#I hate that I’m gonna be twenty next month

[vpyre]

We really are all suffering together, huh? The tags in the rbs of that last post feel almost comforting bc even if we’re all suffering at least we’re not suffering alone. Solidarity! I guess. It took my mind off of things for a second purely bc my therapist friend instincts kicked in and I felt the urge to comfort everyone talking about the rough shit they’re dealing with. I love humanity so much sometimes. I wish I could hold everyone in the world who’s hurting and promise them that better things are coming. Alas I am but one man. I guess the next best thing to do is care for the people I can and hope it passes on to others.

[scorpiomother]

there is a light that never goes out

･ﾟ★ most of these days, i don't get too intimate / why would i let you in? but i think again

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

summary: you’ve tried to ignore the pestering infatuation you harbor for your fellow camp counselor, but when last day debauchery ensues, the lines between friendship and love blur.

tags: slow burn. summer camp. friends to lovers. pining. alcohol usage.

word count: 4.4k

a/n: mother is back and here is my love letter to the feverish bliss of a season and to everyones favorite muse, peter parker + this only took a broken laptop, nicotine and a full year to finish... so enjoy<3

playlist ☆ masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ kofi

You don’t think it’s possible to feel any warmer, but the mixture of everything is weighing in on you. The blossoming bonfire in accordance with the sultry sun. The tipsy hum in your chest. The occasional graze of Peter’s arm against your shoulder.

Sometimes you can’t bring yourself to look at him and this is one of those times.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the last day and you don’t know exactly what to do with yourself. Or it could be the muffled buzz in your chest that’s growing by the minute; telling you to do things you shouldn’t. Admit things you can’t. If you look at him for too long, you’re sure that your better judgment will fade into that tempting hum. 

You squint past the sun rays reflecting off of the lake and focus on all of the small things that don’t mean anything to you. A bottle here, a crushed can there. The flicker and burn of the fire. The new stains on your old Converse.

You search for the next best thing when a beer bottle appears, floating above your lap.

“Your turn,” Peter says.

His voice makes you want to look. It makes you want to say, huh? Then, he would have to repeat himself and you could watch the way his lips move. Instead, you murmur a soft thank you and take the bottle, eyes cemented on the shoreline.

The campers had left in the morning, and yet the feeling of childish abandonment and delight is still overflowing in the empty campgrounds. The handful of twenty-something-year-olds that stayed back for one last night to “clean up” the camp were quick to revel in the sudden freedom. By the time the last bus left with the campers and older counselors, they were already going on a liquor run and starting a bonfire on the shorelines in nothing but their swimwear. And as nice as it all was, you wish the kids were still there. They would distract you from the thoughts of Peter and now, you don’t know what to do when they come.

As you sip on the lukewarm beer, you feel eyes on you. You look up and sure enough, Peter is staring. His eyes are lighter than normal, a sheen like honey, and his expression is almost quizzical. That glint of amusement catches you off guard. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he smiles. “I’m just waiting for you to admit that you hate beer.”

“What?” you repeat with more confusion.

“Every time I pass you the bottle you frown.”

You furrow your brows. “No, I don’t.”

“Sure you do. And after you drink, you make a sour face,” he says plainly.

You’re about to protest when Peter reaches for the bottle and takes it from you, his hand skimming against yours in the process. 

“Creep,” you mumble. You drag your fingers along the skin that he touched and try to ignore the burn. "You’ve known me for like, what? Two months? And you think you know me like the back of your hand.”

“I wish,” he shrugs before downing the rest of the beer.

I wish. You’re biting the inside of your cheek now. “I- I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and when you close your eyes, you can even see it. His closed mouth grin, full of satisfaction and knowing. 

Fuck. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you mutter, standing up from the bench.

“‘Cause you hate beer, huh?” 

“‘Cause I’m thirsty.”

“Mhm, alright, Bug,” Peter says, smugly.

You can still feel his eyes on you as you walk towards the cooler by the dock and as much as you want to look back, you don’t.

You rummage through the cooler— a little more frantic than you should be. Beneath all the shitty beer and ice is a thick bottle of margarita mix and you pull it out in triumph. 

“Wow, going for the hard stuff, huh?”

You look up to see Harry standing in front of you with Patron in his right hand and a vape in his left. You scoff, “Says you. This shit is mostly juice anyways.”

Harry settles beside you and watches you pour yourself a cup. He smells like liquor, cologne, and bad news. 

“Make me a cup?” He slurs.

You hum in response.

You don’t trust Harry. Not for any particular reason, but he makes you unsure of yourself and you don’t like that. You fill his cup to the brim and hand it to him carefully.

“I’m surprised Peter isn’t here with you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Ah, come on. You guys are two peas in a pod.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Is he though?”

“What else would he be?”

“Everyone knows you guys have a thing for each other.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, ruminating on his words. Your brain is teetering between joke or not. If he isn’t, then what? 

“Just friends,” you murmur in a way that doesn’t reach him. It sticks in the honeyed air like a mantra for yourself. 

Ever since the start of camp, Peter and you had been attached at the hips. You were both the new counselors, whereas everyone else had known each other from the year prior. During counselor orientation and the team-building exercises, you gravitated toward each other, sharing awkward laughs and stupid little comments. As the weeks went by, you got closer and closer. You had just met the guy and he was probably the closest you ever got to a person.

“So, that doesn’t bother you at all?” Harry raises a brow.

You look back and Gwen has replaced you on the bench. Peter’s looking at her with such adoration in his face that makes you feel a pang of jealousy. It spreads through your body like a fever.

His cheeks are full of warmth, laughter bellowing out from him so easily. The subtle flex of his bicep has you staring a little longer than you should. When he catches your stare, you mean to look away but the numbing heat makes you forget.

“What? No. Why would it?” You murmur, turning your attention back to Harry.

“Alright. Well, I’ll help you out. Just ‘cause it’s the last day,” Harry says before pouring an ungodly amount of Patron in your cup.

“Oh- I, um. Okay. Thank you,” you stutter. 

Harry takes his bottle and taps it to your cup. “To friends.”

“To friends,” you mumble under your breath before throwing back a couple of gulps.

Harry starts to talk about nonsense that you can no longer concentrate on. Your ears had zoned in on the laughter behind you, trying to figure out what was so funny to Peter. Have you ever made him laugh like that? 

There’s an invisible string tugging at your face, telling you to look back. Soak up the last of the daylight and the last of Peter, even if it hurts. You want to give into the compulsion, like looking at him is a tick you can’t help, but your attention falls on the dainty bumblebee fluttering innocently in the space between you and Harry.

“Oh, shit,” Harry yelps. His face is full of horror as the small thing dances around him.

“It’s just a bee,” you reassure him. 

Rather than calming down, Harry attempts to pull an ungraceful version of the matrix, bumping into you in the process. 

“Harry!” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I just- Fuck!” Before Harry could finish his apology, he’s running far from the docile insect and you.

“Fuckin’ Harry,” you mutter to yourself, looking at the stain of Red40 and Patron on your shirt and then to Peter.

He’s too preoccupied with Gwen to notice the mishap.

Like a small child, it hurts. The possessiveness sticks onto your skin like humidity. 

You down what’s left in your cup in one go and start walking to your cabin.

It was that second week of camp when your heart first succumbed to Peter. The two of you were on night watch and he entertained you with a game of Would You Rather while everyone else on the campgrounds slept soundly and the night insects trilled. 

Would you rather get stung by a bee or watch Isabella all by yourself? 

Give me the bee, you deadpanned.

Ouch, I’m gonna tell her what you said.

You wouldn’t, you scoffed.

You’re right, I won’t. That kid would probably start biting us both. 

One moment you’re laughing and the next, he’s whispering, wait, hold on. Stay still. So you do. You stayed as still as the night and suddenly, his hand was inching closer and closer to your face until his fingers grazed against your cheek. He held an eyelash in front of your lips and gently said, make a wish.

You hesitantly whispered a delicate oh, okay before absentmindedly blowing the eyelash away. 

I hope it was a good one, he grinned.

It was, you lied.

Everything after was hazy, with constant flashes of making a wish. If you could do it again, you would tell yourself to get a grip and not waste such a precious wish like you just did. If you could do it again, you would wish that Peter would grab that eyelash off your cheek again and again and again.

You’re already feeling the drink make its way to your head as you head on over to your cabin. You underestimated Harry’s heavy hand and the heat is working against you. Annoyingly, the wet shirt is enough to cool you down.

You wonder where the time went. It’s overwhelming to think about, especially now that you’re tipsy. Time is slipping through your fingers and you don’t know how you’re supposed to go back to the city and let this all turn into a memory— let Peter turn into a memory. 

In all honesty, you’re not so sure that you can. Eight weeks of children watching and sun soaking. Eight weeks of Peter and all of those almost kisses (two to be exact). Where was it supposed to go? In a shoebox of memories, farther away than you’d like it to be?

There’s a swelling feeling in your chest that quickly dissipates when Peter comes running behind you.

“Hey, hey, where did you go?”

You want to be spiteful and ask him what happened to Gwen. Instead, you bite your tongue.

“I’m right here, Bear,” you say.

“Well, yeah. I mean, what happened?”

“I just wanted to get something to drink and I-”

“You spilled all over yourself.”

“No, I didn’t. Harry did and I need a new shirt.”

“My cabin is right here,” he points out.

“It’s okay, I have my own clothes.”

“Bug, stop being stubborn.” He grabs your wrist, and you have no choice but to stop and look at him. The swelling returns as his brown eyes try to read you. “Trust me.”

“Okay?” 

You sigh. “Okay.”

His cabin is identical to yours. Three beds. Creaky wood all over. Light smell of mildew. You were there once before but you try not to think about it too much.

“Here, sit,” he says, patting the mattress.

Like a loyal dog, you obey quietly.

While Peter rustles through the drawers, mumbling where did I put it? you gaze at the Polaroids decorating the wall like his own personal scrapbook.

You notice one particular photo with you in it. You were setting up the projector for the first Movie Mondays. That night The Princess and the Frog played, the lights flickering green and blue on the flimsy screen that took you and Peter too long to put up. 

Oh my god, you sobbed halfway into the movie. Ray, the firefly, was singing Evangeline to his star, and it was enough to trigger an embarrassing fit out of you.

Are you crying? Peter whispered.

I’ve never wanted to be a bug so bad before, you laughed pitifully. You wrapped your arms around your legs and let the stray tears fall on your knees. You wanted to pout and blame your hysteria on Peter. He didn’t know it but he had an annoying habit of turning you into a child. 

You’re pretty when you cry, he said.

With your head on your knees, you bit your lip. You- you’re stupid.

I don’t think that’s what you say when someone gives you a compliment.

You’re making fun of me.

Am not, Bug, he said for the first time. 

With teary eyes, you looked for the truth on his face. His eyes softened. Without noticing, you licked your lips and you swore he did the same. It happened so fast you couldn’t remember and suddenly you were wondering if you leaned in, would he do the same? Before you could test your theory, there was a tap on your shoulder.

I think I just ate peanuts, Susie said.

What?

My throat is itchy.

Oh!

Luckily, little Susie was okay, but you weren’t. That night you couldn’t sleep. That look on his face stuck with you. If you were crazy, you would’ve thought that he wanted to kiss you. 

Still, you’re unsure.  

You open your mouth to ask him if he remembers that night, but he interrupts you.

 “I kind of miss them,” he says, head still in the dresser. 

“Your army of fanboys?”

“Yeah, if you want to call them that,” he laughs. 

“It was pretty sweet how they looked up to you.”

“Maybe, I should start a cult.”

You snort. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why do you hate me?” Peter looks back at you and tilts his head with a boyish smile that makes you look away.

He returns his attention to the drawers and you begin to get impatient.

“You know I don’t need anything special, right? I just need… A shirt.”

”Bug,” he says firmly. “When did you get so bratty?”

“I- You’re taking a long time,” you redden.

You tap your foot against the old wood and stare at the back of his head bobbing and searching. His hair is overgrown, longer than it was when you first met him. If you were brave enough, you would run your hands through it.

“If you think about it, we were basically paid to be cult leaders for eight weeks,” he says.

“Oh. We’re still talking about cults. Great.”

“How does one go about making a cult anyways?”

“Hold on, let me just look for a cult leader’s TED talk.”

“So sarcastic, Bug.” 

“Only for you, Bear,” you joke.  

“Good.”

Your ears turn hot and you’re licking your lips again. The raspiness in his voice feels all too serious. 

You’re silent again. It’s quiet enough you can hear the Earth past Peter’s search. Trees rustle. The wind caresses the grass. If you listen hard enough, you swear you can hear sunshine, but maybe it’s just the alcohol. Eventually another drawer shuts.

“Here,” he says. He finally turns around and stands up with a shy expression on his face that makes you smile. In his hand is a red and blue tie dye shirt he made in the early weeks of camp.

When you reach for it, you zone in on the beaded bracelet on his wrist, a silly little nothing that you made for him a week ago. You might as well have threaded the beads to say IHAVEACRUSHONYOU, but the nickname you called him was safer.

You partially regret the bracelet as the cringey gift screams elementary innocence, but now you had something of his. You were even.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Yeah. I’ll meet you outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say before you can think. “I mean it’ll only take three seconds. You’ve seen me without a shirt before, hah.”

“Someone’s drunk,” he chuckles. 

You turn away before he can see you blush. “Not really…”

In one swift motion, you sling off the stained shirt and drape it along the end of his bed frame and pick up Peter’s replacement shirt.

“Oh, it’s healing nicely,” Peter says, surprised.

You look back in an attempt to look at the once opened wound on your back. “Thanks to you, I guess.”

Due to peer pressure from freshly graduated fourth graders, you had jumped off the cliff right into the lake and your back grazed against a submerged rock. It wasn’t anything serious. Barely deep enough for medical attention and the adrenaline from the jump turned you numb.

It was the first time he touched you, really touched you. A deliberate palm to your side rather than an unintentional graze of the knuckles. It made you think of other ways you could hurt yourself just so the two of you could play an innocent game of doctor.

I can’t just drink this by myself, you whined. 

I’m about to put a needle through you, you really want me to drink alcohol right now?

I trust you, you admitted unwillingly.

Once he stitched you up, you sat together side by side on his bed with your shirt still over your neck and your bathing suit now cold on your skin. He pressed his hand on your thigh, saying all better. It was enough to warm you up. Enough to make you forget why you never kissed him. Enough to make you want to.

He squeezed the fleshy part of your thigh, and you exhaled. Peter.

It’s Dr. Parker to you.

One moment you’re whispering, stupid, and the next your nose was grazing his with two parting lips just barely touching. His own breath matched yours. Cinnamon, and booze. Warm and wanting. You gently nudged your nose against his before you could come to.

With lips hovering and agape and adrenaline clouding your mind, you thought he was about to kiss you, for sure this time. But when Gwen knocked on the door, calling out to Peter, kissing was the last thing you wanted to do. The only option was to run away. Run back into that lake and sink all the way to the bottom.

When you throw the shirt on, the fabric grazes against the healing scar. The cotton is soft and weightless. You could immediately smell the familiar evergreen and pine. 

“Red and blue look good on you,” Peter says and you have to force yourself to not think anything of it. Friends compliment each other. No big deal.

“You should keep it,” he adds and then you’re thinking, okay, kind of a big deal. But you don’t have it in you to protest. If this was the only thing you could get from Peter, then you were happy. Almost satisfied.

“Alright,” you say and wear it like a promise ring.

By the time you two make it back to the lake, the sun is nearly set. The bonfire melts into the fire in the sky, a burnt orange streak floating above the lake. Smoke and char wafts in the air and you notice everyone huddled up in a circle. There’s beer bottles surrounding them like they were partaking in some kind of ritual. As you get closer, you see the single bottle laying on its side in the middle of the crowd. 

“What are they, twelve?” Peter whispers as Flash and Felicia kiss.

They don’t notice you two. They’re far too gone and enamored to see beyond themselves, and you’re grateful. Being the bystander looking in was better than watching Peter kiss someone else.

“Wanna go somewhere else?” he nudges.

You nod your head in silence and follow him like a lost puppy.

You two keep to the lakeshore and walk side by side until you can barely see the stray embers of the bonfire in the air. 

A mile away, you eventually reach the west pier. It’s unsoiled with beer and degeneracy, the moon purifying the fresh water and wood. The two of you sit on the dock, feet dangling in the chilling water. By the time the night completely glossed over, the alcohol had too.

“It’s so… Quiet,” you say and suddenly you fear your voice may disturb the stillness and ripple through the water. 

“I like it.”

“Just kind of eerie, ya know?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll scare the monsters away for you,” he teases.

Peter places one hand on your back and rubs small circles, a new type of warmth now rippling through you. 

Without realizing it, you began to mindlessly kick your feet through the lake, ripples after ripples reaching out to touch the earth beyond. The wrinkles of water pulsate. Your heart does the same with each circle of his hand.

“Should’ve got another beer before we left,” you eventually murmur.

“I’m not fun enough for you?”

I just don’t know what to do with myself.

“You’re less fun without your little cult,” you tell him. 

“I’m retiring,” he tells you.

“Oh, God forbid.”

“I’m tired,” he says. “Let me be tired.”

When he lays his head in your lap, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

You wish you could feel the calm, shudder and move on, exhale the hummingbird out of your chest, and be done with it. 

It’s heavier than you can manage. The ease and calm of him scares you. He makes a home in you so terribly easy, and you can barely touch him without feeling dizzy.

Peter sighs. “What am I going to do without you, Bug?”

You wish he didn’t say things like that.

You get out a shaky, “I don’t know.”

But you do know. Peter’s going to be okay without you. You’ll just be some girl he used to know and move on just fine. But you on the other hand? You don’t know. You don’t want to.

It aches.

I’m tired. Let me be tired, you beg the cruel universe.

It twinkles in response. Ripples right through you. 

Your hands are in his hair. You’re dizzy, but you do it anyway. There’s a soft moan coming from Peter so you play and pull and tug, letting all the anxiety leave your hands like kneading dough. You’re gentle because Peter is gentle. Rubbing your back. Stitching up a silly mistake. And even breaking your heart. He does it so gently, you don’t know if he has a cruel bone in his body. Even if he was cruel, you’re not sure if it would offend you.

He closes his eyes. You drag your nails against his temple and roam freely. The night sky reminds you of fireflies and popcorn. Slow breaths and wishes. You count the dimples on the moon. Little distractions to ground you, even now. 

The moment feels infinite. Almost infinite, like those almost kisses. So close, yet so fleeting. You stop trying to make it stay. You let it ripple through you.

You feel a little brave.

“Let’s go swimming,” he says, eyes closed. He can smell it on you— the braveness, you think.

Your hands freeze.“Now?”

“When else?”

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm, Bug,” he says, this time with his brown eyes wide, open, and tempting. “Trust.”

He stands up and holds his hand out for you before you can protest. Whenever he mentions trust, it does something to you. The cut above your shoulder blade is trust scarred onto your body. Were you supposed to stray from your habits now? On the last day?

You open your mouth but then your hand is in his and he’s guiding you to the obsidian. 

He takes off his shirt and shorts, throwing them on the dock. You follow suit, and by the time you fold the tie dye shirt into a neat square, Peter’s already in, yelping, laughing, coaxing.

You shiver and when you’re in the water, you shiver some more. 

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Is this your big plan to murder me? Drown me and run back to everyone else and play spin the bottle?” you grumble, less than satisfied.

“Duh,” he smiles proudly.

You’re treading water, feet barely reaching the sand, while Peter stands tall, the moon illuminating his handsome face.

“Why didn’t you wanna play spin the bottle?” you say impulsively. 

It shocks both you and Peter.

“Did you?”

“I asked you first.”

His brows knit together. “I don’t want to see you kissing someone else.”

Your brain short circuits. A laugh coils in your stomach and you want to ask if Ashton Kutcher is going to come out of the woods with his crew and yell, Gotcha! It makes more sense than what you think he’s implying. 

“What do you mean by that?” you ask.

“What do you want it to mean?”

Your limbs suddenly burn from trying to stay afloat.

“Do you need me to show you, bug?” he says.

His hand is out in front of you again like a life raft. You let him take you, pull you in his gravity. Show me. You glide in the water until you can feel Peter’s breath on your face and your chest is heaving against his. Show me.

Peter wraps his arm around your lower back and your legs have nowhere else to go but wrapped around him. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Still need me to show you?”

 Show me. Show me. Show me.

“I think so,” you say so delicately you’re not so sure he hears you, but then his lips are on yours and the sun comes back in the dead of night, blooming in your ribcage.

It happens fast. He doesn’t let you hesitate, retreat back like the scared creature you are. He knows you. He kisses like he knows you. He keeps his promise. I’ll keep you warm. 

Soft, tender, and close to loving. His lips overlap yours and your gripping onto his back like this moment could dissolve in this lake. He grips you right back like you’ll run. You could. You might.

He deepens the kiss, more want, more need, less tenderness. He sucks on your bottom lip and the strength to run right out of you. 

Your hands wander feverishly. From his back to the crook of his neck and then his hair.

Now that he has you here like this, it makes things more difficult. 

You feel like a firefly. This small little thing of shine and glow, jutting around in a mason jar with Peter’s name sharpied on the top. 

His lips linger for a second longer and then he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours.

“Bug,” Peter says.

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to call me, right?”

His lips move in slow motion.

“Right,” you say.

[jeankluv]

Sweet boy - Gojo Satoru

words: 4k

paring: Gojo x milf!reader

summary: You refused to spend your 33rd birthday alone after having been divorced for 4 months and who would have told you that going to a bar to spend your 33rd birthday would make you meet an attractive 25-year-old young man?

tags: p in the v, older woman x younger man, sub Gojo, sugar baby Gojo, sugar mommy reader, smut, oral sex (f), ridding, age difference

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed, it was your 33rd birthday and you were spending it alone. It hadn't been more than four months since you had caught your now ex-husband in bed with his secretary. It sounded too cliché, but that's how it was.

