#yes I eventually posted it on ao3

[pfhwrittes]

housemate!kyle x gender neutral reader let's goooooo.

rating: PG-13 (for now) pairing: eventual kyle "gaz" garrick x gender neutral reader word count: 1.5k TW: bit of swearing, fluff, mentions of original characters AN: i fully plan on writing more of this, but i wanted to get the first part out before i start the next part. as always, barely edited so funky grammar and typos are still likely. this is completely self indulgent. please send love to @391780 for cheerleading me with this one!

–

your housemate sucks since meeting her new boyfriend. 

your normally sociable, polite and reasonable housemate has turned into some kind of lust-crazed succubus since meeting dale, spending hours upon hours of her time shut in her bedroom with him. and if she doesn’t shut the fuck up in the next five minutes you’re going to kick her door in. or castrate him. or possibly burst into sleep deprived tears.

“oh! oh god! fuck! dale, baby, oh my god!”

jesus fucking christ. it’s 4.30am and ruby is wailing like a cat in heat at the top of her fucking voice. she’s so loud you could swear she and her soon to be castrated boyfriend were fucking in your bedroom instead of the room next to yours. briefly you debate yelling at the top of your lungs but you don’t want to disturb the neighbours any further, so with a muttered curse you snatch your pillow and duvet off your bed and stomp downstairs to the living room so you can sleep on the sofa. 

you get settled onto the sofa and glare at the ceiling in the living room, the sound of rhythmic thumping and moaning still audible even with the increased distance between you and the nymphomaniac formerly known as ruby. you mutter and grumble to yourself as you shut your eyes trying to get at least a little bit of sleep before needing to get up for your job interview in the morning. 

–

at midday you kick the front door shut behind you and shrug your coat off your shoulders as you step further into the hallway. 

“hey i’m home!” you call up the stairs, “my job interview was an utter shit show so i’m thinking we get a chinese and a bottle of wine to commiserate, yeah?” you pause waiting to hear ruby’s usual reply reminding you not to order from the golden palace but silence greets you instead. 

“huh. weird.” you mutter to yourself as you pass through the living room, dropping your bag and coat on the sofa as you beeline towards the kitchen. ruby’s probably making something for lunch while listening to one of her creepy true crime podcasts. 

“hey ruby - oh.” you cut yourself off as you walk into the kitchen, no sign of ruby except for the used butter knife leaving a greasy smear on the counter and a pink post-it note stuck on the front of the fridge. you step forward to pluck the note off the fridge and squint at ruby’s loopy handwriting.

gone 2 stay w/ dale 4 a few days! look after widget for me - r xxxx

you huff a breath out of your nose and crumple the note into a ball so you can pop it in the kitchen bin with the crumbs you sweep off the side into your palm. ugh. it’s such a little thing but you feel frustrated tears well up in your eyes in response to having to clean up after ruby once again on minimal sleep. 

a tiny high pitched mrr! interrupts your internal grumbling and you turn around to face the little tabby that is waiting patiently by an empty food bowl. 

“hiya widge, have you been a good girl while i’ve been out?” you ask softly as you crouch so widget can bonk her head onto your outstretched hand. typically widget doesn’t answer but she chirps again before padding back to her bowl, politely requesting that you get with the programme and make with the biscuits before cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. 

you sigh and push yourself up from the floor, just another half finished job left for you. great. 

–

a week later, with no sign of ruby and your texts unanswered, your laptop chimes on the coffee table with a new email. you hope briefly that it’s one of the companies you’ve applied to responding to your application with an offer for a job interview, but your heart sinks as you realise it's an email from your landlord, john. 

you skim over the email and you feel your eyes sting as select phrases leap out at you. “i’m sorry to inform you that ruby has decided to end the tenancy agreement at 141 hereford way early” ... “you can choose to remain in the property as a sole tenant after an additional credit check to ensure your affordability” … “alternatively, please let me know when ruby has collected her belongings so i can advertise the room to other prospective tenants”. 

fuck. that utter bitch. she’s left you unemployed and now potentially living with a total stranger. fuck. 

your hands shake slightly as you reach for your laptop so you can start composing your reply to john. 

“hi john, thanks for letting me know. i haven’t heard from ruby in a week now, so i’m unsure when she’ll be able to collect her belongings but i think it’s probably for the best if you look at advertising her room as available to rent. i’ll start bagging up her belongings today. kind regards….” 

it’s official. your soon to be ex-housemate really fucking sucks. 

–

several days pass with a flurry of emails to john and even more unanswered texts to ruby, when a solid jaunty knock startles you out of the doze you’d dropped into on the sofa. you hiss as widget launches herself off your stomach using her claws for purchase so she can bolt up the stairs away from the noise. you swear under your breath as you kick one of the six black bin bags that line the hallway filled with ruby’s crap as you edge your way to the front door. the silhouette you can see through the frosted glass in the door knocks again just as you reach for the handle and pull the door open. 

“yeah yeah i’m here -” you cut yourself off with an embarrassed sound as you get a good look at the man standing at the threshold.  oh no, he’s fit as fuck is your first thought and you’re not wrong. 

the first thing you notice, as you flick your eyes over him quickly, is that he’s in incredible shape. the stranger has broad shoulders and a muscular chest that tapers off into a narrow waist. the second thing you notice when you raise your gaze back up to his face is that he has a jaw dropping smile when he flashes you a friendly grin. 

“hey, i’m kyle. your new housemate.” he says confidently, “john should’ve mentioned me.” 

you shake yourself out of the slight daze you’ve found yourself in - seriously no man should have skin that perfect - and you offer your own tentative smile back. 

“uh, yeah. sure. sorry i was -” you glance back into the hallway and cringe at the sight of the black bin bags “- um. in the middle of something.” you finish weakly, hoping you don’t look too obviously like you’ve been napping in the middle of the day. 

your housemate - kyle - rumbles out a slightly bashful chuckle. 

“no, no it’s fine. i would’ve been here earlier but i had to give a witness statement for the accident on the high street.” kyle reaches up and tugs at the brim of the scuffed blue baseball cap on his head awkwardly. 

“oh shit, really? what happened?” you query him eagerly, your love of gossip overriding your mild embarrassment in a flash. kyle’s eyes crinkle happily at your tone and he leans in conspiratorially, letting his hand drop away from his face. 

“some guy walked into an open manhole cover.” he says with a completely straight face. 

you burst out a startled laugh. “no fucking way!” 

kyle nods, his lips twitching in a poorly concealed grin. “yeah, stuck like winnie the pooh, i swear to god.” 

you have to hold onto the edge of the open door to stop yourself from collapsing into fits of laughter. “how -” another gleeful cackle escapes you before you can compose yourself, “how the fuck did he manage to do that?”

kyle shrugs. “he just walked straight through the barrier, surprised the lanky fucker missed it really.” 

you collapse into laughter again, feeling your cheeks ache from the width of your grin. holy shit, that’s the best thing you’ve heard all day. eventually your slightly hysterical laughter peeters out and you wipe at your eyes as you look at kyle who is grinning back at you. 

“so, fancy letting me in then?” he nudges at the frankly massive khaki rucksack at his feet after a moment of silence as if to remind you that he isn’t just here to charm you with silly stories and his offensively handsome good looks. your embarrassment flares once again as you realise you’ve just been looking at him instead of asking him to come inside like a normal person. 

“sorry, yeah of course.” you step back from the door and turn around so he can’t see the way your cheeks are now flushed from embarrassment instead of laughter. “sorry about the mess.” you say apologetically over your shoulder as kyle follows you into the hallway.

“oh i dunno, it doesn’t look too bad to me.”

you hear kyle kick the door shut behind him and you laugh again to cover up the way your stomach flutters at his tone. if you didn’t know better you’d say he was flirting with you, but you discount that as wishful thinking on your part as you lead him towards the stairs. 

it is wishful thinking, right?

[tending-the-hearth]

twitter turtles pt. 4

part 1

part 2

part 3

[aeoris4lovers]

Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar

There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.

It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.

Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.

He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone. 

“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”

Only a moment later, the soft moonlight was eclipsed by the silhouettes of two ravens coming to rest on the windowsill, and he knew somewhere deep within him that his oath had been sealed.

The next morning, he rose earlier than usual and ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage to hold it down. The sun still hadn’t even begun to show itself in the young day’s sky when he slipped past the guards at the sanatorium, giving each of them a look which told them not to stand in his way if they valued their lives. They had no way of knowing that, in truth, he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to make good on that threat; they only saw the determination in his eyes and stepped aside. 

As he pushed through hall after hall, he wasted no time looking at anything other than the faces in each cell, searching for blue eyes and red hair. Any strange looks that may have been aimed his way were lost in the blur of stone and bars and wrong faces. 

When he finally turned a corner and saw a short-cropped burst of orange in the nearest cell, he was just in time to stop the guard who was preparing to enter with whatever sad excuse for a breakfast they had prepared for the day. He caught the guard by the arm, stooping down to look her in the eye, and pressed a few coins into her hand.

All he said was, “Let me.”

She stared at him for a long few seconds, head tilted to one side, before shrugging.

“If you insist.”

Handing him the tray of oatmeal and water, she unlocked the door of Bren’s cell and started off toward the next one down, leaving Eadwulf there alone. He slipped through the door, closed it behind him, and crouched down next to Bren, truly taking in his current state for the first time. 

Perhaps the most noticeable thing should have been how beat up he was – the dark bruises, the blood that no one had bothered to wash from his skin. But instead, all Eadwulf could see was how empty he looked. There was always such a fire behind his eyes, a kind of passion and life there, like his mind was working so feverishly to puzzle the world together that you could watch it happening from the outside, and now? That fire had been all but doused. His eyes were glazed over, wandering helplessly around the space, looking through it all and not truly seeing any of it. There was a slight strain on his face, a clench to his brow that Eadwulf knew his resting face didn’t possess, which betrayed some process of thought, no doubt an unpleasant one. It was distant, though, and passive, as though the thoughts had taken on a life of their own within his mind and he, in this clouded state, was helpless to resist or engage them at all. When his gaze finally fell on Eadwulf, there was a soft spark of recognition that sent Eadwulf’s heart into his throat.

Eadwulf returned every morning after that, and again every night, so long as he wasn’t off on a mission or locked away for the sake of some punishment. Each morning, he fed Bren whatever breakfast the guards had prepared, careful to make it a far more gentle process than the other meals likely involved. As Bren’s hair grew longer with time, Eadwulf took to brushing it, and trimming it when the ends began to fray. A few times, he considered cutting it short again; surely, it would be more comfortable for Bren to have less of it. But there was no ignoring how his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of it being brushed, or how he hummed in a way that almost seemed to approach contentment — better to keep it long, Eadwulf always ultimately decided. 

At night, Eadwulf would clean him — easy enough to do with a simple spell, but most nights Eadwulf wiped his face and hands the mundane way first, probably more for his own sake than for Bren’s — and tended to whatever wounds may have been sustained since the last visit. Then, he would take out whatever books he had been able to find that day, sit by Bren’s side, and read. Bren’s favorite of the books, judging by the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of its cover, was an old children's story about a young boy and a cat prince, so they always started and finished with that one. In between, they cycled through as many of the other books as Eadwulf thought they safely had time for, and by the time he closed the fairytale for the final time, Bren was almost always slumped against his side, asleep. 

Eventually, once the rifts between them had been repaired, Astrid joined him for some of his visits, though she was quickly given more responsibilities than him and often found it more difficult to get away. On those days, Astrid would braid Bren’s hair once he had brushed it in the mornings, and alternated reading with him at night.

And after every nighttime visit, he would sit in his bed and write a few lines in a journal: how the day’s visits had gone, what had gone on in the outside world that day or over the past few days, what he and Astrid were doing in their own lives. Someday, he told himself, Bren would have his mind back. Someday, he would hand over the journal, a meticulous record of the days Bren was locked away. Someday, Bren would be able to read it, and it would be as if he hadn’t missed a thing at all.

In all that time spent in Bren’s cell, Eadwulf never feared being discovered by Master Ikithon — not out of carelessness or apathy toward the consequences he would inevitably incur, but because he knew it was foolish to assume he hadn’t already been discovered at the very start. The archmage’s gaze took immense care to avoid, and nowhere was it more omnipresent than in the halls of the sanatorium. The chances that he had gone unnoticed were laughably slim — it was better to assume Master Ikithon was well aware, that a confrontation would come soon enough.

And come it did.

One morning, nearly two years into his visits, Eadwulf arrived at Bren’s cell to see his teacher standing there, calmly watching him approach. Inside the cell, he could see Bren’s eyes wide and his face held more tensely than usual. He was shifting slightly where he sat, as though his own body were the walls of a prison preventing him from running away.

All at once, Eadwulf was overcome with the urge to run forward, to lunge at Ikithon, to scream, because how dare he come here and strike that kind of fear into someone so helpless, hasn’t Bren been through enough? But he pushed the urge down and kept calm as he walked in spite of it. It was him that the archmage was angry with, it was him who would face the consequences of his actions; Bren had no reason to be afraid.

As it turned out, neither did he. Master Ikithon wasn’t angry, not at Eadwulf nor Bren; he never said or even suggested that Eadwulf would be punished, and the calm smile never fell from his face. He seemed entirely unfazed — pleased, even — by Eadwulf’s actions. 

“You are welcome to visit our dear Bren whenever you wish, Eadwulf,” he said in a tone that could almost be mistaken for good-natured, “as is Miss Becke. In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you three have grown to care so much for each other, even after all this time. By all means, do continue to come visit him if it pleases you.” Moving closer, he added in a lower tone, “I would only urge you to remember that it is for you, yes? As much as it pains me to say this, Bren is — how shall I put this? — absent, by all accounts. You are a smart boy, I have no doubt you’ve noticed. Each time you leave this place, it is to him as if you were never here at all; he won’t remember. The sharp young man we knew is, I’m afraid, no longer with us.”

And every night since then, as silence fell over the sanatorium’s halls, Eadwulf would look down at Bren, tucked against his side the same way they had once grown used to laying in their beds, and ask himself: how could that possibly be true?

How, when he still squirmed at the mere sight of his old teacher standing nearby, when his eyes still sparked at the sight of his favorite fairytale’s cover, when he still remembered how to fall asleep next to Eadwulf like it was as simple as breathing, could Bren be gone? How could it be possible that such a sharp mind, so full of passion and of life, simply slipped away? Even if he remembered none of it, even if each day felt to him like the first time, Bren seemed in his own way to welcome their company far more than any other’s, to relax in some small way at their presence; did that not count for something?

It would take him many more years to truly make sense of it, to fully understand the weight of what it meant, but the simple fact remained: that Bren was gone was the first of Trent Ikithon’s lies that Eadwulf ever saw through.

[the-kipsabian]

thimkin

but since its going to happen in the canon of the story, should i just change the relationship tag of immortal fears from gen to m/m with a kip/oc tag tho

[twotales]

Listen, I write for myself. If y'all wanna show up to the puppet show then come on in, but I don't need an audience.

[mediterraneanmenace]

Astarion nation how we're doin? Some sneak-peak for my BG3 story focused on the relationship between Astarion and my "tav" Azarel. It will eventually feature fluff, angst, pining and mutual healing (and idk, maybe smut?? We shall see).

[supercantaloupe]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Don Giovanni - Mozart/Da Ponte Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Donna Elvira's Maid, Don Giovanni (Don Giovanni), Donna Elvira (Don Giovanni) Additional Tags: Character Study, ish, POV Second Person, Oneshot Summary:

what is it like, to be left alone at night, and hear a voice at your window?

ora cantiamo.

[dragonfruitflamb3]

Didn't follow the idea exactly buuuuuuuut I DID use it as the inspiration to finally help me start getting out of my writing slump!!!! So that's a BIG plus!!!!!!

It's about 1,600 words and very fluffy ^v^ minor mental struggles for Siffrin, but I can't just write and NOT have the sprinkled seasonings of angst in there sorry

I didn't know how to start it so no context sorry they're just chilling in bed together :P

You lay there, among the palace of pillows and blankets, ignoring them all in favor of focusing on trying not to focus on the warmth from the human equivalent of the sun behind you.

Yes, he's cheerful and bright and handsome, but you're more talking about how he actually radiates heat to the point it's making you a little sweaty. You aren't sure how uncomfortable you should feel and want (maybe even need?) to start focusing on something else.

You steel yourself, using the same resolve you used to face the king again and again, before slowly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, picking his hand up from your side, pushing your thumb against his palm…

You bring Isabeau's hand up near your face and press one of his fingertips against your lips.

