was a nightmare," he grumbles. "And it took forever. Your damn hands were everywhere."

You laugh, and his stomach flutters. It's a wonderful sound.

"It wasn't that bad," you tease.

"It was," he insists. "It took hours."

"Maybe," you concede. "But it was fun."

"Fun?" he says, incredulous.

"Yeah," you say, your eyes twinkling. "For me."

"You're terrible," he grumbles, though there's no heat in his words.

"You love it."

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he leans forward, and presses his lips to yours.

You freeze, and he freezes, and for a moment, the two of you are motionless, caught in a moment of indecision.

Then, slowly, tentatively, your lips move against his, and his eyes close, and he's kissing you, and you're kissing him, and the world falls away, and it's just the two of you, lost in the moment.

Finally, the two of you break apart, breathless. Your eyes meet, and there's a spark of recognition, and something else.

Something deeper.

"Crosshair," you whisper, your voice shaking.

"I know," he says, cupping your cheek. "I know."

He kisses you again, and you kiss him back, your arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, and you respond in kind, your hands tangling in his hair.

The two of you continue to kiss, and he's lost in the sensation, his hands roaming over your body, his fingers digging into your skin.

Finally, the two of you break apart, breathless, and your eyes lock.

"Wow," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "That was..."

"Yeah," he says, a smirk forming on his face.

You laugh, and his smile grows. Then you grow quiet, and you pull away, turning your head.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft.

"Sorry," you say. "It's just...I'm remembering things. More than before. A lot more. Things I'd forgotten."

"What kind of things?"

"Things we did. Where we went. What we said."

He can't help but feel a sense of excitement. This is the first time you've been able to recall anything concrete. It's a step in the right direction.

"What are you remembering?" he asks, his voice low.

You turn to him, and your eyes are shining.

"Us," you say, softly. "The way we were. Together."

His heart races, and he swallows, hard.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice raspy.

Your brow furrows and you close your eyes, and he can see the gears turning in your mind. He waits, barely daring to breathe.

"I remember us, talking," you say, slowly. "We were on the ship, and I was working on something, and you were sitting with me, and...we were talking about us."

"What did we say?"

"You told me that...you cared about me," you murmur. "You told me that you didn't know how, or why, but that you did."

"I remember," he says, his voice breaking.

"I remember...how I felt," you say. "When you said it."

"How?"

"Happy," you reply, smiling. "It made me happy."

He can't speak. Can't move. Can't think. All he can do is stare at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Crosshair," you say, gently. "I—"

Before you can finish, the door slides open, and the two of you jerk away from each other, startled.

Maris stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She takes in the scene, and her eyes narrow.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks, her tone cool.

"No," you say, hastily. "We were just...talking."

She doesn't respond. Instead, she turns, and walks away.

You let out a shaky breath, and Crosshair glances at you.

"I should go," he says, softly. "I need to report in before they come looking for me."

"Right," you say, nodding.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Yeah," you say. "I'll be here."

"Okay," he says, his heart still pounding. "I'll...see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," you repeat, and he stands, heading for the door.

Before he leaves, he glances back at you, and the two of you exchange a brief, secret smile.

Then, he steps out of the apartment, and the door slides shut behind him.

As he makes his way back to the shuttle, he can't help but feel the weight of what just happened.

He can't deny it.

There's no turning back now.

Crosshair makes his way back to your apartment, his mind filled with thoughts of you. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since the kiss. He can't help but relive the memory, over and over, the feeling of your lips against his, the taste of your mouth, the way your body felt pressed against his.

It was better than he'd ever imagined.

And now, he's desperate to see you. To kiss you again. To hold you, and touch you, and feel your skin beneath his fingers.

He reaches the door, and before he can knock, it opens, and you're standing there, your eyes wide.

"Crosshair," you say, and the sound of his name on your lips sends a thrill through him.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy.

You look at him, your expression unreadable, and his stomach churns.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you say, and his worry eases, slightly. But you're not smiling, and he can tell something is wrong.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"It's...I don't know," you reply.

"Tell me."

"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

He follows you into the living room, and the two of you sit down. You're on the edge of your seat, your hands clasped in your lap, and he watches as your leg bounces.

"So," he says, his voice strained. "What is it?"

You take another breath, and your hands tremble.

"I...remember," you say, slowly. "I remember everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes," you say, a small smile appearing before it falls. "It all came back. It was like a flood, and I couldn't stop it."

"What do you mean?"

"I remembered," you say, a look of awe crossing your face. "I remembered it all. The good, the bad, and everything in between. The missions, the battles, the fights, the arguments. The pain. The loss. The love."

He stares at you, unable to believe what he's hearing.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," you say. "Dead serious."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He can't stop himself. He grabs you, pulling you close, and the two of you embrace, his arms tight around you.

"I can't believe it," he says, his voice hoarse. "I thought...I was sure it would never happen. That I'd lost you. Forever."

"It's okay," you say, resting your head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

He holds you, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Crosshair," you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"I have to leave," you say, and his stomach drops.

"Leave?"

"Yes," you say. "I can't stay. Not now. I need to get out of here. To go somewhere. Now that I know what I am, I—I can't stay. I'm a danger to everyone here."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure," you reply, slowly. "Somewhere I know the Empire won't find me."

"Where?"

"I don't know," you say, shaking your head.

He's quiet, and the two of you lapse into silence. Finally, he speaks.

"I'll come with you," he says.

"What?"

"I'll come with you," he repeats, firmly.

"Crosshair, I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not," he says. "I'm offering. And besides, you need me. I know the Empire, and the ways they track people. I can help keep you safe."

You hesitate, and he can see the uncertainty in your eyes.

"Please," he says, his voice soft. "Let me do this. Let me keep you safe. I can't lose you again. I can't. Not after all this."

You gaze at him, your expression thoughtful.

"Okay," you say. "If that's what you want."

"It is," he says, fiercely.

"Then we'll do it together."

"Together," he says, nodding.

The two of you smile, and you reach for him, pulling him close, your lips pressing against his. He responds in kind, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

You break apart, and his eyes meet yours, and he knows, without a doubt, that this is the right decision.

He's not letting you go again.

Never again.