But the truth is that you didn't feel like celebrating anything, your family hadn't let it bother you after announcing that you were getting a divorce, according to them you were losing value and giving a bad image to the family. Disgusting, was what you thought when your father said that.

Since that day you had not visited him again and you had no intention of doing so either. You were independent, you owned your own business where you earned well and you had achieved everything on your own, without help from your parents.

But it felt lonely, being there, turning 33 without anyone to celebrate with. You shook your head and grabbed the red lipstick and painted your lips, you would go out and drink, even if it was alone.

You walked out of your apartment and with your head held high you walked out of your apartment, feeling the big city night crash against you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Gojo Satoru stretched out in his chair, feeling the alcohol coursing through his veins. He was with his college friends at a local bar, it was their third round but Satoru was still on his first beer, he really hated drinking but this was a special occasion, they were finally graduating from their master's degree.

“C’mon Gojo!” One of his classmates held him. “Let’s drink another beer.”

Satoru shook his head. “I’m good.” He tried to get the weight of his classmate from him. “I’m gonna get some fresh air.”

He heard his classmate complain, but he completely ignored him and continued walking without paying attention.

His blue gaze fell upon a figure at the bar drinking. Her hair fell over her bare back and in her hand was a glass of what looked like red wine. Satoru felt an electric shock go through his body and the saliva in his mouth dry.

His feet stopped moving and at that moment he wanted to get closer. Taking a breath and clenching his fists, he approached the figure.

“Hey…” He said, his voice coming a bit weak from his vocal cords.

You groaned and put the wine glass down on the table. “What?” You looked at him and first saw his blue eyes and then, his dimples.

He was cute, really pretty actually. He looked younger, probably in his twenties. Oh he would probably leave as soon as he saw that you were older than him, he probably thought you were a girl in her twenties and wanted to flirt with you but who would want to flirt with you now? At least that's what your ex told you, that you weren't attractive anymore.

“Saw you here alone drinking… and I approached you.” He spoke, now he seemed a bit less nervous. “Is this seat free?” He pointed to the seat next to you.

“Do whatever you want.” You said.

He sat next to you and asked for a drink. “So tell me, what are you doing here alone?”

“Ugh…” You said while swallowing the wine. “With how many women have you talked to? What was that phrase?”

The boy looked at you shocked and you noticed his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “I… well I have…” He protested. Cute.

You chuckled and moved your head. “You are so cute, you know? How old are you?” You rested your head on your hand, as you looked at him.

“25… will be 26 on December.” He smiled.

He was younger than you. “Cute…” You whispered. “I’m here celebrating my lonely birthday. An old woman like me is celebrating her birthday all alone.”

“Happy birthday!” He said with a smile. “And old?” He tilted his head.

“I’m 33.” You slightly smiled, waiting for the moment he would say that he was leaving.

“Oh…” He only whispered.

“It’s okay if you leave. I know I’m not…”

“I’m not leaving, I want to drink with you.” He said confidently, his eyes shining. You looked at him with surprise.

“Do whatever you want…” You paused yourself, realizing you didn’t his name.

“Satoru!” He said. “My name is Satoru.”

You told him your name. “Is nice to meet you Satoru.”

He said your name and you felt how something lit up in you. “And why would you be celebrating your birthday all alone.”

You smirked. “Life is awful, my ex cheated and no one sided with me during our divorce.” You drank again. “So here I am with my glass of wine and now a cute boy.” You looked at him, what was happening to you? You were flirting with that boy?

“I hope this is a nice company then.” He smiled. “And by the way your ex is an asshole, cheating on a beautiful woman like you. Such a loser.”

You bite your lip. Oh so he was interested in you? For real? That handsome boy was interested in you. And you? You were honestly interested in him too.

You smiled subtly and shook your head. “Maybe it’s the alcohol but why do I feel like you’re flirting with me?”

You could feel his shoulders tense and then a smile appeared. “Because I am.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Why would you do that? With a woman like me when you have such young girls?” You whispered, showing a bit of vulnerability.

He came closer, Satoru found courage where he didn’t have any and brushed your lips with his thumb. “Because you’re the only one I’m interested in in this whole bar.”

A small gasp escaped from your lips and you looked away, embarrassed. “You drank too much, Satoru.” You said his name for the first time.

And that made Satoru not want to walk away, he wanted to hear you say his name like that again. Oh god, he wanted more of you. He was so enraptured by your beauty, your way of speaking, your movements, your lips moving.

“I didn’t…” He whispered. “And if I did you know what they say about drunk people right? They always tell the truth.” He said the last part in your ear.

“Gojo!!” A male voice sounded almost above the music of the bar. “We are waiting for you! We will be starting the drinking game.” A boy started shaking Satoru’s shoulders.

You saw how Satoru looked a bit annoyed, as if he didn’t like the idea of going back with his classmates. The eyes of Satoru’s eyes fell on you and then back on Satoru’s figure, who was still quiet.

“Oh!” He looked at you again. “Oh Gojo, sorry you were enjoying the night with this pretty lady?” The boy screamed.

“Yeah, now get out of here. You are annoying.” Satoru said.

“Why don’t you come with us and also play with us at the drinking game?” The boy ignored Satoru and spoke to you.

You looked at Satoru and smiled, it could be fun. “Yeah, why not?”

Satoru opened his eyes. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to…” You smirked. “C’mon sweet boy.” You whispered that part, and gently touched his arm.

Satoru felt his breath hitch and probably looked like a complete idiot as he watched you move your hips following his classmate to the table. He saw you sitting on the table with the rest of his classmates and how you made a sign for him to approach you.

Satoru blinked and wiped his damp hands on his pants before walking over to the table, sitting next to you. You smiled at him and Satoru felt like he melted around your fingertips.

He could hear his classmates laughing and speaking but his eyes were on you and just you, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“Right Gojo?” He heard his name being called.

“Huh?” He turned and finally looked at his classmates.

“We are explaining to your lovely friend how the game goes.”

“Oh yeah…” He looked at you. “You don’t have to play.” He whispered to you.

“I want to…” You smiled, cockily and watched how he became shy.

“Yeah, right.” He swallowed.

The game started but Satoru's head was somewhere else, not in the game, his eyes were simply focused on you. The sound of his classmates' laughter filled the place and you would occasionally glance at him subtly.

You couldn't have imagined being there on your birthday night with a group of recent graduates while you played a drinking game and felt the gaze of that boy who had caught your attention so much.

“Okay! Now it’s Gojo’s turn!” One of the guys shouted pouring liquor on Gojo’s small glass.

You watched as Satoru blinked and he looked at the glass. An idea crossed your mind and you smiled. You stood up from your seat and took Satoru's glass, while your eyes were fixed on him.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me Satoru?” You whispered to him, touching his face.

Satoru gulped as he looked at you, you were driving him crazy. The world seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you. Your soft hands touched his face and made him look up as you brought the glass to his lips.

Satoru's heart rate increased when his lips touched the glass. Your eyes continued to penetrate his, not blinking for a second. The alcohol passed down his throat, burning him. And he didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or your seductive gaze, that he felt his body begin to heat up.

You bite your lip as you saw as his cheeks were completely red and looking like a puppy at you. Once he drank the liquor you gently patted his face with a wide smile and sat back down to notice all of Satoru's classmates were staring at you with their mouths open.

“What?” You smiled cockily at his classmates.

“Oh please do that to me too!” One of the boys screamed.

“No! To me please.” Another one said.

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m sorry guys but I will do that only to Satoru.” You rested your head on your hand.

Satoru's classmates made a whimper and you turned your eyes to Satoru who was still in a trance-like state. You wanted to laugh but you contain yourself from doing it. The game continued, as Satoru continued to ramble on in his not-so-pure thoughts about you. You continued to smile and stare at him, and poor Satoru's heart continued to race like a 16-year-old's.

“Well…” You stood up. “I think it is time for me to leave.” You looked at the boys and finally at Gojo and winked your eye, hoping he would get your signal.

“I will accompany you.” Satoru stood from the table as fast as the light.

You smiled and started walking with Satoru following you like your own shadow. The cold night hit your cheeks and you turned around to look at Satoru.

“So what pretty boy, is this a goodbye?”

Satoru swallowed and moved his hands. “Only… only if you want.”

You bite your lip. “You know…” You approached him and you placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath your palm. “I didn’t get any birthday present today…”

You saw Satoru gulp and get nervous. “Oh… that’s a shame…” He said with a sigh. “Is… is there anything I could do?” He said with a half smile.

“Yes…” You narrowed your eyes and your breaths began to mix before kissing his lips.

Your hands moved from his chest to his hair and you gently tugged on it as the kiss intensified. You separated from him trying to catch your breath.

“Let’s go to my apartment.” You held his hand and started walking searching for a taxi to take you both to your apartment.

As soon as you entered your apartment, the anticipation that had been boiling through your veins burst forth. You couldn't resist any longer and immediately pounced on Satoru, your need for him overtaking everything else. Your lips met his in a fervent kiss, tasting the sweetness of his candy-flavored lips.

The urgency of your movements seemed to take Satoru by surprise, his breathing ragged as your mouths moved against each other. His hands, shaking slightly with nervousness, found their way to your hips. Despite the passion between you, his touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he feared you might break in his arms. Slowly, as if he savored every second of closeness, he pulled you closer, closing the space between your bodies until you could feel the heat of him penetrating your skin, as if he were leaving marks on your skin.

As your bodies pressed closer together, the heat between you became almost unbearable, the temperature of your room beginning to rise abruptly. Your fingers tangled in his white hair, drawing him deeper into the kiss as you demanded more from him. Satoru responded with a soft, submissive moan that made you shiver, his lips surrendering completely to your touch and your warmth.

His hands wandered from your hips to your sides, moving tentatively, almost as if asking for permission with every inch he traveled across your skin. He traced the curve of your waist with a feather-light touch, his fingers trembling slightly as he explored your body, his breathing growing shakier with each passing moment. His chest rose and fell against yours, the steady beat of his heart resonating in your own chest, but his submission made it all the more intoxicating.

You could feel Satoru’s restraint jerk and tremble beneath your lips. He was giving himself over to you completely. When he finally broke the kiss to catch his breath, his eyes met yours, filled with a vulnerable longing that made your heart race.

You could see the hunger reflected in Satoru’s gaze, tempered with a deep, trusting submission that only made you want him more. Wordlessly, you pulled him back to you, needing to feel him, to taste him, to take control of every part of him.

His hands moved more confidently now, but still with that same underlying hesitation, sliding down your back and then back down again, like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you beneath his fingers, but unsure if he could take more. Your own hands roamed over his body, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, feeling the way his body responded to your touch.

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and steady, pulsing beneath your fingertips as you ran them over the hard plains of his chest. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the coolness of the night air that wafted just outside the window. As you moved closer, pressing your body fully against his, Satoru responded with a low, breathy moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When his lips left yours, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw and down your neck, you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips. The sound seemed to spur Satoru on, his kisses becoming more insistent, more demanding as he explored the curve of your neck.

Your hands found their way beneath his shirt, tracing the contours of his back, the muscles tensing beneath your touch as you pulled him even closer.

With a breathless whisper Satoru broke the silence of the room. “What do you want me to do ma’am?”

That nickname made your insides burn with desire, his hot and eager gaze only increased that desire. Your heart was completely racing, you wanted that boy to devour you, even if it was just for that night. You wanted it.

A sigh escaped your lips and you swallowed hard. “Get on your knees.” You told him with a smile.

Satoru obeyed without blinking an eye, without question, as he got on his knees in front of you. You smiled widely and sat down on the couch behind you. The short dress you were wearing was pushed up slightly to your thighs.

Satoru positioned himself between your legs, you could see his gaze filled with a mix of intensity mixed with tenderness. Satoru took a moment to admire you, his breath warm and uneven hitting your skin. Satoru placed soft kisses on your inner thigh, the kisses were slow and gentle as if Satoru wanted to take his time with you.

A moan escaped your lips as his fingers moved over your thong and his tongue traced a path from your entrance to the sensitive folds above. His gaze was fixed on you, looking at you with desire and hunger. You threw your head back as he began to suck, feeling it send shockwaves through your body.

His hands rested lightly on your hips, holding you in place as he continued his exploration. He seemed completely absorbed in pleasuring you, focused on knowing what made you moan in pleasure.

“Oh Satoru!” You moaned, tangling your fingers in his white hair, feeling your body getting closer to climax.

Each wave of pleasure that built up inside you was met with a new. As you reached the peak of pleasure, the sounds of your moans and gasps filled the room, and Satoru responded with ever-increasing fervor, concentrating solely on bringing you to the climax you were eagerly approaching. When you finally reached your peak, the sensation was all-encompassing, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Your chest rose and fell as you looked at Satoru, who was licking his lips while his blue eyes remained fixed on you. Satoru was trying to control himself, he felt agitated and the bulge in his pants was becoming unbearable. But, oh fuck, he would never have imagined himself in that situation and he loved it.

The temperature in the room rose considerably and at that moment the only sounds you could hear were your breathing, especially yours, which was still trying to find normality.

You were sticky, sweaty but you didn't want to finish yet. You gulped and gently touched Satoru's face. His gaze relaxed, reflecting tenderness and softness. You smiled before kissing him and lowering your hand to his crotch, causing a whimper to escape Satoru's lips. Smiling against his lips you continue moving your hand over his pants, feeling how hard he was.

“Get undress.” You said breaking the kiss and standing up from the sofa.

Satoru swallowed, following your movements. “Yes ma’am.”

There was that nickname again and the heat it provoked in you. Satoru began to undress and you could notice that toned torso that you had been able to touch lightly minutes ago.

You turned your face away and took off your dress, letting it fall to the floor. Turning back around, you saw that Satoru was now completely naked before you and your heart gave a little jump at the sight of him there, knowing that he would be completely yours.

“Sit on the couch and put this.” You said, throwing him a condom you were keeping on your purse.

Satoru shivered, he was loving this, being under your command, being yours. Nodding he sat down on the couch and you walked over to him, a smile forming on your face.

Satoru was completely hard, he knew that if you touched him he could cum. You gently sat on his thighs and touched his face again and gently moved closer to him.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, Satoru?” You murmured against his lips.

Satoru felt like he was melting, like he was passing out. “Yes…”

“Yes what?” You smiled.

“Yes ma’am.” He said and you nodded before kissing him.

You gently grabbed his member, causing Satoru to moan and squeeze his eyes shut. “Open your eyes my sweet boy. I want you to watch me ride you.”

Satoru opened his eyes, which were glazed over and he swallowed as he watched you gently insert his member inside you.

You moaned as his cock was finally inside you, it was definitely bigger than your ex's and it filled you completely. Satoru moved his hand and grabbed your hip, you could feel his desperation crashing against your skin as he sought to get you to start moving.

You grabbed his hand and pulled it off your hip. “No hands sweet boy.”

Satoru pouted as he looked at you. “Please…” He moaned as you shifted slightly.

You chuckled and started to move your hips, causing both of you to moan at the pleasure you were feeling. Satoru fought the urge to touch you, to trace your curves, but he wanted to be a good boy to you and follow your desires.

Sweat began to run down your faces as you moved up and down his member, feeling every fiber of your skin tingle with each penetration. It had been too long since you had felt such pleasure, your ex had rarely or never made you feel the way that the 25-year-old was making you feel.

“Oh Satoru…” You said throwing your head backwards and closing your eyes.

“Please ma’am…” Satoru cried out.

“What sweet boy?” You looked at him without stopping.

“Let me… let me touch you more.” He murmured, with his voice trembling as he let the words out.

“Where?” You smirked.

“Everywhere.” He said with shiny eyes.

Your back bent and you brought your face closer to his, your breaths mingling and you gently bit his bottom lip. “You’ve been a good boy, haven’t you?” He nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Go ahead…”

Satoru gathered his courage and captured your lips in a passionate kiss and his hands rested on your hips, squeezing them and beginning to move them up and down, exploring your upper body.

You broke the kiss and threw your head backwards as Satoru started to devour your nipples. You moved your hands up to his hair and tangled your fingers in his hair and started pulling on them.

Satoru left your nipples and began to leave a trail of wet kisses on your neck and collarbone, while you continued to move on his member.

You don't know how much longer you kept moving, but you do know that when your second orgasm hit that night on your birthday, a moan escaped your throat and you hugged Satoru tightly, who kept moving inside you until he growled and reached his orgasm.

Satoru grabbed your body tightly and breathed heavily on your ear, trying to catch his breath after the orgasm he had had. You gently pulled away and got off of Satoru, grimacing at the mess you had made on the couch.

“I will have to call someone to clean that…” You murmured for yourself. “You want something to drink?” You looked at Satoru.

“I… yeah…” He stood up and took his clothes.

You looked at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh… I will leave after drinking something.”

“Why?” You asked.

He looked at you. “I… well…” Satoru felt a bit embarrassed.

“Stay… we can have more fun.” You tilted your head.

Satoru nodded and oh boy, you did have so much fun. You had a few more rounds, in bed, in the shower, etc., you were really thankful you had gone out on your birthday night.

The next morning you woke up with Satoru's arms on your hips and you smiled. You gently moved Satoru until his blue eyes met yours. You had been thinking about something all night.

“Good morning…” You whispered with a smile.

“Good morning.” He said back with a smile revealing his dimples.

“Do you have a passport?” You asked him.

“I… yeah.”

“Good, then come with me to Italy.”

Satoru almost choked with his own saliva and opened his eyes. “To Italy? I don’t have money to…”

“Don’t worry.” You cut him off. “I will pay for everything.” You got closer to him. “So what sweet boy, you coming with me?”

Satoru scanned your face and swallowed. “Yeah… yeah ma’am.”

And there it was the nickname again, you could lose your whole mind for that boy. “Good.” You smiled before capturing his lips again.

[mopopshop]

Ur Best Friend

Inspired by the song “Ur Best Friend” - Kehlani and Kiana Ledé (such a good song oml 🙏🏾) 

Paige x fem!OC (cause ion do that y/n stuff, no hate but I don’t🧍🏾‍♀️)

Featuring: Jalen Suggs

Words: 2k

Themes: 

-drinking

-cheating (sorry fam)

-slight sexual content

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. It was my boyfriend Jalen's twenty-third birthday, and I had spared no effort in planning the perfect party. A few weeks earlier, we’d just celebrated our five months, so I had to have a party to top the last. The decorations were up, the music playlist carefully curated (tons of Rod Wave and Bryson Tiller), and the scent of food filled the air.

Among the guests was Paige, Jalen's best friend since eighth grade. I've always been cordial with her, exchanging polite smiles and casual conversation whenever she was around. But something had shifted in the past few weeks. A subtle tension lingered between us, sparking whenever our eyes met, igniting something unfamiliar yet exhilarating.

She'd gotten more touchy with me as well, a hand on the lower back and a hushed "excuse me" to get past, a casual arm over the shoulder during group hangouts, a hug or two, but up until a few weeks ago, I'd seen these as nothing less than innocent.

She's a friend, you know? Jalen's friend at that, so no way in hell I'd ever try anything with her. Not to say she's not, you know... good-looking. She'd 100% be my type if it wasn't for Jalen. Paige's tall, she's blonde, she's funny, has a nice smile—did I mention tall? Sometimes she wears these glasses which make her look—

"Aniyah!!"

I'm pulled from my thoughts as my friend Gigi waves me over to her.

"Come on, we're about to sing happy birthday," she smiles and rushes over to me, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the kitchen.

As I followed Gigi into the kitchen, my heart skipped with something unfamiliar upon seeing her. Paige was already there, chatting with a few other guests and standing next to Jalen. She was wearing a grey Nike tech sweatsuit under the jacket, a white tee, her classic braided ponytail, and topped off the look with white Jordan 4’s.

As I moved through the crowd, I couldn't help but steal glances at her. At times, we made eye contact which deepened the flush in my cheeks.

I’d told Jalen earlier that week that I wanted to toast to him before we sang for the cake, and I’d prepared something ahead of time, but now as the moment approached, something about it just hadn’t felt right. In the midst of my thinking, I don’t notice Jalen coming up to me with open arms.

“Hey baby, you good?” He says with a look of worry.

I’m startled by the sound of his voice and am quickly ripped from my thoughts.

“Hey! Yeah yeah I’m fine… just hoping you like my toast,” I breathe out, praying he doesn’t press the issue.

He smiles and says nothing, placing his hand on the small of my back and directing me towards the front of the crowd… towards Paige.

I lock eyes with Paige again and I rush to look away, but as I go to look back, I notice she’s still staring.

What was this tension between us? And why was it becoming harder to ignore?

Gigi nudged me playfully, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Girl what is going on with you today, you gonna do this toast or what?”

With a deep breath, I grab my shot glass and get everyone’s attention.

“Hey y’all, before we sing happy birthday, I just wanted to make a toast to my man. Tonight, let's raise our glasses to celebrate Jalen's 23rd birthday. Jalen, you're more than just a boyfriend; you're my rock.”

Even as I say these words and the more I go on, I don’t feel as though they’re genuine. All I can do is think of Paige…

“Your kindness, strength, and passion inspire me every day. Your laughter lights up any room, and your presence warms my heart. Here's to another year of smiles, laughter, and adventures together. Happy birthday, Jalen! Cheers!”

I tip my head back and down the shot, feeling the lukewarm liquid burn its way through my throat. Bringing my head up, I catch Paige’s gaze once again, and this time I don’t look away.

Suddenly my view of her is obscured as a group of Jalen’s friends come from the hallway with his birthday cake. Everyone gathers around Jalen, me on his right side and Paige on his left while Jalen holds the cake in the middle. We quickly sing happy birthday, and he blows out his candles. He turns to me to go in for a kiss, but I catch sight of Paige behind him and end up swerving his kiss.

“Yo.. seriously you good babe?” Jalen spews sort of irritated.

“Fine! I’m fine,” I squeak out, “Just…”

My gaze falls over to Paige, seeing her fight back a smile or maybe a chuckle at the sight of me rejecting Jalen’s kiss.

“… distracted.”

“Uh.. cool, okay,” I see him look to his friend group.

“I’m just gonna go and talk with the boys for a minute,” and he presses a brief kiss to my cheek.

