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infernalodie · 2 years

Note

OKAY SO I GOT THIS REQUEST — former!ellie x reader, current!abby x reader; based on the song Left For Dead by Kiki Rockwell, specifically the part “my lover left me for dead, my pretty little body keeps the wolves fed.” The lover being Ellie and the wolves (obviously) being Abby😫 just a bunch of angst and smut (if possible😗). Where Ellie chooses Dina over r in a life or death situation and like Abby (coincidentally) finds R half dead from other humans and takes her back to her hideout or whatever and like nurses her back to health:) sorry it’s so long and it’s fine if you don’t want to, can just ignore this🫶🏼 luv u and your writing!!

a/n: Took me a long time to pick this one up, but here we go!

𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 || 𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

Inspo: Jacob Banks - Devil That I Know Kiki Rockwell - Left For Dead Max Richter - The Young Mariner

Pairing: Abby Anderson x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: Left for dead with a heart of love...

Warnings: Angsty as fuck with a large bit of torture

Part Two - Finale

Words: 4858

Ragged breaths filled the air of the small janitor’s closet. The surface of the workbench and small shelves holding cleaning chemicals are covered in dust. Dirty old rags on the ground. Some left previously, and new ones that had crimson seeped into the fabric. Pieces of medical tape were ripped and discarded along with the garments that had been torn to fashion some sort of bandage.

Your mouth was gagged by your shirt and jacket you bit down on. The soft cold breeze inside the room sent chills down your exposed stomach as you pressed the fabric from your shirt against the bullet wound. A groan fell from your lips as you ran a stripe of tape over the fabric, feeling extra pressure causing white hot pain to flash behind your eyes.

Pants fell from your lips as you released the articles of clothing from your mouth. A speckle of spit left on your lips as you blinked tiredly. “Fucking, Wolves.” Your soft hiss slipped from your lips as you grabbed your gun from beside you. Carefully, you sit up near the door and press your ear to the wood.

It’d only been minutes ago that you had been chased down. Left for dead by your now ex-girlfriend and friend, who you weren’t even sure made it out. If they did and if you made it out of here, you were going to kill them, literally. After saving their asses countless times back in Jackson, this is how they were going to repay you? Oh, yeah, you’re going to fucking gut the two of them.

But that would be the last thing you ever did as footsteps approached the closet. And before you could even respond, the door swung open. Light projected into the room, blinding you as you raised a hand to try and allow your eyes to adjust.

“I found the demon!” The person called as your brows furrowed together.

You crawled back, lifting your gun and aiming at the large figure before gunshots filled the air. The air lost in your lungs was regained with your gasping when seeing the Seraphites body thud against the ground. You kept to the corner of the room as a full-on firefight took place beyond the doorway. But with your mind still in a daze from your wound, you weren’t to put up a fight. Needing more rest than anything else.

It took a while but the gunfire soon seized to exist. Incoherent yells were heard outside as you blinked tiredly, swallowing the lump in your throat as you held your stomach. Footsteps approached, then stopped. “Manny, Mel, we have an outsider!”

Still, in a slight daze, you lifted your head. Your eyes shot wide as saucers as you made eye contact with her, Abby. The entire reason for you being out here and following Ellie to Seattle. Hell, in a way, Abby was the reason why she was bleeding to death in this janitor’s closet alone.

Two other figures, Mel and Manny you guessed came behind Abby. “You know the orders, Abs,” Manny stated, sending a knowing look to the muscular girl.

Their knowledgeable conversation left a horrible dread in your stomach. But you knew that if you put up a fight, you died. Even if you didn’t they would kill you nonetheless. And either way, you hadn’t killed someone before. You were out here to keep Dina and Ellie alive with your medical skills, not kill anyone.

So, it piqued the trio’s interest when you slid your gun their way. Staring down at the Baretta before back at you, finding you shaking your head. “Kill me if you have to,” you breathed. “I’ll put up less of a fight than Joel and Tommy did.”

With the mere mention of the two men, one she killed, Abby felt her chest tighten. “You’re from Jackson?” Abby asked, coming over and dropping to a knee beside you.

A shaky laugh fell from your lips. “Born and raised,” you said half-heartedly. “I shouldn’t even fuckin’ be here right now. Goddamnit, Ellie.” You muttered aloud, feeling Abby carefully lift the hem of your shirt to see your wound.

The bandage you had crafted had done very little to stop the blood flow. It caught a decent amount, restraining the slash of the blade performed by one of the cult members you ran into, but it wasn’t enough to hold everything else in. The cotton had become so damp that your blood began to slither past the bandage and down soaking into your pants and down your waistline.

“Is there anyone else with you?” Mel asked, coming to join your side, shrugging off her backpack and beginning to take out a medical kit.

Manny, who seemed confused by the two girls helping you, said, “Guys, Issac told us to deal with any Outsiders if we encounter them-”

“Manny, shut up for a second, alright?” Abby interjected, silencing him. He pursed his lips, turning towards the door to keep watch.

“There were people with me, but they left me for dead,” you answered the doctor’s question. “I thought I killed one of your people, but I don’t even know who the fuck is out there. I mean, I can’t kill anyone - I’ve never killed anyone - and it was just in the heat of the moment and I- I-”

Your rambling was stopped by Abby, who placed a hand on your shoulder. The touch made you flinch away, mind still conscious of the fact that this was the same girl that killed your mentor. A man who had cared for you and saved your life a handful of times. And you should be exacting the revenge you sought out here to do. To get payback, but truthfully, you were more inclined to not do it in spite of Ellie.

But you knew Joel wouldn’t you risking your life for something he caused to save Ellie. Unlike your ex, you weren’t clouded in rage. Sure, you were angry that you lost someone close to you, but that was the way of life. You mourn them and then you have to carry on. Nothing more than that. And Joel would’ve wanted you to have a healthy and careful life.

When Mel began to apply a new bandage, you cried out. Hand flying to Abby’s arm where you held on for dear life. Head thrown back against the wall as your face scrunched up in pain. “There others here, in Seattle,” you told them, trying to distract your mind from the pain surrounding your abdomen. “I don’t know where they are now. But your friend, the guy with the scar across his face and Leah, they’re both dead.”

The trio looked at you, shock evident in their eyes as you stared at them uneasily. “Leah was killed by those cultists and Ellie… she killed the other guy when he had a bag over my head,” you said. “If I could, I would’ve saved him and talked to him civilly. But my girlfriend was more inclined to make fun of him. I’m sorry.”

“What’s your name?” Abby asked, changing the subject purposefully. Although it surprised you, you cleared your throat with a groan.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/L/N,” You answered.

She nodded. “Well, Y/n, we’re going to get you proper medical treatment,” she told you. “Can you walk?”

You pursed your lips in doubt, and she opted to just lift you up, arm under your knees and the other around your lower back. A squeak falls from your lips with your arms wrapping around her neck. Tucking your face in her shoulder to hide the evidence of pain on your face. Abby successfully got you out of the janitor’s closet of a school that Ellie and Dina left you some time ago. Leg’s still aching from the debris that had prevented you from following the pair in a classroom somewhere down the hall. That and the door Ellie had consciously blocked with a desk, leaving you inside with a Clicker.

Stepping outside, you were quick to spot the truck that had a dog inside, sitting and waiting patiently. “Wait. Wait, a sec.” Abby stopped at your request, looking down at you in question. You bit your bottom lip, looking at her and the truck and shaking her head. “If Ellie finds me with you, she’s going to kill us. Maybe you should leave me here or something. I promise you, I’ll be out of Seattle before you know it. I don’t want to be locked up in a cage or killed by-”

“You’re coming with us.” The soft, yet, the unwavering firm tone in Abby’s lips silenced you. Lowering your head as Mel popped open the hitch and helped Abby pull you inside. “Manny, drive us back to the stadium. Mel and I will see how we can help, Y/n.”

“Abby, Issac’s going to kill us for bringing an outsider back-”

“Manny, just fucking drive,” Abby ordered. “At most, he’ll question her about the people that she was with.” The Hispanic man pursed his lips, cursing quietly before hopping into the truck and starting it. Leaving Abby to close the hatch and crouch by your side with Mel on the opposite side.

Retrieving items from her bag, Mel pulled out a set of bandages. “I’m just gonna replace the one you made so we can stop you from losing any more blood,” she explained. “When we get back to the base, I’ll clean the wound and stitch you up.”

Although the idea sounded great, you shook your head. “We need to disinfect it now,” you told her. “In my pack are a few bottles of Vodka. We can use that as an antiseptic until we get to your base.”

“You’re a doctor?” Mel inquired, eyes slightly widened in surprise.

You nodded. “Learned enough to know how to patch me or others up,” you explained. “Father taught me.”

Grabbing your bag, Mel grabbed one of the bottles you spoke of and took off the lid. “This is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

“Oh, I know,” you chuckled, teeth slightly gritting in anticipation. “Let’s just get it over with.”

There seemed to be a pause where you built up the preparation in your mind and Mel tried to find confidence in doing the action. But those milliseconds didn’t carry on for too long before you were screaming in agony. Head slamming against the truck bed, nails creating crescent moons in your palm. You hadn’t even realized the sudden flailing of your arms and legs.

“Abby, hold her down!” The taller girl did as told, placing her hands firmly on your shoulders as you cried. When the stream of the intoxicating liquid seized, you were painted on the pale side of the visual. Mel quickly worked to bandage the wound and Abby tried to keep you at ease and not throw up anywhere or pass out.

Which was fruitless when you let out a sigh before your eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion. Abby clenched her teeth as she sat on the side benches along the edge of the truck bed. “Her body is just tired and in pain, Abs,” Mel stated. “But you need to know that Manny is right. Once I patch her up, Issac is just going to put her in a cage and torture her for information.”

“I know.” Abby ran a hand down her face, unable to retract her gaze from your sleeping features. So at peace and finally calm after all the bullshit you had been through. Truthfully, she had no reason to believe you and she didn’t, but she did believe you when you said you shouldn’t be out here. You were smaller in frame and height than Mel. Standing at full height, you were around Abby’s bicep and you didn’t have any defining muscle on you that screamed power in any fight. And that fact that you hadn’t killed anyone and were out here chasing after her showed that you were mentally strong. She just didn’t know if that would be able to carry on when Issac got his hands on you.

A groan shook at the back of your throat as you stirred awake. Face wincing in pain as your body ached and wished for you to rest for longer. Attempting to move your arms resulted in the harsh burn of something around your wrists. Eyes flickering open to find yourself in the center of a poorly lit room. An old fashion torch lamp was set on a few crates near a window that was blocked out by the sun by some white curtains.

Looking down at herself, she found herself in her old pair of dirty jeans with the same shirt on. But her wrists and ankles were tied together. Restrained to a chair with the harsh burn of rope being her reminder of defiance.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” You watched with fearful eyes as the man stepped inside with a bottle of water. Shutting the door behind him and locking it before making his way over. Grabbing a discarded chair and dragging it towards you. The sound of the hind legs scratching across the ground made you wince. Sitting in the chair opposite of you, the man took a seat and smiled. “Now, we can talk about why you’re in my city.”

Issac. That was who you guessed this guy to be. He didn’t seem like some middle-class wolf taking orders from a higher power. He maintained a level of intimidation that came off as something natural. The way he talked, walked and even looked. Nothing got past this man without his say-so. And telling by how he seemed already annoyed told you that you were suspect number one for some of his troops roaming the city were dying.

Sloshing the water bottle around in front of him, he silently held it toward you. Looking between the bottle and the man, you let out a strangled sigh through your nose and nodded. Twisting the cap off, he held the open end to your lips and tilted it back enough for you to take a sip. Parting when you felt the dryness of your throat subside.

“Now, tell me where you’re from, who you’re with and how many of you there are,” Issac said in his gruff voice. “If you don’t, I’ll make this helluva lot worse for you.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you let out a slow controlled breath. “I’m from Jackson,” you started. “Came here by myself when I ran away from home-”

A loud laugh fell from Issac’s lips as he shook his head, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. His dark eyes never strayed from your own. “Do I need to bring in my three soldiers that saved your life and ask them what you told them?” He asked, leaning his arms on his knees. “Or am I going to have to force the truth out of you?”

“I am telling you- MOTHERFUCKER!” You groaned eyes clamped shut at the feeling of a blade stabbed into your thigh. If he had stabbed any higher, he might’ve hit your femoral artery, but this would be easy to patch up. Of course, that’s if you survived past Issac’s torture.

“Y/n.” The use of your name on the man’s tongue was vile. It left a shiver running down your body as your eyes opened to find the man staring at your pained expression intently. “Your girlfriend left you for dead, right?” You let out a shaky exhale, tears brimming in your eyes with your lips pursing. The man frowned, shaking his head slightly as he asked, “So, why the fuck are you protecting her?”

Your lips wobbled, eyes flickering shut with your hands clenching. Breaths began to be choked up as you shook your head. Letting out a quiet cry at the thought of the auburn-haired girl. The girl that saved you from Clickers on a patrol run. The girl that had promised to keep you safe and one day, have a family with you.

Where was that now?

Where was she?

Hadn’t you risked enough coming out here with her and Dina? You lied to your father and left Jackson, your home. You’d given every waking moment of your time to this girl for the past 5 years, and this was how you were repaid. Being tortured for actions that you hadn’t condoned or acted upon. All you wanted was to keep her safe, but she must’ve not wanted the same as you.

With tear-soaked cheeks, you lifted your chin and shook your head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you wept. “I came here alone and sought out Abby for killing-”

Your scream was muffled by the door that was dividing Abby from you. Her face scrunched up in aggravation. How could you be so loyal to someone who left you for dead? She couldn’t wrap her head around it because you shouldn’t be putting yourself in your girlfriend's place. Issac had promised Abby that he would allow you to rest before eventually sending you on your way, but that had been if you would tell the truth. Yet, you were putting up a useless fight for someone who wasn’t coming to save you.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as Issac coursed the knife down your forearm. Red breaching through the crack of your flesh and staining your pale flesh. Body trembling in the hot restraints of the rope that strained against your clenching limbs. Feeling the mounting pain to fizzle to a gentle stream of stinging when Issac pulled the blade from your flesh. Sitting back in his chair to take in your dishevelled and broken figure. From his doing, cuts were inflicted along your arms, legs, and one along your cheek. The blood slithered down your skin and sunk into your clothes. Hair astray from his hands that grabbed locks when he cut your face. And your eyes were bloodshot from the tears that never seized to fall.

“I came here alone,” you said through sobs. “I sought out Abby for killing my mentor.”

Issac sighed, shaking his head in slight astonishment. “You’re resilient, I’ll give ya that.” He rose from his seat, water bottle in hand. “Fighting for someone that isn’t coming to save you. It takes guts and I respect that. Really, I do. But I wonder how long it’ll take until you realize that your girlfriend left you behind- No, keep your eyes open.” The man tapped your cheek, forcing your head up. Finding your eyes hollow of emotion as you stared back at him.

“She isn’t coming to save you, Y/n,” he said quietly. “Whatever you thought of your girlfriend was a lie and you need to realize that before you die for someone who didn’t give a shit about you.” Crouching down in front of you, the man took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “If you tell me the truth, I can guarantee you that your girlfriend will be brought to justice. I’ll make my men go out and find her. From there, you can do as you wish. Kill her, torture her- I don’t care. But I need the truth, Y/n.”

In a drowsy state, you managed to keep eye contact with the man. Licking your dry lips as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m from Jackson. I came here alone and sought out Abby for killing my mentor.”

All the man could do was stare at you, shell-shocked. You choked on your breaths, keeping the man’s gaze. A knock at the door grabbed your guys’ attention, seeing the door slightly open with Abby stepping inside. Her eyes focused on your dishevelled and broken form that was barely holding up. Eyes glossed over with tears as you broke the eye contact, bowing your head.

“I’m in the middle of something, Abby,” Issac grumbled. “Whatever you have to say is going to have to wait.”

“Issac, we both know she is going to keep this up until you kill her,” Abby protested. “If you aren’t going to do it, then let her recover. This isn’t getting us anywhere in finding her girlfriend.”

The man stared at you, taking in his soldier's words for a moment. Standing to his feet, placed the knife down on the chair and looked at Abby. “Keep her awake and give her this.” Placing the bottle in the girl’s hands, he walked out without another word. Leaving Abby to hold onto the bottle and stare at your figure that could be mistaken for dead if it wasn’t for your rising chest.

It was sad, honestly. How you could still hold love for someone that left you for dead was astonishing to Abby. Of course, she didn’t know your life story and she didn’t know shit about what you and your girlfriend had been through. But what she did know is that you weren’t made for this. You had skills that people dreamed of having, yet, you were out here hunting her for reasons that you may relate with, still didn’t change the fact that you weren’t built for surviving in the wild.

Walking over, Abby moved the knife, placing it in her lap as she sat down. Twisting the cap as she said, “Have some water.” You didn’t respond and you didn’t move. “Y/n, look at me.”

Still nothing. So, with a gentle hand, Abby grabbed your jaw and lifted your head. Finding your eyes heavy with exhaustion. Standing to her feet, Abby placed her thumb on your bottom lip and gently parted your lips. Realizing what she was doing, you willingly opened your mouth, allowing her to slowly pour the refreshing drink into your mouth.

Although she was your enemy, her touch was warm and soft. Treating you like a fragile ornament that could break with the faintest amount of squeeze. She cared. Her eyes watched you softly with the faintest hint of darkness that you couldn’t distinguish. She was worried. It was all that you had hoped to find from Ellie right about now, but you were receiving it from the woman you had been told was a monster. A woman who killed a man you deeply cared about. Who was she, truly?

Greedily drinking all of the water, Abby pulled away, placing the bottle on the floor. Taking a seat, Abby leaned back in the chair, eyes intently taking in your sorrowful expression. “I can’t understand you.” Her words made you raise your bloodshot eyes to her in question. Abby groaned, leaning her elbows onto her knees, closing the space between the two of you a little more. “How can you still love her after what she did to you?”

You bit your bottom lip, breaking eye contact and looking down at your legs. The steady ache from the stab wound had numbed to a point as long as you didn’t move the limb, you could forget it. But you couldn’t forget the wound so freshly cut into your mind. One that seemed to come up every single time Issac questioned you about your reason for being in Seattle.

“She changed me,” you finally answered, breaking the silence. “It’s something I can’t repay, but I thought… I thought that if I did everything to save her from trouble, maybe it would be enough.” You chewed on your bottom lip, shaking your head in thought. “I just can’t believe she would leave me behind. I can’t.”

Sniffling, you looked up at Abby. “That doesn’t make me foolish, okay?” You defended. “Ellie won’t leave me. She loves me. She loves me more than killing you, alright?” Exhaling deeply, you shook your head. “So, please. Just… Just let me go. I’ll convince her to go back and we’ll leave. She needs to know I’m ok.”

Abby stared at you sadly, pursing her lips at your denial. It was hard to hear that you, so pure of heart, wanting to do everything you could to support someone, were so clueless to signs of your fate. Ellie wouldn’t stop. You and Abby knew that. But you were too caught up in love to realize the pain you were trying to protect yourself from. Bargaining for something that wouldn’t come true.

Then it popped into her head, why would someone hurt you this bad? Or, how could someone hurt you this bad? It was damn near soulless the way Ellie had been able to inflict this much pain in one action in seconds. No verbal response, just a single action.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” Abby whispered, piquing your interest. “I’m sorry for what I took from you.”

You frowned, staring at the girl in question. “What do you mean?”

“Joel,” she answered, making your expression lower into sadness. Abby ran a hand down her face, shifting forward slightly. “If I didn’t do what I did, maybe things would be better for you. You wouldn’t be here and dealing with what you’re dealing with.”

A faint tremble of your lips could be seen as you glanced up at her for a split moment before looking down. Letting out a shaky sigh and blinking away the fresh set of tears that were brewing in your eyes. Inhaling sharply as you bit the inside of your cheek. “Why did you do it, Abby?” You inquired quietly, looking up at the girl. Finding her expression shifted into one of regret as you shifted in your seat. “Abby, he was my mentor, a friend, the last person I got to call my father. He was one of the only people I had left, and you took him from me. So, please, I need to know why you took him from me if I can trust you.”

Abby let out a shaky breath. Hands clasping together as her lips parted. A fumbling of a sentence formed in her mind before she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Joel killed my father in Salt Lake,” she confessed. “I never got over it. I gathered information and searched for answers that could tell me where he was. So, when I found out he was in Jackson, I hunted him down with my group, and I killed him.”

Her confession left the room in a cold stillness as she waited for your response. So, she continued. “I hated him so much for what he took from me,” she muttered. “Finding my dad stabbed in the throat, having no chance to say goodbye or to give him a hug. Joel took that from me and I took that from you, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Looking up, she found you staring down at her empathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss, Abby.” That was the last response she thought to receive. She’d taken so much from you, yet, you still had a softness in your heart that wasn’t afraid of being given out. “We’ve dealt with enough pain and I don’t want anymore. I just wanna go home with Ellie and be happy, you know?”

Falling to a knee, Abby grabbed your hands and held them softly. “You gotta listen to me, Y/n,” Abby said. “Ellie, she left you behind. As much as I don’t want to agree with Issac on this, he is right. If she loved you, she would’ve done anything to keep you safe and alive.”

A hard pill to swallow, that statement was. It felt like the imaginary knife Ellie had stabbed into was twisting further and further into your heart. Stealing whatever love that you had left for the girl and using it for her own personal gain. Because, in the end, that was the whole point of you coming. Getting guilt-tripped into seeking revenge for a man that only wanted the best for you. You didn’t even get to mourn his loss. You were just thrust into this quest that you wanted no part of. But your love for Ellie was something you couldn’t extinguish. It burned brighter than any flame imaginable.

