#alright its over im writing fic now

[sangre]

yet for your sake... i would fain relinquish all i have.

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

'talk to you later bestie!' <- person who has caused me extreme mental crises and i have no want to reconnect with

[chellestrash]

Let me handle it.

Frank Castle x F!Reader

summary: After a long day at work you FINALLY get home and Frank decides to offer some help with redirecting your frustrations. warnings: strong language, explicit language, explicit content, pet names, praises, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex. word count: 3.8k an: Hey heeey, me again...trying to get out of my writers block LIKE ALWAYS! I stg there isnt a fic on this blog that isn't my attempt to try and get back into writing but anyway. This was just something short and sweet I wanted to get out to hopefully get the gears moving again. Let me know what you think! I know the ending feels a bit rushed but I hope its alright. Reblogs and feedback appreciated as always! Hope you'll enjoy! OH and of course, thank you @chelseasdagger for helping with this one and im tagging @lucy-sky cause she requested that!

You push the front door open and sigh loudly at the sight of your apartment. The 8 hours of work felt particularly long today, and you swear at some points you weren't really sure if 5pm was actually going to come after all. The tiredness fills every inch of your body to the point that some parts actually, physically hurt as you get your coat and boots off before making your way over to the living room.

“There she is.”

Frank sits on the big couch in front of the TV, his ‘work’ clothes still on, so you assume it hasn’t been long since he got back as well. He looks better than you feel, though, one leg on the floor, the other propped up on the small coffee table. The TV remote is still in his hands, but you notice how he turns the screen off the second he notes your presence. 

Looking up at the sound of his voice, you do your best to smile in response, but the content expression fails to reach your eyes, and you turn your gaze back to the wooden floor before answering.

You mumble a quiet greeting under your nose and walk past the couch, past him and into the small now, thank god, dark bedroom. 

Frank frowns, turning his head as he watches you cross the living room and disappear behind the bedroom door. It’s not hard to pick up on the fact that something is clearly off. It’s not like you two cling to each other the second you step through the front door, but he knows something about the way you act today just doesn't feel how it should feel. He grunts, pushing himself up from his spot on the couch, and makes his way over to the bedroom.

Back in the small room, you attempt to get rid of your work clothes as fast as possible, longing for the simple yet unmatched comfort of one of Frank’s basic t shirts. You pick the one laying by the end of the bed, the one you knew he currently slept in, and softly pull the work shirt up and off over your head before ditching your bra too and tossing it off to the side. You can't be bothered to clean it up, not right now, probably not tonight. With the t shirt now on, you sit at the foot of the bed. 

A loud sigh exits your body as you attempt to take your pants off, but for some reason, the task proves harder than it would be on any other day. You fight with the fabric for another moment, frantically waving your legs back and forth with no avail before hiding your face in your hands, ready to dig the nails into your flesh with all the pent-up frustration of the week. 

“You need help with that?”

You drag your fingers down your face and turn to face him.

Frank stands in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest as he leans onto the door frame, and you hope he wasn't here long enough to witness your meltdown. 

“I don’t… know.”

You admit, the overwhelming frustration wins over the slight embarrassment of the previous moment. 

Frank nods before pushing himself away from the door frame. He walks over to the bed without a word, and before you can try to explain yourself, you watch him get down on one knee in front of you with a grunt.

“Alright.”

He mumbles softly, fully kneeling in front of you now. Holding your calf softly in one hand, he pulls the fabric of your pants down your leg before switching to the other one. You watch silently as he gets rid of the clothes for you before tossing them off to the side, to be dealt with at some point during the week. 

“That better?”

He asks softly, and you nod, your body relaxing at the sensation of his fingers brushing up and down the back of your calves softly. 

“Work?”

He asks carefully, feeling the need to figure out what was wrong, but not wanting you to have to think about it again.

Closing your eyes, you sigh softly and nod once more, confirming his previous suspicion. 

“Want me to go out there…make sure this shit is sorted?”

The question makes you chuckle, and you breathe out a quiet laugh as your eyes find his again. He never looked away from you. 

“You gonna go beat the shit out of my boss?”

You finally speak up, pushing your fingers through Frank’s short hair, feeling it prickle your skin slightly as you do so. The familiar feeling somehow grounds you in the moment as you feel more present than before. 

Frank scoffs at your words, looking off to the side for a second before turning back to face you. That god-damn cocky smile makes you smile back at him almost instantly. 

“That what you want?”

He moves his hands up, fingers now brushing over your thighs as he pushes forward slightly, you spread your legs open some more to fit his wide frame between them. 

“I mean if you’re offering.”

You joke, and he breathes out through his nose quickly, shaking his head with a semi playful smile.

“Yeah, okay, you got it, kid.”

He mumbles before leaning down to press a kiss onto your thigh. Closing your eyes, you let out a quiet hum, the wet warmth of his lips present on your skin for a long couple of seconds before he finally pulls away. 

“How ‘bout I make you feel good? Hmm? That sounds okay?”

His voice rumbles through your body as he moves closer to you and the bed, gently lifting your one leg up and over his shoulder before he does the same with the other one.

“Fuck.”

You start, already feeling how your body begins to react to him, the warmth between your legs slowly growing more prominent.

“You don't understand how much I’d love that right now, I just…”

He stops, stops immediately and waits to hear you out.

“I’m too fucking tired to move, Frankie.”

“Who says you gotta do anythin’?”

The way he answers makes it feel like the most obvious thing in the universe, like how he doesn't understand how you could've thought of it in any other way than him giving you all he can offer.

“Shit, you think I’m gonna make you ride it or something?”

He looks up at you from where he's kneeling by the bed, eyebrows pulled together in a frown, as if he genuinely can not believe you’d think that.

“Think I’m gonna make you get on your knees? Suck me off and tell you you’re doing a good job, hmm? That what you think?”

You laugh, shaking your head, knowing he would never make a situation like this about himself. Yeah, you two enjoyed it when things got rough during sex, and you enjoyed ordering Frank around just as much as he did with you, but you both also understood the timing and feeling of this situation. You knew not everything always worked the same, and so did Frank. “If you did, you’d get a fucking knee to your stomach, you got that?”

You state and Frank scoffs once again.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh before helping you slide your legs off his shoulder.

“Alright.”

He starts after pushing himself off the floor.

“Lay down, kid, show me how you want it.”

He gestures to the bed, and you give him a big, bright smile for the first time since getting home from work. Turning your back to him, you climb up to the top of the bed before dropping onto one of the big pillows. With a satisfied groan, you bury your face into the soft fabric and close your eyes for a second before pulling one of your legs up, bending it at the knee. The movement causes the fabric of Frank’s shirt to slowly slide down the slope of your back, exposing both your panties and your ass to the man standing at the foot of the bed.

“Yeah? Like that?"

He asks in that deep, groggy voice, and you nod, rubbing your cheek against the pillow without bothering to open your eyes as you do so.

“Alright.”

He mumbles, and you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his body after a moment. You listen to your body, to its needs and wants, and push your ass out slightly towards him with a quiet, innocent moan.

Frank scoffs loudly, shaking his head as he climbs over you, his arms propped up on either side of your body as he holds himself up above you. 

“Thought you were too tired to pull that shit.”

He points out in a teasing manner, and you crack one eye open slowly, the corner of your mouth pulling up into a playful smile.

“Oh no, I’m never too tired to be a pain in the ass to you.”

You mumble, somewhat to him, somewhat into the fabric of the pillow, before he breathes out a small laugh and leans down to press a kiss right on your shoulder. You watch as the muscles in his arm tense when he's pushing himself up again.

“Yeah, okay, you gonna let me do this or do you want to keep being an ass?”

You grin at the word and glance back at him, but he cuts you off before you manage to say anything.

“Don’t, do not fucking answer that.”

You laugh out loud, but the laughter quickly turns into a deep grunt when Frank pushes his hands against your ass. You feel his fingers digging into your body when he squeezes you tight, and you lift your hips up slightly, pushing into his touch. 

“Yeaaah, s’what I thought, you like that?”

You hum softly and hope it’s enough of an answer as the firm grip on your body disappears for a second, just to come back a moment later. 

“I got you now, kid, s okay."

He grumbles, pushing your legs apart some so he can sit in between them, right behind your ass. Pushing the hem of your shirt up, he gently brushes his fingers over your back. His hands make their way to the sides of your body, fingertips brushing up and down your ribs for a moment, and you let out a loud sigh.

“That’s it, good girl, again.”

You repeat the deep breath in and a calm exhale, allowing him to lead you through this, this one time. Dragging his hands lower and lower down your body, Frank works his fingers over your skin. The firm but gentle sensation of his touch spreads from your back and sides to your ass, then lower onto the back of your thighs and then calves when he reaches his arm behind his back. 

“Mmmm, Frankie”

Your hips push up once again when his thumbs dig into the spot right under your ass, and he breathes out a laugh. 

“Yeah, okay.”

You don’t have to explain it to him, he knows how to read your body. Slowly dragging his thumb over the fabric of your panties, he slips his four other fingers between your legs, cupping your pussy over your underwear. 

You whine quietly, your eyes still closed as he begins to draw small circles against your most sensitive spot, the tension in your body releasing into his touch. 

Humming quietly, you snuggle into the pillow, letting yourself fully relax now as the stress of the day leaves with your satisfied hum.

“Yeah? This what you like? Hmm?”

You push yourself back into his hand, leaning harder into his touch as an answer, and Frank tightens his hold onto you in response. The intensity of the sensation rises as he pushes his fingers harder against you. 

The tired, but honest smile on your face indicates how good of a job he’s doing. Well, that and the way the fabric of your underwear dampens more as the minutes pass by.

“Frank-“

You mumble out quietly, reaching your hand behind your back and hooking your fingers under the hem of your panties.

His touch disappears immediately as he pulls his hands away from your body, letting you dictate exactly what happens. 

He watches you fiddle with the fabric for a moment before you quickly tug it down your thighs and assists once it gets stuck behind your ass.

“Yeah that’s it sweetheart, show me what you want.”

You push your ass up slightly with an inpatient sigh once he slides the fabric down past your ankles and tosses it off to the side.

Once again, his big, warm hands find their way to your back, fingers pressing into your skin as he takes a moment to massage your muscles in your back, and then you feel him push the fabric up higher to tend to your shoulders as well. Feeling the bulge between his legs press into your ass the second he leans down to trace the back of your neck with his lips, you hum satisfied, eyes still closed, lips curled up into a smile. 

“Really, Frankie? That much?”

You tease, and he rolls his eyes at your words, shaking his head with a sly smirk still on. 

“Yeaaah yeah, shut up.”

He starts before leaning back down, his lips right by your ear this time. His hand pushes down between your legs, touching you directly now, and you know he can feel your body’s response to the whole thing.

“Really, kid? This much?” 

You huff out a laugh as a response and reach behind you to wrap your fingers around his wrist and keep his hand in place. 

“Not like it's my fault.”

You mumble quietly and hear Frank’s chuckle from behind you.

“Okay, calm down, just tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want to feel good.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Want me to make you feel good, baby?”

Another nod before you feel Frank’s hand push under your body and cup your chest firmly. His thumb brushes over your nipple as his lips brush down your spine, over your back. Feeling your body slow down, you allow yourself to relax properly as the warm, familiar feeling grows stronger between your legs. 

He pushes his hand right there again, touching you right where you long for it the most.

“Mhmmm.”

You hum quietly, as his three fingers push between your folds before he starts tracing circles around your clit. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling, your body finally relaxing after the exhausting day. Maybe in some other circumstances your mind would slip. If you were alone, if you tried to distract yourself on your own, your mind would wander, but not now. Not with Frank right there in the bed with you. He made it…difficult to focus on anything else, knew how to keep your mind occupied, how to prevent your thoughts from wandering where you didn't want them to go. 

His touch strengthens, and you feel your back arching slightly with a quiet moan slipping past your lips.

“Ah-fuck.”

You grunt the moment his fingers slip inside you. 

“Shh shh shh-”

Frank mumbles quietly, pushing them further in with ease thanks to your body’s intense reaction to his generous attempts to help.

“That okay?”

His low, groggy mumbling continues while he pushes his thumb against you, working on your clit as you feel yourself clenching around his thick fingers. Frank grunts loudly, watching your involuntary response to his question.

“Yeaah, s’what I thought.”

“Mmmmm-you’re pushing it.”

You whisper and he scoffs.

“Yeah? Shit, am I- hmm?”

He lowers the tone of his voice to match yours, leaning back down with his lips right by your ear yet again.

“Just tryna make you feel good, baby.”

He reassures you, watching your lips part as you feel the center of his palm push flat against your center, the wet sounds of your body filling the room slowly as he begins to slip his fingers in and out of your body once, twice, and again, again and again.

You hum loudly this time, biting into your lower lip before you angle your lower back up slightly in an attempt to chase the sensation every time he slips his fingers out almost completely. 

“Frank-”

You start, but he cuts you off, pressing his thumb harder against your clit. 

“Mmm, Frank-”

You repeat yourself with a loud moan before your muscles tense up, and you use the built-up force to push your ass back into him when you feel him slip his three fingers out of your pussy again.

“Ah- Fuck!”

He groans at the unexpected feeling, panting loudly when your ass pushes against the bulge in his pants, and you feel his tight grip on your thighs once you push into him again.

“Shit- okay, okay-”

He does his best to focus once again, and you breathe out a laugh, entertained by the slight shift in the dynamic.

“You okay there, Castle?”

You purr, glancing back to watch the way his eyes focus on your ass, feeling his hips buck up into you slightly. 

“Shit-”

Letting go of your thigh, he reaches up, quickly grabbing one of the pillows lying by your head before lifting your hips up a couple inches above the mattress and sliding it right under your body to help with the angle.

“Good?”