“Have fun!” I turn around and try to yell over the music, but I can tell he’s already forgotten about me.

When I look back, I see Paige again. She makes prolonged eye contact then trails her eyes to the porch outside. Cocking her head towards the door as if to say “let’s talk out here” and promptly turns around and heads out the back doors.

I wait a few minutes before heading out to follow her because as much as I long to talk with her, I’m not trying to look desperate. Slowly but surely, I make my way over to the doors, pushing them open to see Paige leaning with her forearms on the railing.

“What are you following me out here for?” Paige teases turning her head with a smirk. I laugh quietly, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

She stands up straight, turning around to face me, leaning her back on the railing, crossing her feet and arms.

“You're trying to be shy so bad, get your ass over here,” She laughs.

I throw my hands up defensively, my voice pitching up a little bit, “I’m not being shy! I just don’t know what to say right now.”

Paige reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me entirely too close to her. “You don’t have to be so weird, it’s just me,” she says softly while caressing my fingers.

“I just- I.. I don’t know! Everything’s just so complicated right now,” I confess.

“Well talk to me about it,” she continues caressing my fingers, which makes it increasingly hard to think straight.

“I can’t.”

“Why not, mamas?”

That god damn nickname.

“I can’t because it’s about you.”

“What about me?”

“I can’t say! I just- it’s like- If I say how I really feel about.. you know everything, It’s gonna be real, and I’m not sure if I want it to be real.”

“Ma, you’re not making any sense right now.”

“I know!” I throw my hands up in frustration, I feel hot and flustered, and Paige being less than two feet from me isn’t making it any better.

Paige grabs my chin, bringing me closer and forcing eye contact.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Seriously breathe through it, you’re okay,” She says calming me down. “Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

I take a deep breath and back away from Paige slightly, letting the word vomit take its course.

“Every time I see you, my heart races, and my palms get all sweaty. I try to play it cool, you know. But let's be real, I am desperate. Desperate to talk to you, to be near you, to just be in your presence. And when I finally gather the courage to make my way over to you, my knees feel like jelly, and my words get all jumbled up. But you! You just stand there with that smirk on your face, teasing me, and you know you have this effect on me, you love it. I know you do.

And then you show up to Jalen’s party, making all the faces and giving me ‘fuck me’ eyes, and it’s just- it’s a lot to deal with! So I come out here to shut it down, but you make it so fucking hard by pulling me closer, rubbing my fingers and shit, making it impossible for me to think straight. And then by asking me what's on my mind, what's bothering me, you’ve become a better partner to me in ten minutes than Jalen ever has in these past five months.

And I know I should just spill my heart out to you, which I quite literally am doing right now, and tell you how I feel and hope for the best. But it's not that simple. I am scared, scared of losing you, of ruining our friendship, of making things awkward between us. But I can't help the way I feel, Paige. I just feel like the biggest asshole for doing this to Jalen because even though he’s not the best boyfriend, he’s still a good guy. I don’t know…”

I take a deep breath after that, looking at Paige’s face for any sign of disgust.

“Aniyah, I…” she starts.

“See, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I told you it was stupid! I knew you didn’t feel the same, and I opened my mouth anyways,” I quickly backtrack.

“Paige, I’m sorry, I’m just acting all crazy because Gigi’s birthday dinner's in a few days, and I have an early exam tomorrow, just super busy with things! Again, so sorry I-“

I’m quickly cut off by the feeling of Paige’s lips crashing onto mine and her arms wrapping around my waist.

“Don’t apologize for anything,” she breathes out in between kisses.

After a good minute or two of deep kisses, we break apart with our foreheads touching. I bring my arms around her neck while hers stay around my waist, rubbing the material of my black mini dress.

The air around us feels charged with electricity as we stand there, our breaths mingling in the warm night air. Paige's touch sends shivers down my spine, and I find myself lost in the moment, forgetting everything else except her and the connection between us.

"Aniyah," Paige whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of music and chatter from the party.

"Yeah?" I respond softly, my heart still racing from the intensity of our kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," she admits, her blue eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation or regret.

“Same,” I smile, and we both laugh.

“This… this is not a good idea,” I sigh out.

“Probably,” she jokes. “But I really wanna kiss you again, so maybe let’s have this conversation in the morning,” Paige tilts her head back down to kiss me again.

I squeal, “Paige! Hold on, Jalen’s still here. So is literally everyone else.”

“C’monnn.. Jalen’s probably blacked out or cross-faded by now. Let’s just sneak past everybody…” She leans down, kissing up my neck.

“I… Paige..” I breathe out.

“Hm?”

“Seriously.. hold on two seconds. Just let me check on him.”

She rolls her eyes sassily, gripping my waist again, “Fine.”

I pull her hands off my waist, interlocking our fingers and dragging her with me back into the house full of drunken young adults. We continue to weave our way through the house finally getting to the room packed full of loud frat guys, including Jalen.

As Paige predicted, Jalen’s 6’3 self passed out on the couch surrounded by his friends in equal states.

“I fuckin’ told you dude,” Paige nudges me with her elbow.

“Shut up!” I laugh turning around and pushing her back slightly.

She grips my wrist, pulling me into her body. “Now can we…? You know..” she says smirking.

I burst out laughing, “Yes! Jesus, you—horndog.”

“The fuck is a horndog, bruh?” She replies chuckling.

“Girl I don’t know! And by the way, don’t call me ‘bruh’ when you’re trying to shove your fingers ins-“

Slapping a hand over my mouth, “Okay okay!”

We both laugh to ourselves as we stumble up the stairs with our mouths attached, bumping into walls and pictures along the way. Finally reaching my room and falling through the doorway.

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Behavioral Lessons - King Ben x Reader

Summary: You push Ben's buttons too far

Words: 5.3K

Inspired by a section from my Dating Ben Would Include. Ben didn't lose his beard or fangs in this guys. He just didnt. So with that, he might just have some other… beast like qualities. (im so sorry i went rouge)

Link to photo of the dress, but if you hate it, just ignore when the dress is described and picture whatever you want to be wearing!

Warnings: Smut, uhhhh, thigh riding, a bit of edging, choking bro im not well at ALL for doing this to poor mitchell, not proofed

Edit: oh god. yall this is so dirty. i didnt mean to make ben a degrader but here we are... I’m sorry if I ruin this franchise for you rip i ruined it for myself

You had to take matters into your own hands. You hadn't seen Ben in weeks. And when you had, it wasn't for more than a few minutes when you passed each other in the corridors of the castle. He hadn't even been returning to your shared room at night, sleeping in his office instead. You were growing restless without your fiancé.

Since you were both twenty-one, your wedding was coming up. With the nearing celebrations on top of his usual king duties, Ben had been more stressed than usual, which is why you hadn't seen him recently.

So naturally, you just had to take matters into your own hands. You knew the way to help your fiancé was to help him relieve his stress, and you knew just how to push him to get there.

Every Friday night, you sat down with Ben and his parents for dinner. But this Friday was special. Not only were his parents going to be there, but so were your friends. It was the final Friday before your wedding and it would be the most you've seen of him in weeks so you were looking forward to it. And what was to come afterward.

...

You kept the dress hidden for months. It was strapless and fell mid-thigh. The body of the dress was a pale yellow, the outer layer was a sparkly floral pink fabric, and the bodice had tiny bows up the front. Evie had designed it for you and was standing in front of you now.

"Oh. My. God. I don't think I've ever made anything better. You look incredible. Ben is gonna go craaaa-zyyyyy." She was gushing over you, shoving a pair of gold shoes into your hands. "Now put these on, and then let's get to that dinner.

You looked at yourself in the mirror absolutely mesmerized at your reflection. Your legs looked incredibly long with the length of the dress paired with the heels. Dizzy had so graciously styled your hair, a simple updo, but with your small tiara on your head, it was perfect. You smiled at yourself, bringing your hand to your neck where a small, gold, necklace with the letter "B" sat.

...

You were giddy with anticipation, ready to see Ben, ready for him to see you. You entered the large dining hall, filled with your friends from the Isle and Auradon. Belle was at your side immediately, looking beautiful as always.

"Y/N! Sweetie! You look lovely!" The small woman hugged you. "I am so looking forward to you and Ben's wedding next week. It is going to be beautiful!" You smiled at her.

"Thank you! I'm excited about it too. Ben is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to be marrying him." Then, Lumiere announced that dinner had been served and as you turned to go to your seat, Ben was behind you.

"Hi." He was giving you the smile that made your stomach flutter with butterflies. His hands were on your waist almost instantly, bringing your body closer to his. He looked perfect, would you expect anything different? The blue suit with the golden crown was a look you'd never get tired of.

"Hello." You smiled back at him as he kissed you for the first time in weeks. You broke it first, knowing that people were most definitely watching you and that you needed to leave him wanting more.

As you walked to your places at the table, Ben whispered in your ear...

"You look incredible, Y/n." You flushed at the compliment and at the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You sit next to him, the chairs closer together than normal with the new amount of people. The plan was in full motion now.

The feast was grand, as it usually was, but before it began, Ben rose to give a toast.

"Thank you all for joining Y/N and me," He gestured for you to stand and join him. His arm wrapped around you instantly. "In our final feast before our wedding." He turned to you, his beautiful smile returning again. "I can't speak for my beautiful fiancé, but I am so happy that our closest friends and family were able to join us tonight." You spoke before he could go on.

"I am also very happy you are here!" The hall erupted in a chorus of laughs and Ben squeezed your side.

"I'm so honored to be marrying such a wonderful person. I cannot wait to share the rest of my life with you.” You smiled at him as he bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He whispers, "I love you." and then he pulls away to continue. “Alright, I’m sure you all want to eat, so I won't bore you with my love speech any longer."

...

As everyone else ate, you counted the minutes until you could begin your plan. You didn't want to start it too early or too late. You had to wait for the right time. Ben was such an attentive fiancé that he had noticed your behavior.

"Honey?" You were startled at his voice in your ear again. "Are you feeling ok?" You turned to him, noticing that he was looking down at your chest, blushing when he looked back up. You shifted at the sight of his tongue running over the tips of his fangs.

Now. It was time for your plan.

You set your hand on his upper thigh, leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"I guess I'm just hungry for something else..." You ran your hand up further before you were stopped by him. You looked down at his hand grasping your wrist, right above the seam of his pants.

"Y/N." His usually sweet voice was stern. You set your face with a smirk but innocent eyes, looking up at him. His jaw was clenched but you could tell you were getting somewhere. His skin was dusted pink and his pupils had dilated. "What are you doing?" You reached your fingers to brush against the fabric of his pants and he snarled, his grip on your wrist tightening.

"Ben!" His father interrupted and he swallowed, squeezing your wrist once more.

“Stop if you know what’s good for you.” His words were low and then he turned to his father who was across the table. You took this moment to shake yourself from him, turning to the former king, before placing your hand back onto his pants.

Ben jerked, trying to keep his composure in front of his parents and friends, but how could he when you were teasing him like this? In order to not draw attention to himself, he kept both hands on the table.

"Son, are you ok?" Ben eyed you, giving you a glare that only spurred you on further. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm fine." He continued his conversation with his father, talking about God knows what, as you continued to tease him. You were half listening to Ben and Adam and the other half of your brain was only thinking of making Ben as flustered as possible, so you ran your hand over the growing tent in his suit pants. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure, his breathing had gone uneven, his face was red, and he kept glancing at the big grandfather clock behind his father's chair.

You smiled, gave his clothed member a squeeze, and withdrew your hand, reaching for a large piece of chocolate cake. You looked over at Ben, his eyes narrowed on you as you brought a bite to your mouth. His slip in composure was glorious and you winked at him as you brought a bite of cake to your lips.

You almost choked on the cake as his hand slid onto your thigh, just past your dress, fingers skimming the soft lace of your underwear, already wet from your actions and your thoughts of the night to come.

"So needy that you've resulted to disobeying your King? How pathetic." His lips grazed over the skin under your ear before he leaned back to look at you.

Your thighs squeezed against his hand involuntarily and it was his turn to smirk. He regained his composure, returning to “normal” Ben, now free from your teasing.

You, however could barely eat your dessert with his hand pressed between your legs.

“Regretting our actions are we?” He whispered to you as his engagement ring slid over your core. You covered the gasp with a cough. “That’s what I thought.”

...

The second dinner had ended, Ben's arm was around your waist. As the two of you neared the doors of the large hall, his name was called.

His dad and Lumiere were behind you.

"Your Majesty, your father and I have been talking and there are a few things we wanted to go over for palace security during the ceremony. If you come with us, it won't take very long." Ben's face was completely normal as he gave Lumiere a nod before turning to face you.

He plastered on his King Ben smile, brushing his hand against your cheek, bringing your lips to his, but he didn't kiss you.

"I hope you know, I'm not going to be nice tonight." His lips were on yours for mere seconds before he stepped back, running his tongue over his fangs once again. Then, he turned back to Adam and Lumiere, leaving you in the dining hall, thoughts running wild about what was to happen to you that night.

...

You called Evie as soon as you got back to your and Ben's bedroom.

"Do I keep the dress on? Or do I wear something else?" You were frantic, walking around the closet, not knowing what to do.

"Girl! Calm down!" You had told her what had happened and she was so excited she practically screamed. "If I were you, I would put on one of his dress shirts. He won't be expecting it when he comes in to punish-"

"Oh my GOD, EVIE!" The laughter on the phone was enough to make you roll your eyes. "Thanks for your help." You grumbled.

"Let me know how it goes!" Before you could reply, she hung up. You set your phone down and grabbed one of Ben's white dress shirts along with a simple, white lace lingerie set from a drawer.

Slipping the dress off, you carefully put it on a hanger and set it in your closet. You slid the shirt on, buttoning it up, leaving it open just enough to see the bra you had just put on. You began to take out your hair, setting the crown down on your vanity counter, and removing the pins holding the updo in place. Finally, you applied a bit of lipgloss and a spritz or two of Ben's favorite perfume before climbing onto your shared king-sized bed.

...

Thirteen minutes later, not that you had counted, the bedroom door burst open, and in walked your fiancé. His eyes locked on your body as he removed his suit jacket. You knew he was waiting for you to look at him, so you obliged, looking up from the random book you had picked up, you really weren't reading it anyway. He was glaring at you as his hand loosened his tie and removed it. You tried your best to look at him with the most innocent eyes you could and he chuckled.

You watched as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of the white shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. When you looked back into his eyes, they were almost black.

"Did you have a good time at the dinner, my dear? Did you enjoy yourself?" His hands were placed on the bed so he was leaning down. His tone was condescending, which sent shivers down your spine. He was always so sincere. This new side to Ben was intoxicating.

“Answer your King when he speaks to you.”

If he noticed your eyes widening in shock, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was unmoving, his eyes challenging you, taunting you.

“I’m not going to ask again.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you nodded.

Ben chuckled again, his fangs on display. Any sight of them made your heart race and he knew it.

“No, honey. Use your words.” His voice lowered. “Or do you want to disobey me again?”

“Yes, I enjoyed dinner.” Your voice was small but you held your ground, not breaking eye contact. You challenged him back. “Did you enjoy dinner, Ben?” A dark look crossed his face.

“Why don’t you try saying that again, using my correct title?” You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but you had to admit, you liked this side of him.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight…” You sat up from the headboard, leaning towards him, and bowed your head. Then, looking up at him through your lashes added, “…my King?”

His eyes narrowed again and his hands wrapped around your ankles, tugging you to the end of the bed. He settled his knee between your legs, brushing your clothed core on purpose, but not acknowledging it. His hands settled by your head and he hovered over you.

“No.” He dug his knee into you harder and you threw your head back, exposing your neck to him as you moaned. “No, I didn’t.” You felt his finger slide down the column of your throat before hooking itself around your necklace laced with his initial. He leaned down, mouth hovering over the pulse point in your neck. “My bratty fiancé couldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

His teeth ran down your neck and goosebumps erupted at the sharpness of the canines. “You haven’t touched your bratty fiancé in weeks.” He tugged on your necklace and your eyes found his again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Now that was a surprise.

Though he got stressed fairly often, he never used vulgar language. You had heard him say “damnit” once after losing a Tourney game in high school, but that was it.

Suddenly, you felt your body flush at his outburst. You didn’t reply, too shocked to say anything.

Ben smiled, but it wasn’t his good King Benjamin smile.

This smile was positively wicked.

“I believe I asked you a question, Y/N.” The fingers hooked on the chain around your neck now rested softly on your throat.

Holy shit.

“Yes.” The words were almost inaudible.

“M’sorry… what was that?”

“Yes.” You spoke clearly now.

He snickered.

“That’s now how you properly answer a question, now is it? Let me ask again.” His fingers tightened slightly. “Do you want your King to fuck you?” The word rolled off of his tongue like honey and your hips rolled into his knee.

“Yes, I want you to…” His eyebrow went up. “…fuck me.” His fingers withdrew from your throat.

“Hmm.” Suddenly he was standing up, leaving you on the bed, catching your breath. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

You watched with wide eyes as he sat down at your vainity in the corner of the room. He looked so casually regal. His crown, the unbuttoned shirt, his crisp blue slacks. But there was some other air about him that was making you crumble in his hands. The way he was man spreading, his long legs awaiting as your own throne. His beard and sharp fangs you were aching to feel between your thighs. Your toes curled at the thought.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you honey?” The mean tone from before had returned. “You’re thinking about me fucking you?” Your face flushed so much you were sure it went down your whole body. You quickly realized he’d asked you another question.

“Y-Yes. I am thinking about that.” Your snarkiness from before was long-gone. He gave you another wicked smile. His picked up your crown, which was much smaller than his since your coronation would happen after the wedding.

“Well, are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come finish what you started at dinner?” You got up from the bed immediately crossing to where he sat. His fingers wrapped around your necklace again, tugging you to his level. Your knees hit the floor, hands on his thighs while he brushes your hair from your face. He tilts your chin up to meet your eyes.

His hand retracts while he takes you in. On your knees in front of him, wearing one of his shirts and dear God, the white lace of your bra peeking out at him was making his head spin.

No longer having self-restraint, Ben’s lips lock on yours. You moan into his mouth as his hands wrap around your torso, pulling you to sit in his lap. He growls into the kiss as you grind your hips into his.

Finally. You thought to yourself. Ben’s control over his respectful manner had cracked a little but your goal was to break through it completely. And you knew by his bruising grip on your hips that you were on the right track.

Then suddenly, Ben wasn’t touching you anymore. Your body was left heaving on top of his while he leaned back in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests.

“Go on.” You stated wide-eyed at him. “I’m not going to do all the work here, honey.” Your face flushed as you looked to his crotch, the tented fabric strained. “You did this…” His hand grabbed yours, setting it back onto his pants. “…so do something about it.”

Slowly, you began to move your fingers and Ben’s eyes narrowed.

“You and I both know you can do better than that.” His hand found it’s way back up to your throat. “Don’t you want to please your King?”

Dear GOD where had this side of him come from? He shifted the slightest bit so his pants ran against you.

“Ben!” Your eyes squeezed shut, brain foggy with him.

“Are you really making me wait?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as yours shifted to where your shaking hands were now trying to undo his belt buckle.

As you worked to free him from his pants, Ben’s hands found their way back to your hips, slowly pushing up the fabric of his dress shirt so he could see what was lying underneath.

His mouth almost watered as the white lace was brought into view. He licked his lips at what the fabric was trying in vain at hiding.

Ben had to remind himself that you were not being rewarded now. That you’d disobeyed him at dinner and now was not the time to be relishing in how lovely you were.

He was brought out of his thoughts as your hand slid into his boxers.

He threw his head back and muttered a barely audible,

“Fuck.”

As your fingers wrapped around him, timidly moving up and down.

He looked at you, so focused on what you were doing, so desperate to make him feel good, needing to hear his words of praise. Ben guided you to straddle one leg as he began to rock his hips into your hand.

You were so trained on pleasing your fiancé, that you hadn’t even noticed that you’d begun grinding on his thigh.

Ben had noticed. He watched as your breathing became more rapid and how your strokes became less careful. You looked up, meeting his gaze, sucking in a breath at the primal look in his eyes.

His eyes flashed with pleasure as your thumb ran over the tip of his cock. His fingers stopped your hips and he said,

“Stop.” Right as you were about to come. You did as you were told but you couldn’t help the whine that escaped at the lack of sensation.

Ben rolled his eyes, the hands on your hips forcing you to grind into his leg once again. You moan, tossing your head back to avoid looking at him. The fucker was edging you.

“So Goddamn needy.” His hot touch on your skin was gone and you had to steady your breathing before looking at him again.

Ben had begun to unbutton the rest of your shirt, pushing it off of your shoulders once it was fully undone. He shamelessly raked his eyes over your body, grinning that evil grin as he did so.

Then, his hands were under your bottom, picking you up before setting you down on the bed.

“Are you going to behave now?” The dampening of your underwear at his words is embarrassing. Ben’s thumbs skim over your abdomen, right on the waistband of your underwear. Ben doesn’t break eye contact with you, smiling once again. He looks hot as hell, his fangs and the beard along with his crown.

Was he going to fuck you while wearing his crown? God you hoped so.

“Honey?” Ben lowered to his knees, fingers now on the sides of the lace fabric. You instinctively close your legs but Ben’s strong hands are there instantly, forcing them back open.

Embarrassment floods your system as you watch him look down, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face before his eyes return to yours.

“Keep them open.” His fingers dance dangerously close to the damp lace. “Answer my question, please.”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath fanning your core.

“Yes, Ben. Fuck! I’ll behave.” He kisses your inner thighs which are now practically shaking in his grasp. His mouth moves to your hips, right where your waistband is.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“What?” You sound breathless.

He looks directly into your eyes.

“I’ve been able to smell you this entire time.”

You’re too late to react as Ben rips through the white lace with his teeth. His hands are keeping your thighs to the side and he looks at you for a moment: A shaking little mess before him, your cunt dripping and clenching around nothing. You watch as he smiles again, bracing yourself for the contact of his tongue, lips, and teeth.