Not if he can help it.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @kindalonleystars

@cw80831 @qvnthesia @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak @lovelytech9902

@frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @Puppetscenario @umekohiganbana

@resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild

@ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster

@lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777 @schrodingersraven

@megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

aus that I always ALWAYS eat up are regency/nobility aus

but an au that I crave but haven't seen is a viking/nobility, but in the sense of "here is a random man I found injured in the woods... my new husband 😍" this feeds off the "I will give you everything I've ever had and more" yk

anon?? thank you for spreading the good word. this is genius and i am shocked it doesn't see more use. you could try this in a number of historical settings and different genres, combine it with different tropes, spin it several ways. also tasty as hell.

gives me strong courtly love vibes--that thing in Arthurian romances/literature; the whole "i am wholly devoted to you past the point of deep passionate romantic love all the way to worship, but can and will never touch you because our stations and other social factors keep us from consummating our relationship; however i will lay down my life for you at every conceivable opportunity and if anything happens to you there will be hell to pay a thousand times over" thing. big big Guinevere and Lancelot trope.

like the idea of you, noblewoman reader, finding this man injured in the woods--handsome man, but has some blood and dirt smeared on him and a wild look in his eye. something is off about him, you know it, but you ignore it because this poor thing hasn't eaten in weeks, he's injured, he ran his horse to death just to escape the circumstances that tried to follow him here. and because the moment you offer to help him instead of turning him in, he looks at you like you're heaven-sent. like an angel.

he lets you lead him by the hand back to town, back to your home (manor, castle, what have you). your friends, neighbors, ladies in waiting see him and almost panic. they're beside themselves trying to warn you about this frankly feral- and haunted-looking man who is gripping your hand like a lifeline but looks like he'll tear the throat out of anyone else who comes too close. you wave them off and take him inside, have a room prepared, a bath drawn, clothes bought. his guest room is nicer than most homes but he never seems to stay there. always seems to find his way back to wherever you are. lurks there until you call him closer to you. this causes everyone else give you a wide berth. that's fine with him.

later, you ask him where his home is and when he plans to return. you say you'll send him off with a new horse, with money, with nice things (things you hope he'll remember you by). instantly he swears his life to you because with you is his place now. you plead with him to reconsider, doesn't he have a family, someone who misses him, didn't he leave anything behind--but he refuses to talk about where he came from. he refuses to talk about what brought him to those woods in the first place, what made him desperate enough to leave his earthly belongings behind and run his horse to death.

he gives his life to you. motherfucker is scary as all hell but he looks at you like he'd die and kill for you. and he would. and he will.

bonus points if you're already married to a man who doesn't treat you well and your new knight/bodyguard immediately knows he'll be solving that problem shortly <3

...

masterlist tag

[morning-star-joy]

but you know the killer doesn't understand (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Post!Outbreak Neighbors Joel x F!Reader

Summary: When Joel returns to Jackson and meets you, his new neighbor, he knows right away he's fucked.

Request: Reader being Joel’s neighbor and reader is super kind and and nice to everyone (especially Joel and Ellie) and having this lightness and softness about her and they’re kinda in love with each other but Joel won’t admit and allow himself to act on it (full request)

Tags/Warnings: Language, Joel is bad at feelings, innocence kink. Series will include angst, mutual pining and TW mentions of previous miscarriage

Wordcount: 784

A/N: There will be multiple parts to this! Ty lovely anon for sharing your beautiful idea and entrusting it to me

Part I || Part II || Part III || Masterlist (More Parts Coming Soon)

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel Miller was not a kind man.

Any kindness he ever had lingering in his soul had been eradicated over twenty years spent doing whatever it took to survive after the end of the world.

It was just the way that it was. After so much loss and suffering, so much blood spilled from his own body and from those that he had not only killed, but tortured, in cruel, unimaginable ways—there was no way that he could still manage to be soft. 

Hell, or anybody else, for that matter. Joel was of the firm belief that nobody who had made it this far didn’t have blood on their hands. In fact, it was just about the only thing he still believed in: the indisputable fact that every person in this fucked up world was just as fucked up as it was.

That was, until he met you.

When he and Ellie returned to Jackson, and she moved into the garage on his property as he settled into that large house that almost unnerved him with how quiet and peaceful it was, he was content to be a recluse in the settlement. Joel would do what he could to protect the town—he owed Tommy that much—but he wouldn’t go out of his way to do something as mundanely trivial as make friends.

And then you showed up on his doorstep a few days after he arrived, standing there in a faded sundress with a plate of something that smelled so tempting in some kind of peace offering he would have expected before the apocalypse, but not ever since society had crumbled down.

There was a soft smile on your face, a warmth in your eyes that had Joel completely taken aback and, fuck, he already knew he was in for it just then, before you even opened your mouth.

“You’re Joel, right?” you said in a voice as soft as that smile, kindness oozing from every word in a way that almost made Joel start to feel uncomfortable because what was the catch?

“Joel Miller?" you tried to clarify by adding his last name when he didn't answer, but you were seemingly unfazed when he still didn't say anything as you continued, "I’m friends with Maria and Tommy. They mentioned you had just moved in.”

You leaned back then, turning your face so you could point at the house next door, but Joel was too busy glancing over your face, searching for a sign of weariness, of deceit, trying to convince himself you were just as tired and mean and fucked up as the rest of them.

“I live next door,” you explained with the pointing before your hand went back to the plate, and you held it out further, making Joel lean back slightly. “I just wanted to come by and say, well…welcome to Jackson!”

You smiled again, almost a grin now, a cheerfulness that made Joel stiffen as his chest tightened with an unfamiliar feeling. It was one that had once been well-known in another life, before he had lost everything. 

A feeling he had never wanted to experience again.

So he took the plate, muttering a gruff thanks as his Southern upbringing—as far away as it was now—wouldn’t let him do otherwise, even as he quickly shut the door right in your face directly afterwards.

He had expected you to linger for a moment, probably taken aback by his abrupt rudeness at your gesture of neighborly peace, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t hear your feet retreat from the other side of the door right away.

What did shock him was when you called out your name, introducing yourself even through the wall of the too damn big, too damn peaceful and quiet house before your footsteps finally did click across the porch as you left.

Click? Had you been wearing heels? He couldn’t remember, but he felt a surge of something and, fuck.

Joel said nothing as he crossed through the house to the back door, heading to Ellie’s small abode to drop off what he realized from the annoyingly delicious smell was banana bread, so the girl could eat it.

She had accepted it with enthusiasm, asking him where he got it, a scarred eyebrow arching with interest as Joel merely mumbled an annoyed “neighbor” before leaving.

When preparing for bed that night, all Joel could think of was the click of a heel, the scent of freshly baked sweets, a delicate finger pointing towards a house right next door, the flare of a pale yellow dress as you turned and fuck.