He asks, glancing up at you, the big, brown eyes fixed on yours as he awaits your answer for a moment before you nod quickly. 

“Couldn't have done it better myself.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he drags his hand down your back, stopping right above your ass.

“Yeah no shit-”

You roll your eyes at his words and rest your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes one more time. The sound of the metal buckle of his belt travels through your entire body, and you feel a slight tingling sensation between your legs. Pushing them apart softly, you earn yourself another

“Oh, fuck-”

From Frank, as he now gets to properly see the fruit of his labor. You lay in front of him, naked from the waist down, your legs spread open, your pussy wet from how he touched you before. 

“God damn it, kid-.”

He whispers quietly under his breath. 

“You know how perfect you look? Hmm?”

He asks, working his hand under the waistband of his boxers to pull himself out. 

“I ever tell you that?”

“Once or twice.”

You tease, answering the question without opening your eyes, arching your back slightly to make sure he gets a good view. 

“Ffff-”

You glance back this time, the wet sounds convincing you the view would be worth it, and it is. You watch for a moment as he works his hand over the length of his cock, his lips parted as he pants loudly with every other stroke, his fingers wrapped tightly around his length.

Gradually slowing down the movement, Frank holds onto the base of his cock, lining himself up with your exposed center. You hum softly, and your hips rise off of the mattress the moment you feel the head of his cock between your legs.

“Mhmm, just like that.”

You whisper to encourage him, with a slight note of impatience in the tone of your voice. 

“Yeah? So..s that what you want me to do?”

“Frank.”

You warn him, knowing exactly where this is going.

“What if I just-”

He continues.

“Frank, don't you f-”

He cuts you off, pushing his cock in between your folds and your whole body jerks forward at the sudden, unexpected sensation accompanied by a loud moan that slips past your lips.

“Fr- fuck!”

You swear, gripping the bed sheets before pushing your ass back against his cock, feeling it rub over your center, between your folds and nudging at your sensitive clit. 

Frank laughs loudly, louder than he should in your opinion, considering this was his–and his only–fault. 

“Shiiit kid, didn't mean to get you this bad.”

He attempts to calm your body, his big hand resting on your lower back as he continues to slide his cock in between your folds, teasing your entrance and clit with every single one of your now sped up breaths. 

“Frank, this- isn't helping.”

You whine out, listening to your body, desperate to feel him inside now.

“Give- shit, give me a second here, kid, this-”

He pants louder now, his other hand on your ass, spreading you open for a better view. 

“I swear to god if you come before I get to feel you, I’m sleeping alone.”

He scoffs loudly, hanging his head low as he stops touching himself. 

“That a threat?”

He questions your intentions with that sly smirk on his face, and you prop your chest up slightly.

“Wanna find out?”

You glance back, eyebrow raised.

“Nah, won't risk it.”

He states quietly, his chest rising and falling quickly, his cock hard between your legs. 

“You scared of me, Castle?”

You mumble the question out as you lay back down on the big pillow, feeling the head of his cock right at your entrance now. 

“Yeah, actually, how did you know?”

“Luck guess.”

“Yeah?”

He continues the conversation, pushing his cock inside you slowly. You let your lips part, fall open as you feel him deeper and deeper inside you. You can feel the way it stretches you open, a familiar feeling you got used to since being with Frank. 

“That good? Hmm?”

He asks quietly, leaning slowly over your body as he thrusts into you.

“Mhmmm.”

You hum out a confirmation as the movements continue, you feel your body rocking back and forth with his body, with the bed. 

“Good, wouldn't wanna be on your bad side.”

The thrusts grow stronger as he reaches up to hold onto the headboard, grunting loudly as you clench around him. 

With his cock buried deep inside you, you manage another response.

“Keep doing what you're doing, and you'll be safe.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The trusting continues for a while after, as he tries to do his best to keep it together long enough for you to feel satisfied. His other hand wraps around your throat at some point, and he lifts your head up slightly. Your breathing speeds up, and you pant loudly through your parted lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the climax.

"Attagirl, you feel it?"

He asked, no cockiness in his voice this time. It's an honest question, he sounded almost concerned.

"Mhm."

Your quiet hum has to work as an answer for now as you grip the bed sheets tighter, feeling his cock nude the underside of your stomach from within you.

"God damn it, kid-"

He mumbles into your shoulder, lips brushing over your skin when he feels your walls clenching around him harder now.

"Frank-"

"Shh shh shh, I got it."

He reassures you, resting your head back onto the mattress before reaching down between your legs.

"You just relax, kid, let me do this for you."

[atlabeth]

I desperately need you to give me some jealous nikolai lanstov I'm not even jokinh

my love mine all mine

lowkey continuation of bad luck and im with you; can be read standalone though!

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem reader

summary: after your return to ravka, nikolai's resolve is tested at a ball.

a/n: i have saved this ask since september because i knew one day i would get around to it. i love nikolai lantsov and i dont write jealous fics often so here we go!! this is technically a continuation of bad luck and im with you but you can read it separately. i keep going back to these two for some reason lmao?? idk. theyre childhood friends to lovers with so much strife in between and that's so special to me lmao. but yah enjoy i MISSED WRITING FOR HIM<3

wc: 2.8k

warning(s): nikolai is a lil jealous obviously! small bit of angst, mostly fluff, lil steamy at the end.

Nikolai feels his lip curling, feels his hand tighten on his glass. 

This is a party. A ball, more specifically, but a celebration nonetheless. He should be smiling, mingling, talking up some baron or duke in the name of Ravka’s economy. He is a prince, after all—a bastard, second son of a prince that plans to take the throne at that—and he’s just returned from years at sea. It is in his best interest to do what he does best and talk as much as possible. If anything, he should be arm in arm with the Sun Summoner to boost both their positions. 

But all he can do is stare at you. 

You’re the embodiment of grace. Your practiced smile looks wholly genuine no matter how long you have to keep it up. Your laugh seems to make others smile without even realizing, ringing out clear like church bells. It’s a sound Nikolai knows he would worship to the end of his days, at least. 

You stand in the midst of noblemen and Nikolai only recognizes one—Artem Aslanov, a son of nobles that the two of you spent much of your youth with. He wonders if you remember each other as well. He certainly seems to, the way he stands just a bit too close to you, the way he’s absolutely eager for your attention. Nikolai holds back a scoff. 

The others are likely from various other Ravkan settlements, though one has to be Kaelish, with his almost offensively ginger hair. 

Not that any of it matters, though. Not one of them can tear their eyes away from you as you talk, magnetic with both your words and inherent charm, and they drink up every bit of your presence. 

Something stirs inside Nikolai at the sight. Logically, he knows he has little to worry about—he knows this is your duty as much as it is his, and you care little for any man’s affections but his. 

But Saints, his heart does not want to listen to silly things such as logic. In this moment, Nikolai is reminded of the truth at its barest—you’re a noblewoman of good breeding, quite extravagant wealth, and considerable beauty. Your years at sea have caused you to develop a quick wit and sharp tongue, and it only serves to make you more appealing.

Your flashy return to Ravka has made you perhaps the most desirable lady at court, and Nikolai is forced to realize he no longer has you all to himself anymore. 

Nikolai has planned to come back and take the Lantsov throne for years now, but he can’t help but long for those days again. Teaching you all the ins and outs of the Volkvolny, how to do every sailor’s knot he knows, showing you the misty mountains of the Wandering Isle and the rolling fields of Novyi Zem and the wonderful world outside of Ravka’s courtly constraints. 

Taking over the ships of slavers and clashing blades with drüskelle and watching a thousand sunrises and sunsets together, unbound by anything but tangled up in every part of each other. 

It was almost laughable. You were worried of Nikolai charming others upon your return, and yet here he was, unable to look away from you for even the slightest second because he was jealous of some noble son.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” 

Nikolai turns back to the conversation he is meant to be paying attention to, already offering a smile that he hopes will make up for his utter lack of focus. Of course, he doesn’t really care what this Kerch merchant thinks of him, and Nikolai’s word will probably mean little to his parents at the moment. They’re still quite angry at him for all his Sturmhondish escapades. This man, whose name he has already forgotten, doesn’t seem to know he’s wasting his time. 

“Of course I am,” he says, and he pats him on the shoulder. He means to say more, but then he catches a glance of Artem pulling you to the side, his hand lingering on your waist much too close for comfort. He’s surprised he doesn’t break his glass with how his fingers clench around it even tighter.  

“Then I would be honored for you to consider my—” 

“I apologize, Jansen.” Nikolai ignores the look on his face at both his interruption and being called the wrong name as he drops his hand. “It’s been wonderful chatting with you, but I’m afraid I must take my leave.” 

Nikolai departs before he can get another word out. He’s sure he’ll get an earful later for his ‘disrespect’ but again, he really could not care less. 

He expects to have to weave his way through the crowd, but a path parts for him wherever he moves. Benefits to being a Lantsov prince rather than another privateer on the sea, he supposes. He feels a number of eyes on him as he walks, but he’s focused on one thing and one thing only. 

Artem seems to be as well, seeing as he doesn’t even look up while he continues talking to you. Nikolai doesn’t blame him for being enraptured, but he does wonder what he thinks that boorish smile will do to you. 

Nikolai exclaims your name as he comes up next to you, sliding his arm around your waist like he’s done a thousand times before and claiming his place at your side. “I’ve been looking for you, milaya. You’ve been awfully popular tonight.”

Your gleaming gaze turns to him and Nikolai feels like he can melt. It doesn’t matter how many times you look at him—not even Alina can muster up something to rival your brightness. 

“Nikolai!” 

Again, the way you say his name makes him weak at the knees. The poshness of your Ravkan faded while you were at sea around common sailors and vagrants, and though he can tell you’re trying your best to hide it in the name of courtly etiquette, it still bleeds through. He adores your accent, how it shows the woman you’ve become rather than the girl you ran away from. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” you counter as you lean into him. You’ve applied some fanciful perfume, and it’s intoxicating. He has to stop himself from inhaling deeply—he has little shame when it comes to you, but he’s got to have some poise. “You’re the belle of the ball, Mister Prince.” 

“And you’re the apple of everyone’s eye, lapushka,” he says. “Especially mine.” 

Your heartbeat has been steadily increasing ever since he slotted himself at your side, and he can feel it speed even more with his words. It makes Nikolai smile without even fully realizing it. 

He feels Artem’s gaze on him all the while, and Nikolai chooses to ignore it until now. He looks up, making sure his eyes widen cartoonishly and his smile deepens with the same caliber. “Aslanov! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even notice you!” 

“Your Highness,” he says, polite but terse as he bows his head. “It’s good to see you—it has truly been too long.” 

“Oh, no need for titles,” Nikolai admonishes. “We’re all friends here, are we not?”

He puts particular emphasis on that word, and Artem shifts ever so slightly under Nikolai’s gaze. So he makes him nervous—good. 

“We are,” he agrees, and he looks back at you. “We were merely catching up—it has been years since I last had the good fortune to be in your presence.” Artem smiles at you once again, far more genuine than anything he’s given Nikolai. “Of course, I look forward to hearing about everything you learned at university.” 

“I’ve certainly learned a lot,” you say. Very tongue-in-cheek—you don’t even try to hide it. 

Of course. The cover story for Nikolai’s being away from court was his apprenticeships, culminating in his studies at the University of Ketterdam—it would be a shame of the highest order for your parents to admit you ran away to avoid the marriage they’d planned for you, and even more so to admit it had gotten their daughter kidnapped by slavers, so they simply said you joined him there. 

Advancing your studies for a better view, they’d spouted. We want our heir to be well-educated on all matters of the world. Nikolai knows you learned more on the seas by his side than you would have in a classroom staring at endless amounts of books. He only regrets he can’t shout how amazing you’ve been for the past few years from the rooftops. 

“Perhaps we could discuss it privately some time.” Nikolai will give it to him; his smile is a bit more charming this time. He still wants to punch it off him. “You know, my family has only refined our winemaking over the years—we’d have a wonderful time with a bottle of our finest red—”

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait,” Nikolai cuts in before you can respond. He can’t help it—he’s raring to have you to himself, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take of Artem’s flirting. “My parents are eager to speak to you, darling. We’ll see you around, Aslanov.” 

He pulls you away, once again feeling Artem’s eyes on the two of you. He purposefully pulls you closer against him—your warmth against him does wonders to quell the spike of jealousy in his chest.

“You really are impossible,” you say wryly, but you make no move to part from his side as he leads you through the crowd. 

“I’m just making sure he understands the situation,” Nikolai says innocently. 

“We were just talking,” you say. “You know, it has been years.”

“You were,” he agrees. “But our friend here was very interested in trying to be more. Couldn’t you tell?”

You laugh and you place your hand on his chest. “Nikolai Lantsov, are you jealous?”

“He was talking about his family’s vineyard.” He smiles back at you in turn. He can’t help the bit of bravado that trickles in. “For me to be jealous, I’d have to think he had a chance.”

“Saints, you are!” you exclaim. You stop, halting him in turn, and you grin at him with a twinkle in your eye. Again, he smiles subconsciously just at the sight of it. “Nikolai, I cannot believe you!” 

“How?” he asks, cocking his head boyishly. “Have you caught a glimpse of yourself tonight?”

“I’ve looked at myself in the reflection of every glass,” you say dryly. “After all the time spent in sea-faring clothes, it’s very strange to be back in gowns.”

“Then you should know how absolutely stunning you are,” he says. “Breathtaking, showstopping, the very image of perfection…” Nikolai runs his finger over the embroidery on one of your off-the-shoulder sleeves. The rest of his hand lingers on your bare skin, and he longs to remove the barrier his gloves have created. 

“And yet it still doesn’t beat how you look in a privateer’s garb,” Nikolai says. 

He places his hand over yours and brings it up from his chest. He entangles your fingers and uses the grasp to pull you even closer to him, your chests nearly touching. The warmth of your body tempts him to go even further, but he holds back. 