His tongue licks your glistening cunt from the bottom up twice and your hand clamps over your mouth when his lips wrap around your aching clit.

And then.

Oh, fuck.

You’d forgotten about his facial hair.

The delicious roughness contrasting with his sweet mouth made the pleasure skyrocket.

Ben loved the taste of you. He was never able to get enough. So anytime he went down on you, he took all he could get. He moaned at the taste of you, the vibrations going straight through you.

Your hips lifted off of the bed as one of his hands moved off of your thigh and a thumb pressed hard against your swollen clit. At the same time, Ben bit into the soft skin of your thighs, marking his territory. He repeated his actions on the other side, now rolling your clit between his fingers.

If you weren’t covering your mouth, you were sure the whole castle would be able to hear you.

Ben’s mouth returned and you let out a scream as his teeth bit your clit gently. He let his tongue swirl around it as his thumb ran down your slit, parting your folds, exposing more of you to the cool air. He moved the slightest bit and the roughness of his mustache brushed against your clit, sending you into your awaiting orgasm.

Ben continued devouring you through it, eating you out like a beast, already wanting to get another one out of you like this. He looked up at you, realizing he hadn’t been able to hear you, eyes narrowing once again at the hand over your mouth. Your hips rocked again as he slid his middle finger into you easily but then he stopped all of his actions.

Your grown was muffled but one look from Ben and your hand fell to the side.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being too loud…” his finger curled inside you and you let out a loud moan, a blush settling over your cheeks instantly. “…because I don’t care if anyone hears. They’ll know how good the king is fucking you, right?” His mouth was on yours again, finger pushing in and out of you slowly. Your hips jerk up and you moan into his mouth, making him smile into yours.

Ben pulls away, making you groan in frustration. As you sit up on your elbows, you watch as Ben steps away from the bed to undress and you know he's doing it slowly on purpose.

"Ben-"

“Shut up. You brought this on yourself, honey.”

Once again, your cheeks heat. His harsh glare makes your heart pound.

His eyes tear away from yours as he finishes undressing. Yours close, waiting for what's next half in anxiousness, half in eagerness. His warm hand on your knee snaps you out of your thoughts.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he brings it between his teeth. He pulls your body down and steps between your legs. Ben's hand settles on your neck again, smirking at the feeling of your racing pulse.

"Don't tell me you're nervous, sweetheart." You take a deep breath before looking into his eyes with a smirk of your own.

"Why would I be nervous if this is what I wanted?" His jaw sets as the smirk disappears.

And then under his breath,

"Such a fucking brat." Before his hand fully wraps around your throat as he brings his lips to yours.

Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders pulling him down on top of you.

You pull away when Ben bites your lip, tasting blood.

"Benjamin!"

His smirk is back.

"Oh, so you're using my full name now. I thought this is what you wanted." You glare at him as you run your tongue along the bite. His head dips as he kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip. You are so enthralled with the feeling of his mouth on yours, you don't register what else he is doing until you feel the head of his cock pushing into you.

You act on instinct, pushing your hips into him but he pulls away.

"Don't be impatient. That stunt you played at dinner was cute and all but-"

"You thought it was cute?" You pout. "I thought you were going to punish me for it, my King."

With that, Ben pushes into you the rest of the way, wrapping his hand around your throat again, silencing any moan trying to escape.

"You were saying?" Your pelvic muscles clench around him which spurs him on further. "What's the matter, my love?" He pulls out of you and puts the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. "You want me to punish you?" He leans in to kiss you again but stops centimeters from your lips. "You asked for it."

Ben kisses you once again, hands now on your hip bones as his hips roll into yours at a brutal pace. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you as he does the dirty work.

Your nails dig into his skin as you near your orgasm, pulling away from his lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Then suddenly, Ben stills inside of you and laughs as you whine.

"Would you like me to keep going?" You nod, although you know he will continue to fuck with you. "Really?" His lips find your neck again, kissing the spot beneath your ear. He grins against your skin at your whine. "Alright."

Ben begins to move ever-so-slowly. Annoyed, you begin to roll your hips into his but he is quick to stop you. His hands press your hips deep into the bed, forcing your movements to stop.

"Ben..." You trail off, eyes closing as Ben continues. He leans back, his beautiful smile gracing his face.

He gradually picks up speed, every movement into you brings you closer to the brink but Ben knows your body well. He's memorized your body and the ways it reacts to his. He knows that when you throw your head backward and try to cover your mouth to subdue the noises you're making that you're close. That's when he knows to stop.

"Fuck, Ben, please." He leans over you again, his beautiful smile still plastered on his beautiful face.

"Please what?" He has the audacity to rub soothing circles on your skin.

"Damnnit Ben." Your eyes are squeezed shut, unable to look him in the eyes. Ben leans over more, his lips brushing against yours.

"Please what, honey?" Your eyes open and narrow at him.

"I already asked Ben..." He chuckles.

"And I'm asking again." He raises his eyebrows. "Now unless you'd like me to," his hips roll again, "continue with your punishment, I suggest you use your words and answer my question."

"Benjamin," You pause briefly, waiting to see if he will stop you and make you use his title, but he doesn't. "Please, please, fuck me."

Ben smirks, making him impossibly more attractive.

"That's all you had to say." His hands grab your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before turning his smirk into a grin.

He moves again and it is glorious. Ben does all the work, which is fine for you because you're too enthralled with the pleasure to do anything about it. His hands tighten on your legs and pull you to him, bringing your bodies impossibly closer. His pace is brutal, fingers most definitely leaving bruises in their wake.

Instead of covering your mouth, your hands wander up his arms and pull him down to you again before resting on his broad shoulders. His crown glints in the light and your eyes roll at the sight. His hand leaves your thigh and reaches between your bodies to pinch your clit. To cover your moan, you pull his lips to yours, releasing it into his mouth. Ben smiles in return, rolling your clit between his fingers.

You break the kiss, gasping for air as your head is thrown back, He takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, his teeth gently biting at the soft skin.

His hips slam into yours once again and it pushes you over the edge. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your body going limp in his arms.

Ben follows not far behind, groaning into your neck.

"Fuck."

After the two of you calm down, he pushes himself back, looking down at you.

"I'm sorry if I went a little overboard. I just-"

"Ben..."

"No seriously I-" You cut him off.

"Benjamin shut up." His eyes widen. You look up at him, a small smile on your lips. He watches with wide eyes as you push yourself up to sit under him. His smirk returns as you wince at the soreness he left you.

"Did you just tell me to-" You cut him off with a kiss, hands pulling his face to yours.

You break away from him and his eyes are wide.

"Ben, if you had gone overboard I would have told you." You kiss him again. "Besides, it's what I wanted." His eyes narrow.

"What?" You giggle, squishing his cheeks together before his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands down. "Y/N, what did you just say?" You fall back onto the bed, laughing.

"I had this whole thing planned out, Bennie Boo." His eyes roll at his ex-girlfriend's nickname for him. "You were stressed and we hadn't..."

"Fucked?" He finishes for you.

"...in weeks, so I put this plan together to help you relieve your stress and so we could..." It's Ben's turn to grin.

"Say it."

"Make me."

His smile drops.

"Oh, you're asking for it now, sweetie." His lips were on yours before you could even think of a clever response.

I'M BACK!!!

bro ive literally been working on this for like 3 months.

:) ENJOY

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[bvnniz]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ bunny!reader x vox , bunny!reader & carmilla carmine

𝜗𝜚 warnings: forbidden love, bunny’s soul is owned by carmilla, more fluff then anything, idk how aging works in hell but bunny ages like a normal person does, same thing with carmilla’s daughters

A/N: i feel as though this story could have a part 2 ( which would probably include smut ngl . . . ) so please comment & tell me if that’s something you guys would want !!

flashback, twenty years ago when bunny first appeared in hell

carmilla and her daughters had been on a walk when they heard a couple of sniffles coming from an alleyway, clara immediately let go of her moms hand and went running towards the sound.

“clara!” carmilla yelled before following with odette, that’s when they finally found the source of the sniffles when they saw little five year old you crying in the alleyway.

“bunny!” clara practically yelled while pointing at you. “indeed she is, where are your parents, sweetheart?” that just made your sobbing start again “they aren’t here.”

carmilla had taken pity on you, mostly due to the fact her daughters begged for a bunny sister. so she took you in and made you apart of her family.

twenty years later, four months before next extermination

“vox, valentino. glad to see all of the vee’s finally have decided our overlord meetings aren’t good enough for them.” carmilla spoke, clearly annoyed causing you to try not to let out a laugh

vox wanted to state he was purely only there for you. truth was you and vox met a couple months ago, went on a couple dates and have been dating since. except no one knows, especially carmilla.

she was your mom for the past twenty years and if there’s one thing she hated more than anything it was the vee’s. she didn’t even want you coming to the meeting because she was told all three vee’s were planning on attending.

your mother glared at the three before turning to you signaling for you to make your exit, she knew odette & clara would be fine if something were to happen but you were always very sensitive, crying at the littlest things. she wasn’t making you leave to be mean, she meant it to be so you didn’t get upset over yelling.

you nodded before leaving the board room and heading to your room. vox making some excuse which got him out of staying before he materialized in your room.

“voxxy!” you practically screamed before pulling him into a hug. “hi princess.” he smiled back at you. “how’d you get here without my mother noticing?”

he just shook his head in response “i barely see you anymore you really think i’m gonna let her try to get me from seeing my little bunny less than i already do?” he pulled you into a kiss which lasted about a minute before you pulled away “what if my mother comes in?”

he sighed before sitting on your bed “you know valentino and velvette are gonna make that meeting way longer than it needs to be.” you nodded before sitting on his lap and pulling him into a kiss.

the kiss turned more heated after a while, vox laying down with you still on top of him, you grinding against him.

although it only lasted a little while longer before your mother walked in “sweethe- what the hell?!” you had immediately pushed yourself off vox standing in front of your bed “mom, it’s not what it looks like i swear!”

“really because it looks like this tv head has decided to leave an important meeting to try and fuck my daughter.” you just stared at the ground for a second before replying “okay so it is what it looks like . . . but he’s fine mom! i swear! we’ve been dating for months and he hasn’t even done anything bad! we haven’t even actually had sex yet!”

carmilla took a deep breath before continuing “you two have been dating and you kept this from me? you know how i feel about lies.” you tried to reply but you couldn’t find the words, you just stared at the ground more, trying to keep your tears in

“carmilla. do not take this out on her. i asked her out, i only even came to this stupid meeting so i could see her. i love this little bunny more than any stupid sinner could. i know you don’t like me and i know you don’t like me dating your daughter more but i love her and i’m pretty sure she loves me. so please don’t make her stop talking to me or something.” you looked back at vox, him meeting your gaze with a smile

“do you love him?” you turned to your mom and nodded “more than anything.” she nodded back “i’ll allow it, but you so much as hurt her and you will be unplugged.” with that she left.

you immediately turned back to vox before climbing back on his lap “you got her approval!” you cheered before peppering his screen with kisses causing him to chuckle. “we got the approval, bunny.”

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: All That You Are

Plot: A chaotic press conference precedes a match that ends in violence.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: f!reader, language, minor violence

A/N: I’m gonna chalk this week’s chapters up to having some free time and also being really motivated to get to the next few. Phew, let me tell you…this is the last chance I’m giving y’all to breathe. The final act kicks off in the next chapter and we don’t stop till the very end…so everybody enjoy the fluff and the jokes while you’ve got them 🙃

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged and, as always, enjoy!

————————

AFC Richmond’s hot streak just…kept…going.

They were killing it, both at matches and training. More importantly, they were happy. Joyful, even. Which meant everyone else was too.

More and more fans started showing up to watch training till eventually, the stands were packed. Y/n had begun to come out more often, genuinely enjoying watching the boys practice, and had found a way to make it a PR matter. She helped get the crowd riled up, engaging with them and encouraging them to cheer and chant for their players. She’d collected whatever merchandise they had a surplus of, pens or coffee mugs usually, and made a game of handing them out to the fans that came. Ted had encouraged her to keep doing it, it only further fostered the atmosphere he wanted to create.

Y/n hurried upstairs one day in particular, having missed the alarm set on her phone while she was hauling a bag of freebies from the gift shop to her office. She was never late and felt like she was going to burst into flames for being so.

“Whoa,” Ted called, just a few steps behind her, “Someone call Allyson Felix. Let her know she better watch her back.”

Y/n hung back on the landing to catch her breath, falling back in step once Ted caught up. “We ran out of the mugs the other day but I’ve got coasters and coozies for this afternoon.”

“Ooh,” Ted exclaimed, “You’ve been killin’ it in the swag department, missy. Everyone’s a little more hyped knowing they get a prize just for participation.”

Y/n grunted, “Trophies for doing nothing is also why my generation hates work, so don’t applaud me yet.”

They entered Rebecca’s office laughing only to find the atmosphere contrasting their good moods. Spread out on the couch, Keeley had her face buried in Rebecca’s lap.

“Uh-oh,” Ted announced his presence, “When girl-talk turns into girl-hug, you know that either means something horrible’s happened, or absolutely nothing at all.”

“Please say nothing at all,” Y/n set her purse down and grabbed the takeaway box Rebecca had ordered for her.

“Jack’s ghosting Keeley,” their boss explained.

“Oh, no,” Ted frowned.

Y/n sunk into the cushion beside Keeley, rubbing her shoulder as the blonde snuggled back under Rebecca’s arm.

“First, she wants to go on a break,” Ted recounted, “And now the old digital Irish goodbye. Which is a term I never really understood. ‘Cause I got a buddy back home named Seamus O’Malley, and that son of a gun hugs folks goodbye for, like, twenty minutes before he leaves anywhere.”

Y/n smiled down at her salad. The last few months may have softened her, but decades could pass and Ted would remain the same.

“Yeah,” he looked to Keeley, “Sorry to hear about that. Hey, I did make you some biscuits, you know, just to soften the blow.”

“Oh, thanks Ted,” Keeley took the pink package from him and opened it. Her eye blew open, “What? There’s like forty quid in here.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were gonna be here till this morning,” Ted explained, “No time to do anything special so I just tossed a little cash in there.”

Keeley nodded, “That is very sweet. Thank you, Ted.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it,” he shrugged, turning to Rebecca, “Hey, boss. You mind if I skip the press conference today? Michelle and I got these parent-teacher meetings I don’t wanna miss.”

Rebecca shrugged and smiled, “Of course, Ted. Family first.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So…” Y/n trailed off, “Who’s next in line?”

A metaphorical lightbulb went off over Keeley’s head. “We could have Roy do it,” she suggested, “I know he hates that stuff, but he is really good at it.”

Y/n struggled to see the “good” part of how Roy handled the press. On her last count, he’d cussed out no more than six reporters.

“I mean, you know, fine by me,” Ted replied.

Rebecca agreed, “Great idea.”

“Look at you,” Ted smiled at Keeley, “Heartbroken, but still kickin’ butt.”

“I mean, I’m not heartbroken,” Keeley fidgeted in her seat, “It’s more like heart-bent.”

“Heart-bent,” Ted mused, “I like that. It’s a great title for a country song. You know, like,” he began to sing, “I’m heart-bent, in my apartment, ‘cause all that you left, was your fart scent.”

“Alright. Goodbye, Ted,” Rebecca cued him up to leave, though Keeley was laughing and Y/n was smiling through a bite of spinach.

“And now that you’re gone,” Ted continued on his way out to the hall, “I wrote this song, ‘cause all you left was, the smell of your farts.”

Y/n pointed to the door with her fork, “Speaking on behalf of our homeland, we can do better than that.”

Rebecca snorted and Keeley rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Right,” she held out her hand, “Show me.”

Keeley handed it over and Y/n bore witness to the mile long chain of texts her boss had sent their boss. It was embarrassing to say the least, but Y/n wasn’t about to kick Keeley when she was already laid out.

“Wow,” she strained as she scrolled.

“I know,” Keeley moaned.

“It’s like a river,” Y/n mused as she surfed the rest of the blue bubbles, “Can you promise one thing?”

Keeley hummed.

Y/n handed her phone back, “No more. She’s the one that stomped on you, she gets to do the groveling.”

And grovel she should. From what Keeley had told Y/n, Jack had handled their conversation regarding the video leak and the so-called “statement” horrifically. Jack seemed offended that Keeley had dared to have a meaningful relationship before her. It was jealousy where jealousy didn’t belong.

Whereas Y/n was still struggling to comprehend Jamie and Keeley ever having been together.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Keeley threw her phone on the other side of the couch, “I’m done.”

“Good,” Y/n nodded firmly.

“And that’s all you’ve got to say?” Keeley asked with a raised brow, “Nothing else?”

Y/n purposefully filled her mouth with a far-too-large bite of lettuce. She had plenty to say on the matter, Keeley knew damn well, but she was determined not to do so unless there was a confirmed break-up. After all, Jack was still their boss.

“Nope,” she mumbled.

Rebecca and Keeley descended into a fit of snorts.

Later, the three women were were seeing Keeley out to her car. Roy was just coming down the hall when they came off the last step.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Rebecca said.

“Okay,” Roy replied before looking to his ex. An awkward silence came about for three seconds, though it felt like much longer. “Keeley.”

“Roy,” she nodded back to him.

Rebecca, blissfully, pulled them out. “So I need you to fill in for Ted at today’s press conference, if that’s okay.”

Roy didn’t hesitate in his reply, “Fuck no.”

Keeley, Rebecca and Y/n were just as unflinching as they waited for the answer to change.

“I mean,” Roy backtracked, “Why can’t Ted do it?”

His eyes went from woman to woman, waiting for one of them to answer or crack or…something.

Or nothing.

“I mean,” he pasted an unnatural grin to his face, “I’d love to.”

Y/n pointed a finger and nodded.

“Wonderful,” Rebecca replied, looking to Keeley and Y/n, “Shall we?”

The three of them left Roy in the hall, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

“Fuck,” he said rather loudly.

“I heard that,” Rebecca smirked.

“You still have my word,” Y/n remarked to her boss, “Send me up there, I’ll give them all they want to know. Sell everybody out. We’ll be on every front page in the country.”

Rebecca laughed, though Keeley missed it entirely. She was too busy glancing back at Roy.

—————————

Later in the afternoon, with the press conference a few minutes away from starting, Y/n swung by her office to pick up the notes she’d jotted down for Roy.

As she grabbed her notebook, she noticed there was a tea sitting next to her laptop.

She picked it up and examined it. It had come from the café, her name was written on the side in the big loopy handwriting Delilah, the barista, used. Assuming she wasn’t being set up to be poisoned, she took a sip and accepted the anonymous kindness.

Y/n made it down to the press room, meeting Higgins in the back and waiting for Roy to enter.

The door opened, and Beard walked through.

Y/n’s face dropped, “Um…”

“Where’s Ted?” Higgins asked.

“Where’s Roy?” Y/n corrected, “He’s supposed to be filling in.”

Beard took his seat at the desk, “Good afternoon. I know you all were expecting Ted, but he couldn’t make it today. I, however, will be happy to answer any and all questions, so,” he gestured to the desk filled with recorders and phones, “Fire away.”

Y/n took a breath, it wasn’t so bad. Beard, while not always the most sociable, was well-spoken and highly intelligent. He might have even been a better choice than Roy for his mood alone.

She regretted every thinking such a thing within two minutes.

“Look, man,” Beard sat back in the chair, “We can debate all day, Zeppelin versus Eagles, but one thing that is absolutely not up for debate is Walsh versus Page.”

“Oh, come off it,” the man fired back, “You honestly think it’s Walsh over Page?”

Y/n whispered to Higgins, “How did this go so far off the rails this fast?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.

She handed him her tea, “Hold this.”

Y/n quietly and calmly exited the room, breaking into a light jog in the hall and up the stairs. She knocked on Rebecca’s open door but didn’t bother to be invited in.

“Hi,” she greeted quickly, “Um, did something happen to Roy in the two hours since he was last seen?”

Rebecca’s brow lowered, “No, why?”

Y/n thinned her lips to a line, “You might wanna come downstairs.”

Without question, Rebecca followed her down and into the press room. Things had taken another turn in the minute Y/n had disappeared for.

“That is not what I said, Gary,” Beard angrily pointed to the reporter in question.

“I have your quote right here,” Gary chuckled.

“You did say it, Coach,” another on agreed.

“Stay out of this, Lloyd,” Beard snapped.

“Don’t shout at Lloyd,” Sarah, another reporter, said.

Y/n flattened her palm against her forehead.

“You said, and I quote,” Gary looked down at his notes, “‘Joe Walsh is a better guitarist than Jimmy Page.’ That’s what you said!”

Beard leaned back in his chair, exasperated by the fight he’d started. “Fine! I said it,” he spread his arms out in defeat, “But what I meant was that Joe Walsh, underrated. Jimmy Page,” he got stuck on the last word in his rage, “Overrated!”

The room was arguing amongst itself.

“I mean, Joe Walsh is a poet,” Beard went on, “Jimmy Page is a fucking court stenographer on Adderall.”

As the room digested the answer in shock, and amusement, Y/n reached out to Higgins, retaking her tea and taking a large swig as if it were wine.

“Are you out of your mind?” Gary laughed, “Page could beat Walsh with one string.”

“What do you mean, beat him?” Beard replied angrily, “It’s not a competition, man. It’s art, you fucking Neanderthal!”

Y/n, Higgins and Rebecca surged forward at the same time.

“Hello,” Rebecca cheerily announced, trying to draw the attention to herself while Higgins grabbed Beard, who was still arguing with Gary. “Hello! Hello!”

Y/n acted as a shield for Higgins as he walked Beard out of the room, dropping him in the side hall. But not before Beard could get in one last insult.

“‘Stairway to Heaven’” is a glorified fingering exercise, and you all know it!”

Higgins smiled at the press as he shut the door, Y/n blindly reaching behind to help him push against Beard’s weight.

“I can’t think of the last time I was able to be here with all you absolutely…” Rebecca spoke loudly over the noise of Beard still yelling into the door. Y/n and Higgins blocked his face from view. “Just brilliant members of the press down here in the pressroom. So with that in mind, I would love to take some questions. Come on,” Rebecca spread her arms welcomingly, “Absolutely ask me anything.”