Fuck, this was bad.

You were bad.

Because you were good, and he was bad.

Fuck.

[noforkingclue]

I warned you it's brain rot. It's Tommy Shelby brain rot-

But Tommy Shelby has a nurse who knows not to ask too many questions, who lets injured Peaky blinders into her house and helps them quietly. He's been there himself, so has Arthur, John. Finn once, too, but for a scraped knee on the street.

And Thomas has always regarded her as one of his-his men, his assest, whatever. And he's been slowly learning about her-she talks when she works, to distract, put them at ease, and it lets him learn more about her-she likes horses, for instance. Where she grew up, the basics of how she ended up here-and he pays her well enough, and she doesn't seem fool enough to turn coat.

But there are moments...moments where he's injured, where it's her and him in the room, smelling of blood, of pain and that soft voice and comfort-and he knows in those moments she's not just his nurse. Not just a healer he wants to keep around because her stitches are clean and neat, and her mouth shut.

So when Grace the fucking barmaid squeals about her to the coppers-he's not exactly a happy man. And Tommy Shelby angry is a sight to behold.

Note: requests are currently closed

Of course anon! I hope I got all the details in the request as it was a long on!

Enjoy!

Title: Vengeance

Warnings: descriptions of violence against women

Peaky Blinders tag list: @stylesofloki, @ohshititsfenharel, @lenaskyler02, @elenavampire21, @swordofawriter, @zablife, @cillmequick, @polishcrazyone, @nataliewalker93

Thomas Shelby tag list: @alreadybroken-ts, @darlingdevil, @lyrxbz, @watercolorskyy, @notyour-valentine

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Arthur growled, “once we find out who did this their going to wish they hadn’t been fucking born.”

“Arthur-“

“They fucking hurt y/n,” Arthur said, “Y/n? What has she ever done?”

“She fucking helped us,” said John, “how many times have you been to her?”

“Not as much as you fucking have.”

Tommy was looking into the main bar, smoking silently. He had remained quiet while his brothers discussed what happened and their plans for your attacker. Well, Arthur and John had. Finn remained quiet and very pale, clutching a glass of whiskey so tightly that Tommy thought he was going to break it. That would only add to their problems seeing as you wouldn’t be able to pull the glass out. Tommy had seen Finn wiping his eyes but subtlety was never Finn’s strong points.

“Boys.”

Polly stood in front of Tommy. He glanced over her shoulder and looked at you huddled in a booth. Polly pushed her was passed him and Tommy shut the door behind her.

“How is she?” asked John

“What a fucking stupid question,” snapped Polly before sighing and running a hand over her face, “how do you think? She needs time so, don’t-“

“You need to leave.” Said Tommy

“Excuse me?” said Polly, venom in her voice

“I’m going to speak to her.”

“She doesn’t need that at the moment, especially from you.”

Tommy looked over and locked eyes with Polly.

“I need to speak to her.”

“Tom-“ said Arthur

“Fuck off.” Tommy said as he left the room

Your head jerked up when you heard the door open but you seemed to relax slightly when you realised it was only Tommy. He sat down opposite you and was vaguely aware of his brothers and Polly leaving. Neither of you spoke for a while. You ran a thumb over the rim of your glass and Tommy lit a cigarette and offered it to you. You took it with shaking hands and his eyes dropping down to the cuts on your hands. Deep scratches along the palms of yours hands, knuckles had the skin scrapped away. When he looked up at your face he felt the familiar bubbling rage resurface.

Your left eye was an ugly purple colour and swollen shut. Your bottom lip has been cut open and starting to scab over. Your nose was now slightly crooked and he could see the traces of blood around your nostrils. From the way you drew deep shaking breath, wincing every so often, he guessed that your ribs had been broken.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “this shouldn’t have happened.”

You took a deep drag of your cigarette and said,

“I knew that this could happen when I started helping.”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

“I work for the Shelby’s.”

“Which is why we’re going to find out who did this and kill him.”

You blinked in surprise and smiled bitterly.

“Never knew you cared.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re one of us.”

And maybe it was because Tommy liked you a bit too much. You always helped him and his men, probably more often then you should’ve. You stayed up late, humouring an old (and secretly lonely) man. Telling him stories of your life before the Blinders, telling him about your day and in return getting some small snippets of his life in return. In the dark of the night, in a room that smelt of blood and alcohol, the two of you grew closer.

And it was this that had sealed your fate.

“Love, you need to tell me what you can remember.”

“I… can’t.”

“Anything.”

“They blindfolded me.”

Ah.

“But, he had an accent.”

“Hmm.”

“Irish, I think.”

“Irish,” Tommy let out a chuckle, “think I know who you mean. He’d hate for you to call him Irish though.”

“Huh?”

You jumped when there was a clink by the bar. Tommy looked over at it sharply and saw Grace by the bar. A tense silence fell over the room before Tommy said,

“And how long have you been there?”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Another celebration ficlet request! The original ask for this one seems to have gotten deleted, and it was sent on anon, so I can't even tag the person who sent it in. 😫

I hope you still see this and enjoy, nonnie! 💖

Heaven's in the backseat

Rated: E

Words: 1,000

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Mentions of Stommy; Knife play; Dubious consent; Obsessive behavior; Violent thoughts; Car sex; Eddie has anger management issues and Steve is a little slut

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Eddie has just lit his first cigarette of the night when one of the waiters informs him that Mr. Harrington wants him outside. As he grinds the cigarette under his boot, he imagines doing the same thing to Dick’s stupid head. 

Working for a mob boss is so goddamn exhausting. 

A week where Eddie doesn't come close to kicking the proverbial bucket is a good week - especially now that Dick has been taking him along as a bodyguard more and more often. He’s not complaining about that, though. Occupational hazard. 

No, what’s really annoying is the damn black tie affairs. As if squeezing into a fucking suit wasn't enough, the social dynamics of the underworld are mind-numbingly complicated. All of the big mob families are either related or out to kill each other - more often than not both at the same time. It makes events such as this an interesting affair, to say the least. All night long, Eddie has been hovering at the edge of the room while the boss ate and drank and shook hands with other important farts. Always vigilant, always ready to pull his knife from its holster under his suit jacket. And now he can’t even step out for ten minutes to have a fucking smoke? 

The car is parked in the driveway when he arrives. Next to it are the boss himself and a swaying figure with disheveled chestnut hair wearing a rumpled suit. 

Eddie’s blood bubbles and his steps speed up.