“Really?” you ask. “This gown cost more vlachkas than anyone deserves, took the labor of a small army to create, and weighs as much as you do, and you like me more in that dingy jacket with pants that smell like gunpowder?” 

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai nods. “They don’t just smell like gunpowder—they make your rear look very appealing.” 

You laugh louder than you should and it draws eyes in your direction. You don’t pay them any mind, gaze still locked on Nikolai, as you hit him on the chest. 

“You still have the mind of a sailor, I see,” you drawl. “But I must admit I also miss it. The simplicity, if anything.” 

“Just because I didn’t keep a king’s mantle on deck doesn’t mean I wasn’t outfitted in the same gaudy way,” Nikolai says. “A Lantsov must always be prepared, you know.” 

“Well, I used to hate that blue frock of yours, especially when we first reunited,” you muse. You extract your hand and trail your fingers down his current coat—he shivers at your touch even through the material. “Now I think I prefer it over anything else in your wardrobe.”

He frowns. “You hated my coat?” 

“I hated a lot of things at the time,” you say wryly. Your hand finds its way back to his and you intertwine them together again. “Besides, it’s grown on me.” 

Nikolai chuckles, and the two of you fall silent when you shift and rest your head on his shoulder. You’ve managed to find your way to the edge of the ballroom, and it gives you a little more privacy. You stand together, watching as everyone mingles, half bearing a fake smile and the other half lying through their teeth. He didn’t think the Ravkan court would like to think they had more in common with his lying, cheating, stealing crew than they thought.  

“So,” Nikolai says, finally breaking the silence, “is being back everything you’ve imagined?”

You huff. “Hardly. Everything is so… restrained.” 

He hums in acknowledgement. “Speaking of restrained, have your parents gotten over their fit yet?” 

Your laugh is sharper this time. “Once again, hardly. You’d think I murdered the queen the way they’re treating me.” 

Nikolai expected that, to be honest. He insisted on being by your side in the initial reunion and they didn’t dare act out of turn in front of royalty, but you said the moment you returned to your palace apartment with them, they yelled at you loud enough to be heard in Novyi Zem. 

“They should be thankful,” Nikolai scoffs. “It’s like they don’t even care what nearly happened to you because of their haste to marry you off.” 

“I don’t even like to think about it,” you murmur. He feels you shiver and he pulls you even closer to him. “But I was right—they want me to be who I was before I left. They’re even convinced that they can get me to agree to the marriage they’ve got planned.” 

His frown deepens. “Saints, must I sweep you off your feet in front of all of Ravka to get everyone to realize you’re a taken woman? I am a very good shot, but I’ve only got so many bullets—”

“Nikolai,” you interrupt with a laugh, raising your head to look him in the eye. He’s glad to see the lightness has returned. Your near fate isn’t a subject either of you like to talk about. “You don’t need to worry, and you certainly don’t need to worry about that.” You cup his cheek with your hand and he leans into your touch. “If one thing has stayed the same through all of this, it’s that you’re the only one out there for me. After all the pomp and circumstance you have to perform with Alina is over, you can tell them yourself.” 

“Good,” Nikolai says with a slight smile. “Because I don’t think I can stand to hear Aslanov talk about the grapes his family’s been growing for another second.” 

You laugh again, and you lean in to press a kiss to his lips. Nikolai beats you to it as he covers your hand with his own, using his other to draw you even closer. Practically every part of you is touching as he kisses you like a starving man, with your lips against his and your perfume invading his senses and your soft moan that’s muffled against his mouth. After a night spent away from your side and having to watch other men compete fruitlessly for your affections, he might as well be. 

When you finally pull away, lipstick a mess and pupils dilated and expression nothing less than adoration, it takes everything Nikolai has in him not to take your face in his hands and do it all over again. He wants to mess up your hair, your makeup, kiss your lips until they’re swollen and ravish, worship your body until you can think of nothing but him, say nothing but his name. 

“Nikolai,” you gasp, interrupting his sinful thoughts, “do you want to get out of here for a bit?” 

Whatever restraint he previously had dissolves with your words as he kisses you again, harder this time. You’re water when he’s dying, a lifeboat when he’s drowning, the very air he needs to breathe. Everything has come to a head after such a boring, strength-testing night, and all Nikolai wants is you. 

He brings you even closer with the arm he has around your waist, already starting to pull you along as he heads towards the doorways. He’s sure to stick to the walls, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary when even the flushed warmth of your heated skin through his jacket is enough to drive him crazy. 

Nikolai doesn’t know how he ever spent seven years away from you. He could barely handle half a ball. 

“More than anything,” he breathes. 

[irl-w0lverine]

October 14th - quicksilver (smut)

Pairing : peter maximoff x reader

Warnings : MDNI!! DO NOT READ IF YOUR BELOW THE AGE OF 18!!

P in v, unprotected sex, peter talking you through it, no aftercare, human vibrator

A/n: im actually really struggling to write the rest of the fics, this is literally meant to be out tomorrow at the time of writing

DO NOT BLAME ME FOR WHAT YOU CHOSE TO CONSUME, ITS YOUR FAULT IF YOU READ FURTHER

Peters room was the go to hangout area for the two of you. It was usually the right temperature, he'd have a stash of snacks (of which were mainly twinkies), a few warm blankets for those cold nights you stayed over. It was always perfect.

That leads you to this night. Peters head was resting on your lower stomach as both of you were watching some crappy movie, mindlessly playing with the hem of your shorts.

You could feel his shoulder pressing against the one spot that had been aching for him all day. Every shuffle from him, you have to stop yourself from squirming, trying to get more pleasure from it. Surely he doesn't feel the same way.. Right?

"hey, you ok?" you hear peter ask you, your head giving a small nod, adjusting your position. Thats all you needed for a small whine to slip past your lips.

That stupid damn smirk. Of course he has that stupid damn smirk after hearing that.

"what was that noise?" he scoots up, his elbows proping him up so now his face is mere inches away from yours. His stomach putting pressure on the area you needed him to, causing you to squirm slightly.

"..nothing..?" you knew he wouldn't let it slide. His warm breath was hitting your face, his lips oh so close to touching yours.

"bullshit" before you even registered it, his lips were on yours. You couldn't help but kiss back, your hands going to his hair and pulling him closer.

✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭

After a few minuets of making out, he begins to slip your shorts down your legs, kissing your thighs as he did so.

"god... Your gorgeous.." he groans, not waiting a second to rip his sweatpants off. He was so hard it looked painful, it looked like he would rip open his boxers.

With a blur, he's alright inside of you, his lips against your forehead.

"someones excited huh?"

"cant help it that ive waited this long" he chuckles, pressing his lips against yours once more but this time hes slower, beginning to thrust.

He starts of by being gentle, not wanting to use his mutation to its fullest extent just yet. He was pepering you with kisses anywhere he could reach, nuzzling his face between your breasts.

"you dont have to go soft on me, y'know? I can take it" you huff, getting a bit frustrated at the lack of speed from the guy that is literally known for speed.

"sorry princess" he chuckles "just dont wanna hurt ya'"

With that, he begins to speed up, his hands massaging your hips and thighs.

Not even a few minutes later, hes going x10 faster, his face burried in the crook of your neck. You had never thought he'd be the typa guy to whimper but he is definitely disproving you now.

His hips move in a blur, bringing you to the edge way faster than you'd thought.

"... Ugh... Keep doin' that... Please.." you whine, hands pulling his hair and your lips leaving sloppy kisses on his shoulder.

"wasnt plannin' on stoppin'.. M' pretty girl" his nails dig into your hips, his cock twitching against your walls as they begin to close in on him.

"AHG! Fuck... Shit" he grunts, his seed painting your walls white. His thumb sneaks down and rubs your clit, sending you over the edge and cumming around him.

"... Holy shit..." he huffs, his sweaty body collapsing onto yours.

"... That was amazing.." you tell him, only to realise hes fallen asleep cuding you.

A/n : sorry for how rushed and poorly written this is! Jaytober is kinda making me loose motivation especially since i dont have much free time to do it anymore and my mental health just loves to take a head first dive into depression

Thank you so much for reading! <3

[themostlesbianever]

College AU Sevika x reader chapter 2

A/n: I have to warn you guys this chapter feels very bland and meh to me, I have many ideas but those only work when Sevika is actually your friend so I didn't really know what to do

I've also decided that theyre at a college in seattle for info dumping reasons lol (im not basing it on a spesific college that is in seattle)

Throughout this fanfic you'll realise im writing this fic partly just to info dump. I'm gonna work a lot of my interests into this fic trust🙏

more parts

(also pls ignore any typos or forgotten capital letters🙏)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wipe away a few stray tears with your fingers and suck in a deep breath, closing your eyes, then breathing out slowly. You start making your way back to the dorm building, you had promised to meet up with your best friend Ekko. You’ve been friends for ages and did basically everything together. Including going to the same school.

You make your way back to your dorm, giving the door a knock before entering the room. Sevika is sitting on her bed mindlessly scrolling through her phone, she looks up at you. “Sup” she says, tilting her chin upwards slightly in greeting. “Hi, I’m just coming to get my phone” you pause for a second. “I’m going to meet up with a friend. He’s going to show me his room, and after that he wants to see ours, if that's okay with you”. 

“Yeah that's fine” she answers and you grab your phone. “alright, see you in a bit then”. You leave the room and quickly check your messages. Ekko had sent you one earlier telling you which room he was in and you read it again twice to make sure you don't go knocking on the wrong door. You then make your way over to the elevator.

The building was divided in gendered floors, the first two for men and the second two for women. You step into the elevator and press the button for the second floor.

A soft ding sounds and the elevator doors slowly open, revealing your friend to you. He’s dressed in some simple black jeans that are far too big for him, they’re being held up by a white shoelace. He’s also wearing a simple white tank top with a leather jacket thrown over it, and black converse.

“Hey there stranger” he greets you with a big smile. He throws his arms out and embraces you, you encircle his torso just under his arms and pat his back a few times. “Hi dude, long time no see” you giggle after he lets you go. “Ha ha” he says sarcastically, you had seen eachother last week. “I know, im hilarious” you giggle and he playfully shoves you.

He leads you over to his room, when he opens the door your eyes widen a bit. “WHAT, this is bigger than my room” 

“Sucks to suck I guess” he shrugs. Now it's your turn to playfully shove him. You make your way further into the room, then you sit down on his bed. "That's sexism” you joke, Ekko chuckles at that. You continue to look around the room, taking in all of Ekko’s decor. 

He’s got a few, probably fake, plants on the windowsill. Plain white bedding sits on his bed, along with an owl shaped throw pillow, and a fluffy beige blanket. He also has various posters and photos stuck to his wall, including the same spiderman poster that hung on yours. He has various trinkets sitting on his desk. You recognise one of them to be a small stuffed owl you had given him quite a while ago. ”Dude, you still have this?” you ask him, picking the small owl up and petting it softly. “Yeah, why would I get rid of it?” he smiles at you as you put the owl back in its original spot.

Then your eyes wander over to the other side of the room, which remains undecorated. “Is your roommate just extremely boring?” you question and he tells you they haven't shown up yet. “Huh strange, I'm pretty sure everyone should be moved in already by now” you comment and he just shrugs his shoulders. “Lets see your room then” he says excitedly.

When you reach the door of your room you knock, alerting sevika that you’re here. “Come in” a muffled voice calls from inside. You push the door open and let ekko in. He looks around the room for a bit before his eyes land on your roommate.

“Ekko, this is Sevika, my roommate.” You gesture to sevika. “Sevika, this is Ekko, my best friend of like 11 years.” you announce, Sevika gets up to shake Ekko’s hand. “Dude you look extremely cool” he says, Sevika gives him a small smile. “Thanks man, you too”. 

Ekko takes another look around your room, his eyes falling on your decorated wall. “Oh my god, you have pictures of toothless”. He walks over to the wall to inspect the pictures of your beloved cat up close. Sevika shifts her gaze from ekko to you. “You named your cat after a fucking dragon?” she questions, a glint of amusement in her eyes. 

“What?” you exclaim, your voice taking on an offended tone. She lets out a small chuckle at this. “I’m not judging you” she reassures. 

Ekko makes his way over to the body length mirror you put up. “C’mere” he says and you walk up to him. "What's up?” you ask. “We need to take a picture, obviously” he says while taking his phone out of his pocket. You drape your arm over his shoulder, bringing your hand up to the back of his head and putting up two fingers. “Really, bunny ears?” he asks. You simply nod and smile. 

Ekko snaps a picture and holds his phone up so you can see it. “That's cute, can you send that to me?” you ask him, already knowing the answer. “Of course" he replies.

“Hey sevika, you want a picture with us?” Ekko asks Sevika, who has been quietly watching the interaction. “Why not?” she replies. She walks to the mirror and stands behind the both of you. “Damn you’re tall” Ekko says, eyeing sevika through the mirror. She just shrugs.

Ekko takes another photo, showing it to both of you to get approval. “Oh Sevika I should get your number” you say. “To send the photo and, like, for other stuff obviously”.

“Oh yeah sure man” she says and you hand her your phone, she puts her number in and hands it back to you. You thank her and take a quick glance at the time. “Ekko you wanna go exploring and get some lunch?” you ask

“You already know the answer” He replies and starts making his way to the door. You look over at sevika. “You wanna come with?” you ask her. “Oh no that's okay, a friend of mine lives off campus and i'm going to their place in a bit” she replies and you simply nod at her before walking out of the room behind Ekko.

————————————————————————

Tag list: @0eatmysoulll0-blog @misswynters @vikaswife @ladycupa0-0 @d3adbrainer @vintage-karma @gravegoer

[tiredfox64]

I HAVE BEEN HIT WITH A VISION FROM THE ELDER GODS!