You hear him squeak quietly behind you. You feel your heart skip slightly, ashamed of the feeling and ashamed of how you enjoy it.

You then kiss his middle finger, then the ring finger, then place a gentle little peck onto his pinkie. He almost sounds like he's going to explode as his arms go limp, one under your head and the other still partway resting across your torso.

You don't know if that's a good sign. You aren't used to this.

“I'll stop.” You blurt out, pulling his hand away from your mouth. It takes a moment before Isa finds his voice.

“No, it's o… okay.”

You can hear the flustered smile in his voice. The shame that blistered in your heart feels slightly soothed by… something.

You aren't sure whether it would be called pride, joy, or something else entirely. You don't know how to act in these sorts of situations!

You hum. Isa sighs quietly and moves his hand further away from your face. You don't protest against it, despite wanting to.

Should you feel bad for this? Should you listen to the little voice saying that you're disgusting for treating him like this? For wanting to treat him like this?

Time and time again, Isa has made it clear he likes you, that he somehow loves you, even. You think you've made it clear you feel more or less the same, in one way or another.

You're just. Afraid.

You don't want to repeat your past mistakes from the loops.

Your disgusting, disgusting mistakes.

Ah, wait. You know Isa reads all those romance novels, the same ones Mira reads. He enjoys those.

Aren't they filled with mushy gushy cuddle moments? You wouldn't know. You don't read them.

But! But, but, but don't give up hope yet, you've heard about them, heard plot summaries and exerts, from your dear Mirabelle.

(To be fair, she's told about maybe 2 stories, and one of them the main character bonded with a monster but you can work with that! You guess.)

…

“..Isa?” You tilt your head slightly as you ask, trying to look behind you. The Fighter perks up. His cheeks are dark with the shade threatening to spread to his ears.

“...Yes, Siff?” He whispers.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, fighting back a laugh.

The way he said your name makes you think he's already imagining flower petals around you.

Now, think, Siffrin, think.

What happened in those romance stories? What did the monster do that the human enjoyed??

You roll over, facing Isa now as you lay beside each other. The not-scarred side of your face sinks into the pillow as you force yourself to continue breathing steady.

Right. Okay. This is fine, this is great!

…Wow.

Isa’s face is really dark right now. You smile softly, watching how he shakily returns a grin.

You have to look away, worried your heart might explode or something stupid like that.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, ignoring the way your brains screams for silence.

Isa blinks in surprise, his lips cracking into a wide smile before fading into a concerned line.

Wait what. No that's. That's not the good response no no no-

“Do you… want to?” His voice is soft and his question is genuine. “I don't mind either way! But, it's…”

He trails off and lifts his hand, slowly, to graze his fingers against your cheek, making it very apparent that he's going to touch. You're grateful for the silent warning and find no need to flinch.

“Why would I not want to?”

You ask as you hide your working eye in the pillow. The darkness is more comfortable than looking at Isa’s expression, even if he's not mad at you.

He sighs quietly, moving his hand away from your cheek.

Ah. You find that makes you a little sad.

“Even if you don't want to… talk about it, it's kind of obvious how you've been avoiding certain… things.” He mumbles, you can hear how he's talking out of the corner of his mouth.

You lift your head and prop yourself up by your elbow, looking over at Isa and finally seeing how he's looking away from you.

He looks conflicted. Stars, he looks like he's about to bite off his own tongue. You really don't want that.

“Can. I. kiss you?” you repeat, more steady this time. Isa lets out an embarrassed chuckle and looks back up at you.

“You can. I think I'd enjoy it.” He grins, and it reminds you of the face he made right after the loops ended. It was when you told him you kissed him once during the loops, and he, bafflingly, suggested you “practice” kissing so you'd get better at it.

You blink and pinch the sheet between your fingers. You had forgotten about that. You're annoyed you need to keep being reminded that you aren't as disgusting as you think.

….you might still be a little bit rotten, but at least Isa doesn't hate you.

You take a deep breath in. Then let it out.

You move a hand to his cheek, bringing yourself closer. He closes his eyes as you lean in, his face just going darker.

And then you chicken out.

You kiss his cheek as your heart almost explodes in your chest. Oh, stars, oh stars! That might've been too much for you. Oh wow, how sweet it was but it makes your mind buzz with everything in existence.

You hear Isa laugh. His warm, bright and slightly cracked laugh. You adore the way it sounds like thunder on a cold day, you know that a comfortable storm will follow and keep you safe inside.

Ahh but that's almost too much for you to handle right now, so you lean back and hide your face behind your hands.

He follows you for a moment, leaning closer, before staying where he is and settling on laughing at you still. You don't know if he's actually laughing at you, but you wouldn't mind if he was. You're just too… “Flustered” might be the nice word here. “Scared” might be the correct one.

“I'm not comparing at all, but I thought you meant you'd kiss me on the lips..?” His voice is riddled with bubbles and soft shades. Stars, you're worried you disappointed him.

You try to say something. It comes out as a muffled grunt as you reach for his hand again, bringing it close to your face. You are really just driving yourself insane today, huh?

Because then you kiss the palm of his hand. Quick, gentle, barely a peck, but it does the job. Isa sputters again, he laughs again, and you feel overwhelmed with it all.

You want to keep going, to keep making your friend giggle and flush and lean closer to you, but it genuinely might be too much for now. You take a deep breath in, then let it out. It's wonderful.

You smile up at him, not sure what to expect from it yet feeling wild for it anyway. Isa is smiling down at you, his face so, so dark. It's as funny as it is adorable. If you're being honest, he might be as overwhelmed by this as you are.

You sigh out a chuckle, letting go of Isa’s wrist and looking away. You hear him sigh as well and feel his hand move to your shoulder.

“You… feeling any bet…ter?” He mumbles, smile apparent in his voice.

“I'm great.” You say. The build up already starts. Isa perks up. “You could even say I'm…”

He expectantly takes a breath in.

“Feeling im-peck-able.” You grin as you look back at him. Sure, it wasn't your strongest pun, but you're too frazzled and brain melted to think of anything better.

Isabeau laughs nonetheless, his shoulders shaking as he leans back away from you. It's comfortable and warm, you're considering leaning in closer to him.

And so you do. You can't help it this time and the bubbly little voice in your head wins.

You snuggle up against him and put your head on his chest, and while it doesn't quite cause a full malfunction, Isa does pause before wrapping around you tight. He squeezes a sigh out of you that turns up into somewhat of a laugh/yelp/bark- something. And embarrassing noise that you just ignore as you feel every part of the Fighter burn warmer. He loosens his grip slightly and the two of you lay in silent for the long moments that follow.

Isafrin hc for ya:

Siffrin isn't comfortable with kissing Isa months after the loops, at least directly on the lips, i think eventually they could be comfortable but i think it would be cute what the build up to that would look like. Hand holding to little bit of cuddling, hugging to sleeping close together (spooning vry much included), the first hints of kissing start with Siffrin kissing Isa's knuckles, his hand, his palm, his arm, up and up to his neck, his jawline, his flushed cheeks (they really like kissing his cheeks), his nose... forehead... and maybe then... his lips.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 1

Part 2

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, eventual smut, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i nearly decided on nuking this because it feels so fucking bad and aimless guess in the end I'M really the tormented spirit huh anyway if I'm glad i didnt and decided to wait it out. if you enjoy this please think of leaving a comment and/or reblog because i need the reassurance. | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

"Father," Alicent pleads, "she needs to see you."

Otto's jaw clenches as he lifts his gaze from his desk. He looks upon his youngest child's features. You were one in the same, his first daughter and last. He thanks the gods that she did not inherit the curse you bear.

Alicent picks at her fingers while awaiting a response. Though she draws blood, no sound leaves her lips. She did not know it, but her father catches this anxious tick. He mentally corrects himself: at least she did not inherit it at equal intensity.

"A man has no place in the dressing room of a bride-to-be," the Lord Hand dismisses.

Alicent knew about as much would be said, yet she still tries, "please. She is having a-"

"And when has my presence ever soothed her?" Otto interrupts, raising his voice to make his point clear.

It was enough. Alicent understood.

He turns back to his papers. He reads them but none of the words register. He says, "I am sure your brother is already there, coddling her as he does."

Alicent does not respond.

Otto lifts his gaze, "go," he speaks as though his daughter missed the obvious, "if she needs someone so badly, coddle her with Gwayne."

Alicent returns to your chambers. Her heart pinched in every which way at the sight of you. Here you stood, clothed in one of the few precious dresses that belonged to your mother— a bride. Dark blue satin and gold jewelry embellished your form. Your brown hair was curled and plaited and pinned. Your face had a glow, only because it was stained with tears. It was terrible and magnificent all at once.

Rhaenyra goes to her best friend, and the two girls clutched hands before walking towards you. Gwayne spots them and gives your hands a tight squeeze. Because of this, you turn from your older brother to your younger sister. Your eyes are pink with melancholy.

"Lord Hand," Alicent mutters, "is deep in his work."

On his daughter's wedding day, thinks Gwayne.

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw, loathing your father more than normal in this moment.

More than your own, you cannot stomach your sister's duress. You stroke her cheek, "I am well now. Worry no more."

Alicent catches Gwayne's expression and knows that is a lie. Still, she smiles and nods, "I am glad," she looks you once over, "you are an exquisite bride, sister."

Rhaenyra offers a smile, "I agree, dear aunt."

Your face twists at the young princess's words, though you knew she meant well. You will away the dreadful sensation in your stomach and manage a smile, "thank you... sweet niece."

You relish their company for as long as you can in this moment. You gather strength from Rhaenyra's smile, from Alicent's touch, and Gwayne's words. Then, all at once, you were alone, walking towards Daemon Targaryen.

In truth, he was not curious of you. He despised you, for after all, you were the spawn of that Cunttower. But, gods, what could possibly be the reason you were taking so long to walk down the aisle? It was not like this room was that big. And so, he turns over his shoulder to inspect you. His hand remains on Dark Sister and his weight still rested mostly on one leg.

He squints at the sight of you, moving like a snail. He is about to roll his eyes, but then he catches a glimpse of your countenance.

Tis strange.

You were not nearly as repulsive as he remembered you, and not nearly as similar in likeness to your rotten twin. How could that be, when it was not only- what, a season since he had pummeled Ser Cuntface to the ground? He will never forget your screaming face in the audience, and how deliciously distressed your father had been from hauling you away.

Even now, as Daemon's lilac eyes appraised your distant silhouette, gliding towards him like a phantom intent on haunting, he second guessed if that weeping woman from the tourney was you. But then he turned to your brother and saw his jaw harden. It was unmistakable then you were the weeping woman, and now, you were his weeping bride.

Gwayne, could not help the way his hands tightened into a fist as he helplessly watched you inch towards his most ardent foe. Beside him, unmoving, stood the very man who allowed such madness to ensue: your father.

You pass the pew that seated your family. Your twin's expression softens. He nods, and you know he means take heart. Your sister does the same. But your father, who stood between his children, does not spare you a glance.

Daemon notices the coldness. He would feel bad, but then again, he has been proclaiming his ill-guided brother's Lord Hand was the biggest cunt in the realm for so long, so he doesn't. Oh, but then you look at him with those beady eyes, and he did not know why his thorax felt uneasy.

Twas strange indeed.

Soon you stood in front of your promised, and, finally, Otto lays his eyes upon you. He does not see you though. He does not see the woman dressed in the garments that once belonged to his wife. He does not see your trembling hand and glassy cheeks. He sees his timid, tremoring, little daughter that he had to leave a moon's length for work. He sees her frail body that shook on her tiny bed and found no comfort in the way he held her tiny hand when he returned.

As the septon begins this damning rite, all he could hear was the voice of the maester that promised the new medicine he procured would heal his girl. As tears rolled down your eyes, he remembers how he nearly killed the maester for feeding you herbs that caused you to retch the little food you had eaten.

Has my child not suffered enough?

Has my child not suffered enough?

ᴴⁱˢ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ⁱˢ ᵐᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ

Daemon turns to the pew beside the Hightowers' and finds his brother's face. Viserys seemed pleased to witness this wretched affair, as did Aemma, who clutched her pregnant belly. Rhaenyra beside her seemed more interested in you however, or at least the dress that she and Alicent helped dressed you in.

The septon blabbers and tells you both to speak your vows. You do, one as reluctant as the other. Then, as instructed, Daemon cloaks you and presses a kiss on your salty lips.

Twas bittersweet. On one hand, as he takes your clammy one, the image of Otto's face when Daemon told the King that he wanted to marry you comes to mind.

Oh, how excited he was to see the old fool look as though he was a breath away from lunging at him across the table, and how utterly horrendous that he hadn't. He would have simply, and justifiably, killed him. Then all this bother would not have ensued. The look upon the said man's face this moment, now that he's sullied what he so dearly protected, made his stomach giddy.

As the same time, as he held that same clammy hand of yours and felt it tremble, he remembers that you and he were bound. Though not in the manner of his house, he knew he could escape only so much of his wretched duties. Otto's vexation would only last so long, and deep down the cunt must enjoy that his daughter was now a princess. He knew soon Viserys would also begin nagging him again.

But then out of nowhere, he laughs. It was so abrupt that a few guests looked at him in confusion.

How could he forget? There was the matter of your... affliction. Perhaps he can frighten you to death on your wedding bed.

He chuckles once more.

The idea is so delicious, he is in good spirits the whole wedding feast. He does nothing but embarrass and shame you by entertaining literally every other lady save yourself.

What makes matters worse, at least on your end, is that your father refuses to go to your side and forbids not only your brother but as well as your sister from leaving their spots to come to your aid. There was no need to make the matter bigger than it was. You are left alone at your seat at the table, looking nothing but pathetic and weepy.

You sustain such temperament until you're in your marriage chambers, but then you do a funny thing and down two glasses of wine. Daemon laughs at how it spills from your lips, down your neck.

He, who had already much more than a measly two cups, comes behind you and takes the one you loudly prop on the table. You squeak and bolt away when Daemon's arm sneaks up from underneath your own; it only further amuses him.

"V'you a change of heart?" he pours himself a glass, "ready for debauchery, yes?"

You turn unbelievably pale, and it merits the fondest of laughs from your sadistic groom. Daemon drinks and licks the wine off his lips.

You gulp, reaching out a trembling hand.

He raises a brow at it. Suddenly, he's annoyed— twice was much because he has absolutely no idea what the gesture means.

That is, until you speak, "may I have some more?"

One of his faint silver brows raises. Suddenly, he is greedy with the wine he thought tasted too sour on his tongue. However, a curiosity within him urged to hand over the cheap drink, for why did his shivering wife have the nerve for this to be her first words to him?

He watched you throw your head back as you down the wine just as quick as you did the previous ones. He chuckles and crosses his arms. When you turn to Daemon, he tilts his head, "thirsty?"

You inhale deeply, though it is strangled, "for my anxiousness."

It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean, and when he does, his nostrils flare. Had he breathed fire, surely smoke would have come out his nose at this moment. Daemon releases an airy, unamused chuckle and averts his gaze, "eager to bed me, harlot?"

Your throat tightens, for that was not what you meant at all.

You forcibly swallow a lump that forms when he comes to your side. Your throat only further constricts when he grabs and yanks you into his chest. You whimper as he presses his nose against your ear. Goosebumps form when his hot breath hits your ear, "on the bed then."

Your heart thunders as he shoves you towards the bed. You nearly miss it. Actually, only your head and arms touch the cushion, and the rest of your body collides with the floor and the hard bed frame. Your tailbone throbs at the impact, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as your chest that tightened, and tightened, and tightened and—

You barely manage to gasp. You are hard of breathing when Daemon crouches and grabs your thighs, pulling your skirts up. He feels your flesh tremble beneath his palm. His fingers touch your skin, and it brings him to hiss; you are ice against his burning hands.

He looks up at you. A line forms between his brows. You gasped for air that seemed unwilling to enter your lungs. Not only was your face stained with tears, but as well as your neck now

He mutters, "nyke pendagon jaelā naejot sagon ipradāri," I thought you wanted to get eaten, "I do so find fear delectable."

You continue to slump into the floor until you're a melted mess. You can do nothing but clutch your chest, not that it helps one bit.

Daemon is satisfied at this point. He stands and dusts his hands off. He looks at the pitiful Hightower, your dark locks spilled on the ground as if blood from a crime scene.

"Is that your affliction then, wife?" he tilts his head, "do you seize up when you're nervous?"

You look at him, but do not respond.