And she used it against you.

Burning your heart and leaving a permanent scar that reminded you of how your trust could be twisted and forced against you in a selfish act.

“We were travelling with another woman- Dina,” you said out of the blue, making Abby frown. “I don’t know where they’re staying, but we were on our way looking for somewhere to set up camp until we found you.” Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes. “She has a revolver, a Baretta, and a hunting rifle. Dina is pregnant, so if you go looking for them, don’t hurt her, please-”

“Y/n, you don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.” Abby surprisingly placed a hand on your cheek. Her warmth and comfort were enough for you to lean into the touch. The cold pinch of your tears covered her palms as you opened your eyes.

Pursing your lips, a thin-lipped smile appeared as you shrugged. “What else do I gotta lose?”

566 notes · View notes

father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Text

rhinestone eyes

PAIRING: Rich Boy!Eren x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS [present+future]: infidelity, dubcon, gaslighting, manipulative and toxic behavior, toxic relationship, sexual content, yandere tendencies, suggestive hand-holding

part one

kofi

There's a sneer on Eren's face as green eyes behind Versace aviators glide over your form, staring you up and down. His gaze is so penetrative, it makes your teeth chatter. Maybe he was just checking you out. Maybe he was scrutinizing every blemish.

You suddenly feel so very small in your tennis skirt, the tight collared shirt stretching over your breasts, and wished that today out of all days wasn't when you decided to dress a little more stylish.

"Fancy seeing you here." His voice is nonchalant but there's a tone of humor that accompanies his brisk words. How long would it be until he laughs at you?

He scowls, "Are you mute or something? Why aren't you greeting me back properly?"

"Eren," You took a deep breath, "What are you doing in Paris?"

It occurs to you that you've never seen him out of his uniform before. He's wearing a light blue button-down, half the buttons left unfastened, polo shorts, an expensive black watch glittering on his wrist, silver rings on his slender fingers, and a thin silver chain dangling around his neck.

He's also acquired a new piercing, industrial, judging by the bar across his ear. The silver glints harshly under the sun.

"Are you done burning holes through me?"

You blush, embarrassment coloring your cheeks: "No, I'm just surprised." You tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear, "Didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in another country."

You were just taking a pleasant walk in the acclaimed Champs-Élysées, the avenue every bit as a picture-perfect postcard as it had been described.

"Have you eaten?" The question is spoken with a sigh like he couldn't believe he was asking you this, and you couldn't either.

"Oh, um, no?" You responded, bewildered.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which reached the nape of his neck by now: "I know a cafe around here. Let's get brunch. We'll talk there."

You don't know what possessed you to nod but you did so, trying to match his quick and long strides. The walk was silent, presumably because the two of you were saving your burning questions for the cafe.

He rolls his eyes when you stutter through your French. He raises a hand, and simply tells the waiter his order and dismisses him. His French is flawless and you're tempted to ask him how it's so good, but you already know the answer. Probably had hordes of tutors to help him.

Merci Monsieur

"Wait," You remark to Eren, "I didn't order."

"I ordered for us. Pain au chocolate, savory crepes, eggs, and ham. Coffee after. For me. Hot chocolate for you because you don't drink coffee."

Oh. That actually sounds good. How did he know your beverage preferences?

He fishes out a cigarette from his pocket, skinny and hand-rolled, "So what are you doing here? No offense but you don't exactly seem like you can afford a vacation to France. "

Now is your turn to sigh. You've nearly forgotten how blunt he could be: "Here on an internship. For art" You supply.

"I assume you just regularly come to Paris every summer?"

He doesn't deny or verify your statement, "Something like that."

"So you're staying at a hostel or?" He asks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that makes your nose wrinkle.

The waiter comes by with food, and you turn to Eren with a sour look, "I sincerely hope you're not going to smoke while we're eating."

To your utter surprise, he ashes the cigarette. You were expecting a witty and mean retort at the very minimum, not silent compliance.

You pick up the earlier conversation, "Well, I'm actually staying with my boyfriend." You mummer the last word quietly but the viridian-eyed boy's ears are keen. You don't notice how his grip on the knife tightens.

"You're staying with your boyfriend?" He repeats.

You nod, "Yeah, he's an art student too."

The rest of the meal is completed in sparing small-talk and lengths of silence. But it's not awkward. It's weird. On one hand, having brunch with Eren Yeager in fucking Paris, heir to a billionaire pharmaceutical company should feel surreal, but it's strangely peaceful. You feel more at peace sitting across from him in France than you did when he sat next to you in homeroom.

When it's time to pay the check, Eren looks amused by the very notion of you digging into your purse.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lady pay?" His words are spoken with a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes but can't help a glimmer of a smile from peeking through on your lips, "Didn't take you much for a gentleman."

He tosses his black card on the bill, "You'd be surprised."

What's there left to do now? Is it time to part ways? There's a part of you that craves more but life has taught you to not be greedy when you already have so so much.

You dabble the corner of your lips with a napkin, "Well, this has been fun-"

"Wait, uh, do you wanna check out the Louvre? Since you're an art student and all, you might uh enjoy it."

You stare at him. Is he tongue-tied?

"You've probably there been a million times already."

"Yeah...but you haven't been, right?"

You blink before breaking into a smile that Eren is sure is going to give him heart palpations, so sunny and bright.

"I would love to!"

You guys check out Mona Lisa for the sheer novelty, and you're bouncing around the museum, oohing and ahhing at the chiseled statues and Renaissance paintings. There is so much history here, it blows your mind.

Eren finds himself watching you more than the paintings. You have this veneer of snark that you wrap around yourself like a protective gauze (maybe that's how you maintain your survival in a world of hyenas) but you're different now.

You're yourself. Watching you here come alive in unbridled enthusiasm, eyes widened in passion, makes him reach out to his pocket and fish for his disposable film camera. He doesn't know if he's ever seen anyone in his vapid life look like the way you do, so filled with a zest for things that are greater than themselves.

He wants to burn you into his memory, praying to all the gods that you won't notice when he takes a picture of you admiring a bust of a goddess. He slyly tucks his camera back into his pocket.

The world seems to stand still when you tug his hand to show him a painting, an expression of unadulterated wonder on your face. But when you realize you pulled his hand, you immediately drop it like hot coals.

Why do you look so worried? Why do you look so scared?

"You can hold my hand if you want. It's-it's okay." He can't believe he's gotten the words out.

You're taking too long, your hands still hanging limply by your side, an indiscernible expression on your pretty face. Eren doesn't understand why it makes him so mad, why your sudden hesitation grated his nerves. Deciding to make your choice for you, he grabs your hand, squeezing your palm as he flashes you the charismatic smile that's got him out of countless incidents.

He doesn't like the expression of worry marring your features. Where did the happy jovial girl go? Just a few seconds, you were poking him with sparkles in your eyes, "Look at this Eren!" and "So beautiful, right?"

He forces another smile: "Show me the painting you wanted me to see." Maybe it was meant to be a request but it comes out as a demand.

You cast a glance at your joined hands, his grip borderline painful. "O-okay."

You lead him across the floor, and Eren can feel the stares of people around him. They are smiling. An older woman utters a "Un si charmant couple."

You take him to a grand painting. It's haunting and dark, swirling with so many shades of dusty red from vermillion to scarlet. A pregnant woman lies reclined, arm hanging and head lolling. She appears to be asleep, and there is a cacophony of men around her portrayed in varying degrees of stress.

"Death of a virgin", you breathed.

Such a macabre name, Eren thought as he gazed longer into the painting. He loosens his grip on your hand, testing whether you would pull away.

You don't.

It's raining outside and you're giggling.

"Fuck" Eren swears, "I'll call a cab."

You're a vision drenched in rain. Your clothes are soaked, and he could see the outline of your bra from your thin shirt. But it seems like you don't even care.

"Let's just enjoy it!" You cry out. There are thick droplets stuck in between your eyelashes, and you smell like rain too. It's dangerous, he can see chords of purple lightning flash the sky, thunder booming, and it's like you're dancing, the way you move so effortlessly.

You hook his hands in yours, "Doesn't this feel good?"

He feels like all his sins are being washed away, all the impurities and muck that clung onto him after nineteen years of existence. His heart nearly jumps out of his throat every time he looks at you.

He cups your chin and kisses you. When he feels the threadbare resistance, he kisses harsher, tongue and teeth swallowing your protests, coaxing your mouth open with a skillful pinch to your nipple. He pulls away just before you feel like all your breath has been robbed.

You're stunned speechless, "Eren...I...h-have a boyf-"

He kisses you again. And this time you kiss back, holding nothing back.

taglist: @candy-hime @cinnamon-n-roses @forwardpair

inspo: @candy-hime's rich boy!shoto. the iconic golf club one <3

#dubcon touching #rich boy eren yeager #eren yeager x reader fanfiction #eren yeager x y/n #yandere eren x reader #tw cheating #eren yeager x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan au #eren jaeger

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

Text

Worthless

Word Count: 2,026

Characters: Derek Hale, Cora Hale, Isaac Lahey (mentioned), Scott McCall (mentioned), Stiles Stilinski (mentioned), Talia Hale (mentioned), Laura Hale (mentioned), Hale!Reader

Pairings: Derek Hale x SIster!Reader; Cora Hale x Sister!Reader

Warnings: small fluff, angst, death, TW: disease and heart problems

A/N: okay so yes this is very different from many things i’ve wrote but here we are i just had inspo and went for it

A/N 2: I have no shame in finishing Superman and Lois in like three days and I can’t wait till the next episode i love it so much

Masterlist

You remembered the events of that day like it was yesterday. You felt off, you felt sick and Talia insisted you stay home. She was always worried about you, mainly because you were the only human one. Both of your sisters and your brother inherited the werewolf trait, but somehow you didn't.

Talia spent a great amount of time focused on you. She kept you by her side for most of the time and grew paranoid quickly. You remember smelling something on fire, and you remember everything around you burning. You were trapped, screaming and crying out for anyone, you could hear the cries of your family.

Laura dragged you out, holding you tightly before holding Derek. The two of them had just come back from school for the day. You had burn marks on your legs and your body.

They never disappeared or faded, instead, they remained a scar. You remember all the times Laura had to rush back to Beacon Hills or rush anywhere in the world. Being the alpha always came with a price. Derek was left to raise you, not that he ever minded. Talia always raised all of you to believe that family was the most important thing in the world, and no bond could ever replace that of a family.

You found yourself standing outside the Hale house, a place where you only saw last when you were barely eight. You were now 14, starting high school. Laura’s body was buried, while you stood in front of it, looking down. There were tears in your eyes as you tried to keep yourself together.

You always tried to hide any of your feelings, you didn't want your siblings or anyone to think you were weak because you were human, but that only made things worse. You taught yourself how to lie to a werewolf and how to hide your emotions.

“What are you doing out here?” you felt Derek’s hand on your shoulder as you jumped, wiping your face.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” he said.

You shook your head, before wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Have you found any lead on this?” you asked.

“Nothing in specific. But you don't need to worry about this,” Derek always tried to give you a normal life.

“I want to help,” you said.

“And I said no. Go to school.” you sighed, before nodding your head.

You sat in the car, putting your headphones on before he started driving.

---

“You can’t just go turning my friends into werewolves!” you tried to hold back your tears as you yelled at Derek.

“I know you’re upset, but-”

“I’m more than upset, Derek! Y-You always try to keep me out of all this supernatural crap, then you turn the only people that have even talked to me into werewolves!” you yelled.

“(Y/N), I told Isaac the truth about everything, and in the end, he made his decision. He was in a bad situation at home, and he wanted a change. I just helped him,” Derek kept his voice calm as you ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated.

Your heart was beating quickly, before you paused, feeling some sense of pain take over you. You felt like your heart was being ripped repeatedly from your chest as you found it hard to breathe.

“(Y/N),” Derek put his hand on your shoulder, looking at you worriedly as you tried to breathe.

“I-It hurts,” you cried shakily.

“Hold on,” he put his arms around you tightly, running to the hospital.

---

“It’s called Coronary artery disease. Our dad had it,” you looked down at the sheets of your bed, while Derek paced around your room.

“How do we heal it?” he asked.

“There’s no cure,” your eyes watered slightly before you wiped the tears away.

“Well what about medication?” he asked.

“Derek…” your voice was shaky as you looked up to him.

“Even with treatment, most people don't survive past the age of twenty. Dad was the exception,” you said.

“How come there weren't any symptoms? Things like this don't just happen,” he said.

“Sometimes there are no symptoms, and even if there were… with everything going on I would’ve been too stressed to notice,” you said.

He sighed deeply, before walking next to you, holding your hand.

“We’re going to get through this,” he said softly.

“I don't understand why you can't just give me the bite,” you sniffled.

“(Y/N),” he started.

“All of this would go away if I was a werewolf,” you pointed out.

“I don't understand what's… (Y/N) if you’re already weak, the bite can kill you,” Derek started.

You shook your head, pulling your hand away from him.

“I’m not weak,” you spat.

“I didn't mean like that,” he said.

“Just go. Don’t you have to train Isaac or something? There's a full moon tonight,” you said.

“Yeah… get some rest,” he gave you a small hug, while you kept your gaze off of him. You knew he was giving you a pitiful look before he walked out of your room.

---

Your condition only got worse over the past few months. Your body was in pain anytime you tried to do anything. You always tried your hardest to keep it from Derek, but he could smell it, and so could Scott.

“(Y/N)!” Derek put his hands on either sides of your shoulders while you jumped, looking at him fearfully.

“Derek, it’s like 6 in the morning. What do you want?!” you whisper-yelled.

“(Y/N/N) just come downstairs with me. I have a surprise for you,” he said.

You sighed, before nodding, getting out of your bed.

You followed him downstairs as he held your hand. You froze, taking the last step from the stairs as you saw a woman pacing around in front of you.

“Cora,” your voice broke as her head shot up.

“Oh my god,” she ran to you, wrapping her arms around you tightly as you let out a shaky breath, before burying your head into her arms.

“I missed you so much,” she said softly.

“I-I missed you too. Where have you been? How are you here?” you began to bombard her with questions as she laughed softly, walking with you to the couch.

“Okay, here’s everything…”

---

You would never admit to anyone that you were scared to die. Everyone in your life was a werewolf, except for your dad. But you barely remembered him. You were only a baby when he passed.

Supernatural heaven and hell were much different from human heaven and hell, and you didn't know what to expect. You would want your family with you more than anything but you knew that wasn't going to be possible.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exhaled shakily, while Derek continuously yelled at you.

You sat on the couch of the loft, your arms wrapped around yourself. You were freezing, your chest was aching, it felt like burning.

You kept your eyes on the floor, your tears at bay as Derek paced around.

“I cannot stress how unbelievably stupid you were,” you held in a wince, closing your eyes.

“I just wanted to help,” your voice was low, barely half of what it was.

You, Scott, and Stiles searched for the Nemeton, unable to find it. Deaton pointed out that one of the only ways it would be able to be found was for the three of you to sacrifice yourselves in place of Chris Argent, Melissa McCall, and Noah Stilinski.

It only made your condition worse. The pain intensified.

“You could have died, (Y/N),” he shouted.

“So what if I died?!” you yelled back, taking him by surprise.

“At least I would have done something when I died! I-Instead of being useless and weak I would have had a purpose!” you let your tears fall freely as you took a deep breath, rubbing your fingers through your hair frustratedly.

“You don't understand how it feels like to be the only human in a family of werewolves. You all have these powers and you all save people and help people. Everyone treats me and looks at me like I’m made of glass, like I can't do anything and I hate it. Our family died and I was trapped. I couldn't save any of them and Laura ended up dragging my ass out of the fire. She went around the country saving people and helping people. Y-You’re an alpha, Derek. You saved people, you saved Isaac. Everyone here relies on you to save them. Cora is… she always fights and she’s strong and she doesn't have all these stupid problems that makes it hard for her to even breathe,” you stopped yourself, sitting back on the couch before you wrapped your arms around your legs, putting your head on your legs as you curled up into a ball, shaking slightly.

You cried softly, while you felt Derek sit next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

“The reason I’m crazy protective over you is because you mean the world to me and Cora and we don't know what we’d do without you. Why didn't you tell me you were feeling like this?” he asked softly.

You shrugged, before resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’m tired,” your voice broke as he caressed your arm.

He kept holding you, while you laid in his lap. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as you fell asleep.

---

You began to fight, and you began to care what was happening to you. You started taking your medications, and you tried to keep as safe as you could. But it always felt like you were running the last stretch of your life, and things got much worse after they started getting better.

You were now 19, Derek decided that he wanted a break from going on missions and being a wolf. You left Beacon Hills with him, the two of you going around the country and seeing wonderful things. Occasionally he would let you help with small missions.

Everything seemed to be peaceful, everything was calm. You had an amazing time with Derek, you watched him get married to Braeden. You were more than happy to have her in your life.

“Cora sends her love,” Derek handed you an envelope from your older sister, while you frowned, opening it.

She sent you a picture of her with her new girlfriend. The two of them were in South America, and you saw a small caption.

I said yes

You let out a small laugh, smiling in joy at the card.

“When’s the wedding? Did she send a postcard instead of an actual letter?” you laughed.

“Yeah, you know how she is. The wedding is in January,” your smile fell slightly, while you nodded your head.

“Hey, you’re going to make it to that wedding,” he said, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I know. Come on, Braeden said that you guys have a date night,” you pulled on his arm as he sighed.

“If you need anything, call me, okay?” Derek said.

You nodded softly, a small smile on your face before you sat on your bed, turning on the TV.

---

“Why aren't you fighting anymore?” you heard Derek’s voice break as he held your hand tightly.

Cora stood on the other side of you, stroking your cheek.

“I’ve been fighting for years. It’s okay, Derek,” you said softly.

“No, it's not,” you heard Cora say.

“I’ve done everything I wanted to do,” you said.

And it was true. You watched both of your siblings get married, you watched them both start families. You saved people, and you knew you weren't alone. Not now and definitely not when you die. Everything would be okay.

“I don't want to lose you,” Derek said softly.

You stroked his cheek softly, feeling a tear slip down your face.

“If I’m ready to move on then you should be too,” you said.

“I love you guys,” you cried softly.

The two of them held your hands tightly, while you closed your eyes.

You let out a small exhale, letting go.

“We love you too, (Y/N),” Derek said softly.

Your body went limp, the tears falling down both of their faces as they looked down at your lifeless body.

“We love you.”

taglist:

@bellabadacadabra

@sonnydoesrandomshit

@aprilfire18

@confuscita

@asheradamsbicep

@teen-wolf-obsessed4life

@eunoia-kth

@angelgtzdar

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y0itsbri · 3 years

Text

5 times Ian and Mickey eat ice-cream/popsicles together - shameless summer series 🍨🍦🥄

inspo from @ianandmickeygallavich's summer prompt list

moments from s2 - post-finale

words: 1.4k

the first time ian and mickey ate ice cream together was at the kash & grab. they had just finished helping lip stock up his ice cream truck with goods from the store. mickey focused on tuning out linda's obsessive ranting.

"you ever get anything from the ice cream truck when you were little?" ian asked out of nowhere, after a lull of silence had passed over them.

"the truck never ran in our neighborhood, numbnuts."

ian paused, considering, "oh, i guess maybe fiona took us to the parks sometimes. maybe that's where it was."

"probably." a pause.

"what would you get?"

"a joint."

"no, no, like from a legit truck!" ian rolled his eyes "i always got the bomb pops. carl always got the spongebob. he liked ripping the face apart."

"'course you would get the bomb pop, army."

"doesn't answer my question, mickey."

mickey flipped him off. "how about those little chocolate cones? those bitches always looked good."

ian smirked his dumbass smirk that mickey couldn't look at for too long without his cheeks heating up.

"what?" he asked, adverting his gaze.

ian headed towards the freezer. yeah, mickey could go for another round. he followed him until he saw that ian had stopped in front of the open door for a moment before turning around with two chocolate covered ice cream cones in hand. he handed one to mickey, cold fingers meeting hot for a brief second.

"i'll have to take it out of your pay check, of course," ian teased.

mickey simply glared his way, but softened when he realized the tone. "yeah? well i'd ring ya neck for even considering it, but it's hot as balls so i'm saving my breath."

"sureeee you are." ian smiled again.

it was quiet in the store except for their obnoxious slurping as the ice cream melted faster than they could lick it.

---

ian's been having a difficult time adjusting to his new med change. he was tired all the time, his usual go-getter motivation put on hold.

fiona usually only bought popsicles at the beginning of the summer. it wasn't the beginning of summer. it was almost fall. so no one knew how bomb pops were stocked in the freezer.

mickey knew.

carl wretched open the freezer, shaking the popsicle box upside down, the remaining three falling out. he took one for himself, passed one to a zombie-like version of ian sitting at the kitchen counter, and tossed another to mickey, who was reading a magazine at the kitchen table.

mickey furrowed his eyebrows. "i didn't ask."

"yeah, but you wanted one." carl shrugged and leaned against the fridge for a moment.

"thanks, kid." mickey mumbled after maybe somewhat of an awkward length of time. carl took that as a dismissal as he bounded up the stairs.

ian had been quiet, not even muttering a thanks. he managed to unwrap it, but not much else.

"'s your favorite, man," mickey nodded towards the bomb pop sitting idle in his hands.

ian half nodded and gave a sorry excuse for a fake smile. his popsicle dripped.

mickey frowned. patient, he got up from the table and sat next to ian, wiping the melted popsicle with his jacket sleeve.

they sat there quietly, eating their popsicles together, tongues cold and red.

mickey was trying.