You can see from miles away that Bi Han is touch starved as hellll, im talking STARVING.... so I honestly see that man just feeling turned on from simple kisses. Like, 1 min of kisses, BAM, ready to go! I feel like that intimacy may get him going, since thats a rare thing in his life

This isn't a request for a fic ( unless you want it to be 👀 ) but I am obsessed with Bi Han and I just realised this while drinking my coffee this morning

Just Some Kisses

Prior notes: I fuck with your vision! So I did something short cause how could I not work with that even though this was not originally a request.

Pairing: Bi-Han x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: Suggestive hehe

You were feeling extra lovey today. Just the sight of your boyfriend made you all giggly and your heart warm up like a cast iron on a hot Arizona day in July. Okay, maybe not that hot but you get the picture. Fresh baked cookies kind of warm. Yeah, that’s better.

You were practically skipping over to Bi-Han’s office where you strolled in all innocently. He didn’t look up but he knew it was you walking in. Usually you would sit next to him or anywhere else in his office when you came to spend time with him. Nope. Today was different. Your seat would be Bi-Han himself.

You came closer to Bi-Han and started straddling his lap. You caught him by surprise. This was the first time you ever did this. He’s not complaining surprisingly.

He was about to question you until he felt your lips on his face. All over his face actually. You were leaving kisses wherever you could as you held his face in a loving manner. His cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, even neck. You didn’t see it but Bi-Han was starting to blush. Awww he likes it.

He didn’t know what to do with his hand. No one has ever done this to him or given him this much attention. His hands were gripping the arms of his chair while you were kissing his neck. You heard him make a low growling noise that you took as a sign of delight. You were right but he was also struggling to contain himself.

When you started making out with him that was the hardest part for Bi-Han. Feeling your soft lips against his was pleasurable torture especially once you slipped your tongue into his mouth. Your hands were feeling him up. One hand was sliding down his chest while the other went to his hair, letting his hair down from its once tight bun. Damn! This felt too fantastic for him. Your fingers running through his hair was the final nail in the coffin. You felt his hands grab onto you and squeezed you gently. He let out a groan before tearing his face away from you.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” You asked innocently.

Oh you sure did do something.

Bi-Han pushed you down on his lap more and you finally felt his hard on. How the heck did you miss his bulge?! You saw how embarrassed Bi-Han was. He was all hot and bothered, not very used to being kissed, touched, and loved this much. You didn’t even mean to get him started like this. The man was really struggling to hold himself back. He froze the arms of the chair trying to contain himself. But now that you know…ah fuck it!

With one arm he picked you up while the other arm swept his desk clean of anything. Every paper and writing utensil fell to the ground. He placed you on his desk, pressing himself against you. Now you’re the priority. The work can wait, he can’t. He’s all horned up and ready to go! Don’t make him wait any longer after you teased him like that.

You didn’t even mean it but okay, go off I guess.

Well, hope you have fun—oh my gosh

Oh damn is he gonna pay to fix your clothes?

Wow, i didn’t know you were that flexible!

I’ve never seen that position before WHEN DID HE LEARN THAT?!

You two are making a lot of noise…oh…he wants that…cool.

The desk is squeaking HAVE SOME MERCY!

Woah! Alright! That’s a lot that came out!

You uh…you need a tissue? Or some Bounty paper towels? A towel actually?

He definitely was touched starved, ohhh mighty.

After notes: You spat this vision out at me. I’m more of a tea vision kind of person but coffee visions work too.

[bluemantics]

here’s a list of all my fics! i won’t be able to post and reblog much since I’m traveling the next week and a half, so I’ll compile all my works here in the meantime :-)

will also update this list as i write more!

klance:

midnight snacks don't exist in space

G | 1.7K | RP/BP dynamics

There are no rules about eating at 3:00 AM if you're in the far reaches of the universe.

In a bright kitchen while the team is asleep, Lance and Keith find each other, as they always do.

Why We Fight

T | 5.7K | truth-telling au

With the Rebels in need of resources, the team ventures to a planet known for its raw materials in hope that they'll join the coalition. Here's the thing: they need to prove that they can be trusted by telling the truth about why they fight.

Lance finds this more difficult to voice than the others. Unfortunately (thankfully), Keith has returned from the Blade and is more than willing to listen.

"This is bigger than any of us alone."

A Keith By Any Other Name

T | 8.2K | coffee shop rom-com AU

Lance McClain was dared to hit on Keith. Keith thought that’d be the first and last time they’d meet. However, Lance keeps coming back, charming Keith with his jokes and charisma.

Here’s the catch: Keith refuses to tell Lance his real name.

“I’m not telling you my name unless you order and move on.” Keith pointed to the register screen.

“Alright, I’ll do a cappuccino.” Lance pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket and slid his card over to Keith. “Now will you tell me your name?”

“My name is Yorak.” Keith passed the card back to Lance, who looked shocked at that answer, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. Keith was beginning to realize how dramatic Lance could be.

“Really?!” Lance demanded. He looked pityingly at Keith, and irritation welled up in his gut.

“No!” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Lance huffed.

a billion light years from here

T | 8.5K | post-canon fix-it

Keith and Lance reconnect over letters. Through their writing, Keith learns to open up, and Lance learns what a home is.

"For all the game I talked on the castleship about missing home, now that I’m back on my family farm, I kind of feel like there’s something missing. Like, even surrounded by all of the juniberry flowers Allura gave us, and even with my parents, I still feel lonely. Or restless."

Or: A post s-8 fix-it AU told entirely through letters between Lance and Keith, both sent and unsent.

out of my head

G | 1.2K | high school au

Keith didn’t even want to watch the spring musical auditions. Forced by Pidge to accompany them, he finds himself surprised at the talent of a particular actor. He also finds himself surprised by his own response. 

OR:

Lance is ridiculously good at singing and Keith is a lovable, impulsive jock.

baptism by fire

T | 1.5K | canon-compliant angst

Prompt: write a private scene between two characters with no dialogue, of just them two alone.

Lance just witnessed the unthinkable. Keith offers his company in wake of the tragedy.

kiribaku:

unstoppably, immovably, unbreakably you

G | 651 | canon-compliant

A character study.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Katsuki Bakugou’s hand implodes against Eijirou Kirishima’s arm; a flurry of sparks surround them with a sound that rings between his skull.

This is something he knows how to do well. With every blow that Katsuki unleashes, he feels Kirishima retaliate with more, responding like a dance to his every movement. Katsuki is a fine-tuned instrument of destruction, every muscle on his body worked with the intention of winning.

as always please let me know what u think thru asks & comments on ao3!! ill answer asks between travel, but im going to frequently be in spotty service.

[rookiesbookies]

Please I need more strength kink like you wrote for König but for the text of the COD men. Does Soap show off and lift heavier when he sees you saunter into the gym? Does Ghost try not to pay attention as you stare? I am down bad for these boys

So this is the most recent ask Ive gotten but dont fret my other requesters, yalls are taking more time bc they’re longer form pieces (I dont want to spoil but honeymoon/consummation night with Ghost (doing some research for this one), some Konig wifey bits (there’s two or three), and Ghost’s wife wearing his mask) Im so excited you all are interacting with me I just wanna say. I love you all *MUAH* big kiss.

Also I took Keegan off this one bc I don’t think I have a lot of Keegan fans reading? (ik I love him tho) so if anyone wants it just put a comment and I’ll write one and edit it so its in here.

Edit right here: I put Keegan down at the bottom. Dw Keegan girlies he’s here now.

Another edit: I put Krueger bc a reblog asked for it

Without much more here’s:

Strength Kink with the 141

Masterlist is pinned as always, also let me know if yall want any as full blown fics.

Price

Price is an “old dog” as he calls himself. He knows he’s getting softer, the wrinkles are setting in, he doesn't quite have the body he used to as a LT. Kinda got a dad bod after adopting 3 boys.

First time he sees you drool over him? He is down fucking bad. Will do anything to see his sweet lady all red in the face over him again.

Fucking saunters over to you, hits you with “you can feel if ya like, love. Go on.” just holds his arms away from his chest while he’s in his tank top.

If you take him up on this offer (and I assume yall are dating at this point) and even just grab at a peck, he is tense. His abs are tight, his butt is clenched, he is doing it all to seem like he still has his young and sharp LT body.

He knows you dont care and love his dad bod and all his soft pillowy goodness but sometimes he feels like the pillsbury dough boy.

Absolutely would pick you up and carry you bridal style at any chance.

Tells you he’s “just practicing” however he is very clearly showing off.

If you come find him at the gym to drool all over him, that max he was only supposed to do one of per set, he is not repping.

“John, are you sure- I’ve never seen you lift this much you look red-”

“I'm alright, love, just doing my reps trying to set a new pr.” Little do you know that by repping this, this is his new pr.

Gaz and Soap are sitting there mouth open because Price has never done that and not fallen over and now he just KEEPS. GOING.

And Price’s wife just keeps drooling over him as Simon spots the poor guy.

(This is what i mean btw)

Soap

The worst about it of them all.

I'm telling you right now, if you have an oral fixation on his muscles, he will mate for life like a swan. Because if you mark up his muscles he will do EVERY SINGLE WORK OUT shirtless until Ghost is like “Johnny. You look like a slut and smell like a whore with all that cologne. We’re in the bloody gym.”

He will walk around shirtless in the tightest sweatpants to show off his thighs and abs to you.

Will bench press you.

Put your weight on the hip thrust and will call you over or send videos of him doing it.

If you’re sitting somewhere he will just pick you up and move you for the hell of it under the excuse he wanted to sit there just to see you get red.

If you compliment his body once, I'M TELLING YOU ONE TIME, he will buy the TIGHTEST shirts imaginable around the house to show off his shoulders, back, pecs, biceps, and abs.

If you even mention having a bad day, your face is going between his pecs. He also absolutely can do the thing where he can flex them one at a time and he does it 24/7 for fun.

Catch him planking at the gym?

Feeling bold?Let’s shimmy under the poor bastard to look up at him.

“Do push ups.”

“Bonnie, the fuck you mean-”

“Come down, get a kiss, and go back up?”

“And if I fall? Which I won’t but I gotta ask.”

“Can’t feel any worse than when you dive onto the bed to wake me up in the mornings.”

He’s floored. Goes down, gets his kiss, comes up.

Price has watched Soap do more pushups than he ever has outside of a punishment when he was in basic training. Johnny has half the mind to let himself drop, smoother you in sweaty hugs and kisses. But he doesn’t. Not until he’s shown off. It’s embarrassing how much sweat is dripping from him though. He’ll just say you both need a shower.

Ghost

Totally doesn't flex when he hugs you.

Oh you think he does?

If you ask him, you’re wrong. Simon is the most casual of them all.

He’ll just randomly pick you up.

Like throw you over his shoulder, hold you like a koala, bridal style, you name it. Unlike Price, who is more careful about it, Simon has been doing exercises to work on his balance so he can safely carry you down a flight on stairs.

If he catches you staring, its over for him. He’s blushing under his lil mask, acting like he doesnt see you.

If you walk up and open your mouth to talk to him, he’s not listening to a word of that blabbery. He’s focused on the way you watch his legs while he’s in the leg press. How if he flexes a bit more you have the pause so you don’t choke on your words.

If you’re the bold on and you get down to the level of his head because he can’t easily escape this machine right now to say something. I'm thinking like a “Simon, I’m going to need a thigh riding session at 1800 hours. Put that on your damn schedule.” And just walk out. Don’t elaborate.

He’s struggling to get out of the machine, considering chasing after you, possibly having a stroke over it. He’s so flustered he’s down right gasping for air. If he didn’t have shit to do today he’d scoop you up and show you want all these muscles could do just to get you to feel like how flustered he is.

Konig

(see the fic about his wife seeing him lift, its on my masterlist (its pinned))

Gaz

By the time you’ve started dating, you know Gaz is jacked. Just look at him ffs. Anyone could see it.

So you do the only reasonable thing and insist on being his gym partner.

And in turn he will insist on spotting your squats.

If you get so nervous you fail a set his plan springs into action. Bro has it lifted in one hand. He doesn't care if it's a lot. He WILL be lifting it in one hand just so you can see how strong he is.

“Kiss for your savor?” He asks.

“Sure.” You reply, pecking his lips.

But no no no.

“Love, I meant you’re actual savor.” He’d say, flexing that one arm and pointing to it.

Just roll your eyes and do it. It’s easier.

He is GLOWING for the rest of the day. He will now take any and all opportunities to lift heavy things for you.

That big box? Lifted. Come kiss his muscles. Cuz if you don’t he's picking you up and putting you in air jail for being ungrateful.

I feel like because Gaz is so lean its kinda a sleeper build situation? Could be completely using that term wrong but IDC.

Lowkey loves nothing more than you feeling up his abs under his shirt when yall are going to bed. Like your hands feel so nice on them when he’s flexing extra hard so they’re rock solid for you.

First time yall cuddled he almost passed out because he was trying to keep his muscles flexed for so long.

Edit: here’s Keegan

Keegan

Keegan was always walking around the house in the sluttiest tank tops and the lowest waist line sweatpants you’ve ever seen.

He had been showing off since he first met you, so I’ll tell you how it happened.

What did he wear on your first date? Tight ass t shirt and a leather jacket with black jeans.

He essentially was giving a strip show when he slowly took off that jacket, made sure you were watching when he did it with a smug look.

“What wrong, doll? Distracted?” He was definitely flexing hard. Pecs and biceps on full display and don't get me started on how he was clenching to get his abs to show through.

He made sure to get real close to.

Oh dear is that a dirty puddle, let him just… yk… casually pick you up to carry you over the smallest puddle ever.