“Oh, shit,” Y/n mumbled. This wasn’t any better.

Marcus from The Independent announced himself when Rebecca nodded towards him.

“Hello there, Marcus,” she greeted, “How are you?”

“Very well.”

“Good, good.”

“Miss Welton,” Marcus asked, “In your opinion, who’s the greatest classic rock guitarist of all time?”

Rebecca stuttered a bit, stuck on the question that had her blanking out on any rock she’d ever listened to.

“The, uh…” she struggled, “The…guy from Cream.”

Higgins snorted, Y/n buried her head in her hand as the pressroom quietly and collectively laughed.

“Uh…” Rebecca began.

“I think,” Y/n came to stand beside her boss, grinning abnormally large, “That in the wake of our recent wins, we’re all still a bit hazy from the excitement. I think we’re going to call this for the day, but we’ll be ready and waiting for you after the match this Sunday against Brighton. Thank you so much!”

Y/n placed her hands on Rebecca’s back and marched her towards the door.

“Uh, Ms. Y/l/n,” Marcus spoke up, “Care to comment on who you think the greatest guitarist is?”

“Keith Richards,” Y/n answered, “Purely because he’s still standing.”

Whatever reaction she’d caused, she didn’t hear them. Her and Higgins had gotten Rebecca safely out into the hall.

“Sorry about that,” she shuddered.

“You’re alright,” Y/n patted her shoulder.

“‘The guy from Cream,’” Higgins giggled.

“Yes, all right,” Rebecca twisted to face Higgins, “Don’t start with me, Leslie! I panicked,” she took a seething breath, “I’m going to murder Roy Kent.”

“If you don’t, I will,” Y/n exhaled.

“Look, Roy not doing press is just Roy being Roy,” Higgins stated.

Y/n gestured to the door they’d just come out of, “And look where it got us.”

“Well, I am sick of Roy being Roy,” Rebecca spat, hands on her hips, “So it’s time for Rebecca to be Rebecca.”

Without another word, she marched off in the direction of the training room. The boys would nearly be done with their afternoon workout.

“Oh, yes,” Higgins agreed, “Absolutely- I couldn’t,” he turned with Y/n to watch Rebecca strut away from them, “Yeah. There you go. Yes! Ooh!”

Y/n breathed a laugh, if anyone rubbed off on her from Richmond, she hoped it was Rebecca. There was a fierceness inside her that Y/n had never possessed in her life, but she’d have liked to.

“Stay for the aftermath?” Higgins asked.

“Oh, definitely,” Y/n nodded. She wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to stare down Roy.

Quick enough, Rebecca marched back up the stairs, Roy following thirty seconds later. While Higgins’ best frown was still his worst smile, Y/n glared at the coach unflinchingly. He did his best to ignore them both on the way up to Rebecca’s office.

“Another day,” Y/n mumbled, her and Higgins heading their separate ways for the rest of the afternoon.

As she walked down the hall, some of the boys came out of the training room. She high-fived them before coming up on Jamie, bringing up the rear.

He flicked the cup of tea, still in Y/n’s hand, and smirked. “Cheers.”

Y/n looked back and met his waiting gaze, the two of them sharing a smile. The days at Nelson Road grew more unpredictable the further into the season they got, but some things were as constant as breathing.

——————

The day of the Brighton match started as normal as any other. Y/n made the familiar trek to the owner’s box, taking a seat between Keeley and Higgins, and braced for the ninety minutes of nerves she both hated and loved.

“Oh, it’s Jack,” Keeley announced as she scrolled her phone. The three of them sat to attention as they waited to hear the text, “She’s saying that she’s in Argentina…for the next couple of months.”

“Ouch,” Higgins commented. Y/n scoffed while Rebecca pulled Keeley into her side.

“Well,” Keeley took a breath, “I think our break is actually an ‘up.’ So now that Jack is officially my ex,” she looked between the group, “Please feel free to say any of the things that you didn’t like about her.”

Rebecca sighed, “Well-“

“Ooh,” Higgins chimed in, “Her handshake was way too firm. You know-“ he groaned and grunted as he imitated the action, “I get it. You’re friendly. Good riddance.”

Y/n bit down on her bottom lip, trying to keep the comments from flying out her mouth.

“Something you’d like to say, Y/n?” Keeley asked knowingly.

Shaking her head, she tried to go the diplomatic route. “Just want to watch some football.”

Keeley slowly nodded, staring out at the field with her.

“And she’s a fucking asshole,” Y/n muttered as low as she could to let only Keeley hear it. They smiled to one another.

Right off the bat, the Greyhounds were struggling. Isaac, usually so focused, was off his game. He cost them a goal kick and earned Brighton a corner instead. It wasn’t like him and the fans were letting their displeasure be known.

Even worse, when Colin lost an easy goal, Isaac went after him. The two of them argued until Jamie and Sam, playing peacemaker, held Isaac back from following Colin any further.

Y/n frowned, something had to have happened before the match. The boys were far more in sync than this, and they sure as hell didn’t fight each other.

The first half ended on the heels of Dani just nearly making a goal, only for Brighton to block it. The score was 1-nil as the Greyhounds trudged back to the locker room.

Higgins, Y/n, Rebecca and Keeley went silent as the fifteen minute break began. There wasn’t anything to say.

Y/n’s eyes were glazing over the crowd on the opposite side of the stadium when a commotion started. She followed the noise to the tunnel to see Isaac, leaping into the stands and grabbing one of the fans.

“Oh my gosh,” she mumbled. Keeley, Rebecca and her all rose to their feet.

With the distance, the scene could hardly be seen properly, but it appeared that Isaac was holding the fan by the shirt and yelling in his face. The ref had never pulled the red card out so fast. It was unprecedented and unacceptable.

Higgins rushed out his seat, the women moving to make room for him down the aisle. Y/n’s eyes followed Roy as he helped Isaac down and started shouting something to the security guards.

The scene died down as quickly as it began. The fan was escorted out of the stadium and the Greyhounds disappeared into the tunnel.

“What the hell was that?” Rebecca finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Keeley breathed.

Internally, Y/n began to feel some sort of panic build. She couldn’t decipher the complexities of it, all she knew was she had to move.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked as Y/n slid past them.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled Keeley’s same answer, already climbing the stairs.

She hurried through the suite, past all the fans opening social media to post that they’d witnessed the fight themselves. Past all the fans in the concourse exclaiming how McAdoo was about to fucking kill the twat. Y/n couldn’t hear any of it as she made for the personnel-only entrance into the building.

When she made it to the empty hall outside the locker room, she faltered. Her immediate reaction would be to run in, but she knew it was far from appropriate. Her hand instinctively reached toward the door, even with feet of space between her and it. She couldn’t.

Nearly as soon as she’d thought it, Isaac came bursting through the door, unaware of her presence as he stalked to the boot room. He slammed that door shut and Y/n flinch at the sound.

Ten seconds later, Roy came out much more peacefully, but still with purpose.

Y/n stepped forward, her movements and her voice hesitant, “Hey-“

Roy could see the concern etched deeply in her face and touched her arm as he passed. “I got it.”

It wasn’t often that Roy wasn’t scowling, wasn’t speaking like he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. For him to speak softly, to voluntarily comfort someone, he had to have meant it.

Y/n stood frozen as he shut the door to the boot room, all the pieces of her reaction making sense suddenly. After Isaac had attacked the fan, her first thought hadn’t been about PR. It hadn’t been about the clean-up her and Keeley would have to do, the stress of it all. It hadn’t had anything to do with what the internet would think or the fans or anyone.

Her first thought was to wonder if Isaac was okay.

She knew by now she cared about AFC Richmond. She had a special affection for Rebecca and their weekly tea. Keeley had cracked her way past Y/n’s gates simply by being herself. Ted was the nicest slice of home she could have gotten.

This was different. This was caring so deeply for the team that she was standing in the hall, unmoving until she knew they were all alright.

It was no longer about letting them in, Y/n knew, it was about how deeply etched in her heart they were.

She waited, waited, the whole fifteen minutes, hearing only the muffled mumbles of the team’s conversation through the doors. When they cheered and exited the room, their spirits seemingly lifted, none of them even noticed her against the wall.

Y/n moved to stand outside the boot room, catching Colin and Trent as the last ones to exit the locker room. Trent threw her a small salute that she matched, before heading out to his own seat. She still wasn’t leaving until she knew all was well.

Eventually, Roy came out of the boot room with Isaac in tow. The disgraced captain glanced up at her as he passed, Y/n made a point to squeeze his arm. He didn’t flinch at her touch, but didn’t make a point of lingering as he headed to the locker room to wait the game out.

As Y/n inhaled, Roy nodded, “He’s alright.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

The two of them walked back to their separate paths, Roy heading out to the pitch and Y/n heading back to the owner’s box.

The match turned around after that, tremendously so. The Greyhounds had hit the pitch united once more, particularly Colin, who’d assisted in both goals that had led them to victory. Balance seemed to have been restored, and while Isaac would still be the most memorable part of the game, Colin’s efforts wouldn’t be forgotten.

And, as always, Y/n’s work began the moment the ref called it.

There were strict instructions from both Keeley and her to Higgins not to grab any of the players. They’d no doubt be asked about their captain’s actions and none of them needed to deal with that stress. Ted was the only one who could comfortably handle it.

They waited with Rebecca in the back of the room, Higgins and Trent joined them at the last minute.

“He’s on his way,” Higgins said.

“Thank you, Leslie,” Rebecca replied before turning to Keeley and Y/n, “You gave Ted some talking points?”

Keeley frowned, “No. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Not for a while,” Y/n added.

The side door opened before Rebecca could truly begin to worry. Where Ted should have strolled in, Roy did instead.

“Fuck,” Y/n whispered, punctuated by a gag from Higgins.

Roy took a seat at the desk, staring down the entire room. No one was wearing their surprise well.

“Yeah, alright, you got me today,” he growled, “Any questions?”

Every reporter’s hand went up, all of them shouting to get Roy’s attention.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled before pointing to one of them, “You. Five-o’-clock shadow head.”

Gary, self-proclaimed Jimmy Page fan, stood up. “Coach Kent, do you or the organization condone what Isaac McAdoo did today?”

“What a stupid fucking question,” Roy was quick to reply, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n all screwing their eyes shut. “‘Course we don’t. What Isaac did was awful. He was lucky he only got a red card.”

“Okay,” Gary relented, “So why’d he do it?”

Roy chuckled, looking like he was nearly about to say something before stopping himself. Instead of cursing or snarking, he settled back in his chair.

“When I was first coming up through Sunderland, there was an old-timer on the team,” Roy began, “Local guy. He and his wife were about to have their first kid. So during training one day, I made a joke that statistically, I was probably the real dad. And the boys fell about laughing, but he went fucking nuts. He battered me. Properly. I had a black eye, chipped tooth, three broken ribs…I couldn’t play for six games. He got booted off the team. After that,” Roy shook his head, “No club would go near him.”

“Then in the summer, after I could breathe again,” he went on, “I bumped into him in a pub. And I got the chance to say sorry for my stupid fucking joke. And he got to tell me he and his wife had lost the baby a month before all that went down. He hadn’t told anyone. Kept it all inside.”

The room had fallen hush, save for the occasional click of a camera.

“Look, I get that some people think if they buy a ticket,” Roy’s voice regained its strength, “They’ve got the right to yell whatever abusive shit they want at footballers. But they’re not just footballers. They’re also people. And none of us,” he dragged his finger across the room, “Know what is going on in each other’s lives.”

“So for Isaac to do what he did today, even though it was wrong,” Roy pointed to his chest, “I give him love. And as for why he did what he did,” he leaned closer to the microphones, “That’s none of my fucking business.”

That was it. There was nothing left to say. Roy had handled it with more grace and patience than anyone could have expected.

Y/n smiled to herself, “Okay.”

“Next question,” he called to the room, which erupted back into shouts and flashes, “Yeah, new Trent.”

“Coach,” Marcus spoke up, “Let’s talk about Colin Hughes.”

“Yeah, he’s a hell of a player,” Roy answered, “And a great man. I think we’ve underused him.”

“I think you’re right,” Marcus said.

“Glad we agree,” Roy replied, “I prefer you to old Trent.”

The room laughed before Roy called on the next reporter. Rebecca and him shared a look of acknowledgement, this was making up for his ditching of the last presser.

Roy went on answering questions a few minutes longer before abruptly calling it. As everyone was saying their goodbyes for the evening, Y/n caught him in the hall.

“You did good,” she complimented.

Roy grunted a little, still bad at taking praise about anything other than his professional abilities. “Sorry if I…made your job harder the other day.”

She shrugged, “No more so than anyone else. You’re just more of a dick about it.”

Having said it with a smile Roy knew Y/n wasn’t serious…totally. His lips quirked up ever so slightly.

“Night, Roy,” Y/n said, hitting his arm as she walked past him.

“Cheers,” he replied, heading his own way.

—————————

While the day was a victory, Jamie was exhausted. Some of the boys had gone out to celebrate, he was one of the ones who decided heading home was more appealing.

A ring of the doorbell dragged him off his couch and into the entryway. He opened the door, his chest both filling and draining at the sight.

Y/n was leant against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She held up a paper takeaway bag.

“I won’t tell Roy if you don’t,” she promised.

Jamie chuckled under his breath and moved to let her in.

It wasn’t just the match that’d worn Jamie out. Colin’s confession in the locker room was…heavy. Weighing most on Colin, of course, but when the celebratory noise had died down and Jamie was left to his own thoughts, he found they were louder than normal.

Y/n showing up only acted as an amplifier.

Here was Colin, hiding away one of the biggest parts of himself. Forced to keep the person he loved in the shadows for fear of the public’s reaction. He couldn’t hold them, couldn’t be seen with them, couldn’t claim them. The person who meant everything to him.

And here was Jamie, with the woman he cared about most standing before him, feeling the weight of his privilege.

“Samir was working tonight,” Y/n announced as she slipped off her shoes, “He kept asking me if I was buying for us both. I think he slipped in some extra-“

She was cut off by Jamie, wrapping his arms around her in a full embrace.

Jamie wasn’t good with words. He was barely good with feelings. And expressing them was a whole other matter. What he did know to be true was that Y/n was the singular most important person in his life. Whether he’d realized it before or not, he wasn’t sure. But it was suddenly crushing him, he was overwhelmed by his affection for her. She was the best part of his worst times, the highlight of his days. The literal sunshine lighting up the darkest parts of him, the parts everyone else looked at and ran from. But not her, never her.

Y/n stumbled a bit, Jamie steadying her as he tugged her to his body. It wasn’t like they never hugged, but this felt different. The whole day had been so emotionally charged, she wasn’t surprised that he was feeling some of it. She wasn’t sure what had happened in the locker room between halves or after the game, but whatever it was had done something to him, and she apparently was the solution.

The truth was, Jamie was the first person Y/n hadn’t tired of being there for. She wanted to save him at every possible opportunity. To be there for him in whatever way he needed her. Lord knows he had done it enough for her. He’d looked at her ugliest parts and matched them, the two of them somehow growing together through their horrible histories. Some relationships were easily replaced, but there could never be another Jamie.

Y/n slid her arms around Jamie’s back, stealing some of the comfort for herself.

Jamie rested his chin on her shoulder, shutting his eyes and letting the moment wash over him. The world could stop, just for a moment, and it would be there when they broke apart. But for now, Y/n was all he wanted to feel.

They stayed in the hall, clinging to one another, having only unwrapped the first layer of what all they felt meant.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

[badasmuse]

“Slow Motion”

Bada Lee x Reader

Warnings: not technically 18+ but it should be, language, bada slander, stripper!bada, rich!reader

Summary: you come every week to support your favorite stripper.

Based off Slow Motion by Trey Songz

“back again?” the bouncer says to you as you cut to the front of the line.

“of course. my favorite dancer is here. i don’t make this money for nothing.” you say winking and walking in when he opens the rope.

“enjoy.” he shakes his head.

you’ve been coming to club bebe for three weeks now. you went with your friend for his birthday a month ago and that girl… man that girl was so fine. her long legs and pretty skin. the way she wrapped herself around the pole. you won’t say you’re in love but man.

since then you’d show up every monday and thursday (the owner told you her scheduled days) ready to throw money at her. or slip it in her bra or thong whenever she was close enough. you walked in just in time cause she was making her way to the stage. you pushed through to the front, pulling money from your purse.

“oh great. i hate when she comes out.” some guy says, leaning back in his seat.

“yeah me too,” his friend replies, “like why would she even become a stripper. she’s too tall. i’m surprised she hasn’t tripped over her own legs yet.”

you ignore them, focusing on the way she dances in front of you. you’re shocked at the outfit she’s wearing, it’s see through, she’s never shown this much skin.

you didn’t care, you enjoyed it really.

you watched the sad look on her face as she danced around the pole. it’s like she knew she wasn’t anyone’s favorite. no one likes her. except you of course.

hearing the comments about her made your blood boil cause you knew she could hear them too. so you did what you do best, grabbed more money from your bag and continue to throw it at her.

“you like this garbage show?” a man next to you says. “i wouldn’t waste a penny on her.”

“me and you are not the same.” you reply, grabbing another stack from your purse. you ran out of ones but twenties will do.

she got close and kneeled down next to you and you stuck twenties in the side of her one piece.

she let out a gasp and stood up blushing. quickly finishing her act, she picks up all the money and runs towards the back.

you sigh and go to find the nearest security guard, “i want a private dance with her. i’ll pay whatever she wants just get me one.”

“one moment.” he says walking towards the back.

minutes later the guy comes back ushering you towards a room. “she said give her five minutes. it’s gonna be a thousand.”

you hand him the money and he takes it and puts it in her little mailbox in the back as you walk into the room.

moments later, she shyly enters the room. “um… hi.” she whispers. “sorry i don’t know how this works you’re my first private dance.” she mumbles.

“i’m not too sure how it works either. i’m not a fan of strip clubs but you? i’m a fan of you.” you say as she walks towards you.

she blushes and looks down, “um… is there a specific song you’d like me to dance to?”

“slow motion by trey songz.” you respond so fast she barely finishes speaking.

“oh.. i know that one.” she says giggling. she hooks her phone up playing the song before strutting over to the pole in the center of the room. you sat back watching her dance around the pole. wrapping her legs around it doing stunts. you look in your bag for more money to give her. you wanted to empty your bank account for her.

at the end of the song she blushed at all the money you threw at her. “i hope that was good for my first time.”

“baby it was perfect. and just know.. you’re worth more than a thousand dollars. i’d pay fifty thousand to have a private show from you.” you whisper.

“i’ll be back on monday. save me a dance pretty girl.” you say before walking out, leaving her stunned and alone to pick up her money.

“this woman is gonna pay my bills for months.” she mumbles happily.

Taglist (open! comment to be added!): @waveartistry @sun-nyy @yngtort @jennamc75 @m0r0s1111 @seungxstar @badasbebe @lil-elliesgf @currentfications

a/n: this was for darling waveartistry but they deactivated? :( i wish i got it out before they did but hopefully they come back i’m not too sure why they deactivated i haven’t been here in so long, super sad rn :(((( also there’s gonna be a part 2 to this which will be 18+

[dilfismz]

The Best Comfort

Pairing: William Afton X innocent! Virgin! reader (neighbor au)

Description: William is a vile, disgusting man and he knows it, he definitely knows it. How shameful of him to lust for the young pretty thing living next door. But, how could he not. She’s such a naive, innocent, pretty girl, practically begging to be used by her perv neighbor.

Warnings!!: Age gap (considerable but legal), loss of virginity, corruption kink, manipulation, unprotected sex, breeding, creepy behavior from William, implied size difference if you squint, and piv sex.

Since the day you first moved in Will knew he had to have you. Your cute innocent looking face framed with two braids , helping your parents move boxes into the new house. The way you bit your lip as you carried a particularly heavier box immediately left William with a tent in his pants. He knew he had to do something, find some sort of way to work his way into your life. Some way that he could ruin you for anyone else, touch you and make you his forever.

It wasn’t until his other neighbors, a friendly married couple brought brownies to your front door did he come up with a plan. He decided against more sweets and chose to give a gift of wine. This was a perfect plan for him, he would wait until you were home alone to knock on your front door. He’d get to know you, start manipulating you into trusting him, and the wine was a good way of discreetly asking your age.

——————————————————————

It wasn’t until the next weekend, a brisk fall Sunday that William follows through with his plan. Your parents had just left for church and William all but jumps at the opportunity. He trudges up to your doorstep, holding a glass of Pinot Grigio in his left hand, knocking with his right.

“H-hello”, you stammer out, groggily opening the door.

“Hey there, neighbor”, he sickly smiles, handing you the glass.

“Oh, thanks”, you let out shyly, your face turning a bright shade of red.

“Well…aren’t you gonna invite me in to share that…”?, he asks.

“O-oh you can come in but I probably shouldn’t drink any of that, I’m not twenty-one for a few months yet”

What a good girl, he thinks to himself as you let him in. He follows you to the kitchen, sitting across from you at the counter. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, looking down at the ground.

“Tell me your name, hun”, he commands.

“Y/n”, you reply quickly, looking into his eyes for a slight second.

Such a pretty name, he thinks to himself. “Sorry for inviting myself in, I like getting to know my neighbors”, William lies.

The rest of your little “visit” is rather awkward but you can feel yourself opening up to the older man. He leaves a few minutes before your parents get home, bidding you adieu with a small smile and wave. He’s determined to slowly weasel his way into your life, gaining your trust and adoration.

He’s been working at this for weeks and already feels you growing fonder of him.

A few days after your initial meeting he’d seen you raking leaves in your front yard. Of course he just happened to be getting his mail at the same time. You spotted him and sent him a shy wave. He smiled in response and started a small conversation, slowly but surely gaining your trust.