---

ian and mickey had been in the car for hours now, heading further south with every passing minute. conversations fell anywhere from their past, their present, and their future. ian tried to keep his focus on their present.

"didn't you say there was some ice cream around here we gotta try?" ian wondered, memory flickering with something mickey had said a few hours ago.

"paletas de crema," mickey enunciated in a put-on spanish accent. he smirked. "yeah, man, we'll make a pit stop for it pretty soon. damon said it was to die for."

"wonder if damon's got himself arrested yet?" ian mused.

"nah, fuck him."

they stopped at some ma & pa shop down in texas near the border. somehow, mickey had a family discount.

mickey ordered pineapple, claiming to be a slut for piña coladas. he ordered a strawberry for ian, claiming to know what ian would like. he wasn't wrong. they switched ice creams for a couple licks and ian definitely preferred his strawberry.

mickey got a little on his chin and ian wiped it off without thinking, they both paused and stiffened for a moment, before acting like that didn't just happen. the uncharted territory scaring them both a bit.

---

"what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" franny asked, kicking her feet absentmindedly in the backseat of the new gallagher-milkovich van.

"really, kid? ya had a whole day of school you could be tellin' me about, but you wanna know about ice cream?" mickey argued with the six year old.

"mhmm," she nodded before staring out the window again.

"chocolate ice cream's my fav. what's yours?"

"strawberry!"

"'course it would be, strawberry shortcake. should we go get some, just the two of us?" mickey asked, pulling out of the school lot.

franny chanted for ice cream until the physical cups (not cones) were handed to them through the drive through. she frowned when she saw a third cup. there were only two people in the car, right? and this ice cream was green.

"what's that?" she asked incredulously.

"ice cream?"

"but it's green, uncle mickey!"

"'s pistachio. it's your uncle ian's favorite."

"we gotta wait for him before we eat ours then!"

mickey snuck a spoonful of his chocolate ice cream when fran wasn't looking.

mickey may have also broken several traffic laws to get them home before their ice cream could melt.

as soon as they were parked in the street, franny bolted towards the house, pink and green ice cream in hand.

"uncle ian, uncle ian! look!"

mickey slammed the car door behind him and picked up franny's backpack from the back seat. he glanced up to see franny nearly tackling his giant of a husband. he looked so enthusiastic about everything franny was telling him before he directed her inside.

mickey made his way over to ian's side, tossing franny's backpack at his feet with a thud before giving him a quick smooch.

"mmm," ian hummed. he smacked his lips together. a pause. "chocolate?" he asked, picking up the backpack.

"what about it?" mickey's eyebrows raised, somewhere between a threat and a tease.

"fran told me you were waiting for me."

"told ya i'm not good with rules," mickey smirked at him before following franny inside.

they all ate at the dining table while franny told both of them about her drama-filled day at first grade.

---

it was a hot ass summer and the AC in their apartment was on the fritz. they thought that moving to the west side would guarantee working utilities at all times, but apparently they were wrong because it was sweltering inside their bedroom.

ian couldn't help but lay on the bed and groan. he was shirtless, hair still a bit wet from his most recent shower, and he was utterly uncomfortable.

mickey had left to go to the corner store in a fucking jacket like a crazy person. so ian closed his eyes and waited it out.

he opened his eyes again to the sound of a wrapper being ripped open. mickey sauntered over to the bed, tossing his jacket in the corner. ian was distracted by just how good mickey's arms looked today that it took him a moment to realize what was in his hands.

a cold, cold popsicle in all its glory.

ian reached for it, but mickey moved it out of reach, instead dramatically teasing ian when he licked it.

ian didn't know if the heat or his taunting husband would be the death of him.

it looked like mickey finally had his share of fun fucking with ian. he brought the popsicle close to ian's mouth, hovering above his awaiting tongue. at the last second mickey dipped the popsicle below his mouth, messily dragging it down his chin, neck, chest. ian shivered at the chill, and then again as the sticky trail was covered with mickey's tongue, still cold from the popsicle.

ian would have to shower again, but he couldn't care less.

#my posts #shameless #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey

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lovesanmotion · 3 years

Text

Not Friends - Yandere!LOONA Heejin, Kim Lip, Jinsoul & Yves

summary: in which y/n's life is never the same again

song inspo: not friends - loona x ryan jhun

themes: wlw, death, blood, yandere tendencies, gxg, soft smut (?)

italicized means flashbacks

1: Vivid

"Everyone, there is a new student coming to join us!" Ms Oh chirped happily as she stood behind the desk and all the girls at Haesbich Girls' High School suddenly broke into loud gossips, anticipating the who the new girl could be.

Except, Jeon Heejin. The girl with dark brown hair, fair white skin, small, buttoned nose, rosy pink lips, pixie like ears and chilly whiskey brown eyes that sat at the very back of the classroom. She never liked any of the girls in her class; for Heejin, all them were mean and two faced bitches under the disguise of their innocent faces.

As the wooden door opened, Heejin's eyes widened into the shapes of a full moon. How could someone so pretty be human? Her eyes followed the face of the new girl who shyly clutched onto the straps of her backpack, Heejin swore to herself that nobody could be that pretty.

But you defied all the impossible.

"Hello, everyone! My name is Y/N Y/L/N. Please take care of me!"

Y/N. The way she spoke her name sounded so beautiful that it made Heejin's heart skip a thousand times more. As all the other girls were busy fawning at how cute you were, Heejin snarled and wanted your attention all on her.

"It's very nice to meet you, Ms Y/L/N." Ms Oh smiled as she turned her head to face you. "Why don't you take that fee seat?"

Heejin side glanced at the free seat besides her. She couldn't believe that the new girl would be sitting right beside her! Pleased that nobody chose to sit beside her in the beginning of the term, she pulled the chair for you and offered you one of her most eye catching smiles.

"Hi!" She greeted at you. "I'm Heejin!"

As Ms Oh started to lecture, Heejin could care less about it. She was busy basking her eyes in your side profile, marvelling at the smooth structure of your chin, your pointed nose and long and lush eyelashes.

' If the Goddess Hera were to see you, she would be jealous of your beauty. ' Heejin thought to herself.

As the bell rang for recess, you started to pack up all of your belongings that you took out.

"I can show you around the campus. I can give you a tour if you want me to." Heejin suddenly spoke before you could get up from your seat. Smiling shyly while looking down, you nodded your head.

"I'd love that!"

₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎

"Heejin..what if someone sees us here?" You shakily asked as smoke came out of your mouth from the cold.

"Chill out, babe. It's just us here. Fuck what the world thinks were doing." Heejin grins and helps you climb up the wired fence while chewing the cherry flavored gum inside her mouth. "Plus, I don't think anyone would be here because one, this place is abandoned. And two, we can scare people off and think the ghosts of this place are haunting and operating it."

But what Heejin really wanted to say is that she came prepared for the insides of her denim jacket contained: a 9mm pistol.

"I can't believe a place like this closed down when people created a lot of memories here. Both old and young. What do you think- Heejin?" You suddenly stopped and asked on where could she be, suddenly missing by your side.

It was cold and dark and anything could pop in front of you. You gulped and crossed your arms to yourself while Heejin's sweatshirt kept you warm. "Heejin-ah..." you muttered, almost on the verge of tears when all of a sudden bright lights of gold lit up.

"Did you like my surprise? I got my hands dirty for you and I'll get really mad if you say you didn't like it." Heejin feigned her frown. But a small chuckle elicited your lips as you suddenly brought the girl in your arms, tightening your hold around her. "I like it very much."

The first ride you went to is the merry go round, enjoying the ride no matter how many times you've enjoyed being spun around and brought up and down of the machine. Just like the merry go round, your life was a continous cycle that never seemed to end, your life always going up and down and you didn't know how to change it.

But it was Heejin who broke the loop for you; you got out of the track.

And while you were smiling and enjoying the ride, Heejin looked at you like you were of the stars, the sky and all the heavenly forms. Nothing else mattered to her, just you and you alone. And Heejin would kill anyone who dared to get in between your relationship.

After the merry go round, Heejin proposed to go to the haunted ride next. She wouldn't deny it, but the reason why she wanted go there next is because she wanted you to cling onto her. Everything you do, you did very cutely, and Heejin just couldn't get enough of you. You could just breathe and she would find it breathtaking, magnificent, talented.

Although of course, only Heejin could breathe the same air and walk the same path as you.

From the haunted ride to the spinning teacups and the roller coaster, this was a night you would never forget.

Sheltered all your life from what the world has to offer, Heejin brought you out from the confinements of your bedroom and showed one half of what the world has in store for you to discover, and you were loving every minute you stayed.

"I wish my life could be like this" You suddenly spoke as you slowly swung yourself on the playground, Heejin sitting right besides you.

"I wish my parents weren't so overprotective of me. And I wish this night wouldn't end."

Hearing this, Heejin reached out to hold your hand. Hearing those words wanted her to take away the pain you feel.

"We'll create more memories together. You and me."

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thrndlngs · 3 years

Text

@the-fandoms-georgie

ˏˋ°•*��➷ A CURSE, natasha romanoff.

pairing: natasha romanoff x gn!asgardian!reader. genre: drabble with HELLA ANGST. warnings: character death + endgame spoilers. a/n: set in endgame. this made me cry lol. hopefully you guys enjoy it. i took a different approach to this so, hopefully it’s still enjoyable! also, reader is the asgardian god/dess of war :p inspo: poem + another love (slowed down) by tom odell.

12 HOURS PRIOR.

"SO YOU’RE GOING BACK TO ASGARD, HUH?” natasha asked as she approached you, offering a peanut butter sandwich as she straddles your lap while taking a bite of her own peanut butter sandwich. you decline it, which only makes her shrug her shoulders and continue to take a bite out of both before snaking her arms around your neck.

“you’re doing the thing again.”

“i’m not doing the thing again.”

“yes you are! you’re doing the ‘i’m a big bad asgardian whose forming a strategic plan on how to conquer a planet’ face.” she teases, mimicking said facial expression as you roll your eyes (almost) half tempted to throw her onto the couch you were sitting on. you know, for dramatics.

“just worried that someone will spot us. you know, with thor and i’s status and the talking, uh,” you trail off, canting your head a bit as natasha corrects you with an infectious laugh. “a raccoon.”

“yeah, a raccoon. i could only hope that everything goes according to plan and that we manage to retrieve the Aether.”

“you’re a horrible liar.”

“gods do not lie.”

“there’s a first time for everything honey.”

it’s your turn to laugh now, hands resting at the small of her back as you take in a breath. leave it to natasha to see right through you. “it will be hard going back.” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence and natasha doesn’t force you. she only brings her hands to your face to trace soothing circles against your cheeks, offering that reassuring smile that had pulled you from some of your darkest times.

“ — i know. i could only imagine what it would feel like going back home.”

you scoff, lips pursed as you look over her features, mirroring her smile. “you are.”

and she doesn’t understand it - not at first. you loved asgard. it was your home. in another lifetime though. you’ve grown to learn that asgard isn’t a place - asgard is it’s people, traditions - the will and strength to continue on in dire stances (kind of like now). but natasha, natasha was your home now. even if she wasn’t a place. she loved you inside and out. she didn’t see the god(dess) of war or the commander. she saw you, for you. the raw product of fighting battles that weren’t yours to begin with.

natasha saw you as someone who was forced a blade and told to fight. so maybe, the two of you are one in the same - just weapons to a cause. maybe that’s why she loved you. maybe that’s what attracted her to begin with, the ‘shared life experience’. she doesn’t know what it’s like being someone of your status - but she does know what it’s like to have your childhood stolen.

and it hits her. you were referring to her. “i’m nothing compared to asgard.” her tone is a bit more serious now.

“you’re the liar now.” you tease, quickly stealing a kiss as natasha rolls her eyes.

“i’m serious. the way you talk about it—”

“someone once told me that home is not a place. it’s where you feel safe and loved - it’s something you feel in here,” you poke at the place where her heart is, a childlike grin on your face as natasha rolls her eyes. again. if only the others could see how corny you truly were.

and now it’s her turn to remain quiet, fingers trailing your tired features as the two of you sat there in silence. it isn’t until you pull at the ends of her hair that she finally says something to you (but it’s not directed at you, she’s just rambling at this point).

“i’m not - i’m flattered but i can’t.. i just —”

“baby,” you cut her off, taking your free hand and using it to turn her attention to you, offering her a soft smile as you laughed at her sudden ‘flustered’ expression. it’s amusing the effect you have on her - even after all these years. “you are my home. i feel safe when i’m with you. i am at my happiest when we are together. home is wherever i am with you. i love thor. i loved the king and queen. i loved asgard and my people, but it was never my home. asgard took everything from me and you, natasha, are the one who helped me see that i am more than what odin forced me to be.”

4 HOURS PRIOR.

“DON’T BE A HERO TWINKLETOES,” you warned, pointing an accusing finger in her direction as she holds up her hands in her defense as the two of you walked up to the platform. you let out a very audible sigh as natasha takes ahold of your hands and starts to make a very hushed sly comment on how the suit doesn’t do your hands justice. it makes you blush which prompts another comment on how natasha has more bragging points because she’s made the actual god(dess) of war blush.

“love.”

“lips are sealed honey,” natasha even ‘zips’ her lips and hands you the imaginary key, giving you a small wink.

“try not to miss me too much, yeah?” you teased, brows raised as you tried to lighten the mood.

“tell me about asgard when you get back?” natasha asked, taking a quick step to close the distance in between the two of you as you take a quick glance at thor and the ‘talking racoon’. you wonder if thor could handle it - in his current state, you think he might cry more than you would going back.

“natasha,” you begin, taking in a breath as you try to calm your emotions. do you tell her? do you not tell her? do you wait until all of this is over? do you do it now? your mind is working at the speed of light - it’s almost amusing how someone like you seems to get tongue twisted in a situation like this. you’re older now. much more wiser than you were in your last relationship. you’re a commander. a god(ddes) even. yet you couldn’t do something so simple as getting down on your knee? why hadn’t you done it before when it was the two of you? make it more.. intimate?

“the suspense is killing me.”

“i love you,” it’s rushed and you’re laughing to mask the fear in your voice. “in this lifetime and the next.”

“don’t get all soft on me now,” she jokes, leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek.

“don’t take to long, remember, we have to check out the house in the mountains.” you remind her as she leans in for a kiss.

“until the sun grows cold, [yourname].”

“—and the stars grow old,” you finished, taking your place between her and steve, eyeing the both of them before turning your attention to the center of the room.

“i’ll see you in a minute baby.”

2 HOURS PRIOR.

“I WANTED TO GIVE HER the ring my mother put in basket, before she passed.” you tell your queen, a sigh leaving your parted lips as you hear both frigga and thor laugh at your sudden confession. you’re almost tempted to kick the back of her son’s knee, but, you settle for a small grunt instead, pursing your lips into a thin line.

you loved natasha. and she loved you. not because you were some commander who’s led asgard into battle or worked as a council to odin. not because you’ve led asgard into victories or because men and women alike still pray to you before they go off into battle -

she loved you. the version of you that would walk the shorelines and keep a small jar of shells on your nightstand. the you that would tell her stories of all the universes you have traveled or of the stars you’ve slept under. the you that would take your time to braid her the way frigga would braid yours.

“so why haven’t you?”

“—you know why.” you answered. there’s a flicker of emotion in your eyes that frigga knows all too well, a gentle hand is placed against your cheek as you have to fight to not lean into. frigga wasn’t your mother - not biologically at least. but she’s watched you grow up. she’s watched you fight and tended to your wounds. she’s watched you fall apart and put yourself back together the day you lost a piece of yourself and went off again into battle.

you’ve spent your entire life fighting wars that weren’t yours. devoting lifetimes to a cause that you cared little for. you couldn’t remember the last time you had done something for yourself (the only reason you had came to earth to begin with, was to back up thor and retrieve loki). would it be wrong to do something for yourself for once? to live a life that wasn’t paved for you? to move on and let go of your previous lives?

“you deserve more than what you’ve been given [your name]. please do not let your past keep you from spending the rest of your life they way you have chosen.”

before you can respond - thor gives you a thumbs up, a way to tell you that he agrees with you. the two of you, were all that was left of your old home (besides valkyrie but, she hadn’t experienced what you and thor had) and you felt like you owed it to both frigga and odin to protect the only son they had left -

“the two of you will do great things. and i’m sure you have stories to tell me, but you are here to fix your future. not mine.” she tells you and thor, bringing the two of you in for one last embrace as you bury your face into her shoulder one last time. it’s bittersweet - she might not have been your mother by birthright but she was the closest thing you had to one. and it was painful to bid her goodbye again.

“take care of each other. i love you. the both of you.”

2 HOURS AFTER.

YOU’RE ENTIRE BODY IS NUMB. you’ve listened to thor’s plan on getting her back. you’ve listened to their cries and complaints - not once, not once had you spoken. you didn’t need to ask clint anything. you knew. you felt it. it felt like your heart had stopped beating - even if it was for just a few seconds. you knew. and there was no way you could bring her back. the guilt ridden archer had tried to approach you (as everyone else did) and you said nothing. your hands remained in your pockets as you looked out over the waters.

asgard had fallen. half of the universe. loki. heimdall. frigga and odin. hela. and now natasha. you don’t think you’d ever love again - not the way you loved natasha.

“[your name],” he approaches with caution, hands held up in his defense as he tries to get a feel of what your current mood was. which is why he keeps his distance at first (and honestly he thinks you might conjure up a weapon and throw it at him) but you say nothing. you can’t find the right words to express the pain in your chest -

“whatever we need to do to get her back. we will do it. together. you have my word.” he tells you, taking a few more steps until he’s only a few centimeters in front of you now. and still, you say nothing.

“it’s different,” you managed to say, biting at the inside of your cheek as you avoid the blonde’s gaze. “it feels like - it feels like, a part of me is missing. almost as if i am no longer whole.”

and he knows better than to interrupt you, if this is your moment to release your grief - he’d be here. whether it be your punching bag, your shoulder to cry on or ear to listen. he would be there - just like you had been there for him all the times before.

“i told her not to be the hero. i told her not to be the hero and she did it anyways - that’s my job. i’m the one who’s capable of healing. not her. she sacrificed herself knowing - knowing she wouldn’t come back.” you felt she was being selfish but deep down inside, you knew the reason why she had done it. and you would eventually come to terms with it but today was not that day.

16 HOURS AFTER.

“NATASHA WANTED ME TO GIVE—she wanted me to give this to you,” he chokes in the middle of his sentence, a closed fist is placed in your direction as wanda gives you a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder. you can’t manage to find the words not yet. you had spent the past day in a half trying to pick up whatever pieces of yourself remained. you knew you would outlive natasha - it’s a conversation that was very prominent in the relationship but never did you think it would be this soon.

when the cool metal reaches your calloused palms, you could feel your heart being ripped from your chest. you laugh. not because the funeral or the situation is funny but because it’s ironic. ironic how the two of you had the same idea yet neither of you would get to biting at the inside of you cheek as you reached in your pocket to take out the ring you were meant to give her. it’s ironic how the two of you both had the same idea -

“she said something. ‘with a love that shall not die—’”

“’till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old,” you’re shaking your head now, raising the ring into the light to reveal the words: until the next, engraved in it. it’s a real tear-jerker - you aren’t sure what’s keeping you from doubling over and screaming to whatever listened that you needed to have her back. it wasn’t fair. why is it that the universe had to be so cruel to you once more? was the loss of your home? your people? your first love? had that not been enough? had you not suffered enough?

but you couldn’t. you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. not anymore. “i guess this is my curse. maybe gods do not get happy endings.”

3 DAYS LATER.

“WILL YOU BE JOINING ME?” asked thor as the two of you overlooked new asgard. thor, who had his arms behind his back, turns to you to take in your new look. his eyes trail to the necklace (wanda had gifted you a small chain to wear both of the rings you and natasha were meant to gift to each other). you keep your arms folded across your chest, taking in the view one last time before turning to the god, a sad smile evident on your tired face.

“not this time i’m afraid your grace.” you replied, clearing your throat as you tried to find the right words to explain to him what lied ahead of you. “there’s a woman i must find. i sent my crows to aid the search but until then.. natasha and i were looking at a home, in the mountains, you know? we were going to get a dog and all that.”

“oh.”

“but i’m never too far. you know that.”

“i know. but it’s time we start forging our own fates isn’t it?”

you chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss against his forehead, a gesture that was very common in between the two of you. one that’s quickly followed by a bone crushing hug -

“be kind to yourself [your name]. i will be fine.”

“and you to yourself as well. the crows will always watch over you thor.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ⋆☾

TAG LIST,

@willowtree42095 ♡ @the-fandoms-georgie

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow x you #marvel x y/n #( i tried to portray this as best as i possibly could.#I THINK I CRIED A LITTLE BIT ADJHAJKDHA )#( i'm sure yall can guess if yall seen BW who she's going to go see #wink wink #i might even??? write that interaction??? no idea yet?? )#( natasha romanoff ) / * drabbles .

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abbysfrenchbraid · 4 years

Text

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 6

Masterlist / Playlist for this angsty mess

Eivor returns from her raid successfully and celebrations are in order. More drunk confessions.

Content Warning for alcohol/food consumption, blood, injury, intoxication

Inspo pic by @anaakeart

A Place in this World

As you left Valka’s hut, you could see people rushing down the hill toward the dock where a small crowd had gathered already. Sigurd and Randvi stood ready to greet Eivor and the other warriors. You arrived just in time to watch Eivor step on solid ground after all the others had already gotten on their way to the longhouse, surrounded by the singing and cheering people who had waited for them all day.