And when he’s at the gym? You are getting tons of selfies. Those videos of him curling weights that are slightly too heavy all because he knows you like the sound of the groans he makes as he struggles to lift it. Oh he is hip thrusting your weight and a half, so you know you’ll never be too heavy. There’s a video he sent that was 10+ minutes of just him thrusting your weight. You honestly thought it was looped.

Oh and he carries your weight when he runs on the treadmill so he knows he and run and keep you safe if need be.

Here’s Krueger (i got carried away, enjoy)

Krueger:

Sebstian knows he’s already strong.

Picking you up and benching you is his favorite hobby. The way you can't help but giggle and he has to scold you to stop wiggling.

He’s always throw around his weight with you. He knows he’s a big. He loves to lay on you to stop you from moving.

Loves to have you lay on his torso with the weight at his hips as he works on his hip thrusts. Got kicked out of a gym because it was dangerous so he got weights to do it at home. Will do it shirtless so you can trace his tattoos.

Definitely has never told you he committed murder because he doesn’t want you to stop looking at him like he’s your savior as you rub his sore muscles.

God he loves having you rub his muscles, he just tries not to drool as you rub his calves and biceps with all the force your hands can muster to gently rub the knots away. One time he felt so good he almost cried as you rubbed one out of the back of his neck, he got so bricked he couldnt help it he felt like he was gasping for air the pleasure was so intense.

He’d never tell you that tho, no he’d rather die and speak up and tell you how good it feels when your massage his muscles while planting small kisses after every knot you work out. Definitely going to keep asking you to work his aches away… wonder if he can convince you he has a knot in his dick, no no wouldn’t do that to you not yet.

[yunqni]

" park seonghwa - vacation "

pair; fiance seonghwa x fem reader

wc; ~3k

genre; fluff ?? smut ?? 🤭 idk its just kinda cute kinda sexy kinda lovey dovey ?? its my first ever fic IM SO SCARED,, :')

contents + smut warnings; cussing, kissing/making out, dom hwa, unprotected sex (im not encouraging this irl), multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, oral+fingering (f recieving), i think thats all ?? also indulges into some aftercare and massaging after the smut, please let me know if i missed any content warnings !

note; writing below is not proofread cus im too lazy and its intentionally written in all lower case, so please excuse any mistakes !

《 minors strictly dni, sexual content below. 》

today was only the second day of your vacation in singapore, and you couldn’t have wished for it to be any better. seonghwa had spoken to your manager himself and surprised you with a holiday at a luxury resort for the next two weeks ‘just because you need a well deserved holiday’.

soft pecks from your fiance were what pulled you out from your sleep, and you were pulled closer into his warm arms. you slowly opened your eyes only to be blessed with the sight of seonghwa’s gentle smile as your eyes adjusted to the light.

“ good morning, angel “ he whispered, careful not to speak to loud as though to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere you two were embracing.

you leaned upwards to give him a kiss which he eagerly returned, pulling you closer by the shoulder to deepen the kiss.

his hand traveled further down your body while his fingers gently grazed against your soft skin, leaving goosebumps as they moved. he hoists your leg over across his waist before poking his tongue against your lips, asking for access into your mouth.

you gladly accept his invitation before allowing him and his tongue to take control over you, lewd yet sexy noises resonating throughout your room.

seonghwa pulled away before anything could progress further, both of you horny and helplessly panting .

“ sorry baby, got a little carried away “ he said sitting upright, letting out an airylaugh at himself.

placing a hand on his chest, you sat up and responded “ its alright “ before leaning in to make out with him once more.

he directed his kisses downwards, moving towards your throat. his hands slipped underneath your t-shirt making you shiver in delight as you pressed further into his warmth. as he licked and kissed all the sensitive areas of your neck, you felt your pussy clench unconsciously around nothing and the butterflies in your stomach take flight .

seonghwa fiddled with the mountain of pillows behind you to create a surface comfortable for you to be loved destroyed on. he encouraged you to spread your legs for him, as he slowly removed your tiny pajama shorts leaving you in the black lacy thong you had particularly chosen to wear. he laughed again and admired the sight of your wet panties before removing them aswell .

he leaves teasing kisses and licks on the skin of your plush thighs, slowly moving closer towards your most sensitive areas. after placing one final kiss over your dripping entrance, he unexpectedly slips one long finger inside you, penetrating it deeper than your own fingers could ever go.

you whine out at the sudden insertion to which he inserts another two fingers, now fingering you at a fast pace with three of his beautiful fingers. you shriek at the strange feeling bubbling inside your tower stomach , legs trembling around his head.

seonghwa also moved back to continue kissing, licking and sucking at your clit which bought you dangerously close to your first orgasm.

“ cumming already, sweetheart? hold it. “ he said, making you cry out helpelessly at his wish to deny your orgasm.

with the way he kissed and touched you before, the orgasm was too strong for you to hold back. as your fingers gripped his wrist which was still mercilessly pounding three long fingers into your sopping pussy, he understood you.

“ too much for you to hold, baby? “

“ yes, yes p-please seonghwa… “ you plea, moans uncontrollable as your hips writhe against the once perfect bedsheets.

“ go on then baby. since you’ve been such an angel for me, i’ll let you cum now. “

just as he had barely finished his sentence, your orgasm went by in a blur. your entire body went numb and you close your eyes. his motions never give up during and after your orgasm, overstimulating your pussy.

“ s-seonghwa,, p-please, please…. too much “

“ you can do it, baby… can you give your seonghwa just one more before i give you my cock?”

you give up complaining as your discomfort from overstimulation soon turns into intense pleasure, feeling that tightness in your lower stomach build up once again. seonghwa felt your walls flutter against his fingers, signalling your impending orgasm. his finger adopt a ' come hither ' motion against your walls, rubbing directly on your g-spot. he honestly couldn't believe he was able to have such an affect on you with just his fingers.

he could feel his painfully hard dick throbbing against the confinements of his sleep shorts, but he so desperately wanted to serve you how you wanted and worship you with endless orgasms.

that was when your second orgasm knocked you like an intense wave. your legs were shaking as your thighs tried to close around seonghwas head. but, he forced them apart with his spare hand and pinned your hips down. his tongue was swiping against your spent clit as he helped you through your second orgasm.

he reulctantly pulled his head away from your pussy to look up at you, but kept his fingers inside you. he looked so sexy like this – hair mostly pulled back from his face, eyes still slightly heavy from his sleep, lips drenched in your cum (and it was evident where he hadnt shaved his facial hair for a day or two), desperately trying to catch his breath with three of his slender fingers still knuckle deep inside your throbbing pussy.

" so, so beautiful, baby... " seonghwa whispered for only you to hear as he very slowly began moving his fingers inside of you again. the movements sent shocks throughout your body . you tried to grab his wrist with one of your shaky hands to get him to stop, at which he smiled at. tease.

he tutted as he used his spare hand to pry you away, before kissing the back of your knuckles and removing his fingers from you. he lifted them up to your mouth, encouraging you to lick your fluids off his fingers. his sultry eyes held eye contact with you as you took his fingers into your mouth and teasingly licked at them. the motion has his cock painfully throbbing inside his shorts, desperately wanting to be released from them.

he took his fingers out before moving to take off his shorts and boxers in one . he leant down to hover over you, meeting your pink lips in a quick, messy kiss. seonghwa directed his cock towards your pussy, slowly rubbing his tip up and down your soaking folds. he could feel your already half used hole clenching around nothing, just craving for him to finally make you feel full again.

seonghwa smiled at that thought, kissing the shell of your ear before moving across to kiss your collarbone . His hand wrapped around your shoulder as his tip prodded against your entrance, slipping into your soaked hole. you let out a moan after he forced the tip in, staring down to look at your lips stretched around him as he slowly slid further inside inch by inch .

with some further force and the aid of your drenched pussy, he bottomed out inside you eliciting a whine from deep within your chest . you could feel his tip deliciously pressing against your cervix, it was a very tight fit. feeling every vein of his cock pulse and strain against your mushy walls.

" do you feel that, baby? you feel how perfectly we fit together? " seonghwa spoke, leaving your brain to short-circuit at his words. he was right. the curve of his length fit so snug against your walls.

seonghwa checked up on you, then had to wait a minute or two before he started thrusting in fear of cumming too soon. fluid from your previous orgasms encompassed him and with the way your walls parted to accept his thickness, it was all too much for him.

when he did start moving, he teased you with his thrusts — moving at snails pace in and out, in and out . he took his time experimenting the different angles based off your facial expressions everytime his cock penetrated areas inside you that had never been reached before him.

you were such a whiny mess, all for seonghwa. each slow, calculated thrust left you breathless. you wanted to encourage him to do whatever he wanted or to use you — but every time you tried to speak your brain could barely formulate a simple sentence.

eventually, when he found the angle that truly hit your spot, he began ruthlessly pounding into you. his desire for you was insatiable, as was yours. every thrust hit your g-spot so perfectly, to the degree, and had you moaning, whining, shouting his name . his soft lips were grazing against the shell of your ear, letting out beautiful grunts and moans directly for you to hear .

he looked down at where his dick was lost inside your pussy only for the sight of his cock bulging in your lower stomach to make his hips stutter . he cautiously placed a hand over where his tip reached inside you and added slight pressure to your abdomen .

the pressure made you whimper and shift around on the bed, to which seonghwa had to pin you down with his spare hand . it had caused a new feeling to spark which became increasingly difficult to hold back . this feeling is not one you were a stranger to when it came to seonghwa, he is just so skilled that he’s the only one to able to bring yourself to such an intense point of orgasm .

he pressed down even further onto the area before saying, “ d’you feel that, sweetheart? thats my cock buried deep inside of you. d’you know how much i enjoy being so deep inside of you, hm? “

your entire body shivered at his words, moving your hand to feel where his cock pounded inside you too. seonghwa slightly angled his hips making his tip bulge further out your stomach, smashing against a pleasure spot you didn't even know existed, but either way he'd only gone and found it (albeit to abuse it). your pussy repeatedly clenched around his dick in a vice grip making it difficult for him to move , your juices dripping out of you like a broken faucet .

“ only i can make you feel like this, hm? no one else gets to treat you the way i do, hm? “

“ y-yes! yes, yes, yes, seonghwa… “ you managed to get out among your heavy breathing and whines

both of you were on the brink of orgasms , anyone could have recognised that. with the way seonghwa's relentless thrusts somehow got faster and harder, and the way your legs shook around his hips. seonghwa had to hold your legs down again so as to not get in the way of his thrusts. his thumb dropped down to your clit working in precise circular motions, a pattern which he had memorized to exactly how you like it .

as your orgasm hit you, you couldn't help but lift your hips slightly off the mattress in sheer pleasure, writhing in seonghwa's grip. the feeling was indescribable — as juices endlessly gushed out of your pussy, almost pushing seonghwa out of you. he fought through the resistance though — as his thrusts kept at their back-breaking pace and his fingers still worked at your clit . you could hear the grumble of seonghwa's sultry voice as he praised you, yet you were too indulged in the feeling to recognise his words.

seonghwa's fingers definitely heightened your orgasm even further as your juices exploded all over his pelvis more than previous times he’s made you squirt . your fluids puddled below the two of you by your hips, and squelched inside your hole with his thrusts . the sounds that were now being produced as his cock penetrated your hole were new wordly, something that you two had never experienced before .

you weren't too sure when your orgasm had ended, seeing as you had practically passed out from the pleasure. he was so unbelievably proud and in awe of the both of you, and he wanted to do it again .

he never stopped thrusting into you, though, as his cock proceeded to drag against your raw, spent insides during your orgasm. after he recognised your recovery, he jumped straight back in to pounding your used hole in order to bring himself to orgasm. likewise, his finger hadn't ended their movements, only heightening the speed of his teasing circles against your swollen clit as he began fucking you again.

“ such a gorgeous girl,, such a good girl for me “

in mere seconds you were cumming again, not even realizing it until you felt your cum dripping out of you. seonghwa looked down at where you were connected to see white cream decorating the two of you. goosebumps formed at the sight .

“ hm, what was that , number 4 sweetheart? “

yes! yes seonghwa,, please dont stop !" you moaned (screamed) desperately. he was so entranced by how obedient you were for him. you were so deep into subspace by now and seonghwa wanted nothing more than to care for you.

“ oh my g-god y/n, you're so incredible. im g-gonna cum soon, just wait for me sweetheart. you want me to cum in your pussy, yeah ? “

“ y-yes please seonghwa,, yes… inside please,, i want your cum inside me… "

inside? he thought to himself. your words had him whimpering desperately as he crept towards his orgasm. the pleasure was so intense for the both of you, as his fingers dangerously dug into your sides as your nails scratched along his tense, muscular back.