A few days after that you were conveniently walking your dog at the same time William was mowing his lawn. When you and your dog walked in front of his house William asked you if he could pet the little guy. Of course, being the sweet girl you are, you allow him to. Will keeps complimenting the dog calling him “so cute” and “how adorable”, even saying he has “such innocent little features”. Although you’re not quite sure why he seemed to be looking at you while saying all these things.

Finally, things fall into place for William even sooner than expected when he hears a knock on his door. You’re standing on his porch with tears in your eyes. He invites you in, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you to the couch. He hates to see you upset. But he loves the fact that you already trust him so much.

“What’s going on sweetheart?”

You sniffle and stutter out, “I-… It’s just stupid, it’s not that big of a deal”.

William sits down next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Oh honey, if you’re this upset it is important”.

You explain to him why you’re upset. How you got into a stupid argument with your parents and just wanted out of the house for a bit. You didn’t know where else to go…

“I’m glad you came to me, I know just the thing to distract you for a bit”, William blurts out, a smile etched on his face.

You are curious and excited to see what he has in mind. You think of all the different things to expect…maybe food, a movie…

What you weren’t expecting was for William to reach over and cup your face with his hand. You freeze at this surprisingly intimate gesture and shift a bit uncomfortably.

“You ever been kissed, sweet thing?”

“No, I don’t talk to many guys”, you admit, wondering why he’d ask such a bizarre question.

Oh, what an innocent little doll, he thinks to himself before making his move. William moves his body closer to yours, his breath fanning against your forehead. He finally closed the distance between your lips and shares a short but sweet kiss with you.

You pull away, a look of confusion evident on your face. “Why did you do that?”, you ask in genuine shock.

“I just wanna make you feel good. I wanna make you forget about everything for a little bit, is that okay?”

“Yes but…isn’t this a bit inappropriate?”

“Just trust me bunny, I know what’s best for you”.

William leans in again, tangling his hands in your hair while peppering your neck with light kisses. You feel a strange warmth resonate inside your core as his beard scratches you. Suddenly, as he starts to suck gently on your neck you let out a low moan. You’ve never made a noise quite like it.

This spurs William on and shifts his weight to hover above you, your back pressed against the couch. You grind your hips up, searching desperately for some sort of friction.

“It sure doesn’t look like you’ve never done this before…”, William trails off. His hands are quickly moving to remove your shirt, revealing your bare tits.

“Mmm no bra…what a little tease”.

“I-“, you start to protest but are shut up by the feeling of lips exploring your chest. William leaves dark purple marks on the blank canvas of your body, claiming you as his.

He pulls down your leggings revealing cute white panties with a little bow. He rubs your clit through the fabric and you almost cum on the spot.

“Aw babygirl, you don’t play down there much, do you?”

“N-no I don’t”

“Mm I’ll go slow”

William pulls down your panties slowly, growing even harder at the sight of your glistening sex. He makes a silent oath to himself to spend hours eating you out sometime.

You wince as William slowly slides one of his thick digits into you, stretching you out. The stretch burns but you can already feel a coil of pleasure building up inside of you.

He adds a second digit, stroking your insides slowly. You grip the couch behind you, already finishing all over his fingers. He pulls them out of you and brings them up to his lips, tasting your cream.

“Mmm, you’ve never done that before, have you?”

You’re still almost writhing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “N-no…wanna make you feel like this too”. You admit, your face turning bright red at the admission.

“Let me teach you, bunny”

You nod your head and follow his lead. He tells you to kneel on the ground and await instruction. William unbuckles his belt excitedly, slipping it through the loops.

“Take my pants off and pull my cock out, hunny”.

You do as he says, mouth practically agape as his hard member springs up to his stomach. “Touch it…lick it a little bit”, you hear his voice say from above.

You nod and leave a few kitten licks on his tip, his precum leaking out. You start to lick the entirety of him, touching his base shyly with your hand.

“Good job, you’re doing so good. You can wrap your lips around it”.

You wrap your lips around the tip, looking up at him for reassurance. William runs his fingers through your hair, urging you forward a bit.

You’re now halfway up his cock, already gagging around the unusual intrusion. You begin to bob your head, hallowing your cheeks. William immediately groans at this, pulling your hair a bit. This continues for a few minutes and William’s groans slowly grow louder.

“Alright little one, you can stop for now… we can do that again soon”, William promises.

You nod shyly and stand up, searching for your discarded clothes. “We’re not done yet, don’t you wanna make me feel good?”, William questions as he watches you.

“Y-yeah, I do”.

He smiles and grabs your wrist, guiding you back onto the couch. He pushes you down and you’re lying flat against the couch, waiting for his next move.

He lines his cock up with your entrance looking down at you, “this might hurt a bit but the pain will go away, bunny”.

Your eyes widen as he forces himself inside of your tight walls. You let out a high pitched squeak, surprised by the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Oh Y/n…you’ve got the tightest fucking pussy”, William grunts, thrusting slowly inside of you. Each thrust slowly works the pain away, leaving the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

Your eyes roll back as his pace quickens and you’re sure you’ve already finished around him. Your fingers slide under his shirt, definitely leaving marks for him to discover later. The sensation seems to send him into overdrive as he begins to plow into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuck, gonna shoot my load inside of you…”

Your brows furrow in confusion and pleasure, basking in the feeling. Suddenly William’s thumb presses against your clit, causing your tight walls to contract around his cock. You scream out in absolute pleasure, as you’re completely overtaken by your orgasm. At this William comes to a halt and you feel a warm liquid pool inside of you.

William pulls out of you, his juices slightly spilling out. He pulls his clothes on and scoops you up, bringing you back to his room. You lay limply on his bed, still whimpering from the intense feelings.

He lies next to you, wrapping his arms around you gently. “Don’t worry little one, I’ll take care of you, you’re all mine now”.

[applejuicefruit]

Hi lovely! Can you write some angst to fluff where reader is pregnant and is scared to tell Erling Haaland :)

Hii thank you for requesting this I hope you like it ❤️

Erling Haaland x reader

Oh, baby?

You had no idea how this happened. Well, you knew how you just didn’t expect it. You always thought you were being careful so it freaked you out when you saw the pregnancy test being positive. You were sitting on the bathroom floor holding the test in your hands, counting down the minutes before Erling came back home from practice. You knew he was on his way home but your mind was frozen. You had no idea of what to do.

You heard the front door opening but you couldn’t move.

“Babe…I’m home” he called you from the living room. In that moment you recompose yourself, throwing the pregnancy test in the trash, wiping your tears away and going to greet him.

“Hey” you whispered when you saw him, trying to act normal as always you hugged him and kissed him “how was your day?” you asked him trying to not think about what happened twenty minutes ago.

“Tiring” he said laughing “but I’m glad to be home with you” he kissed you softly and you melted into the kiss “how was your day?” he asked this time, moving to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. You froze. You had no idea of what to say. You were a bad liar and if you were lying, he would immediately know.

“Babe?” he asked you again when he saw you stuck in your place

“What?” you pretended you didn’t hear what he asked you

“I asked you how was your day - are you okay! You look a little pale” he moved towards you setting the glass on the counter “are you sick?” he asked you this time a little bit worried

“No-no I’m fine I’m just tired…” you said not sounding convincing at all

“Babe? Is there something wrong?” his worry on his face made your eyes get glossy

“Ehm-can we talk?” you asked this time and took his hands, leading him to sit on the couch

“You’re scaring me honey…is everything okay?” he looked worried and you hated the fact that you were the cause he was feeling like that

“Yes-no…I mean, I think we should talk…” you said after sitting on the couch, him next to you “okay so…this morning when I woke up I was feeling sick, but not sick like it’s a fever or something like that no…” you were taking time trying to figure out how to say that you were actually pregnant “it’s just…I’ve never felt this way okay? It was weird at first but I thought that maybe breakfast would have helped me…I kinda was wrong, it made everything worse” you stopped taking a breath, Erling listening carefully of what you were saying, not interrupting you once “well…I kinda threw up everything I ate…and I felt nauseous for a couple of hours” your eyes were becoming more glossy than ever, you were fighting back your tears “so…I’ve noticed that something was missing…ehm-my my period was actually a week late so I decided to go to the shop and buy a pregnancy test, just for precautions you know…” you stopped again looking at his confused and worried face “Erling…I’m pregnant” you said letting a few tears fall. He remained silent. Not exactly the reaction you wanted.

“Please say something…” you said looking at him, tears coming down from your eyes. You thought it was over.

“You’re pregnant?” he asked and you nodded “with my child” he asked again and you nodded again “I’m gonna be a father…” he whispered softly. His eyes becoming more glossy and you couldn’t quite understand his reaction.

“Come here…” he said opening his arms. You cried into his shoulders “why are you crying pretty girl?” he asked you “I’m gonna be a father…we’re gonna be a family” he said happily

“I didn’t know how you were going to react…I was so scared…is this what you want?” you looked at him in his eyes

“I want this, a family with you, is this what you want?” he wiped your tears away and you nodded “good…we have nine months to learn everything we need to know about raising a child” he joked and you laughed “are we even fit to be parents? I already imagine her keeping us awake at three in the morning” he joked again

“Her? What if it’s a boy” you smirked at him

“I want a mini you” he said kissing you and putting his hands on your belly “I know you’re smaller than a grain of rice but I already love you so much” he said to your belly and you couldn’t stop but let a few tears fall, already imagining what a great father he would be. Everything was perfect in that moment, just you and Erling thinking about how in nine months your lives would change.

[babydollmarauders]

LAVENDER HAZE — TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x fem!reader

part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n has been dealing with hate from Trevor’s fans and journalists constantly speculating when they’ll get married.

specific lyrics: “i been under scrutiny. you handle it beautifully. all this shit is new to me.” and “all they keep asking me is if i’m gonna be your bride. the only kinda girl they see is a one night or a wife.”

not my gif

“y/n, when are you and Trevor gonna get married?” a reporter asks as i walk through the hallways of Honda Center, away from the Ducks dressing room and up towards the seating. i send a stiff smile their way and continue walking, effectively ignoring their question.

i’ve been dating Trevor since we were sixteen. five years together and you’d think i would be used to this by now, but it’s harder than one would think.

of course Trevor and i have talked about marriage, when you’ve been together this long, it’s inevitable that you’ve talked about it. but we’ve mutually decided to wait until it feels right for us. we’re only twenty-one after all. but it seems that it’s the only question i get asked nowadays.

sure, when i ran into reporters in the past, they may have asked me this question a couple times, but usually they just asked me what it was like to be high school sweethearts with an nhl player or what kind of things Trevor does at home to get ready for a game. but now it’s always ‘when are you guys getting married?’ and ‘y/n has Trevor proposed yet?’.

having been dating Trevor since his USNTDP days, it’s definitely different dealing with him now having real fans and him being approached at restaurants for pictures. i don’t mind it, but it can get to be a bit much when with his fame comes hate towards me. girls telling me i’m not good enough for him or that they could treat him better and whatnot. every photo i post on instagram has at least twenty comments saying such things.

**

i’m sat on the couch waiting for Trevor to get home from his game. i left right after it ended, Trevor texting me that he had to do interviews and that Jamie would drop him off at home.

—

@y/n11 just posted

Liked by @jackhughes and 14,628 others

@y/n11: the secret is out, i’m actually just @trevorzegras personal photographer 📸

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@user1: y/n using her boyfriend for clout again lol

@user2: alexa play treat you better by shawn mendes

@jackhughes: i’m stealing Louie next time i visit

@y/n11: good luck, Trevor might actually disown you as a friend if you try

@jackhughes: @y/n11 sounds like a win-win situation to me

@user3: how has it taken me months to realize she changed the number in her username to match Trevor’s jersey number? didn’t she used to be y/n46?

@user4: yeah, and before that she was y/n9 to match his usa number. they’re so cute 😭 i wonder if she’ll change her username to y/nzegras when they get married

@trevorzegras: and you’re the cutest photographer there ever was

@y/n11: i wanna smooch your face 💋💋

@_alexturcotte: whipped

@trevorzegras: @_alexturcotte i don’t see you with a girlfriend so which one of us is really winning here?

@user5: oh look, another post of Trevor. anyone wanna take a guess on what her next post will be? hint: it probably won’t her ugly ass

@_quinnhughes: miss you! come visit soon!

@trevorzegras: aww miss you too Huggy!

@_quinnhughes: @trevorzegras did it look like i tagged you? you can stay in Anaheim

@y/n11: miss you too Hugs! i’ll come with Trev on their next game there and root for you! 🧸

@user6: lmao she’s rooting for another guy? slut. bet she’s bounced around to all Trevor’s old teammates + Quinn

—

i scroll through the comments on my recent instagram post, seeing all the girls insulting me or saying i use Trevor for fame. am i not allowed to post my boyfriend anymore just because he’s in the NHL?

i didn’t realize i had tears welling in my eyes until one drops onto my screen. wiping it off, i hear the front door open and shut, Trevor arriving home. i listen to the mundane sounds of him slipping his shoes off and dropping his keys into the dish by the door before i hear his footsteps coming towards the living room. i hastily wipe away my tears and sniffle before he can see that i’ve been crying.

“hey, baby.” i say, my voice not quite recovered from my throat being closed up while i was crying, but Trevor doesn’t seem to notice. he takes the seat next to me on the couch, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me in so my head lays on his chest.

“hi, love. did you see that goal i made for you?” he asks and i chuckle.

“i did. you did amazing, babe. i’m so proud of you.” i tell him, wrapping my arm around his waist and squeezing him tighter to me. he drops a kiss to the top of my head and i can feel the smile on his lips.

“lemme see that pretty face.” he whispers, nudging my chin up with his hand. but when i look up at him, his smile drops. “hey, what happened? why were you crying?”

he rubs at my cheek with his thumb, tracing my puffy under eye with the tip of it. i shake my head slightly.

“it’s nothing, Trev.” he shakes his head and scowls.

“it’s not nothing if it made my girl cry. now tell me.” he says.

“it was just the comments on my instagram post. there were these girls—” i cut myself off, not knowing if i want to tell him what they said.

“hey, what? ‘there were these girls’ what?” he asks softly.

“these girls were commenting that i was using you for clout, and that i was ugly. and another one said that i’ve probably gotten with you and all your friends.” i whisper. his face contorts in disbelief before dropping into an angry frown.

“don’t listen to them.” he tells me. i open my mouth to rebut but he speaks again. “i’m serious, y/n. don’t pay them any attention. i know you’re not using me. i mean, you put up with my annoying, class clown ass in high school. if that doesn’t speak wonders then i don’t know what does.”

i giggle and land a light smack against his chest.

“i happen to have liked your annoying, class clown ass.” i tease.

“and i still wonder why.” he shrugs. “as for the other comments, you’re gorgeous, princess. you’re so beautiful. i still can’t believe i get to wake up every morning and see that pretty face. i can’t understand for the life of me, why you stay with me when you’re so out of my league. but i’m so grateful that you do, because i can’t imagine where i’d be and what my life would be like without you.”

i smile at his sweet words and lean up to kiss his lips.

“i love you.” i mumble against them.

“i love you too, babygirl.” he presses one more quick peck to my lips before pulling away “also, i know you’ve never been with any of my friends. i mean, c’mon, why would you want them when you can have this?”

he sweeps a hand down his body and i bark out a laugh. he smiles down at me, running his hand through my hair before he stops it at the back of my neck, pulling me in for another, deeper, kiss.

“you know, i’ve been thinking.” he tells me when he pulls back.

“oh that’s never good.” i say.

“ha ha ha.” he narrows his eyes at me, slipping the hand from the back of my neck in order to use it to shove my forehead, making me fall back onto the cushion of the couch behind me. “i was thinking, maybe next year?”

“maybe next year what?” i ask, face contorting in confusion.

“maybe next year we should get married.” he says. i pop back up into a sitting position quickly, nearly hitting my head against his. he chuckles and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Trevor Zegras did you just propose to me?” i ask, my tone incredulous. “on our couch?!”

“yeah, i guess i did.” he says. “what do you say? you wanna be my wife?”

“i could hit you right now.” i tell him.

“so, it that a no?” he asks, an eyebrow raised in questioning. i shuffle onto his lap, straddling him and grabbing his face in my hands.

“there is nothing in this world that i want more than to be your wife.” i whisper, leaning my forehead against his.

“oh thank god.” he sighs. he sticks his hand in his pocket, shuffling around in it before pulling his hand back out in a fist. he opens his fist to reveal a ring box. “because i’ve had this ring since we were eighteen.”

tears sting my eyes, my heart leaping in my chest as i pull my head back from his. he opens the box, showing off a beautiful white gold ring with a pear cut diamond and a twisted halo design.

“since we were eighteen?” i ask. “but that’s the year that we were fighting all the time.”

“yeah, and you stayed. despite all the stupid arguments, you still made sure we never went to bed angry at each other, and you stuck by my side.” he takes the ring out of the box, slipping it onto my finger before pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“i love you so much.” i whisper before capturing his lips with mine. he pulls back a second later to mumble out his own ‘i love you’ before he resumes kissing me.

but then a thought pops into my head and i pull away, furrowing my brows at him.

“why did you have the ring in your pocket right now?” i ask him.

“well i had this whole plan that i was gonna bring you out on the ice before warm ups and ask you there but, when it came down to it, it didn’t feel right. i wanted the right moment. and now felt right.”

—

@y/n11 just posted

Liked by @colecaufield and 43,793 others

@y/n11: forever with you sounds pretty great @trevorzegras

comments on this post have been limited.

@trevorzegras: i’m pretty damn lucky that i’ll get to call you my wife 🤍

@jackhughes: finally! i was beginning to think he would never use that damn ring! congrats guys

@y/n11: you knew about the ring?!

@jackhughes: @y/n11 who do you think helped him pick it out?

@colecaufield: congrats you guys! can’t wait to be the best man

@jackhughes: think again bud, i’m gonna be the best man

@_alexturcotte: @jackhughes i think we all know that I’M gonna be the best man because Trevor likes me best

@y/n11: @jackhughes @_alexturcotte thank you cole! and i hate to be the bearer of bad news but the best man will definitely be Louie … gotta go 🏃‍♀️

@_quinnhughes: congratulations! so happy for you two!

@y/n11: thank you Huggy! get ready to go suit shopping because i can’t imagine anyone else being my man of honor

@lhughes_06: damn, Z beat me to it. i was gonna ask you this summer at the lake house! happy for you though 🥲😪

@y/n11: aww sorry Moosey! keep an eye out just in case forever doesn’t work out

@griffinzegras: can’t wait for you to officially be my sister!

@y/n11: aww you’ve been my baby brother for 5 years but now it’ll be legally true! can’t wait to boss you around!

@griffinzegras: @y/n11 i take it back @trevorzegras any way that you wanna take her back to the pound?

@trevorzegras: @griffinzegras nah, i like this one. i’mma keep her

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[nebulablakemurphy]

Twenty Questions (Part 4)

Summary: For Y/N’s 20th birthday Haymitch gifts her 20 questions, that he has to answer honestly, no matter what. Mentions of sex/forced pregnancy. Moves & Countermoves companion piece.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“How many…do you think?”

“Hmm?” Haymitch hums, eyeing his wife.

“Kids.” Y/N clears her throat, “how many kids do you think Snow will make us have?”

“I’d say one of each. A boy and a girl will keep the people entertained. If the next one is a boy, I think we’ll have to try again for a girl. Assuming we stay in his good graces, we’ll probably be done after that.” Haymitch shrugs a shoulder.

“I don’t know what else we can do.” Y/N rubs her hands together anxiously.

“There’s nothing else, Angel.” Haymitch sighs, “we just have to ride this out.”

Y/N nods, rubbing the swell of her belly. She’s five months along, over half way.

“Did you want,” Haymitch stumbles over the words. “How many do you want?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “I think being an only child might be lonely for him.” Him. Their baby. Because it isn’t about them anymore, it never will be again. “Two would be good.”

“Two would be good,” Haymitch agrees.

————————————————————————

Haymitch drinks more than he ever has.

Y/N’s belly grows. She’s tired all the time. She snaps at Haymitch and then chases after him with tears in her eyes, begging for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I’m… I know I’m awful. I’m trying to do better.”

“You’re not awful,” Haymitch grumbles. “I’m trying too.”

“But you are! You are doing better and I’m…I feel like everyday I get worse. That’s the difference and I’m frustrated with myself. I’m frustrated at the situation and I don’t know what to do. You’re the only person here with me all the time, so you get the brunt of everything. And I know it’s not fair to you. I know you hate me for it.” How could you not?

“I need you to know that I do not hate you. I could never hate you. I see how hard this pregnancy and marriage has been for you. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if I could change it for you, I would. But I can’t.” Haymitch admits, “I can’t and it kills me.”

“It’s not hard being married to you,” she breaks off. “I’d never given a lot of thought to marriage. I didn’t necessarily want to be married. But doing it with you is easy, being with you is easy and I feel safe when I’m with you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong then, Angel. Tell me what I can do to help you. Anything you need. You just gotta give me some fucking direction here, because I am drowning in this.”

“I don’t know what I need. I feel restless all the time. I can’t sleep. I’m-”

“You’re afraid.” Haymitch gets it.

“Just…just tell me that everything’s gonna be ok.”

“It is gonna be ok. I promise.”

She closes the distance between them, relaxing into the feel of his arms around her. Holding her close, making everything ok.

————————————————————————

Things are better after that.

“Everything’s gonna be ok.”

He tells her every morning and again at night.

They decorate the nursery, they give him a name. Everest. Everest Abernathy.

By the time they mentor the games that year, Y/N is eight months along. They’ve agreed to stay in the Capitol, until the baby is born.

“You’ll have access to the best medicine known to man in our hospitals, Y/N. The same cannot be said for District Twelve.” President Snow makes her an offer that sounds more like a threat. In any event, she can’t refuse.

Their chances for a victor this year are slim to none. The female tribute is fifteen, but Y/N can spot every bone in her body. The boy isn’t much better, and only twelve.

Y/N weeps for them until she vomits. Only when she is alone, jotting notes in her tablet. She remains strong in their presence, focused. Knowing Haymitch won’t offer much help. He stopped trying and she doesn’t blame him.