The blonde she-wolf looked exhausted but happy. The sight of her felt like a punch to your gut. She was covered in blood, her beautiful hair was dark and sticking together in thick strands, only her teeth flashing white in the light of the torches as she smiled at the few people left waiting for her.

“Eivor!” Sigmund greeted her, “You were successful!” They shook hands and hugged.

“Did you expect any less?” Eivor taunted him in her deep voice, laughing as he assured her of his confidence in her.

Her eyes brushed over Randvi and a strange expression flickered over her face, vanishing too quickly for you to grasp its meaning. Then her gaze met yours and again, she seemed to be fighting conflicting emotions. At last, she smiled and took a few steps toward you.

“Y/N! All your predictions proved true. You honored us greatly today.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed as Sigurd and Randvi both turned to look at you.

“Is that so?” Sigurd asked with raised eyebrows. “Then it seems that thanks are in order. We shall prepare a welcoming ritual for you to become a member of the Raven clan, if that is your wish.” He gave you a respectful nod and left for the longhouse. Randvi lingered just a moment longer, looking you and Eivor up and down, then she followed him.

Eivor had moved on to greet Valka and this time her face showed nothing but love and warmth. She hugged the healer tightly and pulled something from her pocket. It was a set of long claws on a string. Valka’s face lit up.

“Bear claws! I thought there were no more bears in these lands.” She took them and held them up to her face, inspecting them closely.

“Oh, I suspect the same,” Eivor said, “maybe this was the last one. The Steward wore it around his neck. It didn’t bring him much luck.” She smirked, not knowing how terrifying she looked, drenched in blood and dirt and smelling like death itself. Valka seemed to notice the same.

“Eivor, I mean no disrespect, but… I think you should wash before attending the feast. For your own good and everyone else’s sanity.”

The warrior looked confused for a second, then she laughed out loud and looked at her hands.

“You’re a wise woman, Valka. I should do that.” Her eyes darted to you for a second, then she nodded and laid a fist on her chest. “I will meet you at the longhouse, then.”

You both looked after her as she walked up to her hut, then Valka gently touched your arm.

“Let us celebrate. There is enough time to worry tomorrow or the day after. I think you’re even well enough to have some ale tonight.” She grinned at you and hooked her arm under yours, then you followed the trail of noise to the feast.

The feast was already in full swing; there was a big fire in the middle of the hall and people were eating and drinking, singing and dancing and praising Eivor's warriors for their victory. You quickly found Sfáva, the old cook who greeted you with great excitement. She gave you both plates with meat and vegetables and handed you two clay jugs, which were quickly filled by a young man responsible for the ale barrels. You sat down together at the front of a long table, right at the foot of Sigurd’s table.

You felt Randvi’s eyes on you again, but you decided to simply not waste any more time worrying about her tonight. While you felt genuinely sorry for the heartbreak she had been through, it was not your fault and should not control your life in the clan. So you raised your jug to Sigmund’s first toast of many that evening and emptied half of it in one go. Valka laughed at you and you both dug into your meal, hungry from the long day of talking and worrying.

A murmur went through the crowd when Eivor finally entered the hall. She was all clean now, her blonde, wet hair shining in the light of the torches, a few fresh braids taming the warrior’s mane. She wore the leather pants and a tunic you had repaired and a grey fur cape was draped over her shoulders to protect her from the cold. Her father’s ax and a longsword hung from a belt around her hips.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and found you, your hand that was holding a spoon stopping mid-air as you froze under her gaze. She seemed to take a deep breath and straighten up before coming toward you. She stopped next to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. Her touch burned your skin through the fabric of your tunic, anger and passion, sadness and excitement fighting a battle in your stomach. You felt your blood rush to your cheeks as you looked up at the blonde towering above you.

“Enjoy your meal, Y/N. You deserve it.” She squeezed your shoulder and winked at Valka before turning around and joining her brother at his table, conveniently sitting just a few feet away from you and facing you directly. You just stared at the tabletop and tried not to choke on your food, downing another jug of ale to get yourself to loosen up.

After a while, Sigurd rose to give another speech, this time with and for Eivor at his side. He had already drunk a considerable amount of mead and was slurring his words ever so slightly, but he managed to stay standing up for the whole speech.

“My dear Ravens, my warriors, and my wolf-kissed drengr ! You have made me proud today, proud to call you my clan! I want to thank each and every one of you who fought bravely today.” He raised his drinking horn to each of the people that had been involved in the raid. “I’m glad that we did not have to give away any of our warriors to Valhalla at Fort Winton. Together, we shall make England tremble!”

He swayed slightly as cheers erupted around the hall and Randvi stood up, supporting him with a hand on his back.

“Let us not forget the people who made this possible,” he continued. “My beautiful wife, Randvi, helped plan this raid and made sure our drengrs were well prepared!” He opened his mouth to continue, but Randvi cut him off.

“I thank you, Sigurd, but it was not only me that made this possible. We have to thank the English girl down there!” She pointed at you. “Her willingness to betray her people and tell us everything about their weaknesses enabled us to slice through them like a knife through butter today. Thank you, Y/N!”

Even though most people around you cheered and clapped for you, you felt nothing but white-hot shame and anger rise inside of you. How could she disgrace you like this, after everything you had done for her? Valka placed her hand on yours and shot you a warning look. Eivor had stayed silent and you could see out of the corner of your eye that her hands were balled up into fists. You risked a look at her and she met your gaze, shaking her head almost unnoticeably and telling you without words how sorry she was for Randvi’s behavior.

As soon as everyone had gone back to eating and talking, Eivor got up from the table, shot Randvi an icy look, and vanished into one of the back rooms. Randvi seemed unnerved, shuffling her feet as she waited for the right moment to get up as well. When one of the warriors came up to Sigurd to ask him something, she excused herself and went after Eivor. You and Valka exchanged a look, then she nodded.

You got up, took your empty jug, and quietly made your way toward the back of the hall. Keeping your head down, you passed a couple that was already half undressed in one of the alcoves and a man sitting on the floor and sleeping upright against the wall, his loud snores muffling your steps. Finally, you heard voices.

“-was the truth! I don’t trust her after she willingly betrayed her people and neither should you!”

“Do not speak to me of betrayal!” Eivor’s voice was cold. “Ever since she arrived here, you have been on a warpath. Can’t you accept that something is not about you for once?”

“Eivor -” Randvi sounded desperate. “I don’t mean any harm, you know that. I just want to protect you. This girl, something is wrong about her. Why did she give up so easily?”

“Because her fucking master made her life a living hell, that is why! Here she finally had a chance to be treated with respect. But it seems you won’t grant her that, you won’t leave her in peace nor will you finally let me go!” Eivor kicked something and it crashed through the room. You pressed yourself into your corner and held your breath.

“Eivor.” Randvi suddenly spoke sweetly, her voice endearing. “Don’t act like you actually want that. We belong together, last night proved that yet again.” Eivor huffed at her words.

“Last night was a grave mistake. I was drunk and you caught me off guard outside. I admit that it felt good for the moment, but as soon as I left I knew I should not have given in. You have to accept my decision.” Eivor sighed. When she continued, she just sounded terribly sad and exhausted. “I do not love you anymore. And I cannot betray Sigurd any longer. Why can’t we part gracefully and accept that our time together has come to an end? Why are you fighting this losing battle?”

There was silence for a moment and you were about to hurry off when you heard a sob. Randvi was crying.

“I can’t, Eivor, I can’t lose you. You are the only person who has ever understood me, who has made me feel complete and made my life worth living. I am no one without you, nothing but an empty shell. I cannot bring myself to let you go. The pain of loving you is tearing me apart, but I still dread the pain of letting you go too much to loosen my grip.”

Your heart dropped at her words. She loved Eivor deeply, and she was acting out of desperation. That was why she had treated you like this. Eivor the Heartbreaker. Randvi’s crying sounded muffled now, maybe Eivor was holding her to soothe her. Then Randvi cleared her throat.

“I will try to treat the English girl fairly from now on. She has no idea what she stumbled into and it is not her fault.” A weight lifted off your chest at her words. “But Eivor, promise me this: do not make any rash decisions and be careful who you trust. Do not hurt me on purpose, I beg you. Give me time and stay by my side through this. I cannot live without you.”

When Eivor next spoke, she was also crying.

“Oh Randvi, what cruel fate have the Gods given us? I wish it was not so, I never wished to cause you any sorrow. I promise I won’t leave you, but I can’t be with you anymore. What happened between us is over and I sincerely hope” - she gasped for air - “that we can continue to be the close friends we always were. I don’t want to lose you either.”

You had heard enough. Slowly, you backed away from the dark room and made your way to Sfáva, thanking her for the great meal and filling up your jug. As you turned toward the open hall, you noticed that Valka was no longer sitting at your table and nowhere to be seen. You had a feeling that she had snuck away with her lover again and smiled into your ale at the thought. Looking up, you saw Randvi sitting down at the table again, her face turned away from Sigurd as she emptied her drinking horn in one swig.

You jumped when Eivor suddenly appeared next to you. Her eyes were glazed and her lashes still wet, but she tried to gave you a brave smile.

“How have you been, little bird?” The sight of her face and the hope in her eyes twisted your stomach and almost made you bend over in pain. You swallowed hard.

“Good. I spent the day with Valka. I’m healing.”

Eivor nodded and stared into her drinking horn.

“I just wanted to say -” she gave you a quick look, then she turned fully toward you. “I am deeply grateful for your help in this. We would have fought much longer and suffered many losses, had you not prepared us for this day. Thank you.”

She reached out a hand for you and then stopped, letting it fall to her side. Following her movement with your eyes, you suddenly noticed a fresh blood stain forming on her hip below her belt, hidden by the handle of the ax. You immediately forgot all your resentment and sorrow and stepped closer, lifting the heavy ax to inspect her side.

“Eivor - are you hurt?”

She gently took the weapon from your hands and let it fall back down, flinching when its weight pulled on the belt and pressed against her wound.

“It’s nothing, sweet Y/N. Just a scratch. The man that caused it paid with his life.” She took a swig of mead and looked around the room.

“They are celebrating my victory, yet I do not feel vindictive at all. Everything feels muted today.”

You were at a loss for words. What could you possibly say that would make her feel better without giving away what you knew? And after all, she had hurt you, too. So you just hummed in approval and shuffled your feet, waiting for her to say something.

The silence between you got longer and more uncomfortable until suddenly a younger member of the clan stumbled drunkenly toward you. Eivor caught him with one hand before he could land in your arms or run you into the ground.

“Get it together, Norvid,” she hissed and gave him a shove toward his friend that had come after him and was laughing loudly.

“Sorry, Eivor. Milady.” The drunk man bowed to you before his friend dragged him away. His words confused you. Milady? Was he mocking you? Was this the result of Randvi’s side blow against you earlier? You sighed and were actually thankful when you spotted Lewin, the butcher from Williamsburg that had taken up work here, too.

You excused yourself with a nod toward Eivor, then you rushed to join your old companion. He was happy to see you and introduced you enthusiastically to his new friends. He told you that Aelfric and Hal were at the stables to check on the horses and get their new dice game. They were going to be back soon.

When they returned, you all dutifully marveled at the board and dice the men had whittled themselves, then Hal explained the rules. After a few rounds, you joined in, too. To the other men’s surprise, you quickly got the hang of it and started beating them in every game. After you had made them get you more ale and stripped them of their coin and a small wooden bird Aelfric had carved today, you willingly backed off and watched the others play.

Even though you did not dare to turn your head toward the back of the hall, you could hear Eivor’s rough baritone a few times, then came her drunk laughter, getting louder as the evening progressed. The sound of it still stung. You wished you could talk to Valka about the conversation you had overheard, but she did not return. Maybe she had gone to bed; you knew she was not really a person for big celebrations.

You had eaten enough to build a base for all the ale you were drinking. Even though you felt a bit lightheaded, you were not even close to drunkenness. Years of drinking hard burned liquor with the other servants at night had built up your tolerance and you and the three others from Williamsburg could not help but laugh at the state some of the Vikings were in. Maybe you could try to make your infamous barley spirit and test its effect on a few selected warriors. Valka probably had the equipment needed for brewing more than just ale.

When you went to fill up your jug, you noticed Eivor talking to Sváfa behind the hearth fire. They were sitting on the bench and speaking Norwegian, a language that still had not opened its doors to you. They both looked up with an expression like you had caught them in the middle of something. You just smiled and shrugged, turning your back to them and asking for a refill from the boy at the barrel.

As you turned back around, Eivor was standing directly in front of you. You could feel her warm breath on your face, smelling of ale and the dried fruit she had been sharing with Sfáva. It made your heart crumble like burned coals. You could almost feel the pieces drop to the bottom of your stomach and disintegrate into fine ashes as you waited for her to speak.

“Little bird.” She was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed from drinking again. “Can I speak to you in private for a moment?”

You nodded and she took your hand, pulling you with her into an alcove. Her touch sent shockwaves up your arm, fading away in the hollow of your chest where they only found the burned remnants of your heart.

“Y/N, I think I have made it obvious in the time we have had together so far that I have unusually strong feelings toward you. I was unsure of their meaning, but I know now.”

She swayed back and forth and had to lean sideways against the wall to still herself. Her eyes were glossy and almost blank, but a desperate desire was buried deep within them.

“Little bird, I cannot bear the moments in which you are not by my side. You are on my mind no matter what I am doing, even in battle.”

Her hand instinctively moved to the now big and visible bloodstain on her tunic. What was that supposed to mean? You spoke without thinking.

“Did the thought of me distract you from your task? Am I to blame for your wound?”

“Oh, Gods no. No blame lies with you. For anything.” She furrowed her brows, leaning closer.

“You are the reason I’m still standing. You brought me luck and glory today.” Her voice got quiet and she placed a hand on your good cheek. “You were sent to me by the Gods, it is meant to be.”

Before you could even realize what was even happening, her mouth was on yours. You were stunned for a moment, completely encased by her warmth and the softness of her lips. Slowly coming back to your senses, you placed your hands on her chest and gently pushed her away from you.

Her head fell forward and her mouth hung open. When she raised her head, she looked confused.

“Little bird…” she mumbled, holding onto your shoulders to stay upright. “Come to me…”

“Eivor, I can’t do this now. You’re drunk.” Your throat closed up and you were on the verge of crying.

Pull it together. Be strong! You took a deep breath.

“Eivor! We’re going to go back to your hut now and I’m going to help you to bed. Understood?” You gave your best commanding tone and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, supporting her weight with all your strength. “Come on, now.”

You stepped out of the dark alcove and into the hall. Most of the other people were just as drunk as Eivor, stumbling around or already sleeping on the tables. When you looked up to the front table, your eyes met Randvi’s. You could see the silent pain in her eyes. She held your gaze for a moment, then she nodded almost unnoticeably and looked away. Eivor the Heartbreaker .

You made it out of the hall without further distractions and met Lewin outside. He understood immediately and grabbed Eivor’s other arm to support her from the other side. The large woman was already half asleep between you. You steered her toward her hut and opened the door with your foot, then the two of you maneuvered her inside and laid her down on the bed. You thanked Lewin and he left for the longhouse again.

Whispering an apology to Birna, you pulled off Eivor’s boots and the fur that was fastened around her shoulders before covering her with a thin blanket. What now? Should you sleep here, next to Eivor?

You needed some space to think, so you slipped out of the hut again, Birna following you silently and vanishing into the bushes. You sat down on a tree trunk next to the cabin and hugged your knees to your chest, letting your eyes wander over all the wooden houses with their white roofs and the torches lighting the pathways. You could hear the laughter and singing from the longhouse in the distance, but the silence of the snow in the woods behind you was louder. It encased you and carried you away, finally granting you some peace of mind. After a while, the cat came back and jumped into your arms. You held her close.

This day had overwhelmed you with too many new ideas, stories, and possibilities, too much knowledge you did not know how to use. You and Eivor were destined to be together, you knew it and she felt it, too. There would be difficult times, this being one of them, on your path together. Eivor had to let go of Randvi irrevocably and Randvi had to step away from both of you. Eivor needed to figure out what she wanted and learn to express herself without being blackout drunk, to hold herself accountable for her actions, and to fight for what she wanted.

You did not know what exactly the future would bring, but for now, you decided to stay at Eivor’s side. Today more than ever she had shown you how terribly lost she was and how she longed to find and be found. Maybe you could pull her back on the path destined for her. She had given you a new life full of possibilities, it was only fair that you tried to help her find her way, too.

Pressing Birna to your chest, you got up and quietly entered the hut again. You placed your shoes under the bed and took off your coat, then you slipped under the heavy quilt and made space for the cat who curled up against your chest. There was love for you here. You would fight like hell to find it.

#eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #eivor wolfsmal x reader #eivor wolfkissed x reader #eivor #lady eivor #eivor wolfsmal #female eivor #f!eivor x reader #ac valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla #assassins creed valhalla #fanfiction #angst

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typical-simplelove · 3 years

Text

Always in My Jacket Pocket - 40s Series (A. Beauvillier)

Summary:

Photo Inspo

Series Masterlist

A/n: This is one of my favorites of the entire series, so I hope you enjoy it!! I think the photo I used is of a return, not a farewell, but oh well! It was super cute and romantic, so I don't really think it matters. Please, let me know what you thought!!

Warnings: Mentions of war, Battle of Iwo Jima, death, bullets,

Word Count: 1.2k

Italics are flashbacks

March 30, 1945

“You should be lucky and grateful that you’re alive,” Anders tells Anthony. Sitting in a hospital bed after the Battle of Iwo Jima, Anthony’s captain, Anders, is trying to boost Anthony’s happiness. Yes, Anthony is lucky and grateful to be alive; however, in the process, he lost something very important to him.

“I know, I know,” Anthony remarks. “Everyone is okay, though?”

Anders nods. “Yeah, you’ve got the worst of it with a ricochet bullet to your leg.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, look, I know it sucks that you lost that photo of Yn, but remember this. At this rate, we’re going to probably be invading Japan soon, and that means we’ll be home within the year at the latest. You’ll be going home soon, and, worse comes to worst, you could always write her asking for another photo. I’m sure she’ll love to send you another one.”

Anthony nods sadly. “I know, but that was my favorite photo of her.”

“Just write to her. She’s not going to say no to you because you are fighting a war. I’ve lost a few photos of Grace and Ruby, but Grace is always willing to send more, so I need you to trust me when I tell you it’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure you ri—”

“Beau! Beau!” Mathew interrupts running in out of breath. “This is for you.”

Anthony takes it out of his friend’s hand. “What is it?”

“Just look at it,” Mathew says taking another deep breath. “I ran all the way here because I figured you needed it considering how many times you pull it out from your jacket pocket to stare at it.”

Anthony brushes off the first and gasps when he sees what it is — it’s the photo that Anthony thought he lost forever. “How did you find it?”

“It must have fallen out when you were reaching into your pocket for a bandage to stop the bleeding,” Mathew begins to explain. “It’s obviously been stepped on a lot, but it’s here. I found it while we were digging graves for the men who died.”

“Barzy, thank you so much for this; you have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you,” Anthony thanks.

“Considering how much your mood boosted, I think it’s safe to say we kind of know,” Anders pipes in. “We’ll check on you in a bit, but you have to get better soon because we could use your skill out there.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be out as soon as they say I’m ready,” Anthony salutes. As Anders and Mathew walk away, Anthony smiles and reminisces in the memory of the photo.

You were wearing that white dress that Anthony loved so much. He didn’t ask you to wear it, but you knew that he loved when you wore it, so you thought it’d be best to give Anthony something to make him happy. You walked hand in hand with Anthony as you and his family walked him to the train that was to take Anthony to the boat that would take him to the war in the Pacific.

You stood to the side idly as Anthony said goodbye tearfully to his family. You watched as his mother swiped away tears, and Anthony does the same. You watch as Anthony’s dad holds his son tightly as he whispers something into Anthony’s ear. You watch as Anthony’s brother shakes Anthony’s hand before they embrace in a hug. He’d be shipping out soon. You watch as they all do one final group hug before Anthony turns to you — the hardest goodbye of them all.

“Yn,” Anthony says with a smile. He’s trying to hide the tears that are trying to fall from his eyes.

“Anthony,” you tell him softly with the same smile. You try to hide the tears, but they fall anyways. Anthony wipes them away and looks down at you. He wraps his arms around you and embraces you into a giant hug.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Anthony whispers into your ear. He’d talk louder but then he knows the tears would for sure begin to fall from his eyes. “I’m not going to leave you; I will forever be by your side, okay?”

You remove your head slightly from where it’s rested on his chest to look into his piercing blue eyes. Would they come back clouded with the horrors of war? “Yeah, we’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere, either, okay?”

Anthony places a kiss on your lips softly. It was salty with your tears. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Beau.”

He places one last kiss on your forehead before he drops his hands to walk away. “Bye, Yn, I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Beau.”

Anthony walks eight feet away from you before he turns around. Instantly, you’re both running to each other, and your lips crash onto each others’. Anthony wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up so your legs leave the ground. You lift them up behind you as you and Anthony give each other one last kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck hoping to get as close to him as possible. You and Anthony would have stood there kissing each other had the train conductor not blown the horn signaling five minutes until departure.

Anthony breaks the kiss slowly before putting you down. “I love you so much, Yn.”

The tears escape your eyes again as you respond. “I love you so much, too, Anthony. Come home to me, okay?”

Anthony nods. He knows it’s not a guarantee, so he doesn’t audibly tell you anything. He can’t make a promise to you that he isn’t sure if he can keep.