"S'rather inconvenient, no?" he sighs, as though he actually cared.

You shut your eyes and curl into a ball.

"Mmm, well, I suppose I will have to claim the womanhood owed of me some other time," he said, uninterested. With that, he exits the room with a skip in his step, pleased to know he had such a tremendous effect on you.

You remain in this turmoil for what felt like hours.

By the time you peel yourself up from the floor, your body is encased in sweat. You command yourself to calm; you cannot afford to slip into another bout of insanity. Your tears cannot be contained as you struggle to undo the ties of your dress; at least tremendous relief comes after you do. You struggle to your feet and remove the pins in your hair while making for the vanity table.

You sit before yourself; your horrid face reflects on the mirror that was far too clear for your liking. As you free your hair from its bounds, you think, perhaps it was fortunate that your husband did not lay with you. At least not tonight.

But then, comes to mind, the argument you with your father. Your chest threatens to tighten again as the severity of his voice replays in your head.

It was no secret, Otto despised Daemon. How then could he be so shocked at your horror of learning he had approved your marriage to him. His raging voice still rings in your head: "you ungrateful fool!"

You fall apart in your palms and nearly succumb to yourself again. Thankfully, you manage to take deep breaths and pick yourself up before you fall apart.

You always knew you were the spare in your father's eyes, but you thought that merited indifference. You did not think he hated you so deeply. How could anyone hand their child to their enemy? Perhaps this was his way of finally having use of you.

A spare. A pawn. Will it ever end?

You go to bed and wrap yourself tightly under the sheets. You stare at the ceiling, praying the same prayer you've prayed since you were eight: Seven, let this be my final slumber.

You nearly choke when you are awoken by such violent shaking. You jolt up, or at least as much as you can from the blankets you were so tightly bound in.

Daemon grins and brings the hands he had shaken you with behind his back, "I would say good morn, but it is apparently opposite to you, wife."

The name makes your skin crawl. You push yourself out of the sheets and sit up. You wipe your face and tell yourself; you must get used to this, "good morrow, husband."

Your brown curls spill down your shoulder as you sigh to yourself. Daemon thinks you look much more palatable this way, unlike yesterday, when your hair was jailed so tightly. He motions with his head, "ta. We make haste to the dragon pit."

Your eyes are suddenly devoid of any trace of sleepiness as you look at him.

His lips remain curled, "it would only be proper to do so, no?" He does not let you retort, as he is already making his way out, "tis Caraxes' right to know who his master has been shackled to," he opens the door, "at least momentarily."

If he was self-satisfied with how you shook under his grasp last night, one can only imagine his exhilaration over your severe disinterest in meeting his mount this morning. What's more, Caraxes could smell your anxiety, and it made him chuff and snap his jaws.

Of course, Daemon chastised his dragon, telling him to obey, even though he very much did not want him to. He eagerly fantasizes: oh, a shame my bride died the day I introduced him to my ride.

A true shame.

"Calm yourself," Daemon sniggers as he forcefully pushes you towards the blood wyrm, "the harder you make this for yourself, the harder it will be."

You found no encouragement in that, for no part of it meant to encourage. You continue to writhe against him, pushing yourself back, only to be pressed against the prince's chest and urged forward. It didn't help that he shackled his hands on both of your wrists, preventing you from elbowing him away.

Though your hair was braided to the side, you still manage to whip it to Daemon's face in your attempt to free yourself, only causing him to be more impatient. You could not help the harrowing shriek that left you when he ultimately brought you to the beast's maw, and the said creature pressed himself against your chest to sniff you.

Caraxes rips away and shakes his head at your piercing reaction. He shrieks in like, as if disapproving, or showing offence. He must exact appropriate retaliation. He draws a deep breath, readying to set you ablaze. Daemon would have let him, had he not been a direct target of his mount's wrath, "keligon, Caraxes!"

Caraxes hisses.

"Keligon!" Stop!

He does not enjoy the order, exemplified by the way he licked his teeth, but obeys, nonetheless. He roars one last time, spit sputtering onto your face as he does. It's enough to make you finally lose your resolve.

You cease your wrangling and find yourself going limp in his arms. Daemon is pleased. He can finally drag you on dragon-back and torment you even more mid-air. What he did not know, however, was that your stomach was tingling; it was not that of the usual dread so familiar to you, but twas familiar still.

Daemon takes you by the arm and tries to make you climb up to the saddle, but then he stills when he hears the sound you make. He pulls away just before the acid from your stomach rushes out of your mouth. You retch so much it comes out of your nose, and you feel yourself grow lightheaded.

"Fucking gods," Daemon recoils in disgust. He turns to one of the dragon keepers and orders you away.

The dragon keeper, who looked far older than your father, spoke to you in a language you could not make out. You understand the part where he says maester as he leads you out of the pit. You manage to convey you no longer needed his assistance once you were out and walked off by yourself. You flinch and shriek when Daemon takes off on Caraxes.

You do not go to the maester's, instead, you have your servants draw you a warm bath and stay in it until it is cold. Only then do you scrub your skin until it is tender.

Once you were clean, you looked for the only person in the world that did not use your name interchangeably with hysteria: your twin.

"That uliginous blinkard," Gwayne slashes the dummy before him. You watch him pace from the bench you were sat upon. "He is incapable of procuring a morsel of dignity out of his wretched existence."

You clench you jaw when he chucks his sword to the ground.

"I should smother him in his sleep."

The thought chills you.

"But then I would be no better than he, would I not?" he seethes as he walks to your side, grabbing the towel beside you.

He wipes his face. You look up at him, a line forming between your brows, "remember you are my confidant, not my vindicator."

"If not I," he chucks his towel back beside you, "then who?" His forehead wrinkles, "an affront to my twin is worse than one to myself."

"Then you would know better than anyone that I share your sentiment," you grab his arm, hoping to calm him down.

His face is hard. He pushes your hand away.

You sigh, "and you know well that I suffer more in circumstances where you've acted on my behalf."

He clenches his jaw. He draws a deep breath and denies the thought with the shake of his head, "father will not hold it against-"

"Father holds everything against me," your eyes instantly water, "he would not be our father if he did not."

Your twin has never spoken your name any other way but in gentleness, yet it is precisely why it chips you apart. Gwayne continues, "be it as it may, but I do not believe that he gave to the prince— certainly not willingly."

You laugh and lift your countenance to the sky. Tears fall from the corner of your eyes, down your ears and neck, "does it matter?"

"It does," he urges, "he fought for you."

"He does not fight for me," you turn back to him, "allow yourself to come to terms with it as I have. It will hurt you less."

Gwayne does not manage a response as someone else speaks in that moment. The way you both tense at the sound is that of instinct.

"You vomited in the dragon pit?"

You turn over your shoulder and shoot up from where you sat. You watch as your father walks towards you. He places a hand on your neck and looks you up and down, "did the prince jostle you so on his ride?"

His touch is like a searing rod against your skin, his eyes, even worse. The raised hairs on your neck remain even as he pulls away. You quietly retort, "I did not even touch his saddle."

"Oh," Otto raises his brows, "then perhaps your affliction is that of you carrying."

Carrying?

Both you and Gwayne are mortified by the idea. You stutter, "s-surely it is not that quick."

"The blood of the dragon runs hot," he sighs, "as he would so boldly proclaim."

Your face burns upon hearing this.

Your father looks past you, "take your sister to the maester at once."

"No, I-"

"Make sure that she is good condition and take note of what will be instructed of her."

"That is not-"

"I am sure she will be required to take further precautions because of her affli-"

"We did not!" you blurt, finally regaining the attention of your father.

Your heart races as Otto looks at you. Suddenly, you are like a deer shot by an arrow, pained and powerless. He is annoyed that you interrupted him, only to say nothing. He presses, "we did not what?"

You take a strangled breath before reply, "we... did not consummate ou-"

"You what?!" he steps forward.

Gwayne immediately takes your arm, eager to get between you two, "father-"

But Otto does the same and pulls you toward him, "you did not consummate, or you did not want to consummate your marriage?"

Gwayne's hold on you falters. Your saliva lumps in your throat, "I-"

"You do understand the consequences if you do not bear your husband heirs, correct?"

You turn to your feet, unable to hold his heated glare, "I-"

"Look at me when I speak to you," he shakes you.

You lift your eyes, and hot tears begin to rush down your face.

"You've proven your point, father," Gwayne blurts, "release her."

"Release her?" Otto redirects his ire. Though he does just that, release you, it feels as though an iron clamp around your neck replaces your father's hold. "Even if I were to release her, boy, your dearest twin sister will not be free of the truth," he turns back to you, "nor my point. Your failure to do what is necessary will lead you straight into the dragon's belly."

You clench your jaw tighter than anyone should.

"Do you understand, girl?"

You nod before you allow yourself to breathe. You blurt, "yes, my lord."

Otto looks you once over before turning and walking away. The moment he is out of sight, you fold like a deck of cards, and Gwayne must keep you upright.

He hushes you and sits you back down. He kneels in front of you, observing if you were about to collapse into another episode. You do not, for he was with you, but you do weep until tears could no longer fall. He leads you to your room after this and urges you to rest.

You repeat the prayer you prayed on your wedding night before you sleep.

[giantkillerjack]

"The Professor's Workshop"

An excerpt from my graphic novel script drafts, posted here without beta bc it motivates me to write. In this chapter, the protagonists David and Kuruk are being given a tour of Armadillo Island by its mayor.

"Just wait til you meet them!" RJ exclaims excitedly. "They're the mind of a generation - maybe two!" He now adds an additional spring to his step, and David has to jog to keep up with him, despite them both being very short men. Kuruk follows behind, looking deeply skeptical.

RJ leads them down a winding forested path to a more remote part of the village, continuing to talk about the island the whole time while occasionally asking friendly questions of his guests.

They arrive at a secluded building tucked away in the bright green foliage of the island. The building is made in the same unique colorful architectural style as the rest of the island, but it has an odd overall shape - as though it has seen many small additions and renovations over the years. Paint chips in a couple places, but otherwise it looks well-cared-for. Shiny metal vents and chimneys emerge from the roof and sides, gently emitting white smoke. A stone pathway leads from the sign to the door, nearly hidden in untamed tall grass.

Out front, a high-quality colorful carved wooden sign reads:

Doctor Professor Xosha Zapata, PhD

Chemist & Architect Extraordinaire

"The sign was a gift from me," RJ chirps, stopping for a moment to admire it.

"No kidding," David deadpans politely, obviously hiding a smile.

(Behind him, the side of Kuruk's mouth twitches upwards a little for just a moment.)

RJ is marches up the overgrown stone and knocks confidently on the door, which turns out to not be fully closed; it creaks open from his knocking.

RJ stands just outside of the doorway and shouts inside cheerfully, causing Kuruk to wince at the volume. "OH, PROFESSOR!!! Are you in, Professor? I've met the most lovely chaps and I'd love to introduce them to our island's premiere scientific mind!"

There is a distant muffled sound from within.

"... PROFESSOR?" RJ shouts again, looking slightly concerned, "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

An indistinct wobbly speech bubble comes from inside, ending in question marks.

RJ looks both worried and like a man on a mission. "WE'RE COMING IN TO CHECK ON YOU - ALRIGHT, PROFESSOR?" He shouts loud enough this time that David and Kuruk both wince.

RJ hustles in and our heroes follow hesitantly behind.

The small entryway opens into a large room with high ceiling. It appears to be a lab or a workshop of some kind. Skylight windows light the room with soft sunlight, and dust motes float in the air in the brightest of the rays of light.

In terms of the contents of the room, the place looks like if a cartoon professor somehow had even more ADHD than usual:

There are dozens of beakers and vials on a number of desks and tables. A few of the beakers sit on lit bunsen burners, bubbling with colorful substances and sending white smoke up into the vents above them. At least one beaker has bubbled over and created an unidentifiable burnt mass at its base.

There are multiple architectural drafting tables with designs and blueprints on them in various states of completion.

There are several chalkboards full of notes in messy handwriting.

Books, papers, notebooks cover nearly every flat surface and several of the non-flat ones. Many torn notebook pages have been taped to the walls. [I guess this fantasy world has an equivalent to scotch tape now. ... I'm fine with that.]

The only decorations are a cluster of very nice painting on a small section of the wall. (Readers looking very closely will notice they all have the same artist's signature - Epa, who runs the inn.)

There is nothing to suggest nefarious scientific activity. Real "absentminded professor" energy.

In the far corner of the room, a set of scaffolding and a ladder block off a small space.

"H-hello? RJ, is that you?" says a small speech bubble from behind the scaffolding.

"Aha!" RJ leaps in that direction impressively quickly for a tiny man in his 50s.

Before David and Kuruk catch up to him, they hear RJ's relieved and once again cheerful voice:

"Ah, professor! There you are, thank goodness!!! You had us worried for a moment there!"

"...'Us' ?" says the unknown person in a pinched voice.

David and Kuruk round the corner to see three things:

One: an incomplete 8-foot-tall architectural model of a building,

Two: a fallen ladder, and

Three: a very embarrassed-looking non-binary person whom they recognize as the amateur vigilante they last saw getting shoved into the town square fountain by Armadillo Woman. Ze is wearing overalls, safety goggles pushed up on zyr head, a white shirt with some almost neon-colored stains on it, and a safety harness.

Ze appears unharmed, but they are suspended in the air by a cord attached to the back of the harness, and they look exceedingly uncomfortable. Zyr feet are dangling high off the ground, and ze is slowly and involuntarily rotating in place.

"Oh." Ze says weakly at the sound of additional footsteps. "There's... more people to witness this. ...My lucky day." They look as though they'd rather melt away into the earth. As they speak, they continue to spin, and they miss their initial chance to look at David and Kuruk, not seeing their faces until spinning slowly back around.

RJ, however, continues with his introductions, gesturing grandly and earnestly. "Mister David, Mister Kuruk - please meet the esteemed Doctor-Professor Xosha Zapata! Professor, these are my new friends Kuruk and David! They're here for the festival!"

Behind RJ, Kuruk squints at being called RJ's "new friend." David just looks amused.

"Y-You can just call me Xosha actually I'm not really--"

Xosha stops as ze finally catches sight of David and Kuruk - zyr face somehow falls even further. "Ah. We've, uh, met, actually," they say with a pained smile.

RJ is delighted. "Really?!? Fantastic! You must tell me all about it! How you met, what everyone was wearing! Every detail!"

"Um, actually, do you think maybe somebody could get me down first, please?" Xosha says in a small voice.

RJ looks surprised to find Xosha still in the air; he presses his hand to his forehead. "Oh! Oh my! Of course of course - my apologies! - I just get so carried away! Gentlemen, would you assist me?"

David and Kuruk nod. Kuruk looks like he's questioning how his life has come to this.

"Tell us what to do, Professor!" RJ says with his hands on his hips.

What follows is a ridiculous comical sequence in which Xosha explains how this happened and the men help zyr get down.

Ze was standing on a tall ladder and working on the architectural model. The safety harness they're wearing supports their torso and pelvis, and it connects to a rope from a clever pulley system on the ceiling. The early light of dawn indicates that this was probably a few hours ago.

They lean too far to reach for something and lose their balance, kicking the ladder out from under them while simultaneously knocking the pulley controls out of their reach.

Their legs kick in the air as they tried to release themselves from the harness, but in their struggles they manage only to somehow tangle the straps of their overalls and cause a lot of discomfort.

The final flashback panel is a distant wide shot of the whole workshop with the lonely defeated figure of Xosha hanging comically from the harness in the background.

Per Xosha's direction, RJ and David find the pulley controls and begin to lower zyr down in stops and starts. The pulley system is not cooperating with them, and Xosha yelps in a mix of alarm and discomfort with each small drop. It looks very painful, and David winces in sympathy. RJ looks similarly apologetic.

After the first small drop, Kuruk moves quickly to stand under Xosha.

"I will catch you," he says, looking entirely unsure of himself, but ready nonetheless.

"Thank-- you," Xosha squeaks, "It's-- YAAHH--!!!"

They let out a final yelp as they drop the last few feet. Kuruk catches them from behind [either under the arms or by the harness] and slows their fall so they land safely on their feet. Kuruk continues to support them for a few seconds until they seem steady.

As soon as Kuruk lets go, however, Xosha whimpers and lowers zyrself to the ground in a comically pained ball. Evidently, hanging from a pelvis harness hurts one's crotch and hips like a motherfucker, and Xosha is too exhausted to pretend otherwise. They are still clearly embarrassed, but they seem to have accepted their humiliating fate.