She might give up too, if it didn’t mean leaving the poor tributes to fend for themselves.

It makes no difference though, both go down in the initial bloodbath. She mourns them alone, while Haymitch drowns his sorrows down at the bar.

And time passes, the same way it always has. Too fast or too slow.

Part 5

[andvys]

Love will tear us apart // part twenty two

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, slight angst, mostly fluff, mentions of pregnancy, slight smut

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader // mentions of Steve Harrington x fem!reader

-

A sad frown settles on Eddie’s face when he sees the look in your eyes. You hate it, you hate the way more scars mark your body. You don’t even wince in pain when the nurse applies gauze to your healing wounds, you just stare down at yourself with a sad look on your face. 

You don’t meet his eyes and his expression falls further. You don’t just hate the way you look now, you are also scared of what he will think of you now. Will he still think that you’re beautiful? The thought of you worrying about something like that, breaks his heart. There’s nothing that could make you any less beautiful.

“Alright, take it easy, yeah? No moving around too much, got it?” the nurse says with a pointed look on her face.

You nod, smiling at the older woman.

“We’re gonna give you a few appointments for further checkups.”

“Alright.”

“So she’s okay?” Robin asks the nurse.

“She’s okay,” she nods.

“And what about the baby?”

You snap your head towards Robin, confusion written all over your face as you stare at your friend.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, chuckling.

“What baby? Are you pregnant?” the nurse asks, furrowing her brows as she looks down at her clipboard.

“What? No!”

The nurse reads through your chart with a confused expression on her face.

“How are you so sure about that y/n?” Robin asks, tilting her head.

Shaking your head, you turn to look at Eddie who stares back at you, blushing. You raise your brows at your boyfriend.

“I don’t see anything about a pregnancy here,” the nurse mumbles as she flips to the next page.

“Are you sure? I mean they’ve been going at it like rabbits!” Robin exclaims “and without protection!”

“Robin!” you and Eddie exclaim at the same time, both blushing in embarrassment.

She only smirks, enjoying the embarrassed looks on your faces.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

The nurse looks between you two, sighing “aren’t you a little too young to become parents?”

“Yeah but I’m not pregnant so…” you shrug.

“You will be if you don’t start using the condoms Eddie’s uncle gave him.”

You squint your eyes at Robin. How does she even know– you turn to look at your boyfriend who only grins at you. You sigh.

“I’m too old for this.. you two better not be back here in 9 months.”

Eddie looks at the older woman, grinning “why not? We do want a big family, might as well start early right?”

She raises her brows at him, shaking her head.

“A big family?” you gasp.

“You want the six little nuggets that Steve dreams of?” Robin chuckles.

“Yeah, totally, gonna have a band with the fam, the new corroded coffin,” Eddie grins at her.

A small laugh falls from your lips, shaking your head at your boyfriend's words.

“Are you ready to be a dad, Eddie?” Robin asks, a skeptical look appearing on her face.

“Of course I am,” he shrugs “I’m babysitting Dustin all the time.”

“Dustin is a teenager and you don’t babysit him, you two are friends!” Robin argues, throwing her hands up.

Eddie scoffs and waves her off, looking back at you “we’d be the coolest high school parents.”

“How about you graduate first, kids?”

You nod with wide eyes “yeah, I totally agree with you here,” you say, looking at your nurse “I’m free to leave now, right?” you ask, wanting to get out of the hospital quickly. After two weeks here, you were already going crazy. Not only were you bored out of your mind, you also had too much time on hand, something that led to you overthinking things.

Is Vecna truly gone? Is the upside down truly gone? Is your brother gone? You don’t know much about him, only that him and Jason were both arrested the night they attacked Lucas.

You rarely spend a moment alone here though. Eddie was by your side 24/7, it was difficult to convince him to take a moment to himself and shower or eat, he didn’t want to leave you alone, not even for a moment.

Steve came by every day, just like he did back then. Will and Dustin spent a lot of time with you, they brought you magazines and your favorite snacks. Will and El picked flowers for you, though the bouquet wasn’t as big as the one that Wayne brought you when he came to visit you.

-

The sun is shining, kissing your skin. You breathe in the fresh air and you smile happily. You missed it, the fresh air, the warm breeze, all the pretty flowers. You were cooped up in that room for two weeks but it felt like two years.

“I’m so happy.”

Eddie smiles as he turns to you after putting your bag into his van. He takes your hands in his and pulls you closer to him, kissing your cheek “so am I,” he whispers as he stares at you with loving eyes.

“You are?” you ask as you intertwine your fingers with his.

“I am,” he nods, “of course I am, sweetheart.”

He almost lost you, he thought he lost you and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he did.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear, thumb lingering on your cheek, he looks into your eyes, the ones that hold his favorite color “you have no idea how happy you make me.”

“You have no idea how happy you make me,” you whisper, stepping closer to him “now kiss me.”

“Gladly,” he mumbles against your lips before he kisses you with so much softness. You close your eyes and sigh as you melt into his touch, butterflies erupt in your stomach, the feeling of his lips against yours will never fail to make you feel weak in the knees.

“I’m excited,” you whisper as you pull away from the kiss.

“For what?” he smiles.

A sheepish smile appears on your face as you lean closer, “for you to fuck me when we’re home,” you whisper. 

His eyes widen and a smirk appears on his face “oh baby, you can’t just say that,” he growls “I’m gonna get a fucking boner in this parking lot.”

You giggle and press yourself against him, his hands settle on your waist gently.

“Disgusting!”

You pull away from each other, both turning to look at Robin who looks at the two of you with a disapproving look on her face causing you both to laugh.

“You literally just got out of the hospital, what’s wrong with you two?” she asks, shuddering “can’t even go two weeks without touching each other?”

Eddie clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck while you look away with a blush on your face, refusing to answer her question, you step away from Eddie and without looking at him or Robin, you get in his van, wanting to avoid the awkwardness of this situation.

Robin raises her brows as she looks at you, taking in your reaction, she tilts her head as she looks back at Eddie “wait a minute,” she mumbles “did you… in the hospital… while she is injured!?”

“Whoa slow down, Buckley, we didn’t fuck, okay?” Eddie chuckles with a red face “I just made her feel a little better, if you know what I mean,” he winks.

She groans, shaking her head “what is wrong with you?”

He chuckles, reaching for his pack of cigarettes, he takes one out but just as he places it in between his lips, Robin steps forward and snatches it out of his hand “not in front of the baby!”

“There is no baby, Robin!” you call from the car before you mumble some incoherent words.

“You heard the lady, there is no baby,” he pauses, smirking “yet.”

He shakes her head at him, chuckling “I can’t wait to see you with an actual baby, you’re gonna freak out once it starts crying.” 

He nudges her shoulder “hey, I’m gonna be a good dad,” he frowns “now get in the car, Buckley.” 

“Nah, Nancy’s picking me up, we’re gonna get some more stuff for later.”

-

“This is not the way to your trailer, Eddie.”

“I know.”

You furrow your brows, watching him with a confused look on your face. He smiles at you as he reaches for your hand.

“You said we’re going home.”

He nods “we are.”

“Are we going to the store first or something?” you ask but Eddie drives past the supermarket “okay, guess not,” you sigh.

He chuckles, squeezing your hand “this was meant to be a surprise but it’s not much of a surprise anyways, I guess.”

“A surprise?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I uh– you know how we talked about moving into the apartment?”

“Yeah..” you trail off, a smile tugging at your lips already. Eddie’s eyes flash with excitement, he squeezes your hand even tighter. Stopping at a red light, he turns to you “well, I talked to your uncle and he said we could move in, like actually move in.”

Eddie watches your face contort into excitement, a large smile appearing on your beautiful face. Eddie never wants to be away from you again, he wants to spend every passing second with you. He wants to wake up with you in his arms and go to sleep with you in his arms.

“We are moving into the apartment? Like now? Today?” you ask, smiling.

He hums, grinning at you as he brings your hand up towards his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

Your heart swells with love, your eyes soften as you look into his eyes “I love you so much,” you whisper as you bring his hand up to your lips, kissing the back of his hand just like he did to you.

“I love you more, sweetheart.”

You had a smile on your face for the rest of the drive home. You had a feeling in your chest, not the kind that you had before the fight against Vecna— that one was nasty, it was weighing you down, leaving you with nothing but fear and worry. You were anxious about what was going to happen and you realized that you had every reason to feel that way but now, you have a very different feeling in your chest. You feel free, light and happy. You know that everything will be okay.

You reach for your bag after getting out Eddie’s van but he stops you immediately, appearing next to you, he puts his hands on your shoulder “what do you think you’re doing?” he grumbles in annoyance, giving you a small glare as gently pushes your hands away, grabbing your bag himself.

“Eddie,” you whine, tilting your head “it’s not even heavy!”

“It is for you, you’re injured! You’re supposed to take it easy,” he says with a disapproving look on his face.

“I am!”

“Really?” he mumbles, closing the door, he grabs your hand “‘cause you were about rip open your wounds again!”

Scoffing, you shake your head “by carrying a bag?” you chuckle.

“It’s not just the bag, you tried to open that heavy door at the hospital– you’re driving me mad, woman..” he mumbles.

Eddie was always protective over you, even before all of this but now he’s treating you as though you’re the most fragile thing in this world. He touches you gently and carefully, worried that he might hurt you. He won’t let you pick up or carry anything heavy, he doesn’t let you out of his sight, scared that something bad will happen the moment he looks away– as though you are still in the upside down, surrounded by monsters.

It’s sweet, the way he treats you with so much gentleness and love. But you don’t want him to worry so much, you don’t want him to feel like he will lose you if he steps away for more than five minutes.

“Home sweet home, baby.”

A gasp falls from your lips as you look around the apartment which looks different from how it was when you left it that one night. While you only had a mattress to sleep on then, you now had actual furniture and decorations and even a small tv. You step inside, your eyes flicker with surprise and happiness.

Eddie watches you with a small smile on his face, leaning against the door after closing it.

You look around, recognizing some of the things from Eddie’s room and then your eyes fall on a door you haven’t seen before. Your eyes flicker with curiosity as you stare at it “what-”

“There’s a bedroom,” he says. 

“Wait what?” 

“Yeah, no one knew,” he chuckles “not even Dean. That ugly big shelf was standing right in front of it, it was there since he bought the building.” 

“Oh wow,” you mumble in surprise. He places your bag on the floor before he walks towards the door and opens it, turning to you with a grin “our bedroom.” 

You giggle as he wiggles his brows at you, walking towards him, you walk past him but he grabs you and steals a kiss from you before he pulls you into his chest as he wraps his arms around your stomach as you look around “that’s your bed,” you point out. He hums, leaning his chin against your shoulder. 

Eddie already put some of his posters on the wall, along with the corroded coffin one, of course. His guitar got the best place in the room, of course. A few pictures of you and your friends are on the wall. Eddie chuckles as you eye one picture in particular, the frame hangs unevenly on the wall. 

“That was Max, she refused to accept anyone’s help and hammered the nail in with her broken arm.” 

You laugh “of course she did.” 

“By the way, Wayne and Steve found this room.”

“Wayne and Steve?” you ask as you turn to look at him. 

“Yeah, they helped– I mean, everyone helped. See that painting over there?” he asks, pointing to the framed painting on the wall. Two small figures stand in the middle of a large field, dancing under the moonlight “Will made it for you.”

“Really?” you whisper, eyes softening.

“Yeah,” he smiles, squeezing your thigh “do you recognize it?”

You glance at him before you look back at the painting. Your heart swells in your chest. Of course you recognize it. Not only does the long hair on the taller figure give away who it is, you also recognize the field. It’s the one Eddie took you to on your first date. He turned on the headlights and turned on forever young by Alphaville and asked you for a dance. A night you would never forget.

“Of course, it’s us,” you breathe, turning to him with a smile on your face. Furrowing your brows “how..”

“He asked for ideas and I thought that that would be cute.”

“It is,” you whisper “I love it.” 

For a moment, neither of you speak. You just gaze into each other’s eyes. Happy to be here, happy to be here together, in your home. Two weeks ago it all seemed like an unrealistic dream when you felt death creeping closer but you made it.

Eddie cups your cheek, smiling softly. He is happy, he can’t even begin to describe just how happy he is. Eddie used to be scared of the future, he used to be terrified. The uncertainty of what the future would bring made him sick to his stomach. Perhaps that is the reason why he hasn’t graduated yet and why he hasn’t left high school yet. He wasn’t ready for all the responsibilities that adulthood would bring, he wasn’t ready for all the decisions he would have to make because he would have to make them all alone but it’s not the case anymore, now he has you and a future he is actually excited for.

“This is our apartment now, can you believe that?” he asks, eyes flickering with excitement “we’re gonna wake up and go to sleep together. We’re gonna spend our birthdays here, thanksgiving and christmas. We will make our own traditions, throw parties but,” he pauses, bringing his hand up “only with our friends!”

Chuckling, you nod in agreement.

“We’re gonna learn how to cook and we will totally fuck up our first christmas dinner but that’s totally fine.”

You laugh “we’re gonna invite Wayne and Dean–”

“And Steve,” Eddie smiles, surprising you “I-I know that you and Steve always spend Christmas together and I don’t wanna take that away from you or him and I hate the thought of him spending Christmas all alone in that empty house.”

Steve told him how you would spend Christmas at his place. Instead of a big feast, you two would order pizza and eat a bunch of cookies that you would bake before watching christmas movies all night. It was your own little tradition.

“You’re the best,” you whisper, raising your hand to brush your fingers through his curls, you lean closer and press your lips against his “the best boyfriend–”

“Fiance,” he corrects you with a stern look.

"Right,” you giggle,  “the best fiance, the best future husband, the best future dad.”

His heart flutters at your words, eyes softening as he melts into your touch. He feels weak in his knees, his skin feels warm beneath your hands, he feels free and light, he feels like he’s in heaven when he is with you “god.. y/n, do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs as he kisses your lips again.

“No but you can show me,” you whisper seductively.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, leaning down to kiss your neck “I will, baby.” He continues to kiss your neck, you close your eyes, a pleased sigh leaving your lips as you lean into him “Eddie…. Eddie, I missed you.”

He hums, pulling you closer “I missed you too,” he mumbles against your skin.

You were together all the time, he rarely ever left the hospital and the times he did, he was away for less than two hours and that was only to work on the apartment with Wayne and the others but you still missed each other, you missed being alone, at home.

You tug on his hair, sighing as he begins to suck on your skin “Eddie, I want you,” you whimper as you reach for his belt. A growl escapes his lips as you start to palm him over his jeans “oh baby… y/n,” he sighs as a wave of pleasure washes over him “I need you… now.”

You smirk at him as he raises his head, just as he’s about to slam his lips back against yours, a loud knock at the door startles you both and you pull away from each other, sighing in annoyance.

“Guys?” Dustin yells from the other side of the door as he continues to knock on the door “we got pizza!”

You are happy to see your friends but you wish they would have came an hour later. Looking down at Eddie’s bulge, a teasing look appears on your face and you can’t help but chuckle when Eddie groans as he falls back against the pillows on the couch “don’t say anything, please.”

“You can make out later, open up!” Max says, banging her fist against the door. 

-

“Do you like it?” Will asks “the painting?” 

“I love it, Will,” you smile “thank you, it’s perfect. I always knew you were talented but I didn’t know just how talented you really are.”

He blushes as he looks down, “I’ve practiced a lot,” he shrugs.

“Well it surely paid off, good job buddy.”

“He’s good isn’t he?” Jonathan asks, ruffling Will’s hair as he walks past him and flops down on the couch next to you.

“Very! Look you could become the super successful and famous brothers; the photographer and the artist.”

Jonathan and Will both chuckle.

“What about you, what are you gonna be?” Jonathan asks, nudging your shoulder. You used to be best friends, growing up together meant that you knew everything about each other and something that Jonathan definitely knows is that you never really knew what you wanted to become “you figure it out yet?”

You sigh, shaking your head. Looking over to Eddie, you smile as you see him talking to Steve and Argyle who you had finally met in person after you had heard his voice in the background whenever you talked to Jonathan on the phone.

“I guess I’m just gonna graduate and maybe work with my uncle?”

“You wanna work at a bar for the rest of your life– I mean there’s nothing wrong with that, I just see you do something different,” Will says with a concentrated look on his face.

You raise your brows “like what?”

He shrugs “I don’t know.. you could be a police officer, wait, the future chief of Hawkins!” he smiles, “you remind me of Hopper.” he adds. 

Jonathan laughs and you join him. You didn’t think you would ever be compared to the former chief. You were more than surprised to find out that he is alive, seeing him with your own eyes made you question if you were actually alive or if you had died and shifted over to another reality where both you and Hopper were both alive and well but you didn’t die and neither did he. 

“Listen, Hopper is nice and I like him but really? What about me reminds you of Hopper?”

“You’re always the first to jump into danger, just like him,” Will says and Jonathan nods. “Yeah, you see death and you just run straight towards it.”

You snort, looking at him with a confused look on your face “that’s not true!”

Jonathan tilts his head “are you sure about that?”

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest and lean back.

Will chuckles “you’re also very protective of the people you love and you would do anything to save them.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re funny sometimes.”

You gasp, looking at Jonathan with an offended look on your face “sometimes?”

“Don’t listen to him, you’re always funny.”

You smile, throwing your arm around Will’s shoulder “see and this is why I like you more, you’re the cooler brother.”

He laughs, “I know.”

“Oh and here I was about to give you free weed,” Jonathan tells you, causing you to laugh.

“Dude, I have my own weed man,” you joke.

A smirk tugs at his lips and he turns to you with a teasing look on his face, one that tells you that you will have to listen to an endless ramble and a lot of ‘I told you so’s’.

“Right, y/n. Your own weed man who is your boyfriend, who could’ve been your boyfriend years ago already.”

You roll your eyes playfully “yeah…yeah.”

“You were both idiots, you know that right?”

Will gives Jonathan a disapproving look “don’t call her an idiot, she’s not an idiot.”

“Yeah, don’t call my girl an idiot, dude,” Eddie says from the other side of the room.

“Why are you listening in on our conversation?”

Eddie opens his mouth to say something when Argyle throws his arm around his shoulder “hey Jonathan, I found a new best friend, I’m ditching your ass for this rockstar,” he jokes.  

Shaking your head, you snort as they begin to bicker with each other.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Will, you get up and gather some of the dirty dishes on the table and make your way into the kitchen. Putting the plates into the sink, you’re about to start washing when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” Steve says, reaching for the towel, he places it in your hand.

“Okay,” you smile, leaning against the counter, you take a look at him.

Unlike two weeks ago, he looks well rested. The dark circles under his eyes are gone, his hair is perfectly styled, again. A gentle smile rests on his face. It makes you happy.

For a moment, the kitchen is filled with comfortable silence, you hear the chatter of your friends from the other room, Eddie’s laugh fills your ears and you smile, you are content and happy in a way you never thought you would be.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the last plate from his hands, you dry it with the towel before you put it in the cabinet.

“What are you thanking me for, y/n?” he asks, his brows are drawn together as he turns to you, leaning against the counter, he reaches for the towel in your hands to dry his hands.

“Everything,” you shrug, glancing up at him.

“Y/n, you already thanked me in your letter, remember?” he sighs, softly.

Your eyes widen “you read it?”

He chuckles at the shocked expression on your face, turning away from you he nods “yeah, like ten times.”

The first time he read it, he could barely make out your words, his eyes were filled with tears, leaving his vision blurry, it took him some time to calm down and when he did, he read it all over again.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you gave me.’

A sentence that kept repeating itself in his head. You gave him everything and you don’t even know it.

Your eyes soften as you look into his eyes, the ones that are clouded with sadness. A smile plays on his lips though. Steve will always have a special place in your heart, no matter what.

“You should hate me.”

The smile falls from his lips and his face grows serious “what?”

“You should hate me,” you repeat, “I don’t get why you don’t. I broke your heart and you’re still so nice to me and do all these things,” you say, raising your hands, “you helped with this apartment, mine and Eddie’s apartment. Hell, if I was in your place, I wouldn’t be able to be around the person I’m in love with, watching them be happy with someone else and being okay with it. I would probably leave my broken heart behind and run away.”

“Are you telling me to run away?” he chuckles, eyes softening at the sight of your glassy eyes.

You shake your head “no, please don’t.”

“I would never leave my best girl.”

A small smile appears on your face “you totally mean Robin, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes and chuckles “oh no, she would totally follow me and sneak into the trunk while I’m distracted and once we’d be two states away, she would let me know that she’s there.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Yup, that sounds like her.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, smiling.

Steve sighs as he finds himself looking into your eyes again. How could he ever hate you?

“You know I could never hate you, right? You’re my best friend and I’m okay with just being your best friend– I mean that is if you still want me ‘cause Argyle could definitely take my place, that guy is pretty funny, I’m not even gonna lie, Jonathan has good taste when it comes to friends,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Shaking your head, you giggle. You have to admit, Argyle is funny and a nice friend.

“I’m pretty happy with you being my best friend.”

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling.

“Yeah.”

“Good because I’d have to fight whoever tries to steal my place and you know I’m not a good fighter.”

You furrow your brows, holding your hand up “uh I beg to differ, you won a fight against Seth and that russian guy.”

“Eh yeah, I guess,” he chuckles.

You look into his hazel eyes and smile, Steve was always the one who was there no matter what, he brought you comfort when you needed it the most. He held you when you cried because of Eddie, he held you when you were scared after a nightmare, he held you after getting into a fight with your parents, you feel like you don’t deserve him but you are happy to have him in your life, you couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, he calls your name. Giving Steve one last smile, you’re about to leave the kitchen when he stops you with a gentle touch on your hand “hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes meet yours “I gave you my heart knowing that you would never love me the way you love him and that’s okay. Deep down I always knew that I could never have a chance with you, I saw the way you looked at him– the way you looked at each other and I chose to ignore it. I didn’t care what would happen, I didn’t care that I would never have your heart, that I would never have what you have with him. I just wanted you to have my heart,” he pauses, looking down at your hand “even if you could give it back, I wouldn’t want it. My heart is yours, forever.”