You rejoin Anthony’s family, and his mother wraps an arm around you as you stand there watching him walk away. He’ll come home to you, right?

Someone must have taken a photo of the two of you kissing because when Anthony opened a letter from you almost a month and a half later, the picture fell out. Little did you know that when you sent the letter, it would become Anthony’s most prized possession. He took the photo and put it in his jacket pocket. Each morning, he’d take it out and look at it. He would be reminded of the way it felt for your lips to be on his, for his arms to be around you. He would remember and smile at the memory of him holding you. He would remember the way you’d run your fingers through his hair. He’d remember the way that your eyes would stare into his piercing blue eyes as if you could see his entire soul and world. Anthony would remember your smile and laugh and how it would make the entire world disappear. He wasn’t sure if he’d be coming home to you, but he knew that he’d always hold this photo of you close to his heart because you were always close to his heart, and the photo always sat in his jacket pocket.

Taglist: @goalision @coffee-ontherocks @glassdanse @barzal-burakovsky @beauvibaby @boqvistsbabe @heatherawoowoo @heaveniish @stars-canucks @tkapuckit @mellany1997 @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @heybarzy @2manytabsopen @habsfan @besthockeyfics @plds2000 @kaitieskidmore1 @iwantahockeyhimbo @sidscrosbyy @barzysandmarnersbitch @ollywahlygator @leafs-forever @laurenairay @no-pucks-given @sixmapleleafs @davopuck @thebestoffanfiction (Join my taglist here!)

#anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey imagine #new york islanders imagine #new york islanders fic #new york islanders x reader #claudia writes

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kueble · 4 years

Note

Cute Christmas prompt if you're feeling angst-to-fluff and need some inspo. The song "No Christmas for Me" by Zee Avi. Geraskier obvs.

I love you, but I am not good at angst and you know that. I did my best. The song was a great prompt, though! Disclaimer - don’t take relationship advice from fic lol.

---

There won't be eggnogs by the cozy fire / There won't be glasses of mulled wine either / There won't even be a Christmas tree / cause you're not here to light it up with me

Jaskier picks up his glass and takes a gulp of the sweet white wine. He cringes as the heat of it hits the back of his throat, vowing to sip slower next time. But who is he kidding? His life is a fucking mess and he deserves every bit of pain he’s met with. He wipes at his eyes, always on the verge of tears lately.

Two years. Two long loving years spent with Geralt and they’ve separated over such a stupid fight. Jaskier looks down in his lap, his fingers clutching last year’s Christmas card to his chest. They look so happy it hurts. Geralt is wearing reindeer antlers and he has a Santa hat on his head. Roach has a red and green collar around her neck and is doing her best impression of Grumpy Cat. Just looking at it makes his chest ache. He tosses it onto the coffee table and takes another sip of his wine.

There’s an empty space in the corner of their apartment and he glares at the walls like it’s their fault he’s alone. Last year they went out and cut down their own tree, Geralt showing off his strength once they found the perfect one. They bought a cheesy little tree skirt at Target and a ton of brightly colored ornaments and went all out. The tree is still in the closet and Jaskier can’t bring himself to put it up. Why bother when he’s just going to spend the day alone?

Roach’s cat tree is empty, too. This time last year he’d been fighting with her while trying to wrap presents. Half of the gifts he’d handed out had tiny claw marks in the paper. He misses his feisty little angel, but she belongs to Geralt. He obviously took her with him when he stormed out, saying they needed some space and time to cool off.

He sets down his glass and presses his palms to his eyes, pushing hard enough to see colors burst in the darkness. He takes a gasping breath, his whole body shaking with it, and curls up on himself. He’s such an idiot. This is all his fault and he fucking hates that. Sleep seems like a better option than crying, so he lays down and grabs the blanket from the back of the couch. He hugs it to himself, wishing it were Geralt instead. He can’t even bring himself to sleep in their bed and has spent the past two weeks moping on the couch.

This is getting ridiculous, even for him.

As he falls asleep, he replays the fight in his head, making different choices until things work out and Geralt doesn’t stomp off into the night. It’s all he has right now. Maybe after this Christmas nonsense is over he can apologize and plead his case and make things right again.

---

Jaskier dreams of Geralt, dreams that he’s holding him, that he’s surrounded by his scent. His eyes flutter open and he sniffs at the air. It’s almost like he can smell the soft bergamot and salt water of his cologne. Then he realizes there’s a hand in his hair and he shouts, jumping up wildly, arms swinging as he sits up.

“I’m sorry!” Geralt cries out, holding up his hands palms-out at him. He’s crouching down next to the coffee table and looks almost as bad as Jaskier feels.

“Jesus Christ,” Jaskier mumbles sleepily, laughing as he runs a shaking hand through his messy hair. “You scared me to death. Did you uh...did you forget something?”

“It’s two in the morning on Christmas Eve. I’m here because I couldn’t sleep,” Geralt admits, dragging out the words. He cringes and reaches out, his hand hovering questioningly over Jaskier’s thigh.

“I didn’t mean it,” Jaskier whispers. Geralt brings his hand down, just rests it on Jaskier’s thigh, and the warmth of it brings him hope.

“Things got heated. We both said things I’m sure we didn’t mean. But...I need you to know you’re it for me. I’m not in love with Yen, no matter how much time we spend together. It hurts when you accuse me of it. She’s my best friend and she’ll always be part of my life,” Geralt tells him.

“I know that. I really do. I just, look, we both know my head can get stupid sometimes. I usually have a handle on my insecurities, but you spent four Saturdays in a row with her! With no explanation, just a shady excuse each time. What was I supposed to think?” Jaskier asks, even though he realizes how stupid it sounds. Yen and Geralt had a history, but it had been over for years. There had to be a reasonable explanation for his boyfriend’s behavior, but he hadn't given the man time to get it out.

“Yeah, I definitely fucked that up. So no more lying?” Geralt asks, waiting for Jaskier to nod at him. “Yen was helping me pick this out.” He takes a small black box out of his coat pocket, and Jaskier’s eyes go wide as he holds it out to him. He’s trembling when he takes it and opens it up to reveal a thick gold band with a diamond and several sapphires set in it.

“Do you still want to?” Jaskier manages to choke out as he stares down at the ring. God, he’s a fucking idiot. How could he ever doubt this wonderful man in front of him.

“If you’re willing to forgive me for the world’s worst proposal, yeah...I’d still like it.”

“I haven’t heard a question yet,” Jaskier says, smirking as he brings his gaze up to meet Geralt’s. He looks less crazy, less wild, and he grins back at Jaskier.

“Will you marry me, Julian?” Geralt asks softly.

“Yes, of course I will,” Jaskier confirms, watching in awe as Geralt picks up the ring and slides it onto his finger. It fits perfectly, and he lets out another sob, but it’s happy this time. He grabs Geralt - his fiancé - by the collar and drags him forward, kissing him harshly. They’re both crying into the kiss, but it feels like coming home, like everything will be ok again. Jaskier supposes everyone deserves a Christmas miracle at least once in their lifetime. Geralt climbs onto his lap, and Jaskier knows they still have work to do, but for now they just hold each other.

---

Tags: @honeysuckletook @eya-trying-to-function @halerune

If you'd like to be added or removed from my tags please let me know.

#my fic #geraskier #it ends happy #because this is me #come on #modern au #winter prompts #i dont hate this but i dont love it #the witcher

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

A heart in stealth mode: (Cara Dune x fem!reader)

Summary: Cara has been fighting for so long she doesn’t know how to let her guard down. Your love, though? That crept up on her.

Author’s note: my FIRST TIME writing for my space wife so PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK?! I wanted this to be angsty + hazy + romantic and hope I pulled it off but who knows? EDIT: This was written b4 the G*na drama. I like the fic, so I’m keeping it up, but may not write any more for the character, sadly.

Mood songs / song quote inspo:You can't start a fire / You can't start a fire without a spark / This gun's for hire / Even if we're just dancin' in the dark- Dancing in the Dark, Eddie Berman

You take it all for granted, then you leave / And then it takes a while to realise what you need / If never you find what you're looking for / Come on back to the front porch - Front Porch, Joy Williams

Word Count: 5.5k(ish). It got long, I’m sorry.

Warnings: 18+ for the smut. F/f: vaginal fingering; oral; strap-on penetration. Language. One reference to a character death. As usual, angst and typos.

Tagging: @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol, @darksideofclarke, @lokiaddicted, @mandoplease, @misssamx, @courageinthemidst

GIF: by @fataldusk

She had fallen from the heavens quite unlike an angel, leaping fearlessly from a metal mouth and tearing through the Endorian sky, parachute wings cascading behind her. She met the ground already in motion, already ferocious and flanked by her squad, combat boots pounding the ground like the clamour of horses’ hooves. She was muscle and brawn and power and thunder, and you had never seen anyone so beautiful. In that, Carasynthia Dune was alike to an angel. An angel sent to your planet to tear down warlords and dismiss them to hell.

You had caught her off-guard. Not many people could do that. Your stealthy, light feet had picked a careful path through the forested terrain, tailing her squad as their route threatened to encroach on your camp. Your upper hand has lasted only as long as her surprise before strong arms held you. Still, whilst you were the one flipped, grappled and pinned, the instant the shock trooper looked into your eyes you had a hold over her more inescapable than any she’d known.

Even as she pinned you, you couldn’t help but be enthralled by her bright brown eyes and the sweep of her raven hair. You couldn’t help but enjoy the weight of her settled on top of you, her muscular legs straddling your hips, your arms pinned over your head, and a mossy cushion of earth at your back. You had gone through the motions of struggling ineffectually against her, until you were simply squirming beneath her for the hell of it. Just to feel her clamp down on you.

“Stealthy, for sure. Strong, for your size,” Cara had assessed. “But you’re not a fighter, are you, Princess?” she had asked, eyes bright and inquisitive as she surveyed your civilian clothing. You clearly weren’t an Imp, and you had a rifle which you’d neglected to use. That had told her you were far too trusting to be any kind of soldier.

“More of a lover,” you had half-smiled as she tightened her grip on you. “But I usually like it a little more gentle,” you had purred, arms straining against her grip and not knowing what had come over you.

She had narrowed her eyes at you in interest, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. Once you had talked yourselves allies, Cara finally released you, though her hold on you was never truly relinquished either, beyond that moment.

During the months that followed, your community’s humble camp had provided safe haven to the shock troopers. They had fanned out to surrounding villages to take out the warlords who had driven you from your homes in the first place. Forced you to hunker in tents and hide like animals. Between missions, Cara’s squad had returned to your base for healing, of whatever kind you could offer.

If wasn’t long before Cara’s wolfish gaze had begun to find you in the nightly fire glow. It wasn’t long before she had sought out your gentle hands to bind her wounds, your tentative touch brushing against a bared thigh or an arm or a stomach. Your eyes trailing over bust lips and fingertips over bruised cheeks, generating all that heat under the guise of healing. You had felt like a flare every time she looked at you, your desire exposed like a raw fuse line. You felt like metal becoming molten in a forge, every interaction with her stoking this fire in you. She had you ready to be remade and remoulded to fit around her body, as snug as the armour which hugged her shapely contours.

There had been no wooing; there was no convincing to be done - no resolve to chip away at. Cara had no pretences and you had no reservations. Instead, there were knowing smiles. There was you, teetering on the edge of her, always in her orbit, eyes tracking her as though she were a mark. Cara knew fine well what you wanted and she wanted it too. She didn’t like dancing around things. She was a soldier, and she preferred a clear mission. She preferred to act. To be in motion. To talk with her body.

The first night it happened, Cara had been seated on a felled log, legs splayed wide and feet planted, elbows resting on her knees. Her body was hunched yet poised, as though she could spring into action at any moment, if she needed to. She had caught you looking, gaze trailing keenly over the solid mass of her, defined arms and thick thighs and a certain fullness you enjoyed. She had openly appraised you in return, letting you know she liked what she saw too. Casually, looking half-amused the whole while, she had polished off the dregs of her beer before setting the bottle down. Then she had stood, heading away from the commotion of the camp. You simply watched her, tracking towards the clearing where the tents were pitched, until she turned back towards you, with a tilt of her head to beckon you over to her.

“You coming?”

The glint in her eyes and her confident smirk had your stomach tied-up in knots, and yet you had tried to play it cool as you padded towards her, despite the flush rising in your cheeks and the giddy grin which spread over your face the moment she wrapped her arm firmly around your waist, leading you to her pitch.

She had guided you into the cramped tent by the hand, making your humble surroundings feel positively regal. Your bodies had no choice but to press against one another as you settled down on the mats. Cara had laid on her back, arms folded behind her head, a cocked eyebrow and a disarming smile inviting you to make the first move.

Eagerly, you had crawled right on top of her, straddling her hips and pressing your palms to her folded elbows. Cara had laughed musically, her eyes creasing, when you had suggested you had her pinned, this time. You both knew already - it was a foregone conclusion that Cara was going to take control- but, still, she had humoured you.

“You’ve got me in your snare alright, huntress,” she insisted earnestly, her eyes blazing. “I think I’m a goner.”

You had become entirely bashful in response, that irresistible, half-amused smile cracking her face again as you fumbled for words and helplessly fluttered your eyelashes at her.

“So. Now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” Cara had purred with an impossibly sweet smile, her voice dropping lower in her throat and her eyes trained on your lips and your breasts which were thrust towards her as you maintained your position.

“You’re too hot to kiss,” you had breathed. “I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”

She had shifted an arm free from you to lift a palm to your face, trailing fingers over your cheek and sweeping her touch over your hair.

“I’ll be gentle with you, beautiful,” Cara had promised, a hard swallow bobbing in her throat.

“Don’t be,” you had challenged, and something about the combination of your shyness and boldness made her eyes become so wolfish they practically growled at you.

As the lust gathered in your darkening eyes in return, Cara had lurched her head up like a sprung trap. She had captured your faraway lips and you had sunk down to meet her, mouths melding and tongues trying to fold themselves into one like molten metal. There was a rising heat as you melted into the kiss. That heat like a forge, reshaping you and fitting you to her every contour as your bodies merged; became liquid.

She had rocked you in the depths of the jungle, in the sticky night, sweat beading like jewels embroidered on your skin. Her reverent touch had made you feel royal, even when you had nothing but your wits and your rifle to call your own. She whispered “my Princess” into the shell of your ear, the words like the breeze parting leaves in the dark depths of night. Like the fingers plunging to part your folds in the dense black. You had whimpered rhythmically for her like the cicadas and crooned for her like a songbird. Your sounds had seemed to fill the whole expansive space of the forest, from whispers in thick grasses to wails in the canopy, even as your tent enclosed you both, barely wider than your bodies writhing there. Never has anyone felt so transcendent when so close to the ground, you could swear.

After that first time, those hot, sticky embraces kept coming. You had collided, and now there was nothing you could do but release the energy like a storm. You had pleasured each other until she growled like thunder on top of you. Until you jolted like lightning beneath her. Together, you had equalled a squall which could sway the outer reaches of the forest, and you raged until you were spent. Until there was nothing left but calm in the centre of it all.

At times, she had taken you gently, rolling you on top of her, your back flush to her pillowy chest, her knees coming between yours and spreading your thighs until they strained from being parted. She had slid her hand to your folds, her touch beginning on your clit as soft and rhythmic as the patter of a raindrop. Then, her touch would build you up until your pleasure was akin to a waterfall tumbling from a cliff edge - enough force to erode mountains. Her fingers had curled into you; two then three of them filling you up while she held you firmly in place, until she had you spasming in the throes of pleasure, your arousal trickling down beyond you to coat her stomach and thighs, merging with her own heat.

She had always showered you in praise and compliments, breathing pretty words into your ear in the near dark until you felt like you could take no more.

“So perfect. You’re so beautiful. I know you’re beautiful when you come for me. Show me. Show me. Show me. That’s it, Princess.”

Sometimes she was rougher, when you wanted it, topping you all brawn and ferocity and as thunderous as the day you saw her fall from the sky. Sometimes the strap-on she looked so damn good in would slam you, skin slapping against yours as you gripped Cara’s muscular arms either side of you, your biting fingers ensnaring her like the barbs of a trap and refusing to release. You had been enthralled by the way her breasts would bounce and undulate with each motion, until she would pin her body flush to yours and almost crush you with the force of her, buckles and straps digging in at your hips until it stung. You hadn’t cared. You had liked it. When you were close, Cara would dip her lips to you, her tongue twining with yours and her sweep of raven hair brushing over your face and neck like feathers, the softness of her sending you over that edge as you wrapped your limbs around her, clinging on for dear life as she hit your sweet spot until you whited-out.

It was rare that she had let you take control, and when she did you would make the most of it. When you’d come down from your high you would keenly trail your mouth over every inch of her. You had marked her neck and dragged your tongue over her collarbone. You had sucked her nipples into your mouth and circled your tongue languidly around the peaks of her. You had sunk your mouth to her heat to taste how wet it had made her to fuck you, your tongue lapping and writhing against her folds, fingers finding purchase again like wolf’s claws digging into her full thighs. From the way she would moan for you as you dipped your tongue towards her entrance, you’d think you had wrestled her into submission. You’d think she was powerless against you. Perhaps that’s how she truly felt when you had made her come undone.

No matter how she took you, afterwards Cara would always hold you. You had spooned and you had nuzzled your head into her breasts, or across her thighs, seeking out all the softness of her. You had traced your fingertips over her body and learned every muscle and every scar so well you could find them in the dark. You had gazed into her pretty eyes in the low lamplight and you had spiralled. Spiralled into her. Into her beauty and brawn and the way she had rocked you and held you in that sticky night.

Then, abruptly, after a string of nights like this, it was time for her to move on.

On your last night you had teased, “I bet you have a lover in every camp.” Cara had shaken her head, looking tortured as she replied, “No. No, there’s only you.”

You had cried in the morning when she said her goodbyes to you, and she had tugged you into her chest and wrapped you in her strong arms. She had walked away with what remained of her depleted squad and you had simply watched her go, half expecting her to turn around with a tilt of her head -like she had that night- and ask “You coming?”.

But she didn’t look back. Carasynthia Dune couldn’t bear to.

Cara was a soldier. She preferred a clear mission with a clear exit strategy. This time, she had neglected to plan how she might leave with her heart intact. You though, you were a builder, a protector. You had made a home here for this community, however humble, and you had kept them safe. You had done the same for Cara too. It turned out you had caught the shock trooper off-guard in more ways than one. She had never expected to fall so hard for you, but your love had crept up on her and had never stopped tailing her since.

It was years until you saw her next. Until she had begun visit you in your wooden house out on some Sargon backwater. You were barely surprised the first time she showed up with a firm knock on your door, all muddied combat boots and charming smile as she stood shyly on your wraparound porch, chancing that you would greet her like an old friend and not an enemy.

Cara had been a mercenary by then, an Alliance tattoo on her cheek, and you had sat out on your porch for hours. You had talked and smiled and drank tea and circled the inevitability of it until your hands had accidently brushed, and even as your breath stalled in your chest Cara was already on you. You had practically climbed her in need before you fell to the floor together in the doorway, not even making it inside before you unravelled your clothes and each other.

She had still held you afterwards. Had wrapped you up in her warmth and kissed your hairline and whispered how much she had missed you. You had missed her words curling in the pit of you. Had missed all of her, in fact.

From then on, Cara would come and visit whenever her missions allowed her to return to this sorry backwater you so loved. Sometimes, in the night, she had whispered her dreams to you in the dark. Pretty words about retiring and starting anew. But, like all dreams, they always faded in the stark light of day. She had always left you with the rise of the sun, as if she could only dance with you in the dark. Like fire glow, which licks idly and prettily at shadow, and whose display dissipates with daylight.

Sometimes, she rocked-up fresh from a bloody excursion, bloody herself and looking outwardly like a wolf fresh from a kill. Behind the armour though, you knew this strong, ferocious woman came to you delicate and quaking like the wings of a dragonfly, her rabbit heart fluttering and nervous as your gentle hands deftly tended to her wounds.

Years ago, you would have always suggested that it was you who was the rabbit and she the wolf. However, you had always been hungry and bold with your love. It was Cara who had been flighty and nervous in matters of the heart. She didn’t like to feel exposed. To feel weak. And you? You made her melt.

When she already felt vulnerable, after battle, she had both sought you out for comfort and shrunk back from you all at once. She needed to bask in your warmth, but she also feared that your licking flames might burn if she came too close whilst too open. Over the years, she had built up her defences, and try as you might you could no longer peel them away. Whenever you moulded to her body she was always wearing armour of some form. Always trying to hold you at arm’s length in some kind of way.

Cara would pleasure you and hold you still, but she wouldn’t allow you to touch her. She wouldn’t let you have her liquid beneath you. If she became molten, how would she ever put herself back together? You had softened her like nothing else, and defenceless is the last thing a solider wants to feel. She had seemingly forgotten the softness of those nights in the forest, when you had stripped every kind of armour away from her, and still, you could never deny her when she came to you, because you hoped and hoped that somehow you might revive her heart, buried as it was beneath her breast plate. You hoped that you might light the fuse and revive the love hiding there in the dark.

One particularly sticky night in the Sargon summer, Cara had come to you after months apart, troubled and unnervingly quiet. She had been covered in blood, which had dried liked peeling rust on her skin. Not her blood, she insisted. Not her quarry’s either.

You had opened your door and she didn’t even step over the threshold. Her eyes had been alarmingly hollow instead of bright, and when you reached for her hands they were trembling like leaves. This time, Cara didn’t deny your touch. Didn’t protest when you bundled her towards your refresher. She had leaned gratefully into your palm as you caressed her hair and her face and slowly stripped her armour away. Her eyes had encouraged you; pleaded with you, as you gently eased her beneath the warm water and let it soothe her.