RJ hurries over to help them take the harness off, crouching on the ground next to them and patting their shoulder consolingly. He asks them what happened, and he asks if they need help taking the harness off. Xosha accepts his help and explains, accompanied by 3-5 cartoony flashback panels:

In the flashback, ze is standing on a tall ladder and working on the architectural model. The safety harness they're wearing supports their torso and pelvis, and it connects to a rope from a clever pulley system on the ceiling that can be manually adjusted by the user. The early light of dawn indicates that this was probably a few hours ago.

Xosha leans too far to reach for something and loses their balance, kicking the ladder out from under them while simultaneously knocking the pulley controls out of their reach.

They are caught by the harness and the expression of pain on their face is ridiculous and exaggerated for humor.

Their legs kick in the air as they tried to release themselves from the harness, but in their struggles they manage only to somehow tangle the straps of their overalls and cause more discomfort.

The final flashback panel is a distant wide shot of the whole workshop - with the lonely defeated figure of Xosha gently swaying in the background.

In the present, Xosha buries their head in their hands and lets out a loud long groan; they lament how stupid their mistake was, and RJ reassures them that even geniuses make mistakes! Xosha insists that ze is not a genius. RJ declares that they are too modest. It is clear that this is not the first time they have had this conversation.

David takes in the absurdity of it all and he smiles at Kuruk across the room. Kuruk doesn't smile back, but he does meet David's gaze and there is a hint of a twinkle in his eye amongst his general bewilderment.

Finally, Xosha manages to get the harness off and sit in a chair, letting out a long sigh.

On the final page of the chapter, a large panel shows Xosha in a detailed, fully-rendered (shaded, inked, colored, etc.) shot with warm natural lighting. Ze looks up from their chair with an attempt at a smile that lands a little closer to a wince. The shot is framed to make them appear endearing in their awkwardness. They are both cute and anxious.

"So, uhh, I'm guessing you have some questions about yesterday?" ze says.

Below that panel, a banner with large font reads:

Tune in next time for Part 3, Chapter 7:

"The Professor."

[End.]

If you liked this and want to read the published scripts with concept art on AO3, you can do that! I get a comment on those like once every 3 months and every time it gives me serotonin for like 3 weeks tbh. If you don't mind an unusual reading format, then you can find sexy men tied up and rescued, gay sky pirates, budding friendships, autistic/ADHD friendship, so many Trans people, sexy fat characters, empowering disability representation, a group of actors who would fit right in with The Ember Island Players, a haunted mop, a magical trauma recovery library, a lesbian biker gang that robs imperialistic museums - AND SO MUCH MORE

Note to self: I think maybe I'll change Xosha's pronouns to they/them and zey/zem, instead of they/them and ze/zyr. Seems to fit better.

[ateliersss]

Oh, take me back to The Night we met

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: Attempted Rape, SA, Murder, English isn't my first language Word Count: 10.162 After the Blooming Family series

⇨ Surprise! I hope you are surprised because I was starting to doubt myself. I actually believed I wouldn't even finish it this year. Anyways, I wrote the finishing 6.800 words in the last seven hours and my brain is mush. I hope it didn't affect the pace or logic of the plot. If so, I will edit it in a few days. Comments are always appreciated.

⇨ Also, if you tell me I wrote an unrealistic reaction to seeing a Yautja's face for the first time, let me tell you, you and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't reacted the same.

1936, Earth

"Thank you, ma'am." The soldier in front of you returned your identity card, the national animal printed on it facing you.

You returned his bright smile with a tight one. You were already used to identifying yourself to patrolling soldiers after work. It was for "safety measures", according to the government.

While you were busy putting away your identity card, the boy looked nervously over his shoulder to his comrade who nodded back to him, encouraging him to finally man up and just tell you what he had rehearsed a dozen times already to eventually make a move on you and ask you out.

"A-And thank you for your service, ma'am!" He blurted out, louder than he intended to, with a soft blush covering his cheeks.

You closed your purse and looked up at him in confusion.

The boy, you now noticed, had to be at least five years younger, probably around the same age as your younger brother, Emil. And you recognized him now, too. He was patrolling around this area two to three times a week.

At your confused face, he gestured a little awkwardly to your uniform, the white dress and blue-grey blouse underneath it. "D-Doctors and nurses are in desperate need in times like these a-and saving lives is a remarkable job!"

"Oh." You looked down at yourself before you pulled your coat tighter around your body and smiled softly at him. "If that's all, I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen."

He visibly deflated at your words and mumbled a quick "Have a nice evening, ma'am." but you barely got half of it when you turned around to continue your way back home. The second your back was facing them, your smile dropped.

You hated it, hated this, this so-called life you and everyone around you had to live. Horrible and disgusting things were happening, but no one dared to speak up. You were all trapped, too scared to act, too afraid to do something.

And the people could feel it, the tension that was stretched so tautly that was just waiting to snap. The whole world was holding its breath, deferring that one moment when the match would ignite and reduce everything and everyone to rubble and ash.

Meanwhile, your brother was beaming with pride as he was now considered old enough to join the army and could finally fight for his country. On the other hand, your father, the only other family you still had in this world, was far more reluctant when it came to the plans of the government and his son's naive blindness of patriotism.

No one was talking about the horrifying wrongs your home country was doing for years now, but everybody knew, everybody saw. And if someone even dared to utter a word about it, they disappeared.

That didn't stop your father from ranting about it behind the closed doors of your home. He did so, of course, in Emil's absence. He was family, yes, but nowadays blind obedience could manipulate even a brother and son to go against his own kin.

You loved your brother dearly. He was a good guy and he only held a very strong pride for his home, his people, and his culture. But sadly that was the only thing he acknowledged around others. He denied the "rumors" of a genocide going on and overlooked unintentionally the more sinister motives of others in the world of politics and the military. He was truly and utterly blind, but you couldn't condemn him for that. Not really.

The Great War ended when Emil was three years old and you remembered him crying when your father told him he couldn't participate in it anymore. Ignorant of the horrors that happened at the Front, he and a few boys from around the neighborhood would play war and were disappointed when they were told it was over. The worst part was the elder men sitting on benches near their battlefield, telling them their people were the superior power since they had been able to hold their own against three opposing countries in the end.

You sighed and started to fumble around in your purse for your keys as you reached your destination. After a quick look into the mailbox — the usual evening newspaper and another flyer that encouraged men between the ages of twenty and forty-five to sign up for the military — you made your way up to the first floor and poked around in the lock with the key, a little distracted by the newspaper as you were searching the headlines for anything concerning. There was another report about a skinned man found hanging upside down from a church tower. Unbelievable. At times like this and there was a maniac running around, killing people in the most grotesque way for fun.

"I'm home!" You called into the dimly lit hallway, knowing your father was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

After dropping your purse next to the wardrobe, toeing out of the white pumps, shrugging off the coat, and hanging it on the coat rack, you walked through the corridor and past five doors. The ones leading to the bathroom and the kitchen were open as always, just like the door of Emil's bedroom. Although it hadn't been inhabited for a few months now, you would always leave it open after cleaning. It was false reassurance, but that way it seemed as if he was still home.

"How was your day?" Your father asked gruffly from his spot on the wing chair, the morning newspaper still in his hand before it got replaced by the evening issue you handed to him with a kiss to his temple.

"It was…"

Screams.

Blood.

Wails of a newborn.

A cold body.

"…long."

"Mhm." Your father hummed, his eyes scanning the front page before turning it. "Hah! Sightings of another black cloud of smoke and the authorities tell the public another farmhouse burned down. Do they think we are stupid? Unbelievable these people! Think they will get away with it, hiding it from the public eye, and no one would notice!"

You weren't entirely sure if he had even listened to you, but you didn't care. You weren't very eager to start a conversation with him anyway.

"I'm in my room. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Though you didn't expect a response, you waited a few seconds — maybe today he would ask if his son had finally sent a letter — before you turned around to retreat to your room.

Since your father had lost his legs in a bomb attack at a munitions factory where he had worked during the Great War, he had changed. A lot. Before, he was quite a gentle and jovial man who worked hard and never shied away from showing how much he loved his family. Nowadays, he was resentful and bitter towards everything happening around him.

It was exhausting, not only listening to his complaints day in and day out but also being nothing more than a maid and caregiver to him. You were the sole breadwinner in this house. You worked yourself to the bone in a business that was equally about life and death but gave you more grief than joy. At least it made the medical care of your father a little easier. The surgery, the medicine, and the wheelchair would have cost you a fortune.

When you would get off work, more would await you at home. Taking care of the household was your responsibility for nine years now since your father wasn't capable of doing it anymore. After the first week of dusting and sweeping, washing the dirty laundry and ironing the clean ones, going grocery shopping and cooking, as well as taking care of your father like washing him, helping him get to the toilet, and such, you cried yourself to sleep with the thought of quitting and running away.

But you didn't.

You were miserable, yes, but you stayed. You stayed with the hope of a better life in the future. Maybe you will be married to a nice man in a few years like your girlfriends already were. You had experience with men, sure, but none of them you would consider fit to be your husband.

In your bedroom, you quickly got rid of your uniform until you were only in your undergarments, a baby-blue silk panty that flowed around your mid-thighs and an uplift brassiere of the same fabric and color, both with a lacy hemstitched design. You were about to throw the white and grey-blue dress into your other dirty clothes when you noticed red speckles on the left sleeve.

Yes, the day had been long, too long for your taste, and when your shift did end, you felt hollow once more. You could still see her in that bed, screaming and crying.

Watching her, you had wondered if you would ever end up like her.

You shifted in your place, second-guessing before you finally turned and looked at your reflection in the mirror that occupied one corner of your bedroom. You hesitantly lifted your hands and placed them on your belly.

No. Your job showed you women struggle and in pain every day. You would never do that to yourself. Being a mother was not worth the probability of taking your last breath during labor, giving your own life while granting another to your child.

Today was another reminder of that.

The girl in the delivery room, Johanna, was sweet and lively. You met her occasionally on a monthly check-up when you assisted the doctor who took her into his care. She would tell you about her and her husband trying for this baby for years and how excited she was.

You bit the inside of your cheek when tears once again started to well up in your eyes when you thought of how helpless you had felt when you stood in that room. Your colleague, an older and more experienced woman, was holding the crying newborn in her arms. The doctor was doing his all to save the unsavable while Johanna's body got colder as the dark red spot grew bigger on the white linen of the bed.

Today had shown you once again that you would never let something like that happen to you.

"You have to incise into her abdomen."

Not ever.

"No!"

Not in a million years.

"No, Mi'ytiar… you have to, you have to."

You would never put someone else's life before yours, not even the one of your never-going-to-happen baby.

"Save our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please."

Sighing, you got ready for bed. You were far too tired this evening to get anything done. The laundry had to wait until tomorrow and your father probably already had eaten, so there was no need to get to the store. For now, you needed to stop thinking.

A whole week passed and you had followed your everyday routine like every other day. Occasionally, when you walked past the room where Johanna had delivered her baby and made her husband a widower, you paused and stared. Instead of the freshly made bed and the stark white linen, you saw her dying as she bled out. You saw the doctor, yourself by his side and the nurse holding the baby at the foot of the bed.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see said nurse smiling pitifully at you.

"You are still there, right?" She asked softly, her eyes scanning your face.

You swallowed and nodded. "It's like that every time I come here. I don't know why. She's not the first I watched dying during childbirth."

The elderly woman patted your cheek and guided you away from the delivery room by the crook of your arm, pulling you away from the sorrowful abyss before you could drown any deeper in it.

"You liked her, that's why." She started, "I had a Johanna, too. A long, long time ago. Although she was a lot younger, she was just as excited to be a mother. Poor thing died just like her baby."

You gasped and now it was you who looked with pity at her. "Why?"

"The baby was stuck." The older nurse sighed, "She pushed and pushed and tore. By the time the doctor started to cut her open, she died of internal bleeding." She had to clear her throat before she continued, "The baby died with her. A little boy. He got himself tangled up in the umbilical cord."

You turned your gaze from her face down to the ground and watched your feet walk an unknown route. Swallowing down your tears, you forced yourself to concentrate on not stumbling over your own feet.

You did like Johanna. You had empathized with her, even though children would never be part of your life. She had just wanted a baby, a part of her and the man she loved united in one body, and all that she got was death. She hadn't deserved it. At least the thought that she might be together with her baby in heaven now, thanks to her belief in God, soothed your heart a little.

"Go home, (Y/N)." The elderly nurse interrupted your train of thought.

Looking up, you saw her holding up your purse and coat. Apparently, she had led you to the lounge where the doctors and nurses spent their lunchtime.

"But I still have six hours to go." You tried to argue but bit down your lower lip when she shook her head.

"If someone should ask for you, I will tell them you didn't feel well and that I sent you home. There are certain benefits as the head nurse." She winked at you, pushed your belongings into your hands, and shooed you in the direction of the exit.

"I promise I will feel better tomorrow." You called over your shoulder and waved at her, giving her one last smile before you shrugged on your coat and left.

Thirty-two minutes later, you got off the bus and turned around the corner into your street, your purse dangling back and forth on your wrist. With your extra five hours, maybe you could finally start that book on your bedside table if your dad wouldn't find any reason to turn your attention to him.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, you walked a little faster, already searching for the key. Like always, you checked the mailbox — nothing again — before you hopped up the one flight of stairs to your apartment, the sound of your heels on the wood filling the otherwise silent staircase.

The noise seemed to attract the woman living across from you because you barely reached the top of the stairs when she ripped her door open and stared at you with wide eyes.

You paused and looked at her in concern. "Mrs. Walter? Is everything okay?" You asked and carefully inched closer to her.

For several moments, you didn't get an answer. Only when you opened your mouth to ask her again did she slowly lift her trembling arm and point past you at something you could not see.

Strange. The only thing back there was your apartment door, so…

The slamming of Mrs. Walter's door barely reached your ears when you turned around. All you could hear was eerie silence, not Mrs. Walter quickly putting her distance between her and the door, not the dog barking from above you that got awakened by the slamming door, not the traffic noises outside.

The door that you diligently locked every morning before you got to work and unlocked every evening when you returned home hung on its hinges. In quick strides, you reached it and ripped off the note that was nailed into the wood under the peephole. Your eyes scanned over the words as you pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

A search was carried out here due to a tip-off of a conspiracy against the country and its people. All residents are requested to report immediately...

Tears clouded your view and made it impossible to make out the rest of the words. But there was no need to. You already knew what you needed to know. Your father was dead, no questions asked, no evidence to prove that he was innocent or guilty, no interference by the judiciary. He had dug his own grave since he started to badmouth and criticize the current sins committed by the government.

You slowly navigated your way through your destroyed home, your hands supporting yourself against the wall, careful not to get caught in something with your pumps. You had to duck under the big shelf close to the entrance of the living room. It was tilted to the side so that the upper part was now leaning against the other side of the wall. Everything that had ever been placed onto it — pictures, plants, certificates, and other little knick-knacks — was now scattered on the floor.

It got even worse in the living room. Everything had been turned upside down. Your father's chair was thrown to the side just like the couch and the coffee table. The books from the huge bookshelf that covered the length of the smallest wall in here were pulled out and tossed on the floor, pages ripped out and strewn on the floor. Pictures were taken from the walls and the glass crunched as you stepped over them. Dirt was covering the floor as if someone had been digging in the soil of the potted plants. The carpet was overturned, partly thrown onto the couch, and revealed the wooden floor it usually covered.

Your living room had been thoroughly searched and you doubted the rest of your home looked any different.

In a daze, you carelessly let your purse drop to the floor and shuffled to your bedroom. Opening the door, you were greeted with a view you had expected — your bed was tilted to the side, clothes from your closet were now scattered on the floor, and your mirror was lying face down on the floor.

When you saw the pictures of you and your family carelessly thrown into the corner, you couldn't hold the sob in any longer. You sank to your knees, curled into a ball, and cried to your heart's content with your eyes squeezed shut.

You lost your mother at a young age, lost your father for the first time after his accident, lost your brother to the country, and now lost your father for the second and final time. Now, you were wholly and utterly alone. Not for long, though. If you didn't come forward and turn yourself into a possible fair trial in the next sixteen hours, you would be taken just like your father and die the same way he did.

Your breakdown had been apparently so nerve-wracking and tiring that when you opened your eyes, it was dark inside your room and outside your window. Groggily, you propped yourself up and looked around, disappointedly ascertaining that you hadn't been dreaming at all. Your eyes scanned your room, still a little out of it, until you spotted your clock on the wall, surprisingly intact. 9:24 PM. Now you had less than ten hours left.