" y-yeah, baby? you want my cum inside you, sweetheart ? you want me to fuck you full of my cum? you want me to breed you, hm? “

his taunting words left your pussy clenching helplessly, intensifying another upcoming orgasm. you could see the sweat dripping down his forehead and off his chin, only making him look even sexier as his face contorted in pleasure as he approached his orgasm.

it only took a couple more thrusts before he pounde one last time, letting out a beautiful broken whine as his cum endlessly shot deep into you. he had buried his cock to the furthest he could go inside you, his fluids dangerously close to your cervix. his orgasm felt like it was never ending, the immense pleasure you bought him made him cum more intensely than ever before .

he continued thrusting into you in order to keep his cum as deep inside of you as possible. unknowingly though in your last spurts of stimulation as shockwaves overtook your body, you came hard, one last time for him.

his tip rubbed against your dangerous spot as you, once again, felt the dam inside you break free as you squirted all over him. his fingers went to move on your clit gently to elongate your orgasm and to leave you feeling fully satisfied. as the juices spurted out of you, seonghwa couldn't help but stare at you, drowning in lust (and your squirt). your pussy was now overflowing with a mixture of both your releases.

you weren't sure what number orgasm it was at this point, you didn't even know you were capable of such. seonghwa really just had that affect on you. as your orgasm drew to a close, you flopped back against the pillows like a fish with closed eyes and heavy breathing.

before seonghwa could succumb to the tiredness he felt and the desire to do nothing in your embrace, his instincts took over him as he immediately ran to care for you after such intensity.

you were startled into consciousness by the feeling of a warm, wet rag cleaning at your lower regions incredibly gently, while another hand was massaging your neck and shoulders. if ever you expressed discomfort from the sensitivity, seonghwa would immediately pause his actions as though to not overwork your body .

you opened your eyes after a minute or two to be met with seonghwa gazing at you patiently, with the look of an angel spread across his new worldly features. his hand, which was digging into your sore muscles, moved to wipe some of your hair out of your face, while the other picked up a glass of ice-cold water conveniently placed on the bedside table. seonghwa urged you to drink from it, silently panicking that he was tending to all your needs .

he gently rolled you onto your stomach and moved the comforter away from your fragile body. despite how he has just handled you, he couldn't help but feel like you were a porcelain doll that needed to be taken care of in every way. he would have hated to cause you any long term pain simply for his pleasure, so he made it his absolute goal to ensure you were well taken care of .

seonghwa gently yet thoroughly massaged your inner thighs and all the way along your back, gently applying pressure into any knots . he took his time in making sure he was targeting the most sore areas by asking you where you needed the most attention.

after a thorough 20 minutes of massaging, seonghwa moved to hover over your body so his lips were right next to your ear. he left a feather-like kiss to the skin behind your ear before whispering to you ,

"you wait here for a minute sweetheart, okay ? 'm gonna run you a nice warm bath. don't fall asleep just yet, baby. still gotta go for breakfast too. "

he planted one more kiss by your ear before moving off your body into the bathroom, leaving your skin to form goosebumps from the lack of warmth.

as you glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside, 10:47am, you let out a small laugh realising that you had missed the hotel breakfast hours for your little moment .

[dfortrafalgar]

hihi

I hope you're doing well :>

Can I request a law x reader period comfort fic that's just pure fluff. with the back rubs and all the good stuff??

Thanks!!

thank you so much for your request anon! I actually got two period-related requests, so i decided to combine them into one fic, i hope that's alright! im currently under the onslaught of the red devil myself as of right now, so writing this was perfect for me. i hope its perfect for you both as well!!!

Warm Away the Pain

Law x Fem Reader

Heat pads, chocolates, and painkillers are nice, but nothing helps your period more than being in the presence of the Surgeon of Death.

Warnings: some suggestive language, mild descriptions of period symptoms, menstruation in general! lots of fluff with our favorite surgeon <3

“Just take this thing out of me!”  Your tears were streaming rapidly down your puffy cheeks as you forced open the door to the medical bay, clutching your abdomen and hunching over with the agony ripping through your gut.  Your cramps had days where they were better or worse, but today seemed to be the most awful they had ever been.  You had barely been able to walk from the Captain’s quarters to the medical ward, the force of each step against the cold metal floors of the Polar Tang sending another stabbing burn directly through your uterus.  It wasn’t like you were new to experiencing menstruation aboard a deep-sea submarine, either, but today seemed particularly keen on making you as miserable as humanly possible.  

Law was caught by surprise when you entered, your voice cracking as you sobbed.  His golden eyes were wide with shock as he turned in his chair to face you, ignoring the stack of paperwork he was previously fixated on and immediately standing, crossing the floor in broad steps to capture your face in his hands.  His thin eyebrows were scrunched in concern, a prominent crease in the skin above his nose.  “Hey, baby, breathe for me,” he coaxed, rubbing your swollen, tear-stricken skin with the pad of his thumb.  “Breathe.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

You knew you were being irrational.  You had dealt with cramps for years before you met Law, but when you had spent the better part of six hours with nonstop scorching irons being driven through your uterus, rationality was the furthest thing from your mind.  You sunk into your boyfriend’s shoulder, his lanky arms looping around you to support your weary form, carefully guiding you to the hard examination table in the corner of the medical room.

“My cramps…” you heaved.  “They’re so bad.  I’m in so much pain.  I just want you to take this damn thing out of me.  Put me out of my misery, even.”

Law’s tiny smile was sympathetic as he gazed down at you, one hand stroking your forehead and the other placed gently above your lower abdomen, providing fleeting touches over where your shirt covered your skin.  Your muscles definitely felt tender, and you were certainly bloated, all tell-tale symptoms of a particularly bad menstruation cycle.

“How about we start with painkillers and some external remedies,” he offered, his usually stoic, cold voice now soft and soothing as he placed a fleeting kiss over your nose.  The privacy that the medical bay provided allowed him to comfortably litter you with tender affection away from the prying eyes of your crewmates.  “When you start to feel better, and you still want a hysterectomy, we can discuss it.”

Your eyes slowly opened, darting to meet him.  “A hysterectomy?”

“The surgical removal of your uterus,” he clarified.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows slightly.  “Maybe not…” you muttered.  “Let’s go with your painkiller idea.”

Your sudden attitude switch made a small chuckle bubble from Law’s lips as he turned away from you and paced toward the medicine cabinet, procuring a decently sized pill and a small metal cup of water.  The white capsule was in the palm of his hand when he returned to your front, holding the items out for you to take.  Despite the uncomfortable size of the medicine, you swallowed it with no issue helped by a generous gulp of the lukewarm water from the Tang’s filtration tap.  The mild, salty aftertaste of the refined liquid lingered on the back of your tongue.

“That should take about 30 minutes to kick in,” Law muttered, taking the cup from your hand once more to sanitize it.  “In the meantime, we can try some other remedies.”

“What do you have?” you asked, gazing skeptically around the dark, sterile room.

“We have a few heat pads that Ikkaku brought with her when she joined, a bath, cinnamon or ginger tea…” he rambled, cleaning out and drying the cup, turning around to lean against the counter to face you.  “Massages can help relieve the tension in your muscles.  Or you can orgasm.”

Heat rushed to your face.  “How do you know that?”

Law’s own cheeks tinted with a very faint blush.  “Reading,” he stated bluntly.

The gaze he directed toward you told you everything you needed to know- he had done more than his fair share of research on feminine health as soon as the two of you solidified your relationship.  But as much as the idea of being swept off your feet by your doting captain and carried to your shared quarters for some time under the sheets sounded tempting, the rippling cramps flowing through your lower belly silenced the sultry thought almost instantaneously.

“A massage sounds pretty nice… and a hot bath…” you muttered, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers.

You were half expecting Law to simply nod and tell you to run yourself a bath, leaving him alone to continue his work in peace and quiet.  The surprise that jolted you from your quiet demeanor was more than welcome, however, when he stepped across the room to plant a swift kiss against your soft lips.  His own were curled in a small grin, reserved yet still so genuine that it made your heart flutter within the confines of your ribcage.

“If you give me about 10 minutes to clean up here,” he began, nodding his head in the direction of his paperwork left on the counter from when you originally entered, “... then I’ll meet you in the washroom.  Alright?”

With heat thrumming through your veins, your boyfriend’s proximity so close you could feel the way his scent practically blanketed around you, you meekly nodded, barely uttering a peep.  He helped you down from the examination table, his calloused hand firmly holding yours, and placed one more kiss against the back of your neck as you exited the medical bay and began your trek to the Polar Tang’s washroom.  The entire submarine only had one designated bathing area, with a few shower stalls and a toilet and sink, along with a deep, metal bathtub in the corner.  While the crew usually followed a strict schedule for bathing time, it was very rare that anyone would be using the space in the middle of the day.

A grin tugged on your lips as you walked through the narrow corridors.

—

You were already submerged in the bathtub when Law entered, steam rising off the surface of the water as you sunk yourself up to your neck in the hot liquid, a thin layer of lavender-scented bubbles floating around the surface of the water and covering bits of your glistening skin.  Your eyes were closed in bliss as the sweet, herbal scent decompressed you from the inside out, but Law’s delicate chuckle broke you from your trance.  He had a small, unlabeled bag in his hands which he placed on the sink counter.

“Looks like you barely need a massage,” he hummed, slipping his shirt over his head and folding it neatly on top of your clothes.  He had absolutely zero need to remove his shirt if he didn’t plan on sitting in the tub with you, but you weren’t about to complain against the wonderful view presented to your sight.

“I still need a massage,” you quickly quipped back, sitting up straighter in the hot water.  You leaned your arms out over the side, hands flexing in a motion to encourage your beloved to come closer and grace your taught skin with the presence of his deft fingers.  Your eyes found the bag Law had entered the bathing room with.  “What’s in the bag?”

Law took the parcel and, after slipping off his socks, knelt beside the bathtub next to you.  He opened the paper container and held it out in front of you.  “Milk chocolates.”

Your eyes lit up, a sopping wet hand dipping into the bag to procure one of the bite-sized morsels, an aluminum wrapping surrounding the sweet.  You carefully unwrapped it with eager hands and glittering eyes as Law watched, the corners of his eyes creased with his smile.  When the chocolate finally passed your lips and sat on your tongue, you melted further into the bathtub, the sweetness of the candy flowing and mixing effortlessly with the supple scent of lavender floating through the air.  Law almost dropped the bag to grab your shoulders, afraid you would slip under the water.

“Law, you’re too good to me,” you mumbled, your eyes closed and your lips pursed as you sucked on the chocolate, savoring the sweetness on your tongue.

“No such thing as ‘too good’ in my eyes,” he retorted, a playful lilt in his voice.  He returned the bag to the sink counter before taking his place behind your shoulders, stretching his hands before they found purchase against your skin.

Law was good at many things, but the way his fingers worked the knots out of your back and shoulders was a level of bliss unlike any other.  Sure, food, bathing, and sex were great, but the feeling of your muscles pulling apart and relaxing with each rotation of his wrists and press of his thumb pads into your soft skin was euphoric.  He worked out taught portions you didn’t even know you had, your shoulders slowly sinking downward as he rubbed you into oblivion.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low, reverberating off of the metal walls surrounding you.

“Like I could die happily at any moment,” you replied, the chocolate in your mouth now fully melted and gone down your throat.  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a god with those hands of yours?”

Law chuckled, the feeling of his shoulders bouncing coming through his hands on your skin.  “Once or twice.  This girl on my crew likes to tell me that.  Not sure if you’ve ever met her.”

Your lips curling into a smirk, you happily played along with his banter.  “Hmm… can’t say I have.  Describe her for me?”

“She’s really over dramatic.  She came into my office this morning complaining about some period cramps.  I’ve seen her take hits from swords and bullets on the battlefield with less griping.”  A laugh bubbled from his chest as you swiftly pivoted below the water, splashing his bare skin with the warm bath water.

“Well I think she was being perfectly rational!” you retorted, leaning back against the tub and allowing your boyfriend to resume his ministrations against a particularly rough not off to the left side of your spine.  “Period cramps are no laughing matter.”

“So I’ve heard…” he mumbled back, his smirk remaining on his face as he worked.  “It’s alright, though.  She’s cute when she whines.”

More heat flowed through your arteries, unrelated to the temperature of the bath you were submerged in.  If you stayed in here any longer, you were convinced you might pass out by overheating.  Wouldn’t be the first time, the water heater in the Tang’s boiler room was no joke.

Law leaned forward once more and placed a smattering of kisses along your damp shoulders.  “Really, though, how are you feeling?  Has the bath helped?”

You nodded, leaning your head back against his tattooed chest, your eyes closed.  “I’m feeling a whole lot better… still pretty achy, but I think the pain medicine has finally kicked in.  My cramps aren’t nearly as bad as they were this morning.”  

Law’s hands traveled from your shoulders to your arms, basically draping his body over you to rub tender circles against your inner wrists, submerging his own hands under the water.  “As much as I hate to ruin the moment, it’s not good to stay in a hot bath for too long.”  He took your hands from below the surface, holding your palms inward to face you.  “You’re pruning.”

Indeed, the pads of your fingers had become incredibly wrinkled with how long you had been bathing.  Your palms were showing prominent ridges in your skin.  “All good things must come to an end,” you uttered wistfully, leaning forward to pull the plug on the bath drain.

“Not necessarily,” Law stated back firmly, standing up and stretching his lean back.  “I have the rest of the day free thanks to Uni and Clione’s watch shift.  Whatever you want to do to make you feel better, I’m here.”

You turned toward your boyfriend, eyes widened with pure shock.  “Are you serious?”

An affirmative nod and a sly smile answered you.  As the water drained from the basin, you gingerly stepped out of the tub and enveloped the Surgeon of Death in your arms, now desperate for another source of warmth as your skin pierced against the contrasting cold air of the surrounding bathroom.  “The entire day?” you asked, reaffirming what you had just heard.

“The next 13 or so hours,” he replied, his hands taking up their usual perch against the small of your back, rubbing small circles into the tiny knots situated near your rump just as he had been doing to your shoulders.

“You mean you have time to cuddle?  And read Sora?  Or make me something good to eat for dinner?”  Your eyes were practically shimmering as you gazed up at the captain.

“Well I can’t promise any good food, but the cuddling and Sora I can guarantee,” he offered, releasing you from his grasp long enough to snatch a towel from the nearby linen shelf and drape it around your goosebump-riddled shoulders.  “I grabbed one of the heat packs from Ikkaku and put it in our room.  I can see who’s on cooking duty tonight to make you a good meal.”

You grinned from ear to ear, your skin thrumming with the bountiful affection your beloved showered you in.  You carefully tucked the corner of the towel that wrapped around your body under your armpit to hold it in place, Law’s hands dropping from your shoulders to your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles into your pelvic bone through the rough fibers of the aged towel.

“Go get dressed into something comfy,” he uttered, his voice low.  “I’ll meet you back in bed, hopefully with some food that you’ll like.”