You had smoothed a cloth over her whole body, delicately soaping the blood and dirt from her skin, hoping that your touch felt like something akin to worship. Hoping that it made her feel as safe and as royal and as revered as her touch had made you feel, back in those long-lost forests of Endor.

“Cara?” you had asked finally with a broken voice, after as much silence as you could bear. “What happened?”

She had finally looked up at you, her eyes turbulent, brows knitted together as the water sluiced over both your bodies. Her soft voice had come out in monotone.

“I didn’t make it in time. The quarry killed someone’s wife before I could…”

“It’s not your fault, baby” you venture, wanting to reach out and hold her, but not wanting her to bolt away from your touch. Her muscles were tensed and she had looked ready to run like a tumult of horses breaking free.

She sniffs. “I know that. It’s the fault of the fucker who did it. I took him down right after. Didn’t make it too clean either. I just… The husband… he’d lost everything he loved. That’s what he said... and I...”

Cara had gripped on to your hands for dear life as tears had cascaded down her cheek, mingling with the water. She had seen a lot of death. But this one had really got to her.

Oh. Oh.

No wonder she had buried her rabbit heart under so much armour.

It was soft. It was soft. It was soft.

You had smoothed your palm over her cheek. You had swiped her tears away with the pad of your thumb.

“My angel,” you soothed fondly, with a soft and steady smile, knowing that all you could offer was comfort. “Let’s get you dried and get into bed, okay? We can cuddle, or you can rest. Whatever you need.”

Her brows had still been knitted together but Cara allowed you to bundle her into the bedroom, to tuck her under layers of toasty blankets. She had been tired. You had slotted yourself behind her body and held her. Her hands had clung on to yours as if you were a parachute cord – the one thing she knew not to let go of. Her lifeline. Her canopy. You had stayed until you had felt her relax, her breathing sleep-ridden, and you had quietly extricated yourself to the porch.

The sky had darkened, and familiar sounds were swelling around you from the depths of the forest. You had lost track of how long you had been sitting there in the muggy night. Sweat clung to your skin like that first night with her, but suddenly you didn’t feel like royalty. The beads were no longer jewels. The spark had waned. Cara still made love to you, but it had lost some of its tenderness. It was as though she had convinced herself that your states were fixed; she was a fighter and you were a lover. You didn’t know what else to do. You didn’t know how else to fight so that she might let you love her. So, for a while you had just sat there on your porch, remembering, and letting a mug of tea grow cold in your grip. Letting the nostalgic sounds of cicadas and songbirds wash over you.

You had almost startled when Cara appeared in the doorway, her movements uncharacteristically light and careful. You had yearned for her. You had yearned for her desperately even as she stood right in front of you.

“Can I sit with you a while?” she had asked softly, as if you might dream of saying no, and the absurd question tugged a gentle laugh from you.

You didn’t say anything but you had smiled with your eyes and patted the bench next to you. She had taken a seat, and you wrapped your arm around her, easily folding her into your embrace, her head nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder. Cara remained there in silence for a while, perhaps letting the sounds of the night wash over her too. Perhaps remembering herself. After a moment of contemplation, she had tugged in a sudden deep breath as if coming back to life. She had sat up and twisted her face to look at you. You had met her gaze, surprised to find her eyes more unguarded than you had seen them in a long while.

Slowly, unsurely, as if it were your first kiss, Cara had dipped her head towards you, letting her nose bump and nuzzle against yours. Letting her lips hover, hesitant but wanting as her breath fanned over you.

“I want…” she had whispered a half-completed thought, and you pressed her to finish it. Begged her to finish it. Sometimes you couldn’t comprehend the way she hesitated with you, even after all this time, as if you were a wolf holding her beating heart in your teeth. “I want you to touch me.”

At her words, you had blazed like a flare all over again, your desire for her on show like an exposed fuse line as your voice trembled, catching in your throat.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes,” Cara had insisted, and now it was you who reacted like a sprung trap, lips crushing to hers like you had never known touch. Like you were starved and had suddenly learned to hunt. Like your lips and tongue sought to encase her and ensnare her and devour her. She had moaned into your mouth, her sounds billowing and soft and needier than you’d ever heard her, almost a protest but entirely a surrender.

You led her to your bed by the hand, as if your surroundings were regal and she was a Queen. You had laid her out on the covers, tracing your lips softly over her mouth, her neck, her collarbone. Another act of worship. In moments, her pleas and praise encouraging you, you were peeling her top over her head and shimmying her shorts away from her full, sturdy thighs until every gorgeous contour of her was visible. Drinking the sight of her in, you trailed kisses over her breasts, her nipples pebbling beneath your tongue. You kissed her stomach, all the way down to the neat, dark trail of hair guiding you to her wanting core. Nestling in between her thighs, your sure hands had parted her legs until she was entirely exposed to you, her folds so readily glistening and her moans spurring you on.

You had sunk yourself into her heat, eating her out like a parched woman dipping her head into the soft babble of a stream, tongue lapping gratefully at a refreshing, life-giving deluge. Your tongue had shimmied all the way down from her clit to her entrance, dipping over every contour and sweet spot like a river finding its course. You worked her with your lips, sucking at her swollen nub, your tongue probing and dipping into her entrance to collect her arousal, tasting her sweet release. You practically submerged yourself, and you had no reason to come up for air.

Cara hadn’t come undone like this in so long. She had moaned prettily into the air for you, her core practically molten, hot and wet beneath you. Knowing how good you made her feel and how much she wanted you was everything you’d ever craved. It was everything you’d ever been hunting for, and her response as you worked her had you moaning into her heat too. Your hands had gripped on to her thighs even more firmly, clawing at her as she began to buck her hips and writhe herself desperately on your face, your mouth and nose and chin all pressing in to her and becoming slick with her.

“Beautiful. You’re so … beautiful,” she had gushed, in between groans, gazing down at the sight of you nestled in between her thighs. You had looked up at her all laid out and squirming for you and you were overcome. She was your angel. She was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Unable to respond with words you had simply dug your tongue into her folds with renewed vigour, gliding a finger into her slick and smiling as you watched her fists clench desperately into the blankets. As you watched her clench her teeth and tip her head back to growl in ecstasy, the sound sending a shiver right through you.

It had been so long since Cara had surrendered. To anything. But she had finally surrendered to you after so long. She had unravelled beneath your touch and your tongue, moaning for you as if overcome by a storm so powerful it could split the sky clean open like thunder. Whilst you weren’t sure whether she was ready to surrender to love, you were so deeply happy that she had trusted you enough to be vulnerable like this again.

When she had floated down from her high, you had cleaned her up, and you had sat together on your porch in nothing but your pants, the warm night surrounding you like a blanket. Like an old friend. You had clutched mugs of warm, sweet tea and clasped each other. Laughed together. You had sat there even as the rain fell in the forest around you, letting the sounds and sensations of night enclose you. The patter of the rain. The smell of petrichor and camomile. Cara had even taken your hand and dragged you into the clearing, circling her arms around you and swaying you to silent music as your bare feet became muddied and the rain tumbled down to wash any last trace of her armour away, the heavens opening to cleanse their angel.

You had held her tightly, while you could hold her. You had a nagging feeling that she would be gone again in the morning, all of this magic fading in the harsh light of day.

You knew fine well that Cara could jump headfirst out of a spaceship. She could run headfirst into battle. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to run headfirst into you. Cara had always been on the move. Always in motion. Her heart was always a moving target, in case it ever got pinned down.

In the morning, she had watched you sleep, her eyes glowing with gentle awe and admiration. And then, she had gotten up to leave you anyway.

You had stirred and awoken as she slunk out of your house. But this time, instead of watching her walk away from you, like usual, you had run to the door and called after her, you voice ringing clearly into the forest.

She turned back towards you, outwardly looking hard and impenetrable - but you knew better.

“Din got word on a new bounty. Gotta ship out from town later,” she had explained apologetically, shifting her weight guiltily between her feet.

You had tracked down the porch and onto the forest path where she had stood, finding conviction in your steps. If Cara couldn’t be brave enough, you guessed that one of you would have to be. If she couldn’t be a lover, maybe you would have to be a fighter.

“Carasynthia Dune,” you had begun, leaning up to press a chaste yet loving kiss to her lips. Your gaze had remained steady, lips curled up into a soft smile. “You’re my angel. My thunder. My calm. My heart. Come back to me safe, will you?”

“I always come back to you,” she had admitted, looking up at you shyly from beneath her lashes, even as she looked taken aback by your words. “Can’t help it.” The hold you had on her was too strong to resist. Even after all this time. Especially after all this time.

On this occasion, you had been the one to turn away from her, padding back towards the house. This time, Cara had to watch you walk away from her.

“I don’t know what I’m so afraid of,” she had called out to you, voice wavering as it rang through the clearing.

You had stopped in place and turned slowly towards her, your eyes warm and sad at the same time. You had taken a few small steps towards her and Cara closed the remaining distance, even as she looked tortured by the words she had blurted out. You hadn’t known why Cara’s heart was in stealth mode, but you knew that sooner or later she would have to uncover it. Let her heart live as ferociously as the rest of her being.

“Me neither,” you had admitted, with a small shrug. “You jump out of spaceships with nothing but a parachute and trust fate. I promise if you jump into this love, I will give you a soft landing. I’ll protect you.”

As soon as your confession was through, you had become bashful again, all fumbled words and batting lashes and every single thing Cara could never resist on you. “Assuming that you... I mean... if you feel...”

Suddenly, Cara was no longer afraid. She knew you. You were a protector. You were her protector. Even if her heart was in your teeth, she had suddenly known it would be safe there.

All that time ago, your love had crept up on her. And ever since, when she had moved forward it had always been with a quick glance behind her, to check that your love was still tailing her. She was afraid of being hunted, but as soon as you had turned away, she knew that she was far more afraid of losing you. Of looking back and not seeing you there at all.

“I do. I love you. I’ve loved you since Endor,” she had breathed, her brown eyes sheening with emotion.

“I’ve loved you since you fell from the sky,” you had replied, feeling nervous, as if you had ensnared a bird and its wings thrummed against your rib cage.

You examined Cara’s expression, and an when unguarded smile had inched across her face, you had tilted your head to beckon her over to you, trying your best to mimic her most classic move.

As soon as she had obliged and stepped closer, you had grabbed her and pulled her on to your lips, circling your arms around her sturdy circumference as you both melted into the kiss. When you broke for air, you were both wearing bright, even smiles, and Cara was every bit as giddy as you had been that first night. Happiness had fluttered in your chest like all the birds in the forest were contained there.

Your eyes had glowed as you gave her a small, encouraging nod. “So I’ll see you when you get home then?” You had stolen another quick kiss from her plush lips, and this time as Cara left, she had held your hand as you walked her to the edge of the clearing. “Oh, you should bring Din and the Child to visit too.”

Cara had smiled but looked sceptical, ruffling a hand through her sweeping hair. “Din already teases me about how soft I am for you. I don’t know if I could bear to give him any more ammo.”

You had grinned widely at the revelation, joy swelling in your chest at the thought of her speaking fondly of you. “Just tell Din that if he dares to tease you I’ll fight him.”

You had reached the edge of the clearing and Cara paused to face you, knowing you wouldn’t go any further in your bare feet.

“Bold talk, little one,” Cara had smiled, cocking an eyebrow, her cheeks appling in a smile.

“Oh, you don’t think I could take a bounty hunter?” you mocked, indignantly. “I pinned you, didn’t I?”

The smile which inched over Cara’ face was positively wolfish, and you thought she might devour you. Instead, she had inched her body towards you, tipping her head forward until her voice billowed over the shell of your ear. “I’ll be back home soon, my Princess, and I dare you to try it.”

This time, when she had turned from you, it didn’t feel like losing her. You knew there was a promise in her eyes to return. Cara Dune’s heart was no longer in stealth mode. It was still soft, but you believed it could also be ferocious; this time, both a lover and a fighter. You had watched your angel go, knowing she soon would be coming back to where she belonged.

#cara dune x reader #cara dune #carasynthia dune #mandalorian #mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #cara dune angst #cara dune smut #cara dune fic #star wars #sw #gina carano #wlw

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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6. Heartbeat

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.8k

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Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: welcome to the land of harry as a father aka the place of my death, i hope you enjoy your stay!

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N had told Harry she’d pick him up from the airport, but now that she was parking in the arrivals lot, she was wondering if that was the wrong choice. She’d managed to keep her news a secret since she had found out, not wanting to tell Harry over the phone when he was halfway across the world, but it had been horrible. They had never kept secrets from each other, at least, not ones like this, and it was eating away at Y/N from the inside. She didn’t even know how she was going to tell him yet. There were speeches she had practiced, about how it wasn’t necessary for him to be around if he wasn’t interested, that she would do it on her own—but she didn’t know if she wanted to do it on her own? None of them had felt right though, and all of them had ended with her in a pile of tears on her bedroom floor. Her hormones were out of control lately, emotions on a rollercoaster that she was permanently strapped in for.

But she had promised Harry, and despite her fears of telling him her news, she was truly excited to see him. It had been over a month and a half and she was desperate to see his face in person, to touch his body and confirm that yes, he was in fact, real. So she got a move on, not wanting to make Harry wait for her and risk being sighted in the airport.

She bounced up and down on her toes in the arrivals hall, keys jingling in her hand as she waited to see him. He’d probably have sunglasses and a hoodie on, a few suitcases rolling behind him that she’d have to somehow find space for in her trunk. The prospect of him turning the corner had her heart leaping in her chest.

And then there he was, a black hoodie and black sunglasses, two suitcases pulled behind him, curls peeking out from the edge of his hoodie. No one seemed to have caught on as to who he was, so Y/N went for it—she did what she had always wanted people to do when she arrived places. She ran through the arrivals hall, launching herself at Harry.

His eyes met hers when she was a few paces away and his face lit up, lips turning up in a smile, dropping both of his suitcases and opening his arms for her to fly into. Which she did, full throttle, tossing herself into his arms, chuckling at the way he staggered back dramatically. Their faces met immediately, lips on one another for an innocent kiss, desperation too much for the moment.

“Hi,” he said when they pulled away, eyes glinting under the florescents. “What a nice surprise.”

“Thought I’d give it a shot,” she replied, hopping down and taking one of his suitcases from his hand. “Have a good flight?”

Intertwining his fingers with hers, they walked through the arrivals hall. People may have recognized him, but maybe out of kindness they stayed away, perhaps noticing the two young lovers caught up in one another. “Long, but I slept most of the way. Wanted to be all rested up for my girl,” he said with a wink.

Y/N gave him a playful bump with her hip and led him to her car in the arrivals lot, listening to him jabber about the other passengers in first class and how terrible the food was. He was ready for a home cooked meal, he told her, one that he had prepared, and Y/N was fully prepared for that reality, having already gone to the grocery store earlier that day.

They managed to squeeze his suitcases into her trunk and she took the wheel, letting him put on some music as she pulled out of the spot and navigated traffic out of the airport. “Feeling any better?” His question was innocent enough, but for Y/N it set off alarm bells in her head. Had he found out somehow? And then the underlying question that had been keeping her up at night since she had found out: what would he say?

“Bit,” she told him. “What do you want to do now that you’re home?” She asked, quickly turning the topic of conversation back to him, but he didn’t notice. He just yammered on about wanting to go for some hikes, go to their favorite restaurants, spend time with her catching up on the movies he had missed. Jeff was mentioned, the idea of having some friends over, and the prospect of having Jeff anywhere near them right now was an anxiety attack that Y/N had managed to hold off and was perfectly ready not to have anytime soon.

The topic switched to music, which Y/N was perfectly happy with, and she played him the Phoebe Bridgers album that she’d recently discovered. He gave her his analysis, unpacking her favorite songs in the car. Then he shared his new favorite songs, a collection of indie songs she’d never heard and the Top 40s he was loving. They analyzed them together, unpacking the elements she had grown up attuned to—the synths and the perfection of a good bridge.

Before she knew it, she was swinging into the driveway of Harry’s house, punching the garage door opener clipped to her sun visor. As she turned off the car she heard Harry sigh next to her, a wide smile on his face.

“Home sweet home,” he said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Now let’s get these suitcases inside so I can get in the shower and get all these airplane germs off of me.”

Together they brought his cases inside, locking the garage door behind them and turning off the security system. Harry praised her plant maintenance skills as they crested the stairs, pulling the heavy bags into his bedroom. He flopped down on the bed, arms outstretched for her to crawl into, which she did gladly. Upon feeling his arms close around her, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, a weight lifted off of her shoulders from a month and a half of being separated.

“Missed you so much,” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to his body. “So happy to be home with you.”

She lifted her head from his chest and swept her fingers across his jaw. “It wasn’t the same without you,” she told him. “No one being annoying while I try to watch TV.”

“Hey!” He said, tickling at her sides. “I’m perfectly wonderful. I just like lovin’ on you.”

Y/N snuggled into him and tried to let her fears from earlier subside. She’d tell him after they made dinner, let him settle in a bit. “Go shower, you smell like plane,” she said, mumbling against his hoodie. “Want me to start anything downstairs?”

He shook his head, rolling out from under her. “Would you put my wash in though?” His eyes batted at her, as if he was a kid begging for a candy bar.

She rolled her eyes, sliding off the bed. “Yes. All of it?”

He nodded. He’d gone through a lot of clothes, obviously. So she unzipped his suitcases, unpacking his clothes and separating out the colors, making two tall piles of all his things. She made a separate pile for all the bits that needed to be dry cleaned for him to drop off tomorrow while she was at work, and took the darks into the laundry room downstairs, starting a load. Upstairs, she heard the sound of the shower and Harry singing one of his songs like the menace he was. Her eyes fell to a bottle of wine on the counter that she had pulled out for him earlier, and she remembered that she, now, couldn’t drink.

Fuck being pregnant, she thought. All she wanted was a nice big glass of wine.

But she left it be and instead lit one of his favorite candles and turned on their playlist in the speakers, letting the sound fill the house. Before long, Harry was coming down in the stairs in sweats, hair wet and floppy on his head in the way she thought made him look so young and sweet, utterly cuddly and lovable.

“Cravin’ a good bowl of pasta and some veg, how ‘bout you?” He said, making his way into the kitchen. A glass from the cabinet was pulled down, sat next to the bottle of wine she had glanced at earlier, and a question over his shoulder. “Want some?”

“No,” she said calmly. “I’m okay. And yes to dinner, sounds lovely.”

His eyebrows furrowed at her answer, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled some veggies from the fridge and grabbed a cutting board, musing to her about how he wanted to get some new towels while he prepared their dinner. As he cooked, the thought of Harry as a dad crossed her mind. An evening like this, but a baby in the mix. It wouldn’t be so bad, she decided. He’d actually be probably amazing, actually. The only problem was that the perfect moments wouldn’t be all of the moments.

Their conversation flowed easily over dinner, Y/N’s belly full from the food and the laughter from Harry’s terrible jokes. She cleared away the plates and together they washed up, Harry bumping his hip into hers as he dried the dishes. With every moment that passed, the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of having to tell him, of breaking his fantasy of what the next few years of his life might hold—of his entire life, really.

He refilled his glass of wine and together they made their way to the couch and when they sat, Harry pulled her into his arms, cuddling her close. This was the moment, she realized. It made her stumble, trying to find the right words to tell him this kind of earth-shattering news.

“Harry,” she said, voice cracking with nervousness. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Harry’s body tightened immediately—she could feel it happen against her. “What is it?”

She straightened up, pulling herself from his embrace. She needed space if she was going to do this, the ability to think properly, and being that close to Harry made it impossible. Did she just spit it out? No pretext, just tell him? This was the part she always stumbled on, how to phrase it. But, she thought, there probably wasn’t a handbook on how to tell your boyfriend this kind of news. Especially when it’s not planned.

“Love?” He prompted, worry written all over his face.

“I—fuck,” she said, stomach seizing in worry, “I’m…” She couldn’t get the words out, they were sticking in her throat and she couldn’t find them and she wanted to tell him but she was so fucking scared of what he would say.

Harry reached out, taking her hands in his, the hard calluses of his fingers brushing over her skin. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Whatever it is.”

Her eyes met his, and she just decided to go for it. No dancing around. “I’m pregnant.”

Harry’s eyes widened, whole body stilling. In his grip, her palms began to sweat, the nerves running through her body like a train. They just stared at each other, the news sinking in for Harry probably in the same way as it did for Y/N—the utter panic seizing him. The questions swirling around faster than he could process.

But he didn’t say anything. Just stared at her. And she didn’t know what the fuck that meant. “I know it’s a lot,” she said, the words rushing out, trying to fill the silence. “But we have options.” She used the same words as her doctor, she realized. “I’m still early enough to terminate if we wanted to, or we can do adoption, although I doubt Jeff would go for it, and I’m also happy to do it on my own.” The last one was the one that she’d given the most thought to, and she was actually okay with the idea. Having a child on her own, being a single mom. Wasn’t in the books, but it wasn’t a bad outcome. “I know you’re busy and just starting your solo career so a kid isn’t really great timing, so I can do it and you can like be in their life, I guess? Whatever you want—I’m not, I’m not expecting anything, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” The words came out like a freight train, barreling through the silence between them.

But Harry’s answer blew her straight out of the water. “You—on your own? Fuck no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that.”

“You—what?”

“Y/N,” he told her, squeezing her hands. “I’m not letting you raise my kid on your own.”