“-fucking disgrace,” Harrington says just as he flies down the stairway leading to the car. “You’ll do anything for attention, won’t you?” 

Eddie doesn’t catch the slurred reply, but it must’ve been the wrong one, because Harrington slaps the boy across the face before wrestling him into the backseat. Eddie’s hand is already on the knife when the asshole turns. For a heartbeat, he revels in the temptation of lodging the blade right in the middle of that ugly face, but he reigns himself in. Too much security, too many witnesses. 

“My son is drunk,” Harrington says. “Drive him home.” 

Before Eddie has a chance to reply, he has stalked past him and back into the venue.

*

“What the hell took you so long?” 

Eddie casts a look into the rearview mirror to see the venue disappearing behind them and Steve straightening up in his seat. His voice is still slightly slurred, his eyes a bit unfocused - but he's nowhere near as drunk as he appeared seconds ago. Eddie's mouth tugs into a grin. 

“What, I don't get a thank you for driving you? Where are your manners, little nymph?” 

“Why should I thank you for doing your literal job?” Steve’s mirror image scoffs at him. His bottom lip is pink and a little puffy where his father slapped him. “And don't call me that.” 

“I'm a bodyguard, not a chauffeur,” Eddie says. “There's a difference, y’know?” 

“You're a dog,” Steve drawls. “You do whatever my dad tells you to.” 

Eddie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. Steve’s mouth curls at the edges, but his eyes stay bored. 

��How about you?” Eddie asks, once he has blinked the crimson shadows from his vision. “What did you do to incur his wrath? Must’ve been pretty bad, if you feigned being so wasted he’d send you home like some misbehaving child.” 

“None of your business, is it?” Steve snaps. Then, after a second or two, the aloof facade slips back on and he shrugs. “He caught me in the bathroom with Hagan.” 

Something slithers low in Eddie’s gut, dangerous and deadly like a coil of venomous snakes. 

“What? That ugly, freckled fuckface? C’mon, you can do better than that.” 

Steve laughs, a sound like the edge of a knife - bright and pretty and sharp-edged. “Why do you care? You don’t own me. What is it to you if Tommy fucking Hagan shoves his cock up my-” 

He doesn’t get any further than that. Eddie pulls over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. One fluid motion later, he has scaled the middle console and has Steve pinned on the backseat, wrists trapped over his head in a one-handed vice grip. 

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “But this is where you’re wrong, see? You are mine. And one of these days, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.” 

Those pretty eyes go wide as he slides the knife from its holster. The blade gleams, catching what little light there is in the dark car. With one flick of his wrist, he slices away the top button of Steve’s expensive shirt, revealing the long, graceful line of that neck. Steve exhales a shaky breath and his throat bops with it. 

“One of these days,” Eddie murmurs, trailing the tip of the blade over tan skin, leaving just the thinnest of red lines. “I’m gonna kill everyone who ever looked at you or touched you wrong and claim you as mine. Stuff you so full of my cock you forget about everyone else, until the only word you remember is my name. Carve my initials into that pretty skin of yours so nobody ever forgets who you belong to.” 

Steve looks up at him, eyes bright and hazy, and a little whimper falls from his perfect lips. He writhes deliciously in Eddie’s hold, and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’s scared, that he’s gonna plead for mercy. 

But then he slots his leg between Steve’s thighs to hold him in place and he feels it. He looks down at the boy in awed surprise and can’t help the grin that creeps over his face.

When Steve speaks, his voice is hoarse and breathy, but not from fear. 

“Do it, then,” he challenges, rolling his hips and grinding his hard cock against Eddie’s thigh. His lips strain to meet Eddie’s, breath warm and wet against his skin.  “Make me yours.” 

Eddie has never been so happy to obey in his life. 

Part 5

More celebration ficlets

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

congrats on 100 followers! :) id like to request kidd + his so getting hurt while protecting him

Hello Anon!! Thank you so much for this wonderful request! I am so deeply in love with Kid and this little drabble almost wrote itself. I love my chaotic Captain! Also, since you didn't specify gender, I kept it gender neutral, I hope it's alright! And I hope you like this, I had a blast writting it! ❤️

Source for pic

My Personal Hell

Word Count: 2093

Tags: gn!reader; Cursing; LOTS of cursing; SFW; Frustration; Care; Comfort; Love; Fluff; Annoyance; one use of the word cock! Tiny angst?

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You protect Kid during a Marine attack and end up pretty hurt. He has a very weird way to show his concern and affection towards you.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn

Notes: Gosh, anyone knows who's the doctor for the Kid's Pirates? Damn this information eluded me!! 😓 I'm sorry!

|Masterlist|

“Fucking reckless idiot! Stupid irresponsible! Fuck!”

You could hear the loud crashes and breaking sounds coming from just outside the infirmary door. Even though it was closed. 

“Could've gotten killed! What the fuck’s wrong with that fucking head?!”

More crashes, wood splintering, metal bending, glass shattering. You were still bordering between consciousness and the sweet limbo of unconsciousness, but his voice was unmistakable. 

And if it wasn't, all the swearing gave him away. 

“How long has he been at it?” Your voice sounds hoarse and raspy, scratching and itching against your throat. Grunting you open and close your eyelids, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the white lights. “Fuck, that's bright.”

“Since he brought you in, sweetheart. Now lay still or you'll open up the stitches. And they were a bitch to close, too.”

You stay still, chewing on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood so you can stifle your pained grunts as the Doc finishes up the last stitches. 

“Like, what the fuck! Who am I?” More crashing noises can be heard and the unmistakable creak of more metal bending. “I'm Eustass Fucking Kid! The fucking Captain of this fucking ship, with a fucking 3 billion berry bounty! I don't fucking die!”

You sigh, exasperation adding to your growing pain. “Any chance I can get more drugs, Doc?” You ask, a slight edge to your voice as the vein in your forehead trembles and pops with stress. 

“No can do. You’ve already had enough. Maybe if Heat brings you some of his stash, though, but no chemicals!” The Doc sternly advises and you huff, puffing your cheeks and prolonging the breath to try and distract yourself from the sounds of chaos and apocalypse that are happening just outside the door. 

“I fucking know what I'm fucking doing!” Kid yells. 

You keep nodding your head, counting from one to ten, from ten to one, odd numbers only, even numbers next… Until you've had enough. 

“Fuck this, I’m gonna yell at him.” You let out through your clenched teeth. 

“Don't yell at him, honey.” The Doc advises in a singsong voice. 