“Steve..” you sigh sadly.

“I know.. I know. I’m not trying anything here. I just needed to say this, I know you feel guilty, I can see it in your eyes whenever you look at me but I need you to know that it’s okay, I’ve told you this before but you clearly don’t believe me but trust me, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay–”

“Yes it is,” he interrupts you, “you loved Eddie, thinking that he hated you, right?”

You nod.

“And he had your heart all this time, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“And you never once regretted giving your heart to him or loving him when you believed that he hated you?”

“No,” you whisper “I never did.”

You could never regret loving him, even if Eddie didn’t reciprocate your feelings and you wouldn’t be where you are now, you still wouldn’t regret it. You’d still love him even if it would kill you.

Sadness clouds his features but he still smiles.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he says, squeezing your hand.

You smile sadly, letting go of his hand, you step closer and wrap your arms around his waist, laying your head on his chest, you close your eyes.

He hugs you, sighing as he feels his heart fluttering in his chest.

“I hope you find someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved, Stevie.”

“Eh, I doubt that. I think at this point, I’m okay with being alone.”

Steve doesn’t want to settle for someone just because he can’t have you. He knows that he won’t be able to love anyone the way he loves you. Even if someone could love him and give him a life that he wished he could have with you, it still wouldn’t be the same and it wouldn’t be fair to the other person knowing that his heart belongs to someone else.

“No one should be alone.”

His arms tighten around you “as long as I have all of you, I won’t actually be alone.”

You nod “yeah, you’re never gonna be alone. You’ll always have us.”

-

You step into your bedroom with a smile on your face.

Walking over to the window, you close the curtains before you drop the towel. Putting on your underwear quickly, you reach for your tank top and put it on, just as you’re about to pull it down, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror– something you have avoided when you got out of the shower.

You felt them, the injuries. You felt them constantly, even as they started healing already, they still hurt and itch on your skin.

You blink, wanting to look away but you can’t. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see just how bad they really are.

You draw in a long breath as you step closer towards the mirror. Your stomach is covered with injuries, there’s no doubt that they will leave the nastiest scars. Your right arm and your legs don’t look any better, they aren’t as bad as the ones on your stomach but they will still leave some faint scars. You are surprised that the bats spared your face.

You are fighting back the tears as you touch the wounds on your stomach, you hate them and you hate the way they look on your body.

“Hey have you seen my–” Eddie suddenly halts in his tracks, the expression on his face falls as you quickly pull your shirt down and wipe the tears away. He whispers your name and walks towards you “baby.”

You force a smile on your face, acting as though nothing happened “what are you looking for?”

Eddie doesn’t answer your question, he looks at you with sadness in his beautiful eyes. Reaching for your hands, he pulls you closer to him. You look down as tears fill your eyes once again, your bottom lip quivers as he cups your face in his large hands and he tilts your head up “my sweet girl,” he whispers “please don’t cry.” He tucks your wet hair behind your ears and leans in to kiss the fallen tears away.

His touch brings you comfort and you find yourself melting into him so easily. Everything feels so right when you’re with him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, kissing your lips, “the most beautiful girl.”

That makes you cry even more because you’re scared that he will change his mind once he sees how bad the wounds really are. All this time they were covered by the bandages but now they are gone and you can no longer hide behind them.

“Please don’t cry, sweetheart,” he says with a frown on his face. He cups the back of your head and pulls you into his chest, holding you tightly. His heart breaks at the sound of your sniffles.

“I love you, y/n,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. He rubs your back softly and runs his fingers through your hair “I love you so much, my heart could burst from how much love it holds for you and nothing could ever change that, baby.”

“Nothing?” you sniffle.

He shakes his head “nothing at all,” he whispers.

“Not even these ugly scars?”

“Baby, they are not ugly.”

It’s ridiculous to him to think that you are worried about something like that, as though some scars could make you any less perfect, attractive or less lovable. There’s nothing in this world that would make him change his mind or his feelings about you.

He slides his hand down your back and moves it up to your front, placing his hand on your stomach, you shudder. Scared that he will be disgusted by the feeling of your scars.

His heart aches in his chest, you’re scared and worried, he can feel it.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. “I love your beautiful face and that cute smile of yours,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip as he leans down to kiss your cheek “I love your eyes and the way you look at me,” he says, kissing your forehead, “I love your voice, it always calms my heart,” he whispers as he slides his hand further up your body “I love your perfect body,” he whispers, looking into your eyes he waits for your approval before sliding your top up, you nod and he smiles. Reaching for the hem of your tank top, he keeps eye contact as he takes it off. You blink, breathing nervously as you try to hide your stomach but Eddie takes your hands in his, shaking his head at you “don’t hide, please,” he whispers as he walks you to the bed, pushing you down “lay back, pretty girl.”

You do as he says, resting your head on the soft pillows, you look at him, watching the way his eyes scan your body. There is love, so much of it. He takes his shirt off before he joins you on the bed, spreading your legs, he settles in between them and takes a moment to stare at you. His heart continues to flutter in his chest and he smiles. You look so beautiful. Goosebumps litter your skin as he traces the scars on your body, he leans down and kisses them.

Your heart swells in your chest, more tears well up in your eyes.

“My beautiful brave girl,” he murmurs against your skin “how could you ever think that they’re ugly?” he asks as he continues to kiss your wounded skin “these scars show how strong you are, how you fought and won. You protected us, you protected me. You’re my hero, sweetheart,” he pauses “don’t you ever call them ugly again, they’re pretty metal you know? Totally badass.”

Your eyes soften and your stomach flutters “Eddie,” you whisper as a small smile appears on your face.

“There she is,” he smiles as he presses kisses all over your stomach and your chest until he faces you again.

You move your arms around his neck, staring into his doe eyes, you lean up to kiss his lips “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” he murmurs against your lips before he pulls you into a deeper kiss. You smile and close your eyes. Moaning as he pushes his knee against your heat. He sighs, smiling as you pull him closer and wrap your legs around his waist. Your lips mold together so perfectly. His tongue brushes your bottom lip and you part your lips further.

He gasps as you grind against his bulge, his stomach flutters. God, he can’t wait to feel you again.

“I need you,” you whimper against his lips as you reach down between you both and begin to unbuckle his belt “please…”

He smirks, kissing your lips and then your jaw and your neck “please what?”

You giggle, his hair tickles your neck. He smiles against you, the sound of your giggle makes his heart swell.

“Please, make love to me,” you whisper as you meet his eyes, his eyes flicker with lust and love as he kisses your boobs.

“I’ll make love to you tonight,” he whispers as he cups your cheek, “tomorrow,” he whispers “and for the rest of our life.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” he whispers as he kisses you “my sweet girl.”

-

I know I said this would be the last chapter but..... how about another one? 👀

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[passivenovember]

All the way across time, Billy’s knuckles drip pearls of red onto the dashboard. He’s drunk. Can’t hold his head up for longer than ten seconds, just enough for Steve to get the seatbelt around him, and the door closed, and the window rolled down because, “I’m gonna ralph.”

Steve grips the wheel. 

It doesn’t matter. So his chest shouldn’t convulse, twisting with worry for this asshole. This dickhead. This reckless piece of--

“Steve, I’m gonna puke.”

Emotion clogs his throat, wading through two years of this means nothing to me. blonde hair and blue eyes and cherry red lips, paving the way toward nothing.

Billy grips his member’s jacket, “Please, I’m gonna be sick,” 

And.

Steve thinks he’d like to see that. Could enjoy it, maybe, relaxing into how a little bit of pain would smooth things over, but. 

“You’re not throwing up in here,” Steve says bluntly, neverminded the tell-tale shade of pea-green Billy’s nose has gone. “You should’ve thought it through before you did that last keg stand.”

“Had to do it,” Billy grumbles.

He does a lot of things because he thinks he’s supposed to. Kisses Steve for two years because he wants to. Asks Steve to run away with him because he has to. Can’t stay in the red pin-point of Hawkins a moment longer. Avoids Steve because he had to break up with him. Punches Steve’s new toy across the jaw because he has to--

It gets old.

Billy makes a pained gurgling noise, leaning forward to clutch at his stomach.

Steve frowns. “I’m not slowing the car down, asshole,” but he pumps the breaks, anyway, aching to rub his back even as the words land like fists against Billy’s spine. 

The Beemer Idles at the next red light so Billy can blow chunks on the cobble brick of Main street. 

Steve hates this.

He wants to go home. He imagines what would happen if he told Billy to walk. To find his own way back to cherry lane--He peers out the window, into the dead of night. Counts to twenty. Says, “I can’t believe you did that,” the second Billy’s upright again. 

Billy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I tried to swallow it but it kept coming back up--”

“No, I mean.” The light changes. Steve pulls forward, so close to home he can almost feel his bedsheets against his skin. “The fight. I can’t believe--”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Steve presses down on the gas pedal. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the martyr and I’m the monster lurching toward town hall. No two ways about it,” 

Steve turns onto Loch Nora, speeding toward his neighborhood like maybe if he gets there fast enough, things will start to make sense. He breathes through his nose. Feels the wind on his face. “You have twenty seconds to tell me why.” Steve says.

Billy fumbles around for his cigarettes, finally pinching one between his teeth and holding onto it while the car lighter sparks itself alive. By the time it pops free, glowing red like a fallen star in, Steve’s already cut the engine.

He’s home.

The grass needs watering and it’s almost summer. Billy puffs his cigarette. Won’t look at him and doesn’t say anything for a long time.

But Steve. He can’t accept that. It’s eating him alive, hope and anger raging wild in his stomach, getting drunk on stale beer. No matter what he’s thinking, chewing on words he can’t force into any meaningful order--

“It’s been more than twenty seconds.” 

Billy finally turns in his seat, eyebrow split open and trickling blood when he raises it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and. Billy’s eyes. They’re soft on Steve’s face. Softer than he’s seen them in months, since Billy killed this. Killed them. 

Steve feels like a ghost, watching Billy drop his skull against the headrest. In profile, Steve notices his lip blowing huge. Notices he’s hurt, more than he’ll ever let on, and.

“Why’d you do that,” Steve tries. 

He’s ready to beg. To kick and scream. Punch out the dashboard and shatter the window and light the whole world on fire. “Billy,” Steve says, hating the way his voice is going to crack and blow everything apart. “I--”

“I think,” Billy rasps, “My knuckles--”

Steve undoes his seatbelt, absolutely sick to his stomach.

--

The first time Billy broke up with him, Steve didn’t eat for three days. 

Not because he’s so gone on the asshole that Steve can’t live without him, but because Billy had shown up at Steve’s front door with three broken ribs and a black eye someone could park a school bus on. 

And Steve took one look at him, cracked open and bleeding himself because Billy wouldn’t let Steve touch him, and knew, that.

This was his fault. And it was over.

They never talked again, after that. Surprise, surprise.

Not about anything that matters. Not about what happens to Billy at home. If Max saw something she wasn’t supposed to. If Neil ever got curious, if he had people keep an eye out. If, wrapped in each other’s arms behind a dumpster at the county fair, maybe they should’ve been more careful.

It was Steve’s fault. 

At the end of the day, Billy may think he’s Frankenstein’s monster but really, he’s the bird with shattered wings and Steve’s the asshole driving over it, so.

When Billy shoulders his way into the house. When he pauses, eyes glued to the skylight and the midnight galaxy beyond that, and says, “Looks just like I remember,” before he removes his jacket, wincing in a way that has Steve feeling like he just got stabbed with something short and dull, it gives Steve hope.

Hope that they can fix this. That Steve can patch it up just like he used to, tucking Billy into the bath, soapy water warming his chest until he’s not angry anymore. 

Steve doesn’t want to be angry anymore.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He tries, and follows Billy down the hall to the bathroom, where he strips down to his boxers and plops, gingerly, on the edge of the toilet without having to be told.

They go through the motions.

Steve pokes and prods, slathering Neosporin over cuts and scrapes, even the ones Billy insists don’t hurt. He cleans the wounds, anyway. He tapes the knuckles. Says, “You got your ass kicked, Hargrove,” Chest filling with hymnals and shaking, crushing explosions when Billy smiles. 

It’s small. Almost non-existent, but.

It’s there. 

Steve winds Billy’s hair into a bun and runs him a bath. Without having to be told. And Billy strips naked, slipping into the water, without having to be told. 

But Steve has to be told. Asked. “Will you sit with me?”

“What?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Billy sounds scared. Working hard to buff nerves from the atmosphere when he clears his throat and asks, “Will you get in with me.”

Steve turns, his hand still on the doorknob. He keeps his eyes on Billy’s face, on his lips, where they’ve started to turn purple on the left corner, no matter how much he wants to look. To see and touch--

“Whatever, stupid to even ask,” 

Billy’s eyes close like doors. His arms stretch and grip onto either side of the tub so he can lean back, eyes slipping closed so he doesn’t see the way Steve vibrates all over. The way his hands shake, pulling his shirt over his head. Unbuckling his pants. He steps into the water, refusing to meet Billy’s eyes as the bubbles close around them.

Steve clears his throat, ready to cut his heart open and apologize, nearly dying on the spot when Billy beats him to it.

“I fucked everything up.” Billy gasps.

And.

Steve wishes he could say it's awkward.

That he’s not hard, with the water scorching every inch of him, and Billy’s swampy, wet eyes pinning him in place, but.

He’s choking on want. On desperation and love. “Billy--”

Billy shakes his head, refusing to listen. “I just. With Neil--”

“--I know--”

“--I’m afraid, Steve.” Billy blinks, pinprick tears sliding down the swell of his cheeks. His knuckles turn white on the tub, grip so firm Steve worries for Billy’s split skin and fresh bandages. “I was so afraid when he brought it up that I ruined everything, and--”

Steve shushes him, wading forward a little, until he slots himself between Billy’s legs. 

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Billy tells him, sitting up. “I never want anything to happen to you, so I let you go. And then tonight, when you were wrapped in that loser’s arms, laughing at his fucking jokes--”

Steve wants to say that the loser means nothing to him. Could never mean anything to him, when he’s got Billy in his life like this--

“But it was my fault, Steve. Everything’s been my fault for so long and I treated you like shit because I was scared to death that something would happen. I pushed you away and now--”

“I love you,” Steve tells him. 

Because it’s all he can manage to say. Because it’s simple and easy and in the end, love’s gonna win out.

Steve won’t accept anything else.

But wherever Billy is, whatever he’s been sword fighting, tears staining his pillow every night for three months in a house Steve could never reach him, is putting on a hell of a performance.

“No,” Billy says bluntly.

“Baby.”

“No,” Billy says again, “Don’t say that. I’m shit. I’m scum, Steve, I’m--”

“I love you,” Steve shrugs. Billy’s eyes search his face, tears frozen and stuck to his flashes like unearthed diamonds. 

Steve takes a deep breath. Prepares for war. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He begins, ready to slay the dragon, but.

Billy bares his teeth. Digs his heels in. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do.” Steve insists. He wants to touch Billy. Wants to haul him to his chest and lock him there forever.

Not now.

Not yet.

“You don’t deserve what happened and what happened, Billy--” Steve takes his shoulders, soapy hands moving to hold Billy’s cheeks until Billy looks at him. “That wasn’t you fault.”

Billy’s crying now, hunched forward so Steve as to submerge his chest in water, ducking to get those baby blues back where they belong.

Billy rattles, letting Steve’s hands gentle his cheeks, catching his tears and setting them free like wishes. Dreams. Steve presses a kiss, delicate as pressed flowers, to Billy’s forehead.

And both cheeks.

And each corner of his mouth, smearing his chin in a slow, sloppy kiss until Billy cracks open.

“I’m sorry,” He gasps, finally, finally, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and pulling him close.. “I’m sorry, Steve, so fucking sorry--”

“I love you, Billy. I’ll tell you everyday, ever morning and before bed, cradling you in my arms, until you believe me,” Steve tells the dragon.

You’re cast out. There are no more shadowy corners to come home to.

[hauntedwizardmoment]

You have to write the proposal I’m BEGGING 🤧🙏

so i definitely got carried away with this.

light of the love that i found

1.2k, fluff, light angst, happy ending, sometimes jace gets treated niceys

When Jace Teleports into his classroom on Friday, there’s a box on his desk. It’s ornate and weighty, carved out of solid wood and engraved with delicate looping vines and flowers. Another one of Porter’s gifts. 

It’s one of the little things Porter’s been doing lately, leaving him presents after they fight. Last week it was a new set of gem-infused inks in every color, after they’d screamed at each other for twenty minutes after a few lighthearted jabs boiled over. A month ago, when Jace had threatened to walk out of their plan entirely, he’d found a new leatherbound sketchbook in their bedroom, filled with sturdy paper that could withstand anything he’d put it through. 

He hates the way it works. It shouldn’t be this easy to win him over with a couple of trinkets. But sorcery is an expensive profession, and teaching it moreso, even with the school providing a fund for material components and spellbooks. The thought of Porter, who can’t even cast a simple Prestidigitation, tracking down wood from a tree struck by lightning just to apologize, makes him melt despite himself.

He chills again, though, at the memory of last night. They’d flung every insult they could at each other, every secret confessed turned into a knife to lodge in each others’ flesh and twist. He opens the box hesitantly, expecting pearls or diamonds, something extravagant to make up for it, but instead finds a piece of cardstock nestled into the crushed velvet lining. Turning it over reveals a message. 

Remember our spot? Meet me there, at our usual time. 

A clearing in the Far Haven Woods, where they used to sneak away after work and watch the sun set and stars rise with a bottle of wine. Of course he remembers it. Back when life was easier, their schedules not filled to the brim with ambrosia and Devil’s Honey and hazardous spellcraft. 

The bell rings, students trickling in, and he shoves the box into one of the larger drawers in his desk. Porter’s planning something, clearly, and it should make him nervous. Instead, there’s a buzz under his skin, excitement mixing with anticipation. 

“Hey Jace, can we have class outside today?” A freshman asks, before he’s even had a chance to take attendance. 

He sighs. Today’s going to be a long day. 

---

Long day ends up being the understatement of an eon.  

The artificer class across the hall is doing something loud and obnoxious with their arcanotech that has all of his jumpiest underclassmen on a hair trigger. Before he knows it, he’s got eight new Surge Incident Reports to fill out, and it’s barely noon.But there’s no time to do that during his planning period, because Lucilla gets a bad case of nausea and needs someone to cover her class and he’s the only one available. 

Mercifully, his seniors are able to work on their portfolios independently, so he can catch up on all the grading he’s missed while working on The Plan, but just as he’s about to head out to meet Porter, a parent walks into his classroom, and he cannot believe he forgot he scheduled a parent-teacher conference today of all days. 

By the time he finally leaves work, it’s 6:04 PM, the November air cool against his skin but not helping with the beginnings of his migraine. He hates talking to parents, especially the ones that like to yell when their children don’t earn As just for showing up. By the time Ken Morilinde finishes his tirade and Jace can head out to the woods, the sun’s already making its descent downwards.

Finally, though, he’s at their clearing. It’s just like he remembers it: the overgrown path giving way to a patch of grass and low-lying ferns next to a small stream. Porter’s waiting for him, a checkered blanket spread out on the ground, wine uncorked with two glasses poured. At the sight of Jace, he grins. “Thought you weren’t gonna show. Had me thinking I pissed you off for good.” 

“Work sucked today,” Jace complains, sitting on the blanket and downing a large sip of wine.  “When you’re a god, promise me you’ll destroy the Morilindes. Or at least put a curse on their family for ten generations.” 

“Consider it on the list. Don’t think about that now, though, I need to talk to you. And you need to take it seriously.” 

This isn’t what he thought he was walking into. Jace finishes his glass, pours another one. “Well, that’s ominous. Spit it out, then.” 

“You like this, right? Us, together?” Porter asks him, taking his hand, running his thumb over Jace’s knuckles. The skin there is red and angry from a student’s accidental Shocking Grasp, threatening to split. Porter presses his lips to the wound in a kiss, Lays on Hands until it heals. “I know we’ve had our disagreements, but… I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

He’s thrown for a loop at the question, Porter’s sudden gentleness making him lightheaded. Isn’t it obvious? “You know I could kill you if I wanted to, right? Of course I like this.” The next words out of his mouth are too honest, but it comes out before he can stop himself. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything, either.” 

Porter laughs, genuine and lovely. “That’s what I love about you, bunny. Always so bloodthirsty.” 

“Creep.” 

“You’re not denying it?” 

Why would he? He doesn’t need to pretend to be Chill Jace, Friendly Jace, Helpful Jace with Porter. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?” He leans back against a tree trunk, tips his head up to watch the sky shift from orange to purple-pink. 

“One more thing. Close your eyes for me?” Porter asks, and he does so without question. The combination of being pleasantly tipsy and the atmosphere - distant owl calls, the sound of rushing water, the last fireflies of the year flickering - does wonders for his mood, his terrible day at work nearly forgotten. He could fall asleep like this easily, but it only takes a few moments for Porter to say: “Okay, now look.” 

He opens his eyes to Porter holding out another box in the palm of his hand. It’s small, square, and covered in black velvet. He knows exactly what’s inside. 

“Porter…” 

“Open it.”

Porter hands it to him, and he does. The ring is gold, with small garnets inlaid around the entire circumference. On the inner surface of the band, he can see tiny engraved runes. “It’s beautiful.”

“Jace Stardiamond, will you make me the happiest man this side of the Celestine, and marry me?” 

All the arguments, all the nights of lost sleep, all the waiting and boredom and terrible days at work, all of it seems so small and insignificant now. He’s a dam full to burst; tears well up at the corner of his eyes. He tries to speak, but no words come. All he can do is nod, practically falling into Porter’s embrace as Porter kisses him, slipping the ring onto his finger deftly. The faint aura of protection settles over him, comforting and warm. 

“‘S that a yes?” Porter holds him still as they pull apart, looking at him intently.

“Gods, you’re stupid,” he sniffles, wiping away his tears. “Yes, it’s always been yes.” 

Porter kisses him again, and for a brief moment, everything feels right.