You leaned forward, trying to ignore the subdued throbbing in your abdomen that returned once out of the warm, soothing bath, and placed a kiss on the tip of Law’s pointed nose.  “Aye aye, captain.”

—

The feeling of soft cotton surrounding your skin was beyond blissful as you sprawled out on the bed you shared with Law, almost taking up the entire space with your outstretched limbs.  The heat pack from Ikkaku was laid across your belly above the sweatshirt you stole from your boyfriend, providing a comforting heat that relaxed the muscles contracting in your abdomen with every movement.  If this was how bad your cramps could get, you didn’t even want to imagine how awful childbirth could feel.  You shoved that worrying thought to the back of your mind and let the heat from the fabric pack on your body flow through your veins, leaving pleasant electric tingles on the tips of your fingers and toes.  On the nightstand beside your head was a tall glass of water, a bottle of painkillers, and the same bag of chocolates Law had brought into the bathroom with you.  Three discarded chocolate wrappers also dotted the tiny table.  When Law finally entered your room again, his hands carrying a small tray of food from the galley, you barely had the energy to pick your head up to greet him.  Instead, you lazily raised your hand in a small wave before flopping it back down on the blanket beside you.

“How’re you doing?” he asked yet again, moving aside some of the items on the bedside table to place the metal tray down.  The smell of some sort of vegetable soup filled your nose- Hakugan must have cooked tonight.

You simply grumbled, resisting the urge to turn your head.  Every movement seemed to respark the cramps deep in your belly.  “Waiting for the painkillers to kick in again.”

“Is the heat pack helping?” he asked, running his hand gently over the soft skin of your forehead.

“Mhm… kinda,” you whispered.  You slowly opened your eyes, finally meeting the golden ones that gazed back down at you.  “Did you bring soup?”

“Yeah,” he replied, removing his hand from your hairline and crawling onto the bed beside you, slipping his arm carefully over your waist to hold you close to him.  “You don’t have to eat it right now if you don’t have an appetite, but it’s there when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, baby…” you muttered, shimmying closer to his body despite the ache in your legs.  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me today… honestly.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Law mumbled into your hair.  “I love doting on you.  I just wish I could do it more often.”  His hand idly stroked your abdomen up and down over your heat pack, applying a gentle, calming pressure over the parts of your skin that weren’t as close to your uterus and wouldn’t hurt as much to touch.  “As much as I hate seeing you suffering and in pain, I like days like this.”

“Where you can just relax?” you asked, turning your head to hide your nose in the warmth of his neck.

“Yup,” Law replied.  “Relax with you, more specifically.”

The two of you laid in a calm, peaceful silence, the thrumming of the Polar Tang’s engine reverberating through the walls and the steady cadence of your synchronized breathing lulling your muscles into a deep state of relaxation.  As the ache in your belly diminished with the onslaught of a peaceful slumber, you felt Law press one last kiss to the crown of your head as your body dozed off, ready to sleep off the rest of your aches for the day.

[diamjem]

blame the champagne

pairing: sebastian sallow x f!mc

summary: sebastian sallow attends his ex’s engagement party and he is fine.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: angst, alcohol abuse (sort of), marriage is a prison, 19th century high-society, no y/n, sebastian ruins everything he touches

a/n: first fic i’ve ever posted on tumblr pls be kind im jus a girl (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ANYWAYS i wrote this while listening to exile by ts over and over and over again so maybe give that a lil listen while you read if u wanna set the mood. can you tell by the end i was just excited to get it done with lols. also this is really far from my usual writing style (i mainly post on wattpad ik boooo) but here ya go. im well aware of how all of u eat up angst like it’s a happy meal YES THERE WILL BE A PART TWO. if the hyperfixation persists this might even be a longer series BUT god knows how many wips i already have pls have mercy on my poor soul

[ao3] [wattpad]

it was a nice party.

no, really. it was.

sure, there were some things sebastian could’ve done without—the awkwardly stiff ballroom, for one, with its velvet curtains that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe—but on the whole, he couldn’t deny credit where it was due.

the music was stimulating enough to have ballgowns spinning around endlessly on the dancefloor. food, exquisite; hors d'oeuvres that looked more like art than appetizers, but delicious nonetheless. and the decor? a tad too extravagant, maybe, with gold ribbons draped from every chandelier, catching the candlelight in a way that felt more like a royal procession than a social gathering. but who was he to judge? he was certainly drinking enough to blur any such distinctions, and there was more than enough champagne.

so, yeah, it was a really nice party.

well, save for the fact that it’s his ex’s engagement party to some guy from a prestigious pureblood family or whatever. sebastian still couldn't quite remember his name, though he’s pretty sure it starts with the letter h. he read the invitation, the fine lettering that seemed too fancy for its own good, but the moment he’d seen “engagement” paired with her name, his brain had short-circuited. he didn't need nor want the details. it was enough to know that she was moving on—and he, apparently, was not. but that's fine. he’s fine.

sebastian would have preferred to avoid the entire affair, but anne had insisted—no, berated him—into attending. "just be grateful she even thought to invite you to such a special day." she'd demanded.

ominis, bless him, had tried his best to offer some well-meaning, clumsy attempt to soften the blow, but when all was said and done, suggested sebastian defer to anne. there was no doubt (maybe a little) ominis was his best friend but he was also anne’s husband now. and a wife’s word, especially in the sallow family, was the law. infuriating, as if they haven't ganged up on him enough their whole lives.

speaking of those two, where the hell are they? sebastian was already this close to hexing them for dragging him here in the first place—much less leaving him alone in a crowd of polished, tight-lipped strangers. not that he hadn’t been to his fair share of these high-society events. as an established wizard, a decorated auror, top of his division no less, he had his place at these things, his duty even. in fact, somewhere deep down, part of him even liked the glitz and glamour. it was the sort of thing that would make most people feel important, like they were part of something larger, something better.

but this? this wasn’t his crowd at all. not when he had to stand there, watching the one that got away and her decorated hand clutch her husband-to-be’s arm. the sight of it churned something deep in his gut, like a bitter knot that wouldn’t untangle.

alright, maybe it’s time to admit it.

it was not a nice party at all.

the music? too stiff. too classic. she usually liked it loud and roaring. she used to love a ceilidh, for merlin’s sake. the food? too tiny. he could practically see her at the table, scarfing down a full plate before reaching for seconds, her stomach always growing faster than her appetite. the decorations? too gaudy. too excessive. then again, she never had a good eye for interior decor—at least, not according to the proper standards. her idea of decoration had been finding old furniture abandoned in the highlands and somehow hauling it back to their (now just his) flat in london.

salazar, this whole party is wrong. she never even cared for this kind of thing. she would always roll her eyes when he dragged her to some work event, muttering something about she’d much rather be laughing over a pint in the pub with him.

but it wasn’t just the party, was it? not the music or the food or the decorations. it was the fact that none of this felt like her anymore. it felt like she had become something else. something he wasn’t a part of.

sebastian watched her over the rim of his glass as he took a long swig of his drink.

now, the party may be no good, but the champagne? that's another thing. it was crisp, sharp, and cold, slipping down his throat with a tingle that almost made him forget where he was and who he was supposed to be celebrating. almost.

they were standing on the opposite side of the ballroom, where they were entertaining pompous-looking guests with what sebastian could only assume was ostentatious conversation. by they, he meant her and her fiancée (horace? henry?)—who, by the way, is the exact opposite of sebastian, with his raven hair, pale and freckle-free skin, and posture so impeccable that it even made sebastian straighten his own back.

she held out her hand to a lady she was talking to as if to flaunt her ring and sebastian crinkled his nose at the sight. he had to squint, but even from across the room, he could see that blinding diamond on her finger, catching the light like some cruel trick of the shadows. she’d always blabbered about how diamonds were too overrated, how emeralds were the only stones truly worth their weight. he never saw the appeal before, but now he did.

even her own hair wasn’t her. neater than usual, pulled up into that impossibly tight bun. it had always been free before, with that little curl by the side of her neck that always seemed to escape no matter how much she tried to tame it.

and that smile. it was perfect and even like it had been practiced for this very occasion. her real smile was never perfect. it was always a little crooked on the right side and it made her eyes squint into crescents.

pretentious. all of it. most of all, this engagement party. but at least, he had a drink in his hand and a healthy amount of champagne sloshing in it, which, at this point, was enough to blur the sharp edges of his cynicism.

or perhaps it wasn't his cynicism he’s been trying to drown in champagne all night but bitterness. who’s to say, though? certainly not sebastian—his pride would never let him admit that aloud, especially not when he’s supposed to be making merry with the very thing that made him bitter in the first place.

merlin, this engagement party is beginning to feel more and more like a funeral with every passing second, and he'd already dug himself a deep-enough grave just by showing up to this affair—by allowing himself to be here, in this strange limbo between the past he had to let go of and the future he no longer had any part in.

okay, funeral might be too near the knuckle. a stage play, now that's more fitting—complete with its flashy set, monotonous musical accompaniment, even the lead cast and audience. it all felt like a performance, and he, the unwilling spectator, had been cast in the worst role.

all that is to say, it really was not a nice party.

and it seemed he wasn’t the only one with grievances about the whole thing when just a few feet away, he caught the rasp of a shrill, hushed voice, rising above the ambient murmur of polite conversation like a knife through velvet.

“what a pity he's off the market. and to her, of all people. disagreeable little shrew of a witch, if you ask me.”

sebastian turned toward the source of the sound, narrowing his gaze. two women, dressed in garish, overly elaborate gowns were leaning in, exchanging what could only be described as venomous whispers. one of them, a woman with too much rouge on her cheeks, elbowed her companion, who, scandalized, raised a hand to her lips in mock surprise.

“an odd pairing, wouldn't you say?" the second woman chimed in, her voice betraying her amusement. “the hero of hogwarts and a pureblood heir. i wonder how they ever came to be.”

“if all the rumors about her past are to be believed, there has to be a conspiracy behind this. perhaps she slipped him an amortentia or, merlin forbid, blackmailed him.”

the second woman raised her glass in contemplation, her eyes gleaming with the sort of cruelty that only gossip seemed to nurture. “or maybe it’s for status,” she mused, “a marriage of convenience, perhaps? the hero marrying into a respectable family for a bit of security. a trade, if you will.”

he would have been inclined to agree—if only they hadn’t so thoughtlessly insulted the woman he once (still) loved. he could almost feel the heat rising to his face, the bitter sting of their insinuations making his hand ball into a fist at his side. but stepping in would be too over the line, even for sebastian. because she wasn't his to defend anymore. she’d made sure of that by giving her hand to some pureblood prick that wasn't him.

“well," the first woman continued, her voice turning sly, "whatever the case, she’s certainly fortunate. there aren’t many men left nowadays willing to be tied down, what with all the modern notions of ‘free love’ and 'unconventional living.' most prefer the arrangement where marriage is simply a word they needn't bother with. she’ll never want for anything, i suppose.”

“come to think of it, wasn't she in a long-term relationship just before this? witch weekly was quite abuzz about it. detailed how they’ve been together since their time in hogwarts and how everyone thought they'd be married by now, only for them to end in ruins all of a sudden.”

"oh, i think i remember that. though, as i recall, they never revealed the identity of her beau." the first woman pondered, tapping her fan against her cheek. "such a mysterious fellow, wasn't he? can you imagine what it must be like for him? finding out his beloved is to marry one of the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelors so soon after their parting?"

"oh, i’d be positively reeling," the second woman chimed in, a wicked grin playing at her lips. "i’d hardly be able to hold my glass steady."

that was it. he’d had enough eavesdropping for the night. no, scratch that—his whole life, actually.

this was precisely why he never engaged in gossip—not because he didn’t know it was often rooted in half-truths or outright falsehoods, but because on the off chance it was a truth, he couldn’t endure the sting of it especially when rubbed in his face. the incessant chatter, the giggling, the way their voices danced around his very existence like a cruel little game. it was as though they had found some perverse pleasure in prying open wounds that had barely even healed, turning them over in the light for sport.

but there was nothing like alcohol to cleanse the wound, so he had the snack steward pour him a fresh glass of champagne to flush out the muck that clung to the gash.

and it shouldn't even hurt in the first place. he was over this. he’d already accepted how things had come to be. hell, he wouldn't be here at this godforsaken party if he hadn't. this was not the time or place for this. he was a professional, damn it. he had been through worse than a half-forgotten heartbreak in his time, for merlin’s sake. this wasn’t about him, or what he thought he could have had. he was fine.

it was just the champagne. the party had so much damn champagne. it had clouded his head and muddled his thoughts. it made everything hurt more than it should. he just needed fresh air, something sobering, something to clear the fog.

so he excused himself without a word. before he knew it, he was standing on the balcony, the cool night air hitting his face with an almost brutal clarity.

as the cool breeze ruffled his hair, it felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the chasm below. maybe that was the real feeling—falling. that's what it had always felt like with her. a leap into something that he couldn’t control. something that was already lost before he had the chance to catch it. he’d never been able to get his footing, never been able to catch the ground beneath him before it slipped away.

and tonight, he was just watching her from the bottom, wishing he could climb back up.

—

sebastian stood there, the cold seeping through his coat as the social raged inside. glass of champagne still clutched tightly in his hand since he excused himself—how long ago had that been? a while. he wasn’t sure. time had started to lose its meaning out here. the muffled hum of the party drifted through the heavy stone walls, but he didn’t have the energy to care anymore.

it was a dreadful party, anyway.

at least out here, in the chill, there was a kind of comfort in the solitude. even if it felt like he was slowly being frozen into the stone.

the sound of the balcony doors opening caught his attention, followed by a soft click as they closed behind whoever had dared to step out into the cold.

“oh, my apologies! i didn’t know someone was out here. i—sebastian. there you are.”

sebastian turned towards the commotion, and there she was. with her too-primped hair, too-tight smile, and too-bright ring.

his gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was something there—a flicker of recognition, of shared history, that made his breath catch, almost rivaling the buzz the champagne gave him.