“I don't jump straight into fucking danger! I'm not a fucking idiot!” Kid's roar is unmistakable. The man's pissed. 

“Weeeell… I don't know about that. Agree to disagree?” Only Killer would have the balls to answer that savagely to a disgruntled Kid. 

“Piss off ya fucking wanker!”

“I'm gonna yell at him.” You repeat, taking a deep breath and getting ready for it. 

“Don't do it.” The Doc says again, eyes already closing and scrunching in anticipation. 

“I'm gonna!” Arching your torso to try and raise yourself up sends an unbearable jolt of pain through your sternum, chest, belly and back, all at once, and you plop back down, arms hugging your form as you grunt, moan and sob in pain and desperation. Your hands punch the mattress a few times and you bite hard on your lower lip, chewing away the pain to stop sobs and moans of agony. 

“I told ya, honey. Bullet wounds are fucking painful.”

The door doesn't just open: it crashes open, almost falling out of its hinges with the force it was thrown open. 

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Who here saw this coming?” The Doc asks, a big open smile and hand raised in the air, looking over the shoulder at Killer, whose muffled snickers can be heard behind his mask.

“Oh, fuck you, Kid!” You sputter with another grunt and moan. “Shove your fucking Haki up your ass! You can hear me groan and moan but you can't hear me yell: ‘Watch out, the fucking bullets are made of fucking seastone?’ You fucking blockhead, I-... OUCH!”

You cry out as a sharp pain travels all over your torso, leaving you breathless and panting. 

“Brat, I could hear ya moaning with my head underwater and corks in my ears.” His voice lowers in tone, but not in arrogance. “My fucking cock twitches every time you make that sound!”

A vicious grunt leaves your lips as you're more annoyed that you actually found his retort both funny and endearing, than at himself. 

“Fucking pig!” You mumble between pursed lips. 

“Doc, ya done?” He asks gruffly. 

“Yeah, all patched up. Unless something opens up the stitches again. Like screaming, or trying to forcefully get up! Which I don't recommend!” You roll your eyes to the back of your head at the accusations and, though you're itching to cross your arms over your chest in a defiant gesture, you don't, because you know it'll hurt like a bitch. 

“Good. Leave then.” Kid scratches the chair against the floor purposefully - because he knows it pisses you off - until it's right next to your head, flips it and sits with his legs spread, his arms resting on the back of the chair, a terrifying smile pulling his lips back and revealing a sharp set of canines. “I need to have a few words with my brat.”

It's not quite fear you're feeling. You respect Kid as your captain. Very much. But you don't fear him. He huffs and puffs and barks and growls but very rarely bites. 

Fear is what you felt when he was almost hit by a hail of bullets. When those Marines got cocky and thought they could take down the great Eustass Captain Kid. They weren't counting on you jumping in the way to protect your man at all costs. 

Yes, even at the expense of your life. 

You love Kid more than life itself. Even if he's as stubborn as a mule, as edged as a knife and, as hot-headed as a raging fire. So you regret nothing. 

Lies. Perhaps you regret trying to yell at him just now. You could've avoided this conversation. 

Killer and the Doc leave the infirmary and close the door behind them - after Killer places it back or its hinges - and you look at the ceiling, trying to avoid Kid’s intense, piercing gaze. 

When he speaks, his voice is levelled - which is very rare for him. “This is the last time ya-...”

“Don't tell me what to do!” You snap, your head whipping towards him, and wince to hide the pain. 

“Tough shit! I'm yar fucking captain! Don't like it? Jump overboard!” His hands grip the chair so hard that the metal bends and the indents of his fingers are permanently marked on it. “This was your last field mission.” His words are laced with authority and leave no room for contest. 

“You can't do that!” Your voice turns into a whine, accompanied by a pout and a trembling of your lower lip, and you can only blame this childish behaviour on the drugs. 

“Fucking watch me!” Kid growls as his canines appear, giving him a very feral look as his orange eyes pierce yours, daring you to defy his orders. 

The silence that envelops you both is stifling and suffocating. It weighs down on you and presses harder than the sting of bullets. You love exploring new islands. You thrive on the joy and exhilaration of a fight. Kid knows that. And that's why this is your punishment. 

After some moments of intense, fiery gazing, you break. Your eyes downcast as a stubborn tear escapes the corner of your eye, leaving a shiny trail of wetness on your skin. “Fuck you, Kid.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I saved your fucking life.”

You can almost feel the tension in the room dissipate. The lights seem brighter and the air stops being charged with intense magnetism as Kid relaxes his posture. His shoulders sag and his head falls forward in a defeated position he wouldn't let just anyone see. 

“I know ya did. And ya almost died. So if I can do anything to avoid that, I will. Because there's no way ya’ll die before I do. No fucking way.” 

You fight but there's no way to stop the tears from flowing now. You know how he felt. Like his heart was out of his chest, being ripped to shreds in front of him and a feeling of dread and helplessness suffocating him. You felt that as well. Before you made the split-second decision to jump. 

And, fuck, you'd do it again. 

“They were seastone bullets, Kid. You'd never have made it out alive. I don't regret anything.”

The way his smile turned cocky in an instant made you weak in the knees. This unhinged side of Kid aroused you to no end. “I would've survived, brat. I can't get killed. Much less by wimpy fucking Marines.”

His laugh roars around the room but you don't find it amusing at all. This cockiness of his, although fucking sexy, will get him killed someday. 

“Go to hell, Kid.”

You reply, eyes closing, trying to dry the flood of tears. Fists clenched against the sheets to stop the trembling and lips pursed to keep the sobs at bay. 

Until his big, calloused hand finds yours and he squeezes it, showing a very rare gentleness. 

“Already been, brat. When ya were bleeding out in my arms, unresponsive and dying. That was my hell. And I'll relive it ‘till the day I fucking die.”

You finally look up to meet his gaze. His eyes look shiny - though still dry - and there's no hint of his cocky grin anymore. In its stead, there's a pained grimace. An ugly twist of his usual scowl that you find you hate. You never want to see him look like this again. 

“I'm sorry.” You finally utter. “Not for doing what I did - I would do it again! - but for the way my actions made you feel.” Turning your hand up, you entwine your fingers with his, your hand much smaller against his. 

Kid lets out a deep sigh and as his chest deflates you notice he's still wearing blood-stained clothes. He must've been pacing in front of the infirmary door since you were brought in, just like the Doc said. “Scoot.” He tells you while getting up. 

“I can't.” You whine. “If I move, everything hurts. I was shot five times, Kid.”