How would you spend your last ten hours in freedom? You didn't know, but you for sure wouldn't do it in here. You needed to leave.

As quick as you could you switched your nurse uniform to a skirt and your favorite blouse, fixed your make-up and your hair to look less like a mess and more like the respectable woman you usually were, and left the apartment after putting on your shoes, coat and grabbed your purse. At first, you strolled around with no real destination in mind, but the darker it got the higher the risk of being stopped by a patrolling soldier.

You had enough money with you to occupy yourself with a few drinks, so why not enjoy yourself, let a little loose? You never really got the chance to try it out. Your job unironically prevented you from unnecessarily damaging your liver and you had the responsibility to take care of your family. Your girlfriends always invited you on girl's night, but sadly, you had to decline almost every time, be it your father or another night shift forced upon you. They had another planned on the weekend in a few days, the first one in a very long time you would have had time for. Not anymore. When they would sit around a table and share the newest gossip, you had already started to rot away in a mass grave.

You entered the first, non-shady-looking bar and plopped down on one of the bar stools on the right. When the bartender finally took notice of you, all he needed to do was to take in your gloomy figure pitifully slumped in your seat to grab a glass and fill it with a brown liquid. No words were spoken — you didn't feel like it and he noticed that — as you grabbed the glass, tossed the liquor back, and placed the now empty glass back down. The alcohol, whatever it was, burned like hell and you couldn't help but cough, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. The bartender, meanwhile, wordlessly filled your glass again and without any hesitation, you emptied that one too.

You spend almost four hours like that. Losing count after your sixth shot, your head started to feel funny, like the world around you was spinning too fast. You mused what your life would have been like if your mother hadn't died when you were just nine years old, if your father hadn't lost his legs when you were seventeen, if your brother had chosen a normal job at your current age. You could have grown up like any normal girl, could have joined your friends more often to hang out, could have started going on dates again after your last boyfriend dumped you for neglecting him.

And what about your future? What about the man you wanted to marry in a few years? Every day, you daydreamed of someone who would just sweep you away in his arms and take you far, far away from here. There had to be a place somewhere where you could live your life in peace without a brewing war and the constant fear of death. You waited for someone who would make your life easier than it currently was, who would take the weight from your shoulders and not add some more on them every single day. Someone who loved you passionately and would spoil you after nine years of labor where you worked yourself to the bone. Someone who would take charge and let you rest when you needed it. Someone who was the other half of your soul that hopelessly awaited to be rejoined with its counterpart.

When you reached out to your glass for the nth time, a hand softly clasped your wrist. Looking up, you saw the bartender giving you the same pitiful look you had received for God knows how often today, from your colleague at the hospital to some of the other patrons who entered and left the bar during the last few hours.

"I think you should get home." He said firmly and pulled his hand away.

No longer being hindered, you lifted the glass up to your lips and emptied it in one go. "I no longer have a home." You dully answered, your speech a little slurred.

"We close in a few minutes." He tried another route, anything to get you to stop drinking.

He may not be interested in what personal business you have to drink yourself under the table, but even he wouldn't let a young woman like you do that to herself.

"Fine." You mumbled, grabbed your purse, and searched for the money that was stored somewhere in there. You hummed when you finally found it and without looking at it, you dropped it down on the counter. "Here."

You held onto the sleek surface of the bar to lift yourself up and from your seat, supporting your whole weight with one hand while you needed several attempts to grab your coat. Not bothering to put it on, you turned to leave and even you were surprised that you could still walk in a (more or less) straight line.

"Hey, you paid too much!" The bartender called from behind you.

Not bothering to stop or turn around, you simply proclaimed, "Keep it. Where I go I won't need it." and pushed the entrance door open.

Outside, you tilted your head up, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It instantly freshened you up and cleared your mind a little. Looking left and right along the sidewalk, you decided to take the left and began strolling wherever it was taking you, once again with no actual destination in mind. You had no idea what time it was, but you guessed you had around five or six hours left. If you're lucky and didn't get held up by some patrols, you could visit the park one last time where your parents, Emil and you would hold a picnic every summer when you were younger. It would only take you ten minutes on foot. It wouldn't hurt to visit the place that held so many good childhood memories and bask in them in your final hours.

You were walking for a mere two minutes when you heard a whistle from your right. Halting your steps, you turned your head to the side and looked over to the source. There, on the other side of the street, were two men sitting on a bench and two standing around them. One was holding a beer bottle while the others were smoking their cigarettes.

"Hey, pretty lady." The one with the beer bottle called over to you and lifted it to toast to you.

You quickly snapped your head back forward and continued on your way, your strides bigger and faster to create as much distance between you and them as possible.

When you thought you were safe, you felt a hand clasping your wrist whose owner pulled you back and against his strong chest.

"Hey, hey, hey." The voice of the man with the beer bottle breathed against your ear, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. "Don't be shy. We were just celebrating my friend's promotion." To your horror, he put his hands on your hips and turned you both to his three companions who had seemingly followed him, all of them wearing leering grins. "Why don't you join us, hm? We could need a little entertainment." He murmured against your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Before he could place his lips anywhere close to your skin, you struggled out of his grip and stumbled a few steps away from him. "I-I'm sorry, but I need to go home. I'm already late."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the bunch stepped closer to you, smirking when you accidentally walked right into one of his friends. The guy immediately held you against him, keeping you in place.

"I think you could spare a couple of minutes." The leader said firmly and reached for your blouse.

Fear seemed to be a great way to quickly sober one up because the next thing you did was stomp down on the foot of the man that was holding you, your heel hitting his toe perfectly, causing him to let you go with a cry in pain and a curse. Next, you rammed your knee into the crotch of the man in front of you and when his body doubled over, you pushed him to the side and bolted down the sidewalk.

Not daring to look back, you sprinted as fast as you could, but the alcohol made it hard to keep balance, not to mention the nausea that bubbled up in your stomach. But you ignored it and tried to keep it down when you heard their calls from behind you, coming closer and closer.

This was not how you wanted to spend your last night, this was not how you imagined it. Tears clouded your view and you narrowly escaped the grabby hand of whatever guy that was closest to you when you ducked down and sharply took a left turn into an alley.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

The next thing you felt was hard concrete as you fell forward when a heavyweight collided with your back. You cried out in pain when you hit your head, then hysterically screamed in panic when you felt hands on your skirt and you started kicking around, not caring if you hit something or not. You heard a grunt when your heel finally made contact with the shoulder of one of them, but you barely had time to bask in your little victory when a punch to your face almost knocked you out cold. Your body went instantly slack, a long-winded groan leaving your mouth.

"Move your ass and hold her down." The voice of the leader sounded from somewhere above you. "And turn her around. I like to watch their face when they give up."

Hands turned you on your back as your screams and cries accompanied your attempts to fight their hands off.

"No… please no." You begged as your wrists were pinned above your head by a pair of rough hands. "No!" You screamed louder, in a high-pitched, panicking voice when your blouse was ripped open, your brassiere following suit, and your chest got groped by a calloused hand.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt an eager mouth around your nipple, harshly sucking on it while your breasts were still in a painfully hard grasp. You tried to gather your last strength, the drinks earlier and then the hit to your head from the fall tempted you to just fall unconscious, but you bucked your body up in hopes you could throw whoever was above you off of you.

Only you couldn't move. Someone was straddling your thighs, hindering you from moving.

You finally forced yourself to open your eyes and the blurry image of the leader pushing up your skirt presented itself in front of you.

"Stop, please! Help!" You started screaming again, causing the leader to sigh in annoyance.

"Could you please shut her up, for fuck's sake? I'm trying to enjoy myself here." He growled at the guy who was holding your hands down, his patience growing thinner with every passing moment he wasn't able to force himself inside you. "When I'm done with her, you get what's left of her."

"No, no, no..." You wailed when you heard the clinking of his belt and a zipper being opened, but you soon got silenced when a palm pressed down on your mouth.

Rather than keep watching him, you closed your eyes in defeat, now only feeling how he moved closer to your crotch, his fingers pushing your underwear aside, and positioned himself against your entrance.

A dull thud behind your attackers stilled them for a moment, but a raging roar got them to whip around. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see whatever feral animal was going to maul you and those men.

A scream, something wet splashing on you and something, someone, heavy landing on top of you got you to finally open your eyes again. You stared right into a gaping hole where the head of a person normally should be. Maybe it was the shock of almost ending up left on the ground in this alley, covered in bruises, blood and bodily fluids after they were done with you, that kept you from screaming.

In a daze, you pushed the corpse off of you and looked down at your body. It was covered in blood, parts of a splattered brain, and white fragments that had been the skull of the leader of the group. His head had burst into pieces. No animal could have done that and no human either. There was no weapon on earth with that much destructive power, so what…

With slow eyes, you looked up from your soiled legs. The guy now lying dead next to you had been obscuring the view of a large creature standing no more than three meters across from you.

Whatever it was, it seemed livid. Its body was heaving with wrathful breaths and its long fingers were twitching, clenching into fists before relaxing them again. Its massive form was hidden by darkness and you could barely make out its silhouette.

It felt like an eternity with you just staring at the creature and it (probably) staring right back. The other assaulters, two of whom had fallen to the ground in shock with the sudden attack on their leader, hadn't dared to move a muscle. Maybe they were in a trance just as you were, not for the same reason, of course.

"H-Hey!" The fourth guy squeaked, breaking the tension that seemed to suffocate the whole alley. "Wha-"

In a practiced, seemingly effortless movement, the creature whipped out its arm, and something silvery shot out of the darkness. It wrapped around the throat of the man, choking him and sending him to his knees. He was clawing his neck and tried to remove what seemed to be a whip made out of sleek silver and grey material. 

You watched him as he desperately tried to free himself and blood started to flow from where the whip was wrapped around his neck down to his shirt, turning the light blue fabric deep red. Your eyes then traveled along the bladed chain, you now noticed, to the other end of it, and found the large creature moving towards you.

If you would have been able to make a sound, you would have, but you were still too out of it that no noise escaped your bloody lips when you were finally able to distinguish your savior. 

It was indeed huge, a massive body that was dwarfing any human being you could think of. Its appearance was bizarre. Its feet and calves up to its knees were in unusual boots made out of metal instead of leather with an interesting design. You wondered if it was the skin of the creature or if it was wearing a net-like cloth that was visible on every body part that wasn't hidden beneath armor like the chest plate that bled over into a full sleeve of its arm. It was covering the left side of its chest but not enough to conceal a rather fit upper body. You found yourself staring a lot longer at the well-defined, almost sculpted abs of it. It was no doubt a male.

As you were eyeing the creature up, he yanked on the whip. You were only aware of a dull thud when the bladed chain cut off the head of the man who had been in its hold. 

You didn't register when more blood sprinkled on you as you were too busy trying to imagine a face underneath that strange mask. With his green, brownish, and beige reptilian skin, the long black tendrils sprouting from the head, the long claws, and the animalistic posture, he was, without a doubt, not human. 

An arm wrapping around your throat from behind, preventing you from breathing evenly, brought you back to reality. You immediately put up a fight, scratching it and pulling on the arm in hopes he would let go.

It was one of the attackers that had fallen to the ground when the creature had appeared. He must have scrambled over to you when his last companion was foolishly enough to run up to the murderous beast, trying to do something quite laughable, only to be impaled by a spear and was now hanging on the wall to the right like he was a portrait above a chimney, the spear rammed through the brick of the apartment building.

The idiot behind you thought the creature would let him go if he was holding you hostage as if he wasn't going to kill the both of you just like his buddies. So foolish, you internally sighed.

"S-S-Stop! I'm warning you!" He screamed at the towering figure which was closing in on you. "I will… I will kill her!"

The creature stopped a few steps away from you and reached behind his back. Quicker than your eyes could keep up, his hand shot forward and he threw something of the size of an orange at the man.

Yelling, the man loosened his grip, his instincts kicking in to fight against whatever was sticking to his forehead. In his struggle, he fell on his back and started rolling around on the floor when the little device made a strange wiring noise. His body went stock still when he was engulfed in a net, restraining him. Then the man screamed bloody murder when the wiring noise grew louder and the device pulled the net tighter around him.

You turned to him, only to see the strings cutting into his skin, drawing blood, until only pieces of his body were left of him, leaving him unidentifiable to whoever would find him and his friends.

Now, it was only you in that alley. You, the beast that saved you and the bloody massacre, turning the place into an image of horror.

You were going to get sick if you stared at what had been a living and breathing human once any longer. Rather than wanting to face the creature when it was going to kill you, you turned back around and then startled back. Said beast was crouching in front of you, the head cocked to the side.

He reached out a clawed hand and you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever gruesome death he had planned for you. You thought back to everything you had achieved in your life, every person that was still dear to you, said goodbye to every place you loved to visit, to the movie you had wanted to watch in a week with a friend, to the unread book on your bedside table and every dream you had wanted fulfill — you had actually planned to do that in a few hours. At least he was going to give you a quick death and not whatever the authorities had done to your father.

Something poked your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a closer view of the strange mask covering the creature's face. His hand was outstretched and a finger was prodding your skin. A strange noise was coming from behind the mask, something you could only describe as a rumbling purr. 

You stayed still, afraid if you would only move a muscle, it would set the creature off and let him drag his clawed finger up to your temple where a trail of blood had started to run from the wound you got from the fall. You hissed in pain when the pad of his thumb stroked — probably unintentionally hard — over your lower lip, the rough skin touching where it was busted. He pulled its thumb away only to replace it with the back of his pointer and middle finger to caress your jaw and down to your throat. The touch caused you to swallow which he most likely could feel. Only when you felt the scaly sensation on your skin dip too deep, too far beneath the ripped remains of your blouse, you gripped his wrist.

The creature's head snapped up where it had followed his exploration. You flinched back at the sudden movement and quickly loosened your hold on his wrist, pulling it away like you had burnt yourself.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice hoarse.

What if you had just signed your death? What if you touching him like that had triggered him? What if he thought you were a threat now? What if he thought of it as highly offensive? What if he was going to kill you now? What if-

A low thump caused you to flinch when he hit the left side of his chest with his right fist. With parted lips, you looked from his fist up to his masked face and then back again, confused, both at the gesture and the lack of aggression towards you. Almost as if he could understand the look on your face, he repeated the action with a little more determination after he inched closer to you. You were more focused on his sudden closeness, daring not to move back, but you hastily turned your gaze down to his fist. It was a little hard to concentrate on what he was trying to tell you after the vast change of demeanor — from murdering in cold blood to trying to… communicate with you?

"You?" You tried hesitantly.

It really was your best guess on what he could mean.

A soft growl reached your ears from underneath his mask, making you tense up but relaxed in relief the second his attention turned to his forearm. You watched in curiosity as his clawed pointer finger ghosted over the armor-like wristband that started flashing in a bright red and made strange beeping noises like when a caller on the other line hung up before you could. Your mouth opened without you even noticing. You had never seen something like it, probably no one ever had. How was it functioning without cables like your telephone and radio did?

"Are you telling me you are married?"

You jumped back a little when a male voice chimed from his wristband.

"To a cup of tea, I will never say no."

"I can't believe you put the jar in the oven!"

You looked at him in astonishment as more voices sounded from his forearm. Human voices.

He kept repeating the same three sentences, but they seemed to get shorter with every replay.

“-telling me you are… telling me… me.”

"-a cup of tea… tea."

“-you put the jar in the… you put the jar… the jar… jar.”

He seemed to be satisfied as he let out a deep, low-pitched chirp before he played the cut and put together word snippets to you, his head facing you now.

“Me-tea-jar.” He hit his chest once again before playing the word again. “Me-tea-jar.”

"Meetja?" You tried the word, tried how it felt on your tongue.

He let out a deep grumble before he played the same word again and leaned even closer to you.

“Me-tea-jar.”

"M-Meetiar. Mi'ytiar."

With his head slightly cocked to the side, he tilted it forward in a one-movement nod as if to say, "Now you got it." and his fist hit his chest one last time.

"You. Mi'ytiar. T-That's your name?" You asked and hoped you put the puzzle pieces together correctly.

Another nod before he pointed at you.

"Oh." You softly said, shifted your hips slightly, and nervously placed a hand on your own chest. “(Y/N). I'm (Y/N)."

“(Y/N).” Your voice sounded from his forearm when he touched his wristband. “(Y/N).”

You couldn't help the small smile and you nodded. "Yes. (Y/N)."