“there you are,” he replied, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. it was almost instinctive—like a beck and call he didn’t even realize he was still answering to.

she let out a breath, looking as if she had been holding it in for far too long. “sorry, i just needed an escape from all that.” her hand swept vaguely behind her, motioning to the pantomime behind the balcony doors.

“i’ll take my leave if you like.” sebastian said, already moving to turn away.

her brows immediately shot up, her hands instinctively raised as if to stop him. “no, stay. please. i’d like some company that isn't somewhat of a stranger for once tonight. unless… you’d rather leave?”

“i’ll stay.”

the words slipped out before he had a chance to stop them, much to his chagrin. he could almost hear his own internal voice, the one that had always been a little too self-assured, a little too sure of himself, yelling at him for it. though he never really knew how to say no to her, he thought by now he’d learn to. maybe it’s because he’s out of practice, or maybe it’s just the champagne dulling his senses.

but then, a small, crooked smile curved on her lips—a smile so familiar, so raw, that sebastian swore it made his heart skip a few beats too many. it was a glimpse of the real her. the one without all the pretense. and gods, it hit him harder than any amount of champagne in the party—no, the entire world—ever could.

she lifted the hem of her skirt just enough to kick off her heeled shoes with a frustrated huff. “these shoes are killing me,” she muttered under her breath, her voice a touch more vulnerable than she probably intended.

sebastian watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the shoes she discarded with such finality, as if casting away a part of her carefully constructed image for a moment of relief. then stepped up next to him, leaning casually against the railing. she folded her arms across her chest, her gaze sweeping out over the city lights as if they held some unspoken truth.

the silence stretched between, but it felt oddly familiar—like the space between them had never really grown so wide. maybe he was just deluding himself, but for a moment, it felt like they hadn’t changed, like they could still slip back into those old rhythms. it wasn’t comfortable, not exactly, but it was natural in a way.

“congratulations, by the way. it’s a nice party,” sebastian said, his voice a little too casual. a lie. he knew it, she knew it. and yet, neither of them dared to say it aloud.

“the very picture of grandeur,” he added, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast, as if the motion might somehow mask the gaucheness creeping into his tone.

she hummed in response, but it wasn’t in agreement. It was more like a sardonic chuckle, a sound that told him she saw through it all. “and then some,” she replied, her voice dripping with dry humor. “i think it’s quite over the top. but don't tell hector i said that, he’d have a fit.”

hector? oh, her fiancée. that must be his name.

for all his loquacious nature, sebastian didn’t quite know how to respond to that. there was a pang of something—jealousy, regret, resentment—that made the words catch in his throat. there was a part of him that wanted to ask how it felt, to ask if hector was everything she had dreamed of. but he knew he didn’t have the right. so, he stayed silent, letting the questions churn inside, only to swallow them down along with another gulp of champagne.

she smiled then, warm at first, but it quickly shifted into something more melancholic. “but i’m glad you’re here, sebastian,” she said, her voice gentle. “to be honest, i wasn’t sure if you’d come, considering, well, everything. if i were you, the last place i’d want to be is my ex’s engagement party.”

he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “i could be in worse places,” he said, the smirk tugging at his lips as he raised his glass. “and hey, what could be better than a party with an abundance of champagne?”

“i know you’re joking, but take it easy on the champagne, alright? you’re a lot more indulgent than you like to think.”

sebastian leaned back, giving her a sidelong glance. “ah, there it is. your trademark nagging. i’m already starting to feel sorry for hector.”

the words were flippant, but his chest tightened the moment they left his mouth. the thought of someone else being on the receiving end of her odd brand of shrewish affection gnawed at him more than he wanted to admit. he would have swallowed every word he'd ever said if it meant he could keep all that cavilling to himself again. but that's neither here nor there.

she scoffed. “oh, trust me, he does enough nagging for the both of us. quite the pedant, really. i don't know how you put up with me for as long as you did. might be a good idea to ask for your advice."

her words were wrapped in jest, but sebastian didn’t miss the small shift in her expression. the tiniest of pouts tugged at her bottom lip, and he caught it—just a flicker. it passed so quickly he almost convinced himself he hadn’t seen it. but he had. and it twisted something in his chest, a reminder of all the ways he used to know her. again, he found himself telling himself that it didn't concern him. not anymore.

“advice?” he said, his voice forced into a casual tone, but it cracked just a little. “you’re asking the wrong person, hen. i’m hardly an expert on relationships. evidently.”

the irony in his own words didn't escape him. no, what did escape him was just how much the slip of that term of endearment landed with weight.

her gaze flicked over to him, brow raised in mild surprise, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement. “hen?” she echoed.

ah, of course. yet another symptom of too much champagne that also falls under a lack of control—the slip of the tongue.

“force of habit.” his excuse came, quickly trying to backpedal.

hen was a relic of their past, something he’d used to call her when things were simpler, before everything had gotten tangled and messy. she would always mock him for using such a twee nickname, but there was always something in her expression when he said it, a brief flicker in her eyes that made him wonder if, deep down, she didn’t mind it as much as she let on.

but to his surprise, she just smiled, the curve of her lips soft, almost fond. she didn’t mock him, didn’t even raise an eyebrow. no judgement. no laughter at his expense. there was a quiet in her gaze, one that lingered longer than usual. recognition, maybe. nostalgia. the kind of thing that shouldn’t have been there, but it was. and it echoed in his chest, so painfully familiar.

she hummed, the kind she used to make when she was content, and turned back to the night sky, as though the way she looked at sebastian didn't just send him reeling right then and there. as if she knew that that one look would make him more flustered than she would if she’d just mocked him.

“so, what’s been keeping you busy these days?" she asked, her voice softer now, a hint of genuine curiosity underneath her teasing tone. "the world’s still spinning, i presume?"

"ah, you know. work, as usual," he replied, his tone flat and yet cautious at the same time.

if it were anyone else, he'd have launched into a long-winded spiel of his latest case. after all, his work had become the one thing he clung to, the only thing that made getting out of bed in the morning feel necessary. but with her? the words didn’t flow so easily. even back then, it had become a touchy subject between them—something that both defined him and drove a wedge between them.

okay, so maybe it wasn't his work that drove them apart and more so his obsession to it. or rather, his obsession to prove himself. his obsession to be part of something larger, something better. but that was a thing of the past, and there's no point dredging it up now when they're supposed to be celebrating the future.

"of course, still married to your job, i see. i mean, i get it, you've always been a workaholic.” she nodded, a knowing yet bittersweet smile playing on her lips. "i even heard you took down yet another beast trafficking ring. well done, sebastian.”

sebastian's brow arched involuntarily. had she been keeping tabs on him? the idea that she might still be keeping track of him, that he’s still running around in that mesmerizing clutter of a mind of hers? he wouldn't dare say it out loud but it tickled him pink. it was both absurd and somehow thrilling. maybe she had asked around—natty, perhaps? he had worked on a handful of cases with her over the past few months—there was no reason natty couldn’t have mentioned something about the work they’ve been doing. or maybe she’d been watching him? he wouldn't put it past her to do such a thing, sly little witch she is.

“oh, would you wipe that look off your face?” came her voice, the playful edge in her voice obvious. “i know what you're thinking, and no. i just happened to read about it on the daily prophet.”

sebastian couldn’t help the slow, satisfied smile that crept across his face. she could feign ignorance as much as she liked, but the flush on her cheeks told a different story. and it sure as hell wasn’t just the rouge she wore. it spread slowly, a warm pink creeping up her neck, staining her cheek.

“is that so?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but it came out a little softer than he’d intended. “i guess i make the news more than i realized.”

“i’ll have you know the daily prophet reports on anything these days. they even had an article on what the best flavor of bertie bott’s beans is.” she rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “beans, sebastian. on the very same page of your ring-busting article. i guess that's the kind of highly important news they decide to prioritize.”

“next thing you know, they're reporting on the right way to sneeze.” he added with a wry grin.

“oh, you’d better read that then,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes alight with a teasing sparkle. “merlin knows how many have suffered at the hands of your loud sneezes.”

“well, you know what the daily prophet won't be able to tell you? i adopted a cat.”

her eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. "a cat?" she looked at him like he’d just announced he’d learned to juggle fire. “you? this happened when, pray tell?”

sebastian shrugged, his smile widening just a little. "oh, you know. a few weeks ago. felt i might do with some company that wasn’t a case file or a bottle of firewhisky.”

the glint in her eyes only told him she was intrigued, so he kept going. "yeah. you’d love her. she’s a restless bugger, but she can be so affectionate. she reminds me a lot of you, actually. it’s why i got her in the first place. i even named her hen after—”

he froze mid-sentence, his smile faltering as soon as he realized what he’d said. sweet merlin, is there any chance he could cast a shrinking charm on himself so he could be small enough to jump into his glass and drown in the champagne?

or maybe that’s just it. he’s had way too much champagne. it had messed with him already more times than he could count tonight, so it wouldn't be too far-fetched. but then again, he didn't really care enough to stop drinking. not when the alcohol made it easier to suppress the bitter feelings that threatened to spill.

she stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide with surprise, then a small, entertained twist of expression tugged at the corner of her mouth. if earlier hadn’t been enough to spark her teasing, then surely this would be.

“merlin, i’ve been replaced by a cat.” she tilted her head. “i don’t know whether to be offended, relieved, or touched.”

sebastian’s eyes narrowed, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his attempt to look disinterested. he rolled his eyes dramatically, though the teasing wasn’t lost on him. “oh, come off it,” he muttered.

“look at you,” she spoke again. her voice was soft, as if overflowing with a solemn pride. “sebastian sallow, slytherin’s finest, accomplished auror, and now, cat owner. everything you ever wanted to be.”

if one word could be used to describe sebastian, it would be amour propre. granted, that’s two words, but the point still stands: he’s everything he’s ever wanted to be, and he’s proud of it. hell, he’d sacrificed more than he cared to admit to get here, to prove himself, to show the world that he was enough.

but if so, why did her words feel like a punch to the gut?

because all he’d ever wanted was to be hers. that was the truth of it, buried beneath all the ambition, all the success, all the work that had consumed him. it had never been about the accolades or the recognition. it was all just smoke and mirrors, an illusion from what he truly wanted. to prove himself worthy of her hand.

and when his eyes landed on that diamond on her finger, he’d realized all of it was for nothing. true to sebastian sallow fashion, he became too focused on the end goal he’d lost sight of where it all began.

"and you?" he finally managed, voice rougher than he intended. "you’re becoming a... wife."

the words felt like lead in his mouth. he swallowed hard, as if trying to chase the bitter taste out of his throat.

she sighed softly, almost wistfully, and her hand moved to absently fiddle with the diamond ring on her finger. the band slid up and down, just a little too big for her, a subtle movement that made it seem like it didn’t quite belong.

"i know, right?" she said, a faint, almost bitter edge creeping into her voice. "everything i ever wanted to be..."

“do you ever wish things could have panned out differently, sebastian?” she asked the question softly after a beat, but there was a weight to it, like she already knew the answer.

sebastian tried to find the words, but only stayed silent. he would be lying if he said he didn’t—if he didn’t wish, deep down, that things had turned out differently. but he’d had a year to accept it. a year to make peace with the reality handed to him, to bury the gnawing what-ifs under layers of duty and time. he’d convinced himself he was moved on. convinced himself that this was what was meant to be.

but that was before today. before this party. before the sight of the ring—her ring—shining like a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.

well, what good was wishful thinking, really? what was it but a self-inflicted wound that only festered into regret? what was done was done. and what was done was them—two separate paths now, carved out by the choices of time.

“why am I even asking? i’m sure you wouldn’t have it any other way.” her voice broke through his thoughts, laced with a softness that almost felt too painful.

“but... isn’t this what you wanted?” he forced himself to meet her eyes, though the words scraped his throat like nails. “to settle down, build a family?”

her eyes dropped to the ring again, the weight of it between them. she didn’t answer right away, as though she were trying to decide how to put it into words. the silence stretched thin before she spoke, her voice almost wistful, a quiet ache behind it.

“i… it is. just not like this.”

sebastian frowned, his brow furrowing deeper with confusion. not like this? what did she mean by that? was she implying that this—this life, this marriage, this future she was about to walk into—wasn’t what she had hoped for?

but he knew better than to be presumptuous. the last time he'd done that, he’d assumed she would be there, waiting, standing beside him until the end of time. and look where that had gotten him. he had learned, painfully, that hope could be a dangerous thing when it wasn’t tempered by reality.

and for all he knew, maybe she wasn’t so much regretting her choices as she was adjusting to them. the end of a decade-long relationship. the move from a cozy one-bedroom flat to a grand, unfamiliar manor that seemed more like a cage than a home. an engagement. the pressure of it. the weight of the new, the unfamiliar. it had to leave her feeling a little unmoored, a little lost. after all, hadn’t it left him feeling the same way when he was forced to step into a future he never wanted?

so instead of speaking, of pressing her for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, sebastian did what he’d become so adept at doing in the last year: he held his tongue. he let the silence stretch between them, a thin, fragile line neither of them seemed willing to cross.

but then, after a long beat, her voice broke through the quiet, softer than before, hesitant and unsure.

“i mean... i…” she hesitated for a fraction of a second, her fingers twisting slightly around the diamond ring. “i just miss going out on adventures, taking down bad guys, the daily prophet reporting about my adventures. i’m sorry, i know, i sound so green-eyed.”

“well, if it’s any consolation,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “i think you were in a witch weekly article.”

she elbowed him lightly, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “not a consolation. you know i don’t like being treated like a celebrity.”

“moot point when you’ve got a whole wingding for a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet.”

she rolled her eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. “oh, hush. it wasn’t my