“Five fucking times? Fucking Killer! He said it was only two shots! Fucker!” You stifle a chuckle and hold back your comment about how he could have easily spotted the five bullet holes in your shirt because you're pretty sure he was too busy trying to keep you alive to worry about counting bullet holes. 

He keeps cursing as he gets up, gently lifting you as he settles in the bed, curling you into his lap against his chest, making sure you're comfortable and not straining any wounds. 

You're pretty sure the Doc is going to bite Kid's head off if they see both of you in this position, even if he's the captain, but you feel so safe, comfortable and secure that you couldn't care less. 

“Kid, you can't forbid me to go out of the ship.” Your tone is almost pleading as you don't know for sure if he was being serious or not with his earlier threats. 

“I know, brat. Ya love to create chaos, don't ya?”

Turning your head slowly up, you bury your nose against his neck, your fingers digging into his shirt, bringing him closer. Inhaling deeply, you take in his scent. Sweat, sea salt, rust and metal. It brings as many tears to your eyes as it brings serenity and peace. Kid's your home. 

“You know I do.”

“But ya can't be jumping in front of bullets anymore. Or I'll strap ya to my back with those baby fabric things and ya have to be dangling on my back for the whole outing.”

The image brings tears to your eyes as you burst out laughing. Kid laughs with you, the sound of your laugh as sweet on his ears as his is on yours. 

“That's a deal, Cap. But you need to listen to me. And stop being a foolish daredevil! You're not invincible, Kid. Don't act like you are.”

He reaches down and plants a soft peck against your head. “Aye, aye. It's a deal, brat.”

The soft rise and fall of his chest make the perfect lullaby and the drugs the Doc gave you are the perfect concoction to bring sleep to your tired bones as your eyes start to close and flutter. 

“I'm glad you're alive, Kid.” You whisper, words slurred and dragged between sleepy breaths.

“I'm glad you're alive, brat. I wouldn't know how to live without you.”

[mysicklove]

i had the most unhinged thought and raced to your inbox because i need this demon expelled from my body asap. hawks coming home from the worst day of patrol, everything went wrong and he had to speak up at a press conference, play the part of perfect, and all he wants is to melt into your touch. you can see it in his eyes, the dark circles, and the weary tilt of his smile. "baby bird," his voice is hoarse, "need you to hurt me tonight," so he can finally unravel. you're the only one he wants to be perfect for. okay goodbyeee 💀

𝐔𝐍𝐌���𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒

Pairing: Masochist! Hawks x Gn! Sadist! Reader

CW: face slapping, lots of blood, cock stepping, kicking, bruising, cock slapping, heavy degration, loss of air, mean reader, tons and tons of tears, scratching, mouth spitting, no mention of safe word but keep in mind it is there !!!

A/N: anon im sorry i totally changed ur thing, i just saw masochist hawks and sprinted. the demons wrote this, not me. dont look at me everyone. HEED THE TAGS

it was a way to blow off steam. something that he looks forward to, just some time where he doesn't have to think anymore. only feeling he has the stinging sensations and the tears that prick his eyes. it was an embaressing obsession he had. he loved pain.

Keigo walks to the bedroom, his hero costume tattered, and dark circles under his eyes. he is exhausted, but coming to you for your touch. pulling you close to him, and mumbling into your neck how bad he wants you to hurt him. till he bruises and bleeds. till every thought just disappears except for you.

and so you pull away, and slap him. it makes him tumble backward, and his yellow glasses fall off. he touches the tingling feeling on his face, blood spilling out from the skin caught on your wedding ring. you dont let up, sending another loud smack across his face, and this time he does fall to the ground, landing on his ass.

tears prick at his eyes, and he can feel his lip tear open. the taste of blood coats his mouth and he gulps, looking up at you for more.

he feels your foot jab onto his clothed cock and he keens, wincing up at you. "w-wait," he stutters, throwing his head back when your press even harder. "fuck!"

"wait? you want me to wait? after you begged for it like a dog?" he is squirming under you, tears now streaming down his face as you dig your foot into his pants.

"'m sorry. sorry—you are going to kill me!" he pleads, hands trying to dig themself into the carpet to fight back against the pain.

you sigh, and let up, instead using your foot to push at his chest, causing him to fall over and onto his back. "take off your clothes, Keigo," you mumble, taking a seat on the bed with crossed legs and staring down at him.

"okay. okay. I will. Just give me a minute!" he pants, tearing off his jacket and shirt as fast as he can. he knows something is coming, you werent playing nice.

you dont give him enough time, he reaches for his pants, and without hesitation you slam your foot into his stomach. he goes tumbling backwards and lands on his side, curling into a ball and panting. his eyes are wide and he is gripping onto his adomen. it surely will leave a huge bruise tomorrow. but thats not what he is worried about, he cant breathe.

"awww, did you get the wind knocked out of you? that's what happens when you move too slow," you tease, as you take in his appearance. he trembles in front of you, looking up at you in fear. tears drip down his cheeks and onto the ground, as he tries and fails to catch his breath.

you giggle at him, padding over to him. he flinches at the footsteps, bracing himself for another kick, but you just begin to unbutton his pants, pulling them down. "useless thing, arent you. cant follow any directions," you coo, now tearing off his boxers.

his cock springs out, tip red and leaking pre cum. "such a pervert! you sick fuck, keigo. who gets hard from getting beat?" you land another slap to his thigh, and his whole body jerks.

you smile at the red handprint, glancing back at him to see him beginning to drool. its coated red from the blood from his cheek and lip. he's is still heaving from the kick, eyes wide, and body gasping for oxygen.

"say Hawks do you get turned on when you are losing against villains? pop a boner like a freak for anyone who hits you?"

his eyes flash to you and he is shaking his head desperately. his words are breathless, "no. no. 'm not a freak!"

a quick, but harsh slap to his cock. he jumps again, globs of tears falling quicker. "fuckkkkk," he whimpers, shaking his head back and forth. his whole body shakes, and fingers dig into his own skin.

"you liar! do you want to be kicked again?"