The creature — Mi'ytiar — lowly grumbled in appreciation and you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs with a laugh. You couldn't believe you talked, more or less, to something that undoubtedly didn't belong on earth while you were surrounded by death after being spared from something that would have scarred you for life just because you had been out drinking to have one last night in freedom until you would follow your father in an early grave. Your life really had taken a strange turn in just a few hours.

"What are you?" You asked him and tilted your head to the side.

"Hunter." He communicated with the help of his wristband.

"Where do you come from?"

"Sky."

"Sky." You repeated the child's voice and looked up.

So he came from the sky. You wondered if he meant the clouds or maybe the moon. It could be the stars for all you knew. Was he the only one living there, or were there more? Maybe one like him lived on each star the night sky had to offer.

As you were looking up in thought, Mi'ytiar took his time to admire you. You were, what you humans would use, adorable. He didn't hunt humans very often as they weren't much of a challenge, but sometimes he would visit earth out of curiosity. Your kind was interesting and his ancestors had been quite fond of them when they used them to breed their prey centuries ago. Humans have continuously developed from then to now, so it was fascinating to watch.

Like he watched you now. He admired your wide eyes, the curve of your nose, and your rosy cheeks that displayed the dried tear streaks of panic and fear. He admired the shape of your lips and the cut that had caused you pain when he touched it. He admired your shiny hair that had once been pulled up in a neat bun but was now hanging loosely and messily around your face, framing it like it was a piece of art. He admired your small, shaking hands that were desperately holding the ripped-open blouse together, protecting your modesty and the naked skin of your trembling shoulders when the fabric had slipped down to your biceps. You had been so incredibly warm and soft when he had touched what you were hiding now.

A quiet hiss got you to look back at him and you watched with uncertainty as his fingers first pulled on the one tube that was connected to his mask and then the other before he removed it anxiously slow. You mentally prepared yourself for the most horrific sight of your life, but when the top half of his face was laid bare, you sucked in a breath. It wasn't the foreign shape of his head, the texture of his skin, or the spiky triangle-shaped bumps that circled the sides and the back of his head like a crown, clearly dividing where the roots of his hair ended and his face started. It was his eyes, though an abnormal orange, that was salient and captivating you. They didn't look like what your wildest fantasies had to offer, but they somewhat seemed almost human — a black pupil surrounded by an orange iris. And not just any orange. It was the kind of orange that stretched across the sky at every sunrise and sunset. The only difference you spotted from your own eyes was that he had a black sclera instead of a white one.

You would have gotten lost in them if he hadn't removed the mask fully, so his lower face was showing too. You wouldn't exactly describe it as terrifying, but the sight of his mouth was, to say it simply, unnerving. It was hidden behind four tusks that represented his mandibles. You were fascinated when he suddenly made a clicking noise but were taken aback when he extended the fleshy texture to reveal two rows of teeth. It was like he had two jaws, one when the mandibles were retracted to his face and one when they were extended and showed his actual mouth. His upper jaw held three teeth with two larger fangs on each side, his lower jaw held the same amount only were they a little thinner, so his fangs wouldn't hinder his mouth from closing.

Even after the initial shock subsided, you wouldn't exactly use the word pretty, but there was something about him. Thrilling and particular, astounding and intriguing, but also alluring.

The longer you looked at him, at Mi'ytiar, the more accustomed you got to his appearance.

Another clicking sound reached your ears and you stopped mapping his features with your eyes, only now realizing how he looked down at you with his head tilted to the side. When you mumbled his name, almost as if it took all your courage, he straightened up and his eyes snapped to your hand that had loosened its grip on your blouse. He followed its movement, getting closer to his face, and when you turned your hand so your palm was facing him, his own hand reacted fast and grabbed your delicate wrist.

Bad idea, real bad idea, you thought. He wasn't exactly hurting you, but his grip wasn't exactly soft.

Instead of tugging against his hold in an attempt to free yourself that would obliviously fail, you let your arm go slack. Instead of panicking, you remained calm. Instead of screaming at him to let you go, you kept your mouth shut and waited for his next move. If you triggered him in any way, he would surely kill you.

Mi'ytiar, on the other hand, was amazed by you and in awe. He wouldn't be the first Yautja to be enthralled with a human in this kind of way, sure, but he hadn't expected to be one of them one day. You were extraordinary in the way you looked at him, didn't mind the proximity he had put you in, and apparently seemed to seek for it.

Contrary to what you believed, he pulled your hand closer to his face by the wrist, causing you to move from your side-sit on the floor to get on your knees. Your lips parted in surprise when he pulled his mandibles in and he himself brought your hand up to his cheek.

The sensation underneath your touch was unusual and new. His cheek wasn't like that of a human when you would press the fat until you could feel the jaw bone. It was springy, considering it was only a fleshy layer that covered his mouth. You moved your hand down to his outer jaw, which consisted of his mandible, and followed its length with your palm. You could feel the firm muscle and bone and gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Almost automatically, he made a soft purring noise like that one of a cat and you blushed at the possibility that he was enjoying the caress.

You, of course, had no idea that you were touching a highly sensitive part of his anatomy and would be alive to tell the tale afterward.

Just as you were curious about him, he was eager to explore you as well. Carefully, he reached out and through the ripped-open front of your blouse. Seconds later, his palm made contact with your stomach and he could feel how you tensed up. He looked up into your eyes, but when he found nothing that indicated that you despised his touch, his hand ran along to your waist and down to your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your belly. It was strange how you could feel his thumb near your navel and, at the same time, his other fingers on your lower back, taking the width of your hip like it was nothing.

The both of you were too busy in your explorations that you had grown ignorant to your surroundings, so when a scream filled the previously quiet alley, you grabbed his extended arm, not to push it away but to hold onto it in panic, while Mi'ytiar whirled his head around to the two outlines standing near the street at the end of the alley. Your body was hidden by his massive one, so it looked like a monster was kneeling among his freshly killed victims, basking in the glory of his crime.

Mi'ytiar's mandibles flared and the guttural roar that left his lungs made you cling to him in fear. Not of him, but the consequences that you would have to face if those who had stumbled upon this scene without context would call for the patrolling soldiers. You heard more screams and hastily retreating footsteps as the couple ran as if their lives depended on it.

Large hands grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up on his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, and you had barely time to hold onto him before he started climbing up the metal scaffolding of the balconies of the apartment building, jumping up and landing on the roof. With an arm secure around your waist, he jumped and ran further and further away.

And you let him.

2024, Yautja Prime

"What you smiling for?"

And all of a sudden, those purred words were taking you from your past life to your current one. You hadn't even noticed you had stopped drawing random figures and forms on Mi'tyiar's naked chest. At some point, you had started daydreaming with that far-away look in your eyes and a smile slowly making its way on your lips as you were lying on him, between his legs.

"Just thought of the night we met." You drawled lazily and rubbed your cheek against his reptilian-like skin. "My hero in shining alien amour."

"My amour does not shine."

Now you had to laugh. Sometimes, you couldn't help yourself when he was so bluntly clueless. Humans and their analogies were oh-so confusing.

"It's a human saying, my love." You explained as you crossed your arms on his wide chest and rested your chin on them. "A male who saves a female from danger. A male who would sacrifice himself so the female can get away without harm."

Mi'ytiar reached towards your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek before he dragged it over your lower lip. You were dreamingly looking up at him, basking in his loving touch. You were placing your hand on his and turned your head to the side so you could pepper his palm with light kisses.

He couldn't help his body's reaction, he just couldn't. He was starved of your touch.

You suddenly stopped your sweet kisses when you felt something big poking your stomach. You looked down, although you could only see how your breasts were pressed against him, before you looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You are insatiable." You smirked and hoisted yourself up after placing one last kiss between his pecs.

You straddled his midriff but left enough space between you and him so you could reach underneath your body and grab his semi-hard cock. Even at this size, you had a little trouble fully embracing it and getting your fingertips to touch.

You hissed when you felt the familiar sting of his sharp mandibles and teeth digging into your skin. You tilted your head to the side and offered him more access. Mi'ytiar let out a feral growl when your blood finally hit his tongue. He relished in it, tasting so sweet, just like the rest of you.

Grasping your hips with both of his hands, his claws scratching your delicate skin, he pushed them down to his crotch.

He needed you again, needed to be so deep inside you, so he could see the bulge of his cock forming in your tummy. Just the thought of it made his hips snap up, barely missing your entrance and dragging his cock through your sopping wet folds that were covered with your combined releases from your last mating moments ago. It elicited a whiny moan and a wiggle of your hips.

"Stop teasing, tanhì. Put it in." You groaned and started rubbing yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, coating it with your mixed cum that was still leaking from your hole.

Mi'ytiar wrapped a large arm around you and started to get up, his other arm supporting himself to manhandle you on your back to be on top. The second your hazy mind registered what he was doing, you placed both of your hands on his chest and pushed him back down. You preened when his body immediately went slack, allowing you to do as you pleased with him.

He was staring up at you with flashing eyes. You didn't take the lead very often, preferring it to be dominated by your mate, but when you did, he was gladly giving you the power you wanted.

The first time you had tried to be on top, it had gone from steamy to ugly pretty quickly. You had been on your back when you tried to push him and switch your position, but since he had been unmovable like a rock, you had untangled yourself from him and told him to lie back. You were straddling his hips, humping his hardening cock for exactly thirty seconds before he flipped you over and on your back again. You had then mewled and tried to push him back once more, causing him to growl. For your attitude, he bit roughly into your throat, hoping it would keep you submissive. You let out a cry and hit his chest with both of your fists. This time, Mi'ytiar showed you his displeasure more vocally when he slammed his flat hands next to both sides of your head and roared right into your face. Safe to say, it scared the living daylights out of you and caused you to escape his caging arms. He, of course, followed you quickly and tried to amend his outburst with purrs and snuggles rather than words.

The next time you were on top, he vehemently focused on staying seated on the edge of your nest with you on his lap as you rode him with his helping hands on your hips. His eyes strayed from the spot where his cock was disappearing inside of you, to the bulge in your stomach that grew and shrunk with every movement, to your bouncing breasts, to your pleasure-contorted face.

After that, he couldn't get enough of you being on top.

The same was the case now as you slowly inserted his throbbing cock into your-

A wail broke the sensual atmosphere, causing the both of you to jerk your heads to the doorway connecting the room to the rest of your home. With your maternal instincts kicking in, you practically jumped up from your mate, his half-inside cock slipping from your tight heat, and ran to the room where the sound was coming from.

Mi'ytiar slumped back with a displeased grunt. He loved his pup dearly, truly he did, but he hadn't been able to mate with you for an eternity — five months, double the time the healer had advised you to keep from being intimate with each other after the pregnancy because a certain someone had been overly cautious with you — and his cock throbbed painfully at that sorrowful thought.

He got up from the nest and followed the direction you had run off to. Your five-month-old pup was sleeping alone in his room for only a short part of his life. Before that, his crib had been standing next to the nest in your room, quickly accessible and in reach should he need any sort of attention. Now, he was sleeping in his big brother's former nursery, which you had lovingly prepared when you had been pregnant with Akail, your first pup.

Mi'ytiar watched you standing in front of the crib in the middle of the room, your back to him, as you rocked the whiny pup in your arms. The wholesome thoughts of his beautiful mate taking such good care of his youngling quickly turned into an animalistic need to breed you once more when his eyes trailed over your curves that had gotten bigger after bearing his second son. They fixed on your legs where trails of semen were running down your skin from between your inner thighs.

He was faster by your side than you would expect from a being of his size. He pressed his bare body against your own, hands on your hips pulling you closer, his cock digging into your back. Mi'ytiar bent down to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck, purring lowly.

"He was just hungry." You whispered as you watched your pup falling back to sleep.

Bending over, you placed your little one back into his crib, careful not to disturb him. You had to bite your lip when you felt Mi'ytiar pull you back against his crotch to rub himself against your ass. All you needed to do was push your ass back into him for him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and turn to leave your son's nursery.

Giggling, you looked back to the pup's crib and whispered, "Dream of the stars, my little Toyah." before you got carried back to your nest.

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[chahnniesroom]

to have and to hold

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you don't think there's anything chan can do to make you love him more. chan continues to prove you wrong.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff!!

a/n: sorry it has been so long since i posted! i have been wanting to write this since that ep of return of superman where chan and felix took care of rowoon, it was so so sweet. also i'm so sorry but i did not edit this at all

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

“Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?” 

Your question breaks through the quiet dialogue of the show that you and Chan are watching. Behind you, you feel Chan freeze before he forces himself to relax and continue fiddling with your fingers.

Chan hesitates for a moment longer before answering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I think that I’d want to eventually, but right now? Being an idol- It would be difficult. I mean, for anyone it’s hard, but especially with this career…”

“Do you like children?” you ask, curious even though you can anticipate his answer.

“Yes.” This time he replies immediately, although his voice is still cautious. He releases your hands from his hold and gently nudges your shoulders so that you twist to look at him. “Y/n- Do- Are you-”

“What?” you stare at him, not sure why he suddenly seems so worried.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks gently. “It’s fine if you are! We can totally work things out and I will 100% support you the whole time-”

“Oh!” You smack yourself in the forehead. “No! Definitely not! I was just thinking.” 

“Ah.” Chan slumps against the back of the couch, this time he’s actually relaxed. “Just thinking or- what brought this on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “That must have been out of nowhere for you. No, it’s because my older sister’s wedding anniversary is coming up, the first one since she’s had a kid, so I wanted to let her go out without having to worry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me babysit?”

“I see,” Chan says, sounding relieved. “Your sister. Yes, I haven’t met Doyun yet, right? I’d love to help you take care of him.”

—

Your sister is delighted that you’ve offered to take Doyun for an evening and you quickly coordinate with Chan what day would work best. It’s not possible to babysit on your sister’s actual anniversary due to Chan’s schedules, but your availabilities line up on a Friday night the weekend after.

Chan is nervous leading up to it, which you find absolutely adorable. When you look over his shoulder one night, curious what he’s focusing so intently on, you find him scrolling through articles on interacting with babies as well as tips on baby-proofing an apartment.

Before your sister arrives, you work with Chan for a few hours transforming the open area of your apartment, placing pillows and draping blankets over sharp corners and making sure to keep any small objects out of reach. 

When the doorbell rings, Chan panics, popping his head out of the kitchen from where he’s been trying to figure out a way to prevent Doyun from being able to open the cabinets.

“We're not ready!” he says, eyes wide.

“What do you want to do, keep them waiting outside until you finish?” you joke, then pause when it looks like Chan is actually considering it. “Don't worry, I'll go let my sister in and you keep working on that. We'll be watching Doyunnie the whole time, so even if you can't work that out, it's fine.”

Your sister doesn't stay for very long. She hands Doyun off to you and assures both you and Chan that your place looks safe for a baby. After going through everything that is packed in the massive diaper bag that she’s leaving with you, she heads back home to get ready for her dinner.

Doyun has a short attention span and cycles between playing with a stuffed animal, a ball, some plastic fruits and vegetables, and toy trains within the first hour. He is so adorable that you and Chan don't mind how much energy is required to keep him occupied. Luckily he's a fairly easygoing baby and hasn't fussed at all, although it did take a while for him to warm up to the two of you.

He's comfortable now, especially since Chan has started to spin the two of them around, hands firmly gripping Doyun’s torso. Doyun absolutely loves it, shrieking in excitement with his eyes crinkling. Even after a few minutes of the same thing, he never grows bored, just as thrilled everytime that Chan lifts him above his head. Although Doyun isn’t very heavy yet, after 15 minutes there’s sweat visible on Chan’s forehead and he’s starting to get out of breath.

“How about we take a bit of a break? Do you want to read?” Chan sits Doyun down against some pillows and rummages through the bag that your sister packed, finding some of the books that she included.

Chan hands the books over and although Doyun accepts both of them, he throws them aside and instead clumsily reaches up towards Chan, clearly asking to be picked up again. Chan pretends to groan and complain as he lifts Doyun back up.

“Aww,” you coo. “He really likes you.”

“And I really like him,” Chan says, spinning Doyun around. “I just wish I hadn’t gone to the gym earlier today, I didn’t realise what a workout this would be!”

Eventually Doyun grows tired, no longer begging Chan to continue. This time when Chan settles him on the ground, he just looks around curiously before crawling up to Chan and grabbing at his curls.

“He’s so small,” Chan marvels. “Look at his little fingers!”

He reaches out towards Doyun, who immediately wraps his hand around Chan’s index finger and pulls it towards his mouth.