The words almost made it worse because she realized once he said them, she almost wanted him to say sure, raise it on your own. Because it would be easier. “Harry,” she said softly, slowly, trying to figure out how to say this, “I’m not sure if…I want you to do it with me.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” His words cut like ice, anger clear in his voice, hands wrenching from hers as if she was on fire.

“I don’t know if I want to raise a kid with you,” she said, trying to make it as plain as possible.

The hurt in his eyes burned her to her core. All the joy in his face gone, as if a cold wind had come by and slapped him in the face. And it pained her, but it was also the best thing for her. To be able to do it on her own terms, her own pace, her own place even. “Why?” When he spoke, it was broken, a whispered question.

She bit her lip, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “My dad’s a musician. I know what it’s like to be a musician’s daughter and it fucking sucks most of the time. I saw it destroy my parents’ marriage, saw it destroy the marriages of my dad’s friends. I don’t want to put my kid through that,” she told him, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I want to be a good mom, and I don’t know think that means having you in the picture.”

Harry launched himself off of the couch, standing up with his back to her. All of a sudden, Y/N saw his shoulders shaking, the raspy sound of his cries, and she realized he was crying. She’d made him cry. Made him sob, from the sound of it. And it broke her into a million pieces, the remaining bit of her heart that she hadn’t ripped out the moment she had to tell him that she didn’t want him around for their child.

“Harry—“

“No,” he said, whirling around so she finally saw his face, the tears streaming down his face like waterfalls, red and puffy eyes. “You do not get to sit there and try and comfort me right now. You just told me that you don’t want me to be in my kid’s life!” His voice had reached a scream, the sound echoing in the room.

Y/N tucked her knees up to her chest. She knew it was going to be hard, but she didn’t expect it to be like this. Did she expected him to accept it, maybe? Be relieved? But from looking at Harry now, she didn’t know how she could’ve ever thought that. He looked devastated, utterly destroyed, as if the rug had been ripped out from under him. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice soft. “I just…”

“Y/N,” he said, struggling to stay measured, “obviously this is ultimately your decision. But I am the father, and more than anything, I’m your boyfriend. This isn’t like some one night stand—I’m—“ His voice broke, tumbling over the words. “I’m in love with you. And you’re having our baby. And I feel like you’ve completely shut me out from making any kind of decision. Like you just decided without even considering what I might want.”

“I prioritized myself,” she said, voice stern. “Because I have to carry this child for nine months. I will be there, every single day, for the rest of my life, raising this child. It will be me, Harry, not you, who will be the parent at every school function, helping with homework and dealing with nightmares. Because you will be gone half of the time. So I’m sorry if I had to put myself first, if that feels like I shut you out. But trust me when I say that I did consider what you might want.”

“But you decided that what you want is more important.”

“Not what I want,” Y/N corrected, “but what I need. What my child needs.”

“Our,” he said, cutting her off. “Our child. ’S not your child, it’s our child.”

His words stopped her dead in her tracks. He was so insistent, staring her straight in the eyes, not moving from where he stood. “Yes. Our child.”

With an exhale, Harry ran a hand through his hair, his rings glinting under the soft lights of the living room. “I understand your fears. I want you to know that. I’m fucking terrified too,” he said, a soft chuckle falling through the tension, “but I don’t plan on fucking off around the world and leaving you here to care for our child. Y/N, I want a family more than anything in the whole entire world. More than my career, more than everything.”

They’d never really had this conversation, she thought when he said those words. She knew he wanted kids, but she never knew where they ranked in his ambitions. How high up they actually were. She had assumed, she realized, that he would act the way so many others did. But Harry, he was different.

“I want to raise our child with you,” he continued, voice straining as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. He brushed at them with the back of his hand and Y/N wished she could dry them for him. “I want to do this with you. If you don’t want me to, then I’ll respect that. But I’m not going to let you—our child—go without a fight.”

Y/N exhaled, his words hitting her like a ton of bricks. He wanted their child. He wanted to be a father, to raise a kid with her. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, no pause, intention clear in his tone. “Never been so sure in my life.”

“This isn’t something you get to go back on,” she reminded him. “Like, this is the rest of your life you’re committing to.”

“I know.” His voice was devoid of any doubt, just sureness, and it managed to chip away at the hard edge she’d been latching onto in an attempt to make the hardest choice of her life—pushing him away.

She looked down at her hands, the chipped blue nail polish there from Friday night when she’d been having a whole lot of deep thoughts about this conversation and the future. “Harry,” she said softly, “I’m terrified of this.”

A hand drifted through her hair and she looked up, seeing Harry crouching in front of her, eyes level with hers. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t know how to be a mom. I’m not ready.”

“Me either,” he said with a sad smile. “But we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

Slowly, she nodded and Harry exhaled, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, tears ripping through her again. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He gathered her in his arms without a second thought and Y/N folded into him, shame and regret leaking from her like a faucet. “I forgive you,” he said with a kiss to her temple. “Raising a kid with me is definitely not going to be the easiest thing in the world. That’s not your fault, and you wanting to do what’s best for our kid, even if it means me not being around? That shows how fierce of a mom you’re going to be.”

His words stirred something in her. Mom. She was going to be a mother. “You think so?”

“Going to be fucking incredible, baby.”

“You’re going to be a dad,” she whispered, looking into his green eyes, which were still red and puffy, but the sad look was replaced with one full of excitement, joy. “Gonna be a good one, too, I think.”

He smiled at her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “With you at my side, don’t know how I couldn’t be.”

Harry sat down in the pink plastic chairs, rubbing his hands on the his pants, and Y/N dropped into the seat next to him. Seeing Harry Styles in an OB/GYN clinic was quite possibly one of Y/N’s favorite things she’s ever seen. He was peeking at the women’s magazines, reading the articles about pregnancy intensely in a way that made her restrain from giggling. He even made conversation with the receptionist, asking her about her day and making sure that the appointment would be completely safe for the baby, which of course, it was.

When she made the appointment she asked to be scheduled at a time when no one else would be in the waiting room, and they managed to succeed, the seats completely empty when Harry and her walked in the door. They hadn’t decided how—or when—they wanted to announce her pregnancy or if they even wanted to. They were both deeply private people and the idea of blasting their personal lives on social media felt horrible, so they wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

They also hadn’t told Jeff and the rest of Harry’s team yet. Harry told her he wanted to wait until he heard his child’s heartbeat, felt the reality of having a child, before he launched into that conversation with his management because it wouldn’t be an easy one. So the last thing they wanted was Jeff finding out Y/N was pregnant through paparazzi photos of them going into an OB/GYN clinic.

“Have you ever been to an OB/GYN clinic?” She asked him, propping her elbow up on the arm rest between them.

He snorted. “Why would I?”

“Dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Thought that might explain why you seem not to be overwhelmed with the amount of modeled vaginas and uteri around you.”

“That what those are?” He asked in mock surprise, pointing at the one next to them. “Well fuck. Just thought it was art.”

Y/N had to hide her face in his shoulder to keep from laughing too loudly, and when she poked her head up, Harry was looking down at her with a grin. “Glad you’re here,” she said, chin resting on his shoulder.

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Me too, baby.”

“Gonna hear your other baby,” she said with a chuckle and Harry just looked like he had won the lottery. It was this reason that Y/N was becoming more and more okay with the idea of raising a child with Harry with every passing day. He was just so happy all the time—there was a new bounce in his step and he was utterly obsessed with picking out baby clothes. The morning after she had told him, she went downstairs to find him sat at the dining table, browsing some websites for baby clothes, selecting an entire wardrobe for his child to outfit them for their entire first year. Y/N had to physically hide his wallet and remove his computer from his vicinity to get him to stop.

Harry pulled her into his body and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You know I’ve always dreamed of doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Hearing my baby’s heartbeat.”

She kissed the exposed skin at the top his shirt at the base of his neck, hoping it would encapsulate the feeling of love radiating through her body because she truly didn’t have the words.

“Y/N?” She looked up and her OB/GYN, Dr. Crawford, stood in the doorway. Harry stood up immediately, the excitement flowing through him obvious to anyone with eyes. He held her hand as they walked down the fall to the exam room, not minding that her hand got a sweaty from the nerves. There was something mildly uncomfortable about Harry being with her at an office where she usually went to get her birth control and yearly exams, but Harry didn’t seem to mind at all. He somehow fit in, made her feel at ease, lessened the nerves with his silly jokes and tickles to her sides when she looked too intense.

“So,” Dr. Crawford said once they were settled in the exam room, Y/N on the table and Harry sat in the chair closest to her, knee bouncing up and down so fast Y/N had to lean over and stop him. “I got your results from Dr. Terrell—seems like you’re eight weeks along, now more like nine. I estimate conception was in mid September by that approximation.”

Y/N looked over at Harry, his eyes crinkling up at the edges, his thoughts probably the same as hers. “When you were home,” she said, the memory of their reunion strong. Of course it was then—she was so caught up in Harry being home she wouldn’t been surprised if she had missed a day of her pill altogether.

“And are you the father?” Dr. Crawford asked, pointing her ballpoint at Harry, a questionnaire attached to her clipboard.

“Yes,” they both said at the same time, Dr. Crawford giving them a warm smile.

He reached out a hand to Dr. Crawford as if she probably didn’t know who he was. Although maybe it was better if her OB/GYN didn’t know that the father was an international popstar? Y/N couldn’t really decide. “Harry,” he introduced himself, leaving his last name conveniently out.

“Pleasure,” she answered, shaking his hand. “Now, I’m assuming we want to meet your baby today?” Harry reached his hand over to hers, fingers interlinking as they both nodded. “Wonderful. Y/N can you lift your shirt for me?”

She rucked up the edge of her oversized t-shirt and Dr. Crawford brought over the same device Y/N had seen on TV—a transducer, her OB/GYN informed her as she lathered a cold gel over a section of her stomach. “Okay,” she said, pressing some buttons on the machine, “give me a second to find your little one.”

Harry’s eyes drifted to the screen, squeezing her hand as they both listened closely to try and hear their child’s heartbeat. The screen was grainy, lines and pockets that Y/N tried her best not to trick into believing was her child. Dr. Crawford moved the transducer around on Y/N’s lower abdomen, searching for the right spot. Panic seized Y/N the longer they waited for the heartbeat, questions swirling in her head—was there something wrong? Was the test wrong—was she not pregnant after all? Or worse—was there something wrong with their child?

And then, a solid thudding sound echoed in Y/N’s ears, and her vision immediately swam as tears welled in her eyes. It was her child, her baby, the little being she was carrying inside of her. She looked over to Harry, and he was full-on crying, wiping his nose on the hem of his sweatshirt as he stared at Y/N in awe.

Dr. Crawford suddenly sighed, and Y/N tore her eyes away from Harry to look up at the screen, where she could see, faintly, the outline of a fetus. “That’s our little Peanut,” Harry whispered to her, bowing his head so it rested on her shoulder, them both looking at the screen. “They’re real,” he said, his tears wetting her shirt and Y/N was crying as hard as him now, the sight of her child up on the screen jerking at every fiber of her body.

Peanut, Y/N thought to herself. Harry already had a nickname for their child.

“That’s them?” She asked Dr. Crawford, barely able to see the screen because of the tears.

“Yes,” her doctor replied, “that’s your baby."

Y/N turned and tugged at Harry’s face, suddenly feeling the overwhelming desire to kiss him, needing him to anchor her to the world and remind her that yes, this was real. His hands cupped her chin delicately, lips meeting. Their foreheads rested against one another’s as their tears flowed, the fact that they were actually going to be parents settling in.

“Can I—can I take a video?” Harry asked Dr. Crawford, looking back up at the doctor, pulling Y/N from their personal moment. “Want to be able to let my mum hear the heartbeat.”

“Of course,” she replied. “Let me turn up the sound.” She pressed a few buttons, and suddenly the thud of her child’s heartbeat was all Y/N could hear. She closed her eyes to the sound, letting it take root in her brain. Her hands drifted to where the transducer rested on her belly, careful not to get too close as she cupped her stomach. Perhaps it had been the anxiety over telling Harry, but she hadn’t really touched where her child was growing yet. The concept hadn’t really settled in—in fact, she had tried to avoid thinking about it because it stressed her out so much.

But now it was a reflex.

“I’ll take some pictures for you to keep,” Dr. Crawford said, pressing a button and shifting the transducer slightly. “I’ll go grab these for you,” she told them, “and then we can talk about what the next few weeks will hold.” She pulled the transducer off of Y/N’s belly, wiping off the gel, and then stepped out of the room giving the two emotional parents a moment alone.

“How is it,” Harry said, voice raw with emotion, “that I’m already so in love with them?”

Y/N pushed a strand of his hair off his forehead and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I know what you mean,” she whispered. “It’s so visceral. I can’t even explain it.”

He bent his head to hers, sighing as he shut his eyes against her skin. “I love you. I know this wasn’t the plan, but I’m so happy I don’t even know what to say.”

Her fingers swept at his neck, massaging his skin, knowing he loved the feeling. “I love you too, H.”

That night, they laid in Y/N’s bed, Harry having decided to stay for a few days while they processed everything, and stared at the photos Dr. Crawford had given them in the office. Y/N was curled up on Harry’s chest and he thought that he had truly never experienced a more perfect moment. The mother of his child curled into him, head on his chest, while they looked at the photo of their unborn child.

“Due in June,” Harry whispered. “They’re going to be a summer baby.”

“Thank god,” Y/N mumbled into his skin. “Between me in January and you in February, I truly don’t think I could handle one more Winter birthday.”

Harry laughed, her head bouncing on his vibrating chest. She managed to make every moment a little bit brighter, and feature he loved so deeply about her. Neither of them could be serious for too long, and it kept them laughing all the time, much to the annoyance of their friends when no one got their inside jokes.

He gazed at the photo of his child, his brain barely able to wrap around the fact. He had known for days, and yet he still woke up in the morning and forgot. When he saw Y/N he always remembered, but there was this second in the morning where he forgot and he hated it. He was going to be a father and he wanted to soak up every single second, revel in the reality that he was starting a family. And maybe it didn’t happen the way he would’ve planned it, but that didn’t make it any less special or exciting. Plus, his child with Y/N was going to have insanely good music taste.

The thought that he couldn’t get out of the back of his head was the fact that he was supposed to be going on tour in March. A world tour longer than the one he had just finished, from March to July with basically no breaks. As of right now, he wouldn’t even be in town for the birth of his child. And he wasn’t going to have ten days off to visit Y/N or see his mum. When he looked at his schedule earlier in the day, he had only found one substantial break—ten days in May, nestled between Japan and Argentina. That wasn’t how he wanted to do fatherhood—he wanted to see Y/N for every single second of the day, to see her belly grow and her body change, to talk to his child every night before bed as he had done last night, Y/N giggling above him. He wanted to be present, mentally and physically. He wanted to be there for the birth, at the utter bare minimum, and with the schedule he was going to miss that too.

He also knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to put on the kinds of shows he wanted, do the press he usually did, with a pregnant Y/N back in LA waiting for him. It wasn’t the world tour he wanted to put on, the kind of show he wanted to bring to the fans. Harry was a go big or go home kind of guy, and half-assed shows wasn’t going to cut it.

But he had no idea how to balance the two. How did he be the kind of father he wanted to be, but also the kind of musician he loved being? As much as he wanted to ask Y/N, he was scared she’d be frustrated, pointing out that this was exactly what she was afraid of. He needed a game plan before he could really talk to her about it, but that involved talking to Jeff, and he wanted to do that with Y/N there. He wanted Jeff to know that they were a family, and decisions that affected Harry were decisions that affected Y/N and their child.

So who did he talk to, then?

He didn’t have all that many friends with kids. And those he did have, most of them weren’t musicians—they were like James, people who worked in the same city as their family but traveled for work some. Not people whose entire careers were based around being gone for extended periods of time.

But, he realized, he had Adam. Adam, with multiple kids. Adam, a musician who toured—and had toured with Harry. He knew how Harry was, what kind of shows he needed to deliver, the demands of his particular brand of fame.

He glanced down at Y/N and saw her eyes were shut, arm still resting over his abdomen. Soft sighs fluttered from her lips, a sweet smile on her face—even in sleep, she was beautiful. Even more so, somehow. Harry leaned over and flicked off his light, resting the photo of his little Peanut on the bedside table so when they woke up in the morning, it was the first thing they’d see.

In the morning, Harry made Y/N pancakes and gave her a kiss goodbye before grabbing his phone, desperate to talk to someone about the thoughts raging through his head. He could barely sleep last night, the questions and scenarios like a bad movie rolling through his brain—what if he missed the birth? What if he missed the first kick? What if Y/N hated him for it, and made good on her original request—for him to not be in the picture? What if he missed out on the opportunity to be a dad?

That thought had him scrambling for Adam’s contact in his phone.

“Hello?”

Adam’s voice rang through the line and it eased an anxiety Harry had had weighing on him for days. “Hey man,” he said, settling into Y/N’s couch where was set up. “Need your advice on something.”

He heard a rustling, probably Adam sitting down and settling in for what he knew would be a long conversation, as were anytime Harry asked Adam for advice. “What’s up?”

“I need you to keep this a secret. Like, tell no one about this—literally not a soul knows except for you, me, and Y/N. Not even Jeff or my mum.”

Adam exhaled, probably understanding the gravity of it if Harry hadn’t even told Anne. He told Anne everything, which he had been told on multiple occasions was not the type of behavior common in 20-somethings men, but it was how he was. Maybe it was a product of leaving home early, or of the fact that his mum was truly his best friend. “You’re kind of freaking me out, mate.”

“You swear?”

“Of course—swear I won’t tell anyone. Not even Emi.”

Harry breathed in, then out, and then he just spilled it: “Y/N’s pregnant.”

Adam was quiet for a beat, and then, “Wow. How do you feel?”

That was the one question Harry could answer confidently. “I’m so happy that Y/N keeps telling me too stop smiling or she’s going to get me checked out,” he said with a chuckle. “Did you feel like that with Silver and Spike?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, “like my heart was going to pop out of my chest.”

That was exactly the feeling Harry had right now and hadn’t seemed to dissipate. “So, I’m happy right? So happy. But I’m also losing it—I told you about Y/N’s rule, the stuff we’ve worked through, all that. And now we’re going to have a baby. When she told me, she said she didn’t know if she wanted to raise a kid with me—because of my job.”

“Fuck.”

“I talked her back from there,” Harry explained, standing and beginning to pace, bare feet hitting her wood floors. “I told her how I wanted to be present, how it was more important than my career. But, now I actually have to make the decision, because we’ve got a tour scheduled until July and the baby’s due in June. And,” he added, “if I had it my way I would be here the whole time. I want to be here for all of her pregnancy—it’s my first kid, Adam.” His voice broke as he said those words, the reality of what this could become hitting him. “I need to experience that. And I have no idea what to do.”

Adam didn’t say anything, but Harry knew he was still there because he heard Silver talking in the background, Emi’s voice telling her to give Papa some space, which pulled on Harry’s heart. He wanted that so badly—to have someone call him Papa and crawl up his legs, demanding attention. “You haven’t talked to Jeff, yet, right?” Adam finally asked.

“No.”

“Good. Wait until you’ve got a plan of attack—you want to be really clear about what you want to do.”

Harry nodded, leaning onto Y/N kitchen island, eyes studying a crack in the countertop he hadn’t noticed before. “That was my thought too. ’S why I called you.”

“Well,” Adam said, “I’m not going to pretend like my situation was anything like yours. Completely different can of worms. But, I’ll say this—I understanding your desire to be there. I missed bits of it with Silver but got it all with Spike and it made me wish I had been there for all of it.”

“I don’t want cancel tour though,” Harry said, words heavy in his heart. The idea had him heartbroken—all of the disappointed fans? He couldn’t do that.

“No you don’t,” Adam agreed. “But your baby is due in June, so you’re going to have to cancel the US leg at the very least. You’re going to have to tour, at least for part of it. You’ll miss stuff, but that’s the way it works. There’s no way you could be around Y/N all day anyways—she’s got work, you’ve got work, you would miss things either way. But it’s different to be completely gone and it’s going to be brutal for both of you.”

“You’re really not helping,” Harry muttered, the panic resurfacing in his chest.

“Sorry,” Adam said, “I’m trying. Would Y/N go on tour with you?”

The thought flickered through Harry’s brain. It was an idea. One Y/N would probably put up a fuss about, not wanting to leave her office and friends. “Maybe for bits of it. But she works full-time and bloody loves her job. It would be hard for her to do fully remote, I think, especially halfway around the world.” “So that’s an option. As for cancelling the US dates, you can just reschedule them shows for later—maybe beginning of 2019.”

“I’m supposed to be recording then.” He’s got another album to write, after all. An album that had a strong feeling was going to be very different than anything he had done before.

“I—fuck. I mean, maybe you’ll just have to fully cut them, just do refunds.”

Harry sighed. It was, perhaps, the best he could do. Not nearly enough, but it might be all he could do. “Fans will never forgive me.”

“You’ll have to explain,” Adam reminded him. “If they know why, I don’t think they’ll hate you too much.”

He hoped not. He loved his fans and in a normal situation he would never cancel shows like this. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. “I’ll have to talk to Jeff. He’s going to kill me.”

“Hey,” Adam said, voice softening, “he won’t. He’s going to be frustrated, sure, but not with you—more with all the people he’s going to have to call. But that’s his job, not yours. Your job is to be a great boyfriend, a great musician, and now, a great dad. Which you’re going to be. Promise.”

“Thank you,” he said, words catching in his throat. He didn’t even know he needed to hear someone other than Y/N say it until Adam did. “Needed to hear that.”