"no no no no. im sorry. im sorry! im a freak. a pervert who likes to get hit. im sorry," he sobs, reaching for your ankle for comfort. you slap it away and he hisses, rubbing the back of it with a sniffle.

but you smile at him and lean over to sit on his chest. his head is still lolled to the side and his body racks with sobs. "shhhhhhh. so whiny Keigo. thanks for admitting it. my disgusting pervert. here, a reward."

you grab his face, hard enough to bruise, and force him to look up at you. his eyes are half shut in a wince, but he tries to force them open to look at you. you pry his mouth open, lean forward, and drop a glob of spit into his mouth.

he doesnt hesitate to swallow it, opening his mouth up again and sticking his tongue out to show you its gone. "th-thank you," he whimpers, and you smile fondly at him.

you hands trail up and down his down his body, sending vicicoius red raised scratchmarks along his pretty skin. "now, pervert....what should we do to this pretty canvas?"

he grins up at you, tears still dripping, and blood staining his cheeks and lips, but still stars in his eyes. "anything."

[fatuismooches]

Oml I just saw your tag on the Dadtorre with identical son post (same anon as last time here! Thank you for the kind words :3) if Traveller and Paimon meet the son it's going to be so funny but confusing for both parties 😭 It's a jumpscare!

The Traveller is in Snezhnaya, exploring the place, walking through yet another quaint scenery. Then they see a glimpse of a blury blue in the distance, a shade of blue they know all too well.

"Wait, Traveller - was that...?" Paimon whispers to her companion warily. "Uh, you saw that too right? That looked like—!" She gasps, her tiny hands cupping her mouth as she frantically whispers. "Do you think he saw us?!"

The Traveller gestures for Paimon, gaze hardening. "Get behind me."

They tail the all too familiar shadow. He may be wearing a heavy cloak to stave off the frigid heart of the Tsarista, but they would recognise that hair anywhere... It's shorter than last time, but this is not the first they dealt with a segment. The Doctor is stalking the village, what could he be up to?

It's a small village, far from the capital. What if he's here to exploit the vulnerable? There's so many ill and elderly residents here, it won't take much to station a lab here in the guise of a clinic, he would have his test subjects.

They have to stop him.

They continue to follow, but slowly, doubt starts to creep in.

What is Dottore doing? He's just... he's window shopping?

Sure enough, this familiar shadow is simply strolling through the streets without a hint of hurry, out of character for a man who does not waste time. Admiring the scenery and occasionally stopping. That's when the anxiety starts to build. Is this a trap? It must be.

If it is a trap he'd laid. They will bite - only to get closer to him.

They follow until the figure is in an isolated part of the settlement. The cloaked man is looking side to side, head turning this way and that. Not the most subtle way to check for your reinforcements, but whatever. They raise their sword—

Dottore turns around, an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. A shine that struck the Traveller as though a snake had reared its head and bit with venom to paralyse. Not one of deep seeping crimson of blood. Kind, gentle eyes - the red of a comforting hearth, the red of a sunrise.

"Ah! Perfect, there's someone else here!" 'Dottore' chuckles awkwardly. "Uh... I'm lost? Can you help me out? It looks like you know your way around here— wait, isn't that outfit a little too cold?"

What.

What is this.

Paimon yells this sentiment for them: "Huh?!"

(Dottore's son snuck out for a little outing. He inadvertently pulled the same headache of a stunt Dottore's lover had done ages ago: sneaking off when bored. Said father is tearing Snezhnaya through looking for his boy. It's only a matter of time before the Harbinger finds his son. He lacks the rigour to cover up his tracks.)

Meeting a Harbinger so quickly into their visit to Snezhnaya was not on the Traveler's agenda. Especially since they snuck into the nation without anyone knowing. But how could they see those familiar blue locks and not do anything about it? Sure, it wasn't the best idea, considering how they planned to hide out a bit more, not to mention there was still a wide gap in strength, but they couldn't pass up the opportunity. At the very least, they don't think the scientist would kill them. There seems to be a greater plan, one beyond what they know.

Of course, the Traveler's immediate thought is that the blue-haired man is up to no good. Perhaps immediately thinking the worst seemed a bit harsh, but this was the Doctor. What else would they think, especially after what happened in Sumeru? They had to be wary and cautious - there was no such thing as too much of it when dealing with him. And cautious they are, carefully stalking behind, not a noise made even in the crunching snow.

And so they cautiously watch with narrowed eyes as the "Harbinger"... casually strolls by numerous stores? Looking at outfits that certainly don't fit his style, peeking through the glass of some local restaurants. For some reason, civilians don't seem to bat much of an eye at his presence either. It's strange. Very strange. Unfortunately, the Traveler and Paimon still can't get a good look at the man's face, but they're positive it has to be Dottore. Who else has such fluffy blue hair? Are they overthinking it? Is he pretending? There are always so many questions to deal with when it comes to the Doctor.

Until they realize it's not the Doctor.

The man in front of them bears a striking resemblance to the Harbinger, but he simply couldn't be, not even a segment. A small smile that wasn't cocky, sweet eyes that could envelop another in a warm embrace if it came to that. These features cannot belong to a man such as Dottore. The laugh and concern for the blond was also something that couldn't be an act. After getting over their little surprise, they'd be an idiot not to take advantage of this outcome. Perhaps they could get some information... of course, they only end up more confused when they find out the truth.

(You, while also concerned for your son, know he's a capable boy and he'll be fine. You like to see how much Dottore secretly cares for his kid too, although you feel a bit bad for the poor Fatui agents who are currently dealing with his orders. If someone does end up hurting your son, however, well... you can be scarier than Dottore if you want to. At the end of it, Dottore ends up giving you both a scolding... but neither of you takes it seriously as you giggle with each other.)

[nightlyrequiem]

alrighty sooohhh this might be worded oddly since im used to requesting certain writers who use certain words to describe 'y/n', so, like, forgive me if it sounds confusing or like, out-of-place 😭

could u do a Valeria oneshot with reader, her partner, whos also a big, hardened criminal, -- who runs another cartel, -- not a rivaling one, just a different one, which was forced to alliance themselves with Valerias cartel, after her and reader made themselves official

They're both big, mean cartel mamis, who have killed people, without second thought, not even a blink of an eye -- two women, making old men cry and piss themselves on the regular, -- yet, when reader and Val are together, they're just two appreciative softies

Total power couple in public btw. They're both covered in tattoos, wearing expensive clothes, earning more and more respect from more and more people as their empires grow,

when in private? Thats a completely different story. You got the jist, though.