It's comical to see the difference in size between their hands and Chan visibly melts, allowing Doyun to gum at his fingers, quickly covering them in a sheen of saliva.

“Are you hungry Doyunnie?” Chan asks. “It’s almost time for dinner, let’s see what your auntie prepared for us.”

By the time Doyun is set up in a high chair with a bib on, you’ve finished cooking. Dinner for Doyun is simple, consisting of steamed vegetables, tofu, rolled omelette, rice, and a bit of fruit. You’ve also used the same ingredients plus a few additions to make kimchi stew for you and Chan.

Chan is distracted the whole meal, prioritising feeding Doyun and wiping his face clean in between bites over eating his own food. It's a futile effort since Doyun seems more interested in smearing the food around rather than getting it into his mouth.

When you're finished with your food, you switch spots with Chan and coax Doyun into eating the last few bites he has left while Chan scarfs down his own meal. 

After dinner, you carry Doyun into the bathroom and start filling the bathtub with a shallow layer of warm water. He watches with wide eyes as you add bubble bath that changes the colour of the water to a deep blue and creates a thick cover of bubbles. After washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen, Chan joins the both of you just as you’re rinsing suds out of Doyun’s hair.

Cleaned and dressed in a fuzzy onesie with tiny bear ears poking out from the hood, Doyun struggles to stay awake for the rest of the evening. It’s obvious that he’s tired, he’s starting to get cranky and his blinks get longer and longer, but he stubbornly continues to play. After his third time nodding off while slotting plastic shapes into a cube, Chan picks him up and walks him around the room, rocking him slightly while humming a melody that you can’t recognize.

When your sister comes to pick up Doyun, he's sprawled out on Chan’s chest, deeply asleep. A line of drool drops from his open mouth to form a wet spot on Chan’s shirt, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind, staring at Doyun with stars in his eyes.

That night, right when you're about to fall asleep, Chan speaks up. His arms are wrapped around you and you can feel his breath against the back of your neck. 

“I think,” he says quietly. “I think I want kids. Not now, I still have the same concerns as before, but in the future? I want it.”

“You did so well with Doyunnie, it looked so natural,” you agree. “I think you would be a great dad.”

“Only if you’re there by my side,” he corrects.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[tathrin]

@kittyhawk717 makes a good point: #so fucking amazing #i could read a million fics in this universe i #am OBSESSED

Honestly, same. Clearly. So obviously the only thing to do is for more people to jump into this sandbox and start playing to...

Pretty please?

Oh no help, why is my brain suddenly full of an RAF (or RFC) AU where Legolas is a pilot who gets the nickname “Greenleaf” because of how lightly and acrobatically he flies (and also he should probably be Irish or Scottish so the Brits can be derisive about his “more dangerous and less wise” people hmm? ooh or Indian! doesn’t really matter as long as he wears a lot of green so the nickname makes sense lmao) while Gimli was too short for the army but is a fucking amazing mechanic and basically single-handedly responsible for how amazing this unit’s planes are and how no matter how wrecked their planes are if they can get them back to base at all he can fix them, and Legolas fell in love basically the first time he saw Gimli work his miracles with that wrench and Gimli is not in love thank you, he is very very annoyed by this chipper pilot who keeps getting holes shot in his fucking wings and he definitely doesn’t like him at all and certainly doesn’t go out of his way to tinker with Legolas’s plane all the time and make sure it’s the absolute best machine in the air oh no nope definitely not dammit and he certainly doesn’t fret every time Legolas flies off into battle or comes back with his engine smoking again that fucker oh how Gimli loathes him! until one day he finally hops out of a just-barely-landed-successfully plane that is literally on fire Legolas what the fuck you idiot and oh and he stumbles what’s wrong oh no is he hurt oh no and Gimli runs over to help him up and instead they kiss right on the runway oh fuck—!

And the whole unit has been taking bets on this forever, so Commander Strider has to come break up the fistfight between Éowyn-who-definitely-isn’t-using-her-brother’s-ID-and-the-whole-unit-doesn’t-know-she’s-secretly-a-girl-NOPE and Boromir over who now owes whom money before Boromir’s little brother, the only one in the unit who hasn’t figured out that Éowyn is a girl yet, does something stupid trying to stop his brother fighting with “the fellow” he definitely doesn’t have a crush on Boromir please—!

Strider is so tired. He didn’t sign-up for herding idiots in love, he’s just trying to win the damn war, do you lads MIND???

Lord Mithrandir is sitting in his office watching the show from the window and laughing so hard, he fucking loves his deranged pilots so much. He has pulled  so many blatant cover-ups for their hijinks, and everybody in high command knows that he’s tossing aside regulations left and right, but his units are the most successful pilots in the damn skies so nobody can do anything about it dammit. (He’s also definitely in cahoots with General Galadriel, who pulls his ass out of the fire every damn time somebody tries to bestow some kind of reprimand or punishment, and who gets regular “briefings” about his pilots that absolutely aren’t just gossip in disguise, and which she certainly doesn’t pass along to her granddaughter who’s engaged to Commander Strider, who definitely isn’t royalty in disguise, nope nope and also nope.)

[onlyonewoman]

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ADMIN: “Just a few things. Yes, the attacks are still happening so site availability will be spotty at best. This is NOT an attack on the actual content. All stories, user data, etc are safe. DDOS attacks basically overwhelm the servers with requests to the point they cannot handle the load and failover. DDOS attacks last until one of two things happens, either the person/group gets bored and moves on to a new target. Or the site owner finds a way to fortify the servers against the attack. That means this could last for a while. With that in mind, let's all try to keep the panic, humorous or otherwise to a minimum. It's annoying and frustrating, certainly, but it's not the end of the world. The site will eventually be back, it's just going to take time and patience.” In short: - Our content is safe. - Our user data, stories etc are safe. - It’s a DDOS attack meaning it’s basically an attempt at overwhelming the servers, meaning: - DON’T KEEP REFRESHING THE AO3 PAGE!!! - It will last for a while, but there is no need to panic. Copied from one of the reblogs: “To simplify:A DoS or DDoS attack is analogous to a group of people crowding the entry door of a shop, making it hard for legitimate customers to enter, thus disrupting trade and losing the business money.” Also, YES, KEEP REBLOGGING to let people know! The less of us trying to reload the page the better! In the meantime, this is basically me:

Edit again, because this little post got a life of its own and now I feel like Pippin lighting the beacon of Minas Tirith :D

UPDATE AROUND 18:30~ish CET:

YAY!

[eyelessfaces]

I don't love you like I did yesterday

poe dameron x reader

summary: it’s not because he, poe dameron, gives you more attention and affection than your own boyfriend ever will that you are in love with him — loosely inspired by this post.

warnings: angst, complicated relationships, love triangle?, mentions of marriage, break up, refusing a proposal, internal conflict, doubting your relationship, emotional infidelity? if that's a thing, alcohol consumption. reader wears a dress at some point

tags: f!reader, I don't wanna spoil too much and don't read this if you don't want to be but; mutual pining, love confessions, he fell first AND harder, fluff and,, more

word count: 5.6k

yes. mcr lyrics as a title. in 2024. I know. but don't look at me the lyrics strangely fit so,,

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

You don’t love him; you are almost sure of that. 

It’s not because you laugh at every single one of his stupid, lame jokes made just for you to laugh and because you blush everytime you catch him staring at you from across the room that you love him. 

It’s not because he, Poe Dameron, gives you more attention and affection than your own boyfriend ever will that you are in love with him.

It’s not because your boyfriend blames you for being too close to him that you are.

It’s not because you wish it would have been Poe down on one knee proposing to you that it is the reason you told Kass you’re not ready for this yet.

And it’s not because you question your situation every single night that it means you have to change anything about it. You should be happy with Kass. You are.

Yet, you wish you were certain of all of that.

It has been two days already, and the guilt keeps eating away at you, like a bacteria gnawing at your feelings, particularly starving for the reasonable part of you that knows you said no for your own well being. 

Kass makes it worse; the dark glances thrown at you whenever you bump into each other during the day and his lame excuses to ditch you whenever you want to talk to him make you feel like a monster, and though you know that it is exactly the way he wants you to feel, you can’t help it.

The situation is hard to swallow and bury deep in the back of your mind when you’re out on missions, and though you rarely ever get distracted because you know how important attention and concentration is in your job, the whirlwind of thoughts has been floating over the surface, and your focus has been off, you know it. And you’re not the only one who knows it.

Your head turns when you feel a light nudge at your arm, having dismissed Poe’s presence in your peripheral vision due to your distraction. His eyebrows raise when you look at him, and he gazes at you like the mist of your thoughts is still present over your face and he wants to shake you awake.

“You alright?” he asks before you look back at your squadron wrapping the mission equipment, setting it back in the ships.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, burying your hands in your pockets. You should feel alright. The mission went well despite your clear lack of attention, and you’ve given your life to the Resistance at this point, so you should be thankful that you succeed in most things you do in its name, right now even, considering the situation.

Poe looks down on the floor, kicking away a small rock there that dribbles down the hill. “You've always been an awful liar” he mutters under his breath, not buying it. 

“Right” you scoff, your head dropping to shake it. He looks back up at you and you can feel his insistent gaze upon you, which eventually makes you break. “I don’t wanna bother you with my stupid problems” 

He snorts, “Come on, you know I’m always here to listen to your stupid problems” he says playfully, nudging your arm with his elbow again. “That are often not that stupid actually” he adds. 

There’s a silence settling between the both of you, and right before Poe aborts and figures you don’t wanna talk about it, you sigh. “Kass proposed.”

“Oh” the sound slips from his mouth, and accurately represents his surprise, his voice dropping a bit from the shock. He doesn’t know what to say, not really. This situation would have been on the list of things he would have never expected or even considered to happen. 

This eventuality had never, ever occurred to him somehow, not yet, and now, all at once, the fear creeps in and becomes real; he is going to have to watch you get married, going to have to sit there amongst guests, he’s going to have to watch you be happy with someone else than him.

But he wants you to be happy, with or without him, so he will watch. It isn’t like he has the choice, anyways.

He lightly clears his throat, trying to dismiss the tight knot starting to form there, and smiles. The worst thing about it is the fact that it is genuine, he is truly happy for you. You deserve this.

Maybe Kass doesn’t, though. He doesn't deserve you. You’re too good for a half assed mechanic like him that, from a professional point of view, fucks up too often to still be there; but from what Poe hears around, it tends to be the same on other levels than just the professional one.

“Well, that’s great! Congrats,” his half cheerful voice wavers a little, but you don’t seem to notice as your lips form a polite smile that slightly turns perplexed, uncomfortable. “What’s wrong about that” he asks now, concerned when he sees your frown. 

Your teeth graze your bottom lip. “I said no.”

“Oh” he watches as you raise your eyebrows, nodding. “I’m sorry” he adds. “I mean–”

“Yeah” you exhale.

“Why?”

That is the real question. Why? Why wouldn’t you want to marry your boyfriend you are supposed to be in love with? Why did you feel so awful at the feeling of his hand over yours when he shot the question?

“I don’t–” you start, thoughts running around your head. You’re not really sure about what you want to say, you’re not even precisely sure why you said no. There were so many reasons, but you couldn’t pick the exact one. “I think I’m not ready.”

Poe doesn't say anything. You stay there upon the small hill you watch your respective teams from. They’re almost done putting everything back.

You think you want to cry. You’re not really sure why. You think you want to dig a hole in that hill and stay hidden there for the rest of time.

“Poe, I don't think I wanna spend the rest of my life with him.” you mutter, looking ahead as if your confession would make you feel less guilty if you didn’t look your friend in the eye. “Is that wrong?” you ask as you turn to him. 

“Yeah, well I don’t blame you” he scoffs, and you do too, knowing how Poe feels about Kass. 

You should have known, it should have been a sign. Poe is kind, compassionate, and when he doesn’t like someone, it is because he has reasons to.

“That’s not wrong.” he continues, his tone serious now. “It would have been wrong if you said yes even though you knew damn well you didn’t want to marry him” he nods. “It's not the end of the galaxy if you said no. He'll get over it”

“Yeah” you sigh. “He keeps acting like it's my fault”

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in astoundment. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“Yeah. He avoids me and sends me death glares like I murdered his family or something” you snort, realizing the stupidity of it all now that you say it out loud. Kass has always been somehow childish, but this exceeds everything you could expect from him.

“Wow okay” Poe shakes his head, a small exhale of desperation escaping his mouth before he speaks again. “Well, you know how I feel about him, sweetheart.”

“I know” you confirm, sending him a weak smile. He answers you with a pinched one, and as your squad finishes their tasks and starts to gather together, Poe reaches out and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before turning to join them.

He turns back to you quickly, “You know what? My squadron is having drinks on Coruscant tonight to have some fun before we leave for the week. You should join us” 

You nod and watch him go, and feel the need to take one fat fucking breath before eventually joining everyone else.

—

Even though it is almost dry by now, the stain over your dress is still ridiculously visible. If the girl that had spilled it over you earlier hadn’t profusely apologized for it you would have most likely have had a go at her because of the awful mental state you were in – you were yourself surprised to notice how blatantly dismissive and weary you had been of that incident – it had been nothing compared to the past few days you just had. 

Poe looks over at you, your gaze planted onto your glass of Black Hole as your fingers absentmindedly drum against the table; your choice of drink says it all, and though you might want to get properly drunk, Poe is strictly against it if it means you plan on moping all night long. He finishes his drink, planting a hand over your shoulder as he leans closer to you.

“Wanna go dance now?” Poe shouts in your ear, trying to overlap the loud music blasting. You scoff and shake your head, “I’m not really in the mood”

“That's exactly why we need to,” he affirms with his usual charismatic grin as he takes a hold of your hand and pulls you to the middle of the room anyway. “Come on!” you give in when you realize he’s not really asking, dragging you through the crowd. “You know I'm leaving tomorrow morning, you owe me a dance”

“Okay” you laugh as you put your hands over his shoulders, his coming to rest at either side of your waist. 

You move stiffly at first, your eyes rolling playfully when Poe gives way more energy into it than you do, and despite yourself, you start to smile, and make an effort to match his energy.

Poe spins you around, his movements confident as he tries to cheer you up. "Just follow my lead, okay?" he says, his voice warm and encouraging. He twirls you under his arm smoothly, and you can’t help but laugh as he dips you dramatically, catching you with ease; he’s intimidatingly close to your face before he leans to your ear. “See? I’m not an awful dancer”

“Is there even something you’re not good at at this point,” you rhetorically ask as you both stand straight again, the movement making your head spin a little because of the alcohol. 

“Following orders, probably” he jokes, still swaying with you. You laugh and let your forehead rest over his shoulder, your eyes shutting as you take a deep breath; it might have been the only moment in those past few days where you genuinely let go of all your worries.

“Hey, we should go outside, it’s hot in here. And loud” Poe proposes as you both still sway, his hand gently cradling your back.

“Sure” you nod with a smile. “Wait– I’ll join you there, I’m gonna get us drinks”

There’s a grin plastered over his face and a glint in his eyes as he glances at you when you join him outside, your drinks in hands. The cool night air is a welcome change from the overwhelming warmth inside the cantina.

“What?” you scoff, looking down at yourself, trying to figure out the reason behind his amused expression.

“Nothing” he shrugs off, taking his drink from you, but not before you catch the way his eyes linger on you.

“It’s the stain, isn’t it” you whine and sigh as you pull at the fabric of your dress to observe it. “Didn’t realize it looked that stupid”

He giggles as his mouth is still full of his drink. “It’s stylish” he admits with a cheeky grin.

You scoff and roll your eyes, your giggle fading as you both take a sip of your drinks, the silence between you comfortable as the muffled hum of the cantina’s activity buzzes just behind you. Then, out of nowhere, just as you’re about to talk again, Poe breathes out your name, his expression changing, becoming more serious as you glance at him expectantly.

“I’m in love with you.” he blurts out, like words are falling out of his mouth from being held there for too long. 

You huff out a laugh. “No,” you laugh, the taste of your drink still warm in your throat. You frown a bit when you notice he doesn't waver, doesn't flinch, doesn't drop his expression to admit this is some kind of joke now that he knows it's not working on you. 

“Yes I am” he declares, as serious as he is when he needs to be in his job.

You chuckle, still not fully believing what he's saying. “Are you drunk Poe?” 

“Wha– no– no I’m not” he frowns, his eyebrows knitting together in earnest. “I mean it. I'm in love with you.” he affirms, his eyes searching yours with a seriousness that makes your heart skip a beat.