“Happy to remind you anytime,” Adam told him and Harry thought about how lucky he was to have friends like him around. “Now, I’ve got to go take Silver to a sleepover—call me if you want to talk more, though, okay? I’m around.”

“Thanks mate,” he said. “Say hi to everyone for me.”

“Harry says hi!” Adam called to his family, and Harry smiled at the yells of “HI HARRY!” that echoed through the phone. “They say hi. Talk later, man.”

“Bye,” Harry said, ending the call. He stood up straight, his hip resting against the island, and considered what Adam had said. She’d take some convincing, but Y/N might agree to go on tour with him. He didn’t know how good it would be for her to travel that much—he needed to get that checked out—but it was worth a shot. As far as canceling the shows, it would be painful, but he firmly believed it would be worth it.

He hadn’t lied to Y/N when he told her that her, their child, their life, was more important than anything. It was, which was why experiencing pregnancy with her was at the top of his list. He would do anything to be with her for it, whether he had to move tour dates or mountains—anything for her.

Motown was playing when she opened the door, the smell of something spicy hitting her nostrils immediately. Harry stood in her kitchen in her favorite apron, a towel over one shoulder and a glass of wine on the counter in front of him. He was cooking for her, dinner ready and waiting when she arrived home from work. The thought hit her like a ton of bricks: this was the life she had always dreamed of with her significant other. The simple moments of them making her dinner, of them taking care of her when she needed it most. And after today, she really needed it.

“Hi, baby,” Harry said, turning down the music so she could hear him. He wandered over to her as she slipped off her coat and shoes, arms winding around her. “How was your day?”

“Shitty,” she replied, pulling away from him. “Need to go change out of my clothes.”

“Sounds good. Dinner will be ready in ten.”

Y/N pulled off her clothes and replaced them with a soft sweatshirt and leggings, before making her way into the bathroom to take off her makeup. Eyes exhausted from staring at her computer all day, the words on the screen running together by the time she left her desk, she took out her contacts and slipped on her glasses instead, a sigh of relief leaving her body. Now she felt like she was home.

In the kitchen, Harry was plating up their food, a glass of water in a wine glass waiting for her that made her miss alcohol so much—not even in a way where she needed it, the concept of a nice glass of red wine just sounded utterly delectable.

“Made you salmon and a bunch of veg,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to her temple as she passed him in the narrow kitchen. “Was readin’ that book you have ‘bout pregnancy and saw how important it is to eat good.”

The thought of Harry sitting on her couch reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting brought a smile to her cheeks that she desperately needed after the day she had had. He had become a bit obsessed with fatherhood in the few days since she had told him the news, and each time he mentioned the new research he had been doing, it reminded her that the fears revolving through her brain all day might very well be misplaced. Maybe Harry would be able to be the kind of present father that she needed and Harry wanted to be.

“So,” he said, settling into the seat caddy-corner to her, their plates in front of them. “Tell me about this shitty day of yours.”

She took a bite of the salmon, giving him a thumbs up when he asked how it was. “Started with me having to run out of a meeting to vomit,” she began.

“Oh no,” he said, knowing full well how much she hated vomiting and how tired of it she was.

“Yep.” She cut into one of the roasted sweet potatoes, the question of how Harry learned to cook so well crossing her mind as she took a bite. “And then I got the call that the big deal I’ve been working on fell through—the company decided to go with another agency. I haven’t even presented our final plan yet—didn’t even have a chance to prove myself. I don’t even know how they made the choice, but to have done it without even seeing the final product sucks.”

Harry reached over and slipped his hand into her, giving it a tight squeeze. “’S not a reflection of your work, love.”

“I know,” she reassured him, “but it’s hard not to think it anyways.” She took a sip of her ice water, eyes falling to his red wine with longing. “But then one of the interns mentioned some trend on Instagram that I knew nothing about and it made me feel old. And then Jamie asked me if I wanted to get drinks after work and I had to make up an excuse and he looked so sad. So it was a shit day.”

The look on her face was so heartbreaking that Harry just wanted to squeeze it right out of her. So he took his hand and pressed his thumbs into her cheeks, squeezing them together, trying to make her giggle like she usually did when he did this. “You’re really, really fuckin’ cute, Y/N,” he told her and to his delight a blush fell over the tops of her cheeks. “And you’re also wicked brilliant. Anyone who thinks otherwise, or makes you feel like you’re not, is an idiot. And you are most definitely not old.” He turned his chair and pulled himself towards her so his knees were touching the side of her chair, allowing him to press a delicate kiss to the fabric covering her shoulder. “You hear me?”

She nodded, picking up her fork to resume her dinner. “Thank you, H.”

“For what?” He pushed a strand of her hair behind her shoulder so it didn’t get in her food when she took a bite.

“Picking me up,” she said, eyes meeting his. “You’re good at it.”

He pecks the tip of her nose, smiling when her face scrunches up at the action. “Easy to do when you’re so bloody wonderful.” With that, he scoots back to his place at the table, letting her eat in peace. He filled the conversation with jabber about his work for the day, his calls with his team and the interview he did for a radio station. When Y/N was like this, she wasn’t all that talkative, preferring instead to mull about in her head and process all of her thoughts, but when she was ready to chat she came out in full force.

That happened after dinner, when they were tucked up in her bed, both reading. Harry was working his way through a non-fiction book about World War II, doing Dunkirk having piqued an interest for him, and Y/N was reading a copy of the New Yorker that her dad had given her when she saw him last. Suddenly, she nudged his neck with her head, demanding his attention.

When he looked down at her, she was all doe-eyed and warm, her mind having finally gotten itself out of the spiral it was in. “Sorry I was in a mood,” she said. “Hormones are fucking with me.”

“S’okay, button,” he said, kissing her forehead gently. “Sorry I got you pregnant and got you hormonal in the first place.” He meant it as a joke, but Y/N stilled against him and he immediately knew that wasn’t how she heard it. “Joking, Y/N,” he told her. “I love that we’re havin’ a baby.”

She set down her magazine and propped herself up on her elbows, Harry dropping his book too so he could focus fully on her. “Are you sure, H? If you’re being serious, I understand, you know. You don’t have to pretend. I don’t want you to pretend just for my sake.”

Harry exhaled. “How many times do I have to tell you, baby? I’m so excited to be havin’ a family with you I can’t even contain it. Nearly blurted it out to Jeff today in excitement before I remembered what we agreed on.”

“You might need to tell me a couple more times,” she told him honestly. “For some reason, my brain is having trouble wrapping its head around the idea that you want to be doing this.”

“C’mere,” he said, opening his arms so she could fold into his body. “I’ll remind you whenever you need, okay? But please, Y/N, please believe the best in me. I love you, but sometimes the doubt you have in me breaks me.”

Her fingers crawl up his biceps, fingers trailing around the outline of the heart tattooed there. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her chin into his chest, a soft smile bringing him to his knees for her. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I’d like you to keep an open mind.”

Her fingers stopped tracing his tattoos and her eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

“I talked to Adam today,” he began. “I told him we were havin’ a baby.” Before she could berate him for breaking their promise, he forged on, because that wasn’t the part he wanted to talk to her about—he already knew she was frustrated with him for it. “I needed his advice on how to approach the 2018 tour. Whenever we talk to Jeff I need to have a plan before I walk into that room, and Adam’s my only friend who has kids and knows intimately how I tour.”

She considers his words before opening her mouth. “Was it helpful?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “He had a couple suggestions, some which aren’t possible, some which are. The main one was that you join me for part of the tour. I know that you have work and you probably can’t do it, but I already have to cancel the entire US leg because it’s in June when little Peanut is due, so I probably can’t ask for other breaks. And I have no fucking idea what to do, Y/N.”

Y/N scrambled up, swinging a leg over Harry’s waist to brush the tears that were spilling from his eyes. His heart was beating so fast, the fear of what she would say eating him alive. “Hey, hey, I’m here, okay? We’re going to figure this out.” She was so calm, collected, the opposite from what he expected. “Can you breathe for me? I want to have this conversation, but I can’t do it if you’re crying, H.”

Harry gulped, trying to get his breathing under control. “I—yes. Okay.” He listened to her breathing, the sound of her heartbeat, letting it anchor him.

“Better?” He nodded, and she smoothed his hair back before speaking again. “So. Me going on tour with you?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

She sighed, her fingers fiddling at the collar of his shirt. Without even thinking about it, Harry found himself curving his hands around her stomach, right where his baby was, the action having become an impulse in the recent days. “H, I can’t travel when I’m over 34 weeks pregnant.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, the frustration evident in the way he hung his head. “Fuck.”

“Maybe…Maybe I could take off a few weeks at the beginning? I’ve got the vacation time saved up.”

His head perked up at her proposal, eyes wide. “Really?”

She nodded, hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, her fingers massaging into the base of his skull. “I want to make this work and if that means taking some time off so we can be together, that’s what it means.”

The prospect of her on tour with him, her and their baby on tour with him made his heart flutter, the images of her, wildly pregnant, hanging out in his dressing room before shows, watching from the wings while he performed. Her hands carding through his hair while he took naps backstage, them shagging in his hotel rooms, cuddling on airplanes and tour buses. “I like that idea,” he said, bending down so he could press a soft kiss to her abdomen. “Quite a lot.”

“I kind of like it too,” She murmured, giggling when Harry left a lingering smooch to her belly button. “I’m sorry, baby about having to cancel tour. Know that isn’t what you want to do.”

“Rather be here than anywhere else,” he said, nudging at her cheek with his nose. “Y/N, I want you to know, I would never have picked to tour right now if I would have known.”

“I know,” she murmured against his skin. They were cuddled up in each other, her arms around his neck, his face buried in her shoulder. Harry didn’t think the desire to be close to her like this would ever leave him. He just desperately loved being as close as possible, holding her, petting her skin, feeling her breath on his skin. “I know I put a lot of pressure on you and that’s not necessarily fair of me, but—“ “Hush,” Harry said, lifting his head so he could look at her. “You’re right to, okay? I want to be the best dad I can be, but you know how easily I get caught up in my work. Don’t want to do that. Just as I need to remind you how much I care, sometimes you may have to remind me that you’re my world. Can you keep doing that?”

She nodded, a soft press of her lips to his eyebrow that had him gripping her hips, the tenderness like fireworks in his brain. “What do you think Anne is going to say when we tell her?”

Harry chuckled, the panic in her voice evident. “She’s going to be so happy I bet she’ll cry. Been wantin’ a grandchild for ages now. What about your mom?”

“She’s going to have a conniption fit,” Y/N said with a laugh of her own. “But then she’s going to cry too.”

“No wonder we’re such softies,” Harry said, tickling at Y/N’s sides, the sound of her giggles in his ears making him smile.

She leaned back, squirming away from his hands. “Speak for yourself. I’m serious, not a softie.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry lifted his hands, smushing her cheeks together and peppering kisses all over her. “Say that again, baby. Dare you.”

“Fine!” She pulled his lips into a kiss that left him breathless, his desire for her never waving. “Love you, my big softie.”

“Love you too. Now let’s go to bed, gotta make sure Peanut gets his beauty sleep.”

Y/N rolled off of him and let him pull the duvet cover over their bodies, cuddling up next to him. “What about me?”

“Don’t need it,” he said with a swift kiss to her forehead. “Beautiful no matter how much sleep you get.”

He feel asleep with Y/N’s head on his chest, arm slung over his torso, and Harry wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. The girl he loved, a baby on the way, and a career he adored. He ran his fingers up her spine, watching the smile flutter onto her lips in her sleep, and let his eyes wander to her belly. You couldn’t tell that she was pregnant yet, but to Harry, knowing that she was carrying their child inside of her, she had never been more beautiful to him.

TAGLIST:

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019 @laula843 @afterstylesmadeit @kait-brin @harrys-watermelons @groovybaybee @clumsywithlove93 @1142590m @erin0717 @ketchuplukehemmo @detroitkiwis @meetmeinfleetwood @kakaym @harrystyles-concepts @harrymoncheri @berrynarrybanana @samjo1986

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NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 22ND @ NOON CST

#Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles dad

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brandywine-tomatoes · 3 years

Text

Hope was a Dangerous Game

Masterlist

Another oc fic

Characters: male!oc/Crosshair, the Batch

Prompt/Inspo: @keo-the-raptor was angsting with her oc and that gave me ideas

TW: depression, depressing thoughts, angst to loads of fluff, strong language

Word count: 1839

QUICK NOTE: Sinleo is my immortal cape maker/tailor.

Cross and him met on a peace treaty voyage with all the Naboo and Pantoran delegations since Sinleo is a long-time friend of the Naboo throne and besties with Riyo Chuchi. The Batch was stationed as part of the security detail.

They saw each other on and off over the years until Sinleo was encouraged to stay on the Havoc with Cross and the Batch (obvi without the Republic's knowledge).

Sinleo trudged through the busy streets of Coruscant, pushing and shoving his way through the gloomy crowd as everyone tried to get out of the pouring rain. He didn’t mind the intense downpour, it felt like a layer of grief was sliding down his shoulders, creating a thick sludge of sorrow being tugged along by his cheap boots.

He never wore his custom or expensive stuff anymore, not after the Empire took his trooper. He felt he lost a piece of himself, and without that piece, nothing else could fit. He had to pack away everything about himself into a mouldy storage locker. Crosshair had made his way into every part of him. He couldn’t think or look at those pieces without diving deeper into despair and isolation.

Force, he missed him. It hurt to even think sometimes. Everything everywhere reminded him that he wasn’t really in the galaxy, just a look-alike that tried to kill everyone close. Just a shell of something that used to love Sinleo. A shell of something that gave Sinleo something he never thought he’d get: Purpose. Hope. A future.

Hope was a dangerous game.

Sinleo dragged himself into the elevator, clicking the highest level and waited for the doors to slide open.

He tossed the drenched black windbreaker on the single wooden chair beside the door and made a beeline towards the mattress in the middle of the supposed living room. The ceiling fan was on full blast against the high ceilings, a sharp and cool wind blowing the dark greasy hair from his forehead. Cross used to do that. He used to hold Sinleo like he was his whole fucking world and brush the hair from his face.

He had to stop. Crosshair was gone. He wasn’t getting him back. Ever.

He’d survived for hundreds of years, he could survive hundreds more. But living them?

His depressing train of thought was cut off as an irritating beeping echoed off the bare walls from the windbreaker. Groaning, he stood and shuffled to the chair, taking out the comm device and flipping on the speaker and microphone.

“What?” He growled.

“You’ll want to hear this.”

“Hunter, I already told you, stop calling me.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

Sinleo paused and took a deep breath, defeated. “What do you want, bandana?”

“Are you sitting? You need to sit for this,” Hunter’s voice was growing more irritating by the second. Sinleo didn’t know if it was from pure annoyance of his past knocking on his comm device or how Hunter’s voice was filling with joy. Who the fuck could be joyful during this fucking time?

Sinleo pulled the wooden chair forward and sat. “I’m sitting.”

“Miss me, Sin?”

His heart jumped for a fraction of a second.

“Hunter,” he stood up in a rage. “I can’t fucking believe you. This is sadistic level shit. You really think I’m not in enough fucking pain without him? You think-”

“Alright alright, enough,” Hunter tuned back in. “Pack a bag for the next shuttle, I know you have senator-level security passes. Get to Alderaan’s National Spaceport, strip 3, by tonight. Private comm channels are unreliable for this kind of conversation.”

“Who the hell do take me for? A fucking fool? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sinleo. Please. For Cross. If you won’t believe it over comms, come see him yourself.”

Sinleo scoffed and practically snapped the comm device in half turning it off. The building in his eyes throughout the conversation spilt over. He let out a sob and crumbled to the ground. He shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and stop the streaming of tears, only seeing a burst of crumbling light and a searing pain start to blossom.

He sat with his knees to the ground and let out sob after sob, grief-stricken memories of Crosshair giving one of his rare smiles or holding Sinleo’s face when everyone else was asleep making him sob even more. His muscles ached, his head pounded, he felt drained and empty and nowhere near better than before that conversation.

His heart leaped out of his chest when he heard his voice. It’d been almost a year since the love of his life used the nickname he gave him. His little sin.

He almost asked if it was really him, almost let himself believe he was alive and cut out of the puppet strings.

For just a second, he imagined seeing him again as Crosshair and not some Imperial mutt. His Crosshair. Hugging his Crosshair for hours so he wouldn’t slip away so easily again. Taking him to raid the upper-class district and leaving it in a flaming heap again like the first time they visited.

But then the ceiling fan pushed his hair from his forehead. The rainwater from the windbreaker was seeping through his clothes. His exhaustion from the last 10 months whittled its way back in.

He was gone.

But maybe he should pay his respects to his brothers. They were family after all. Maybe seeing them again, seeing the ship where him and Cross had their first kiss would offer a little closure. Offer a little piece of him back that Crosshair took. If he could get a piece of who he was, he might finally start working towards making someone new, someone whole again.

He made a few calls to senators and off-world shuttle security before he packed the few simple clothes he had and other necessities into a light duffle bag. The couple hours he had before the Coruscant guard came to escort him he curled up on the bare mattress and stared out the floor to ceiling windows numbly. He wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, not after a breakdown like that, after what it uncovered.

Boy, would he pummel Hunter when he got there.

Sinleo fiddled nervously with the handle of the duffle bag on his lap as the shuttle gracefully touched down on the strip. The other passengers started undoing their safety harnesses as Sinleo sat there, paralyzed. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing. He only acted; he didn’t think of what would happen. What was waiting for him on strip 3? On that darkened and unused strip he passed seconds ago? Did his brothers fall to the Empire too? Was this all a trap for the Empire to finally nail him in jail for the shit he pulled in the past?

“Sir, we’ve landed,” a red-dressed bellhop gestured to the exit.

Sinleo fumbled with the safety harness and scurried towards the exit with the duffle in hand, accidentally ignoring the bellhop and descended the stairs. The passengers all left separate ways seemingly all over the tarmac towards groups of people or vehicles already waiting.

He walked in the direction of strip 3, pulling the same black windbreaker closer to him as a wind chill swept through the spaceport, ruffling his hair and lightly pushed him to the side. The tinted windows of the grand and beautifully historic spaceport building glistened softly against the pure black sky with Coruscant and Corellia on the other side of his view. The air was cleaner on Alderaan, it refreshed your lungs and brought a clear mind instead of the fogging effect the planet-wide city had.

As he neared the darkened strip 3, he spotted a group of moving figures, most likely the Bad Batch, and grimaced. This was a mistake; this was all a mistake. He should just turn back, save himself the embarrassing tears of seeing the crew again. He stopped dead in his tracks and seriously debating just getting a hotel and going back in the morning.

But one of the figures started walking towards him and he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t run away from them when they were right there.

He started his slow pace again, his heart beating quicker. That wasn’t one of the surviving Batch members. This was someone new. Or someone old.

“Sin!”

He stopped again, a heavy pressure resting on his chest. Oh my fucking god.

He dropped the duffle and started sprinting. “CROSS!”

His Cross kept the same pace as Sinleo closed the gap, already sobbing before they embraced. Crosshair spun Sinleo in a circle, a sputtering of a sob and a laugh escaping his choked-up throat. This wasn’t happening.

Sinleo buried his face in the crook of Cross’s neck, his arms impossibly tight around his waist as sobs racked his body.

It shredded the sniper’s heart that his absence had crumbled his love. But he was finally there with him. It wasn’t some dream in the back of his mind. It wasn’t some daydream that CT-9904 didn’t know how to explain. He was fucking there. This was all real. This was all he ever wanted.

A few tears leaked into Sinleo’s matted hair as Crosshair returned the death grip, whispering that he was there, and he wasn’t leaving. They wouldn’t let each other go again, not ever again. This was it. They were it. They were done with being alone, they were going to stay together for as long as they had. Sinleo muttered a few words before Cross lifted his head gently from his shoulder.

“Didn’t catch that, Sin.”

That sent another sob escaping Sinleo’s lips. They returned to their bone-crushing embrace for a few more moments before Sinleo lifted his head to try again at forming words.

Words failed him for a second as he finally got a look at the love of his entire life. “Don’t- don’t leave me again,” his voice came out desperate and hoarse.

Cross ran his thumbs over his cheeks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sinleo closed the space, desperate to make up for their lost 10 months. Sinleo’s soft lips against his finally convinced him that it was over. No chip, no orders to follow, no one to report to. There was only him and his Sin, his first and last of everything in the middle of an airstrip, trying to convey how much they needed each other through a sloppy and suffocating kiss. Cross cupped his face and kissed back with everything he had, everything he could give.

They separated and gasped for air softly, foreheads leaning against one another as neither of them wanted to open their eyes. They stayed, Crosshair holding Sinleo and Sinleo’s arms around his waist, keeping them together.

The sniper was the first to flutter open his eyes, feeling heart palpations at the sight of a tired but peaceful Sin.

He smirked. “This is getting sappy.”

Sinleo snapped his eyes open and tried to glare at him. “We can be sappy.”

“Hell naw, we aren’t sappy,” he pulled away, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

Sinleo pecked his lips. “We are now.”

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

“Oh no, we’re sappy now.”

Sinleo kept his arm around Cross’s waist, finally ready to approach the group far away at the edge of the tarmac. “I can live with that.”

A/N: I stayed up unit 5 in the morning writing this. It was an emotional ROLLERCOASTER, but I got it done in one day and I'm pretty happy with it!

please go easy on the critisism, this was the first time i wrote 2 characters sharing a kiss

If you want more of/about Sinleo or any other oc, just let me know! I love sharing my bbs!

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #the clone wars #tcw #clone wars #star wars #sw #original character #oc #crosshair #hunter #echo #tech #wrecker #omega #star wars rebels #sw rebels

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