Again, i apologize if this is worded wrongly/strangely, ive adapted my writing style to certain people, and physically cannot write in any other way without feeling weird about it .. aha. Giggle, giggle.

much love, traveling anon, aka, girlscout

-🐾🍪🏕

Don't worry, this was worded very nicely! This was pretty fun to write. I do enjoy some violence. Especially when it's being done by women. One dangerous woman is great, but two? Oh, I'm certainly swooning. This is one of my few works to have two drafts. I hated the first one and scrapped it. Much more pleased with the final product ^-^

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Some Gore

The Snake's Nest

Valeria slams her fist into the side of a man's head. He roughly hits the brick wall of the alley and crumples to the ground, clutching his face. His cheekbone no doubt shattered. You watch impassively as Valeria aggressively grabs ahold of his shirt and hair, hauling him away from the wall. She forces his face into the concrete. You kneel down gracefully.

"Why are you crying?" You ask softly. He did this to himself, yet he dares to cry. Your head tilts. He looks up at you, the whites of his eyes are pink with agitated blood vessels, either from the number of drinks he's had, the crying, or from the beating he's taking.

"Please!" He cries out. Begging for your mercy. Incorrectly assuming that you're the more merciful of the two. That you'll call of your guard dog, unaware that you are far worse. He's lucky that it's Valeria and not you.

You stand back to your full height. The man continues to squirm and incoherently sob out pleas. Valeria lifts one strong leg and brings it down on his head hard. You don't flinch at the violent cracking that occurs. His scream is cut off and distorted. She brings down her foot again and again until he goes silent. You turn your head and make eye contact with his friend. forced to crouch in the corner and watch. His face is haunted by what he's just witnessed. He will be left alone. Forced to pick up his friend's pieces and attempt to put them back together. You look back at the man on the ground with Valeria standing over him like an angel of death. You don't think there's strong enough glue to fix him now.

You take ahold of her soft hand. Brushing your thumb over her bruised knuckles. You two walk out of the alley. Your shadows split and morph together under the yellow streetlights. Valeria owns these streets, but you run them. With your combined forces you exert total control over everything. Eyes and ears are everywhere whispering their secrets to you. You and Valeria are separate but one in the same.

You were carefully nurturing the seedlings of your own cartel when Valeria was taking over hers and striking fear into the heart of Las Almas. She had what you wanted. Power, respect, and fear. You planted a few red herrings in her territory to give her a mystery to solve while you expanded your organization. You did whatever was necessary to succeed. Who it harmed didn't matter to you. You grew and grew. You got big enough that the small red herrings didn't matter to Valeria. She sent her men to sniff around your territory and routes. Not a show of outright aggression but a subtle threat from her to you.

For months you danced around each other. Trespassing but nothing more. There was a fragile peace between the two of you, one you intended to shatter. You quietly built-up strength in preparation to take over Las Almas and eliminate her and her cartel. The DEA was an unpredictable variable though. They began cracking down on the drug market. An infestation of them nested in Las Almas and its surrounding areas. Posing a genuine threat to the both of you. Your plans were put on hold, and you took the initiative to approach her with an offer of allegiance. Tempting her with territory and more firepower.

You two met on a burning Tuesday morning. You were to meet with El Sin Nombre at a local cafe. Instead, at your designated spot sat a woman. It took you five minutes to approach her. At first you were irritated that El Sin Nombre didn't respect you enough to meet you himself, but you swiftly figured out he was a concept and not a person. That she was The Nameless.

You intended to use Valeria as a way to take down the DEA without drawing too much attention to yourself. However, overtime you began to respect her. She was cold and calculating. She wasn't the type to waste her breath with meaningless threats. If you failed to be useful, she didn't waste her time in getting rid of you. Overtime she slowly dug her way through the ice around your heart and wormed her way inside like a little parasite. The sun had risen and finally set on the DEA. There was no reason to cradle the connection between the two cartels any longer but neither you nor Valeria made the first move to cut contact.

Your strictly business relationship flowered into something more. Something personal. The same hands that pulled teeth and put bullets between eyes lovingly traced the edges of her tattoos. Whispered sweet nothings into her ear at night, your legs coiled together like snakes after coitus. No one had ever treated you gently. Never kissed your hand or made you soup when you were sick. Those things were reserved for girls who were soft like velvet. Pure and kind. Not violent women with serpentine tattoos. Who sunk their teeth into the throats of others. Not until Valeria. Who bared her throat to you and bit back.

She clasped heavy gold chains around your neck with as much tenderness that one might do with a daintier piece of jewelry. You slid expensive rings onto her fingers with unspoken promises. 

The night isn't over, and neither is the need for violence. Not that either of you have any issue with that. Normal couples have date nights at the movies. Maybe a nice restaurant. You and Valeria strengthen your bond by inflicting pain and terror on lower life forms. In a warehouse eyes glitter from the shadows. A combination of hers and your own men. Valeria typically takes care of the interrogation and punishment. You have no issue with blood or violence. You take enjoyment it. But the sight of her lips pulled back into a feral snarl, her vicious efficiency, it makes you fall in love with her all over again.

This time however, you take the lead. A tall man, standing at an impressive six-foot-four stares you down in the centre of the room. He was a friend, once upon a time. Your second hand. The only person apart from Valeria you genuine cared about. The only other person you'd be willing to set yourself aside for. You were heartbroken to find out he was taking bribes from a smaller gang and trading your secrets for money. This is personal.

He's doing his best to seem unafraid, but you can see the fear in his eyes. Smell it in the acrid stench of his sweat.

"I'm not going to grovel for your forgiveness." He grumbles.

"I wasn't going to give you the chance to." You reply calmly. He's expecting more words. Maybe a monologue about how angry or hurt you are. You stare at him for a long time, letting the tension build. Higher and higher and higher. Until too many stagnant minutes have passed and with them his moment of understanding. Only then do you act. 

Quick as a scorpion's strike you stick him like a pig in the gut. he hisses in pain and tries to grab you but you're too quick for him. You kick out his knee and dart behind him, ripping your blade from his stomach. He howls like a dog while you hold him by the throat with your bicep. You place the tip of your knife in the squishy bit just under his ribs, in the middle of his abdomen. You struggle to keep the placement as he writhes but you get it right and push in, feeling muscle and skin tear under the steel. His screams echo back at him mockingly as you drag the knife down, tearing him open.

He slumps to the ground in a pool of his own blood. One last pained whine leaving his throat. You stare up at everyone watching. A public lesson. Though you can see that they're more entertained by the show then worried.

Back home you carefully strip out of your blood-soaked clothes. Setting them down in the laundry hamper. You crawl into bed and watch Valeria do the same. Admiring the smooth tan expanse of her back. Of the muscles shifting under her skin. You want to trace the ridges of her spine. She joins you under the covers and rests her face into the crook of your neck. Breathing in your scent.