You pause, taken aback by the tone of his voice – he's sincere, he's not playing around. “You can’t.”

“I know.” he declares with a nod, his gaze never leaving yours. “I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore” he admits as his expression softens. “I don’t want this to ruin our relationship” he says, his voice calmer now. “And I know you can’t feel the same” he nods, “And that’s okay.” 

You pinch your lips together. You're not sure what to say. You nod eventually, acknowledging it all, processing his declaration. “Well” you say finally, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “I, uh, I’ll go get another drink.”

Your glass is still mostly full.

Poe nods, swallowing with difficulty as he watches you turn and head back inside.

The sounds of laughter as you enter the cantina again make you sick to your stomach.

—

This went awful. He didn’t expect any less. He didn’t expect anything in the first place; his impulsiveness finally got the best of him.

Having to swallow it down and play it like it didn’t happen felt more humbling than every time he has had to admit he made a mistake. Jessika’s story about the maintenance issues with her X-wing is slowly starting to blur, and Poe isn’t even sure she’s still on that topic of that – at this point – one sided discussion, as he can’t help but glance over at you, talking to Karé until he eventually realizes you aren’t there with him anymore. 

“Poe!” Jessika scolds him, making him turn back to her. She sighs, “You’re not even listening”

“Sorry” he apologizes, looking around the room to figure out if you’re still there. “I gotta go, keep that story for later” he nods, patting her shoulder before turning away.

“I just finished telling it,” she huffs out in disbelief, Poe’s repeated apology fading with the music as he disappears through the crowd.

You’re not in the cantina, not anymore. Karé tells him you went out for fresh air, and he finds you on the flight of stairs on the side of the building, hidden from everyone.

"I was looking for you," he halts– you're crying; you're there, sitting on the stairs, looking up from where you were hiding your face in your hands crying. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice wavering with surprise; he thought you were having a good night despite everything, having fun with Karé, he thought he had been able to make you forget about your problems for a moment. But no, and he obviously knows what’s wrong, because he managed to fuck it all up by confessing his feelings for you without thinking about it twice.

You pinch your lips, trying to repress new tears as you wipe away the ones rolling down your face. "Nothing," you mumble, shaking your head. "It's alright."

Poe sighs softly, walking up to you and sitting down with you. 

He softly nudges your shoulder with his own, “You're rocking that stain,” he says, a small grin over his face. “For what it’s worth, you could even rock a First Order suit, so,” he smiles as he watches you laugh between sniffles. “You don't have to worry about that.”

He sighs, and his tone grows more serious. "I'm sorry I said everything I said. I shouldn't have burdened you with my feelings" he admits. His voice is filled with regret. He should have kept that for himself, for now anyway. “I was caught up in the moment and I didn’t realize it would hurt you more. It was stupid. It was unfair to you." his voice weakens. He looks back at your face. You blink your tears away silently. “I do realize it was possibly the worst moment I could choose to tell you this” 

Poe gently wipes your tears away, before they can reach the bottom of your face.

“I don’t expect anything back from you, you don’t have to worry about that. This doesn’t have to change anything about us”

He kisses your cheek before leaving.

—

If you had to point out positive points about your indirect fight with Kass following his proposal, the fact that you weren’t living with him would be one of them.

The silence in your quarters alone was surely more bearable than the silence that would fill the space if he were there with you, you were sure of that.

And even if it’s been three days already since you rejected his proposal, you have barely talked to him despite going out of your way to try to; he has been hurt by your rejection, and he is keen on making you understand.

You can’t help but wonder if you would have been happier if you had said yes; maybe it would have been easier and maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad even though you still wouldn’t want to marry him, even if it is exactly the way Kass wants you to feel. Maybe saying yes would have been the right decision, after all, and maybe you would be set about your feelings for good with the prospect that you would allegedly spend the rest of your life with him.

Then there's Poe, his words. 

Poe and his words that keep rolling around your head over and over again no matter what you’re doing and no matter what time of the day it is; those about the confession of his love towards you, and those that assured you that Kass would get over your rejection, that it’s not the end of everything, not the end of your relationship with him even if right now, it seems like a deadlock. 

And almost as if it was staged, Kass steps through your door.

“Hey,” he speaks, hands in his pockets. You repeat the same thing quietly, looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything, apologize maybe. He looks around your place before chuckling, pointing and walking over to the table. “It’s just– I forgot my gloves last time I came here and I need them”

“Oh, so that’s it.” you snort darkly, following him close. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” he mutters nonchalantly as he picks up the pair. “What do you even mean” he frowns as he turns back at you, shoving his gloves in his jacket pocket. 

“I mean you've been avoiding me all week and you think it's okay to casually come here just to pick up your stupid pair of gloves?”

“Well, they’re still mine, so” he shrugs. “And again, what do you want me to do” 

You frown. “I don’t know, maybe apologize for your attitude for these past few days first. You’ve been childish”

“I’m childish? You’re the one who’s not ready for marriage.”

You chuckle in disbelief, “Yeah well, I’m sorry for not wanting assured long term with someone that behaves the way you do.” you say, looking at him in the eyes though you would rather be looking everywhere but here at the moment. 

“You know,” you start, readjusting your position onto your feet. “I’ve been wondering, asking myself all of those questions, what was wrong with me for rejecting you.” he looks at you, hand still stuck in his pocket, waiting for you to make your point.

“And that’s what you wanted, right? But the one thing I really asked myself was ‘Why did he even propose’, because you don’t even care that much about me, so I don’t understand” you shake your head. “You shouldn’t have asked the question if you weren’t ready for the other answer”

He sighs, eyebrows raising slightly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have asked at all, you’re right.” he scoffs. “I realized that, and I should have realized when we started to drift away” you frown softly, waiting for him to continue. You’re not sure what he truly means beyond that. “I asked you to marry me to be sure”

“Sure of what”

He chuckles and huffs out your name like what he means to say is evident; “You’re in love with Poe” his eyes soften, his expression relaxing as yours hardens. “Don’t try to tell me otherwise or I’ll go crazy” he laughs nervously.

“Look, I get it. He looks pretty damn close to perfect. But you should have done something about it. I shouldn’t have been the one to realize it.” he says. You sigh softly, taken aback. “This is why I’ve been avoiding you. To try to come to terms with it. Accept it.” 

Knowing this is the reason Kass proposed somehow makes it simultaneously better and worse. But he’s right; he’s fucking right, you’re in love with Poe and that is exactly why you were crying on those stairs the night before Poe left for his mission, maybe it is time to face it for good and to stop trying to convince yourself that you’re just confused because of everything that has been happening in your relationship lately.

“I’m sorry” your voice is poisoned by guilt. If it feels awful for you, it must be even worse for him. He scratches his forehead awkwardly, not really knowing what to say to you. “I tried to deny it to keep it fair for you. But I think you’re right.” admitting it to him, the man you’re supposed to be with and have feelings for feels even worse than having to realize it yourself. “I’m sorry Kass.”

Kass pinches his lips in a defeated smile, “I can’t hold you back.” he huffs out in evidence. “He is too” he adds after a pause. “In love with you, I mean. It’s so blatantly obvious” 

You scoff, shaking your head. “I know” 

“So you can work this out” he declares with a weak smile. “I won’t be an asshole about it” he mumbles. “I should be angry but I’ve tried to accept it for a while.”

You nod, somehow grateful he is so understanding, feeling sorry that it’s been so transparent for him for so long. Not everyone would let it play like this. "Thank you, Kass."

He nods in return before sighing deeply, the weight of the past few days lifting slightly from his shoulders. “I wish you well. I mean it”

You nod again, tears welling up in your eyes. “You too.”

Your heart tightens when his look lingers over you before he turns away and exits your quarters; both relief and guilt weigh over you, and the silence that fills your room now feels much different than before.

—

You don’t love him; you are sure of that. It feels wrong and even though you still feel some sort of affection towards him, you’re not sure you can be friends anymore given how you left things off.

On the other side, when Poe hops off his X-Wing ladder after a week of being away, you don't know how to act around him anymore. You don’t know if you should go ahead and tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to tell him or if you should just pick the opposite option and avoid him as much as possible to try to ease your conscience a little. 

And you do. You busy yourself with work as much as possible, avoiding running into him as much as possible, but eventually, he doesn’t really give you a choice. 

“Are we okay? You didn’t even welcome me back. It’s been four days” it hasn’t even been twenty seconds since the meeting ended; the meeting you spent all your time trying to focus on instead of him. 

His stupid flight suit is opened in a way that reveals his gray tank top and lets the chain around his neck slightly peek, and suddenly nothing about the First Order supply depot infiltration matters anymore. 

“We are. I was busy” you affirm – you’re technically not lying. Though you were keeping yourself busy on purpose.

“I bet you were”

You frown. “Hey what do you m–”

“Kass talked to me.” he dodges. 

“Oh” your voice drops, the idea of that scene so unnatural. “What did he say”

He shrugs slightly. “I think you know” 

That’s a good thing they talked, somehow, no matter how much the idea terrifies you. It lifts a weight off your shoulders to know you won’t have to explain to Poe how you left things off with Kass, because you would almost rather get interrogated by the First Order than have to think about it again. “He was pretty mature about it, I’ll give him credit for that.” Poe affirms with a grin, causing you to huff out a laugh. “He also said he's resigning from the Resistance. ‘Says it has nothing to do with you, he's been thinking about it for a while” he nods with a pinch of his lips.

“Oh, okay” your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Well, ships will suddenly do better magically” 

He snorts. “I’m just glad I never let him take care of mine. I think Jess was complaining about that the other day” you laugh, and he smiles at you endearingly as he watches you. “So, are we okay?” he asks more seriously, though a faint smile lingers over his face.

“Yeah, yeah, we are.” you nod, weakly smiling back at him. “It’s just been a rough couple of weeks” you admit as he gives you an empathetic smile in response.

“I know what I want but I don’t know if I’m ready,” you eventually declare cautiously, not wanting to hurt him or make him feel like you're trying to push him away. “It has all gone so fast and I think I want things to slow down a bit.” he nods understandingly before being obliged to turn when someone in the briefing room calls his name; he holds his hand up to have them wait and rests that same hand over your shoulder when he turns back to you, his gaze holding yours.

“Look– I don’t want you to jump right into this if you’re not a hundred percent sure about it.”  he declares with as much conviction he has when he fights for what’s right.

“This is my thing– to jump head first into everything. That's why I acted the way I did the other night. And it was stupid considering the situation and some part of you probably hates me for it somehow so you have to be smarter about this” he insists. “And I know you will be. And even if it’s in one week or one year or five, I can handle it”

“Okay,” you mutter feebly, his firm gaze over you making your stomach flutter.

He turns back and glances at the person who was calling for him earlier, turning back to you. He hesitates, looking like he wants to say more but is unsure if he should.

“Alright. I got stuff to take care of” he eventually says with a faint sigh, like being teared out of that conversation with you physically hurts him.

“Okay Commander” you grin teasingly. He smiles and kisses the top of your head, your hand instinctively resting over his arm despite your decision to maintain some distance for the moment. 

"You know where to find me if you need anything," he says quietly, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer before he steps away.

You’re still not sure what you really want as you watch him walk away, sending easy smiles to his peers as he reviews details with them for the next mission. 

You think about it all over again, as you remain here in the back of the room, leaning against the wall; the way he looked at you, the understanding in his eyes, his patience and willingness to wait – it all seems so easy with him that jumping right in suddenly doesn’t make you so afraid anymore.

—

The sky isn’t particularly clear tonight. One could have picked a more scenic place to come rest to, one where clouds wouldn’t be covering D’Qar’s two moons like a thin, old veil ripped to shreds.

Poe turns at the unexpected sound of boots ruffling against the grass, a small smile growing over his face when you grunt softly as you sit down next to him.

“You lied when you said I’d know where to find you, because I’ve looked for you everywhere before finally finding you out there” you sigh softly, drawing a laugh out of him, his eyes crinkling softly.

He shrugs, “You still found me, so I technically didn't lie” he says with a smile.

“You've got a point,” you huff out, settling beside him. The air is cool, cooler than it has been those past few days. You can’t help your lips turning into a smile as Poe's face softly glows in the faint light of both moons, his gaze gentle as he looks over at you.

His eyes twinkle with amusement when he talks again, interrupted when you shift to press your lips to his, his words quickly lost on both of you. His voice fades into a small sigh against your mouth as his hand immediately, almost instinctively cups the side of your face. Your hands grip the lapel of his shirt tightly, gently pulling him closer to deepen the kiss; Poe’s chuckle vibrates against your lips as you pull away, a slight flush visible over his cheeks.

“What is this?” he asks amused, the look of surprise genuine over his face. This goes against everything you told him you wanted with him for now.

“This is me being smarter about this, being the bigger person.” you affirm in an attempt to sound confident, but you’re still slightly out of breath, your heart racing.

Poe looks at you with a teasing, feigned impressed expression before he goes in and kisses you back, the press of his lips soft yet firm against yours. 

Everything around you seems to fade away as you make out for a beat, losing yourselves in this, the soft breeze of the evening tickling both of your faces though your face heats up even more when his thumb traces your cheek.

When he finally pulls back, Poe's hand is quick to find your own, his fingers fiddling and lacing with yours, his gaze on you still intense. “So much for going slow, huh?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, fuck that” you reply with a grin, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

You both fall silent for a while; it is rare for Poe Dameron to not run his mouth for longer than a few minutes, but the back and forth of his thumb over your hand and your head leaning over his shoulder seems to be enough for him at this moment.

You shatter the silence the moment the question crosses your mind. “What would you have done if I actually married him?”

He takes a deep breath, like the weight of the question takes a toll on him.

He smirks, “This would have probably made me join the First Order” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. You huff out a laugh. 

“Honestly?” he asks, his tone serious now. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t really know. What would have been the best option? The least worst? “I don’t know. But I would have skipped the wedding for sure.” you softly smile at him with a look of compassion, momentarily rendered speechless by his revelation. 

He pinches his lips in a weak, beaten smile as he clearly pictures the scene in his mind again, just the way he did when you announced to him that Kass had proposed before eventually telling him you had refused. “Sorry. it would have hurt my poor loverboy heart way too much” he scoffs light heartedly though it’s barely a joke, just the truth.

“Well, next time I get married you’ll be the first person I invite” you promise with a light nudge at him, your hand reassuringly squeezing his.

“Next time huh?” he retorts with a playful smile, one that you mirror before the gentle push of his lips renders you breathless again. “Not if I invite you first sweetheart,” he jokes with one last kiss, your laugh barely audible.

Poe’s thumb traces circles on the back of your hand when he notices your gaze is there now, a faint smile remaining over your face. “Hey” he calls, urging you to look up at him. “One day at the time, okay?” he cocks his head forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

There’s no rush with him, no doubt, just the certainty that whatever happens, it will seem like the easier thing in the world; 

Because you love him; you are sure of that.

—

any and every comment is greatly appreciated!!

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[mandalhoerian]

moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.” 

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.  

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.  

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this. 

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.  

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap. 

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go. 

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance. 

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place. 

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded. 

You accept him as such, love him all the same.  

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much. 

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest. 

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list? 

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his. 

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all. 

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.   

You take pity on him. 

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?” 

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.” 

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me. 

You don’t. 

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.  

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?” 

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.” 

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.” 

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?” 

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face. 

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well. 

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end. 

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second. 

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it. 

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching. 

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain. 

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers. 

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing. 

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking. 

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this. 

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. “So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—” 

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…” 

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting? 

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body. 

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression  —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.  

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.” 

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway. 

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust. 

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless. 

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.  

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.” 

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and  looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex. 

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”  

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him. 

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation. 

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly. 

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission. 

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.” 

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”  

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth. 

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.” 

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat. 

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.  

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after. 

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next. 

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked  knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already. 

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.” 

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?” 

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor. 

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder. 

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?” 

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin. 

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?” 

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going. 

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue. 

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening? 

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants. 

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again. 

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least. 

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”   

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…   

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god. 

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him. 

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general. 

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will. 

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more. 

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.  

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence. 

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.” 

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all. 

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…” 

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it. 

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?” 

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.  

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.  

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight. 

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.” 

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you. 

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously. 

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you. 

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this. 

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace. 

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!” 

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”   

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating. 

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark. 

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away. 

And with that, you’re out like a light. 

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it. 

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming. 

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life. 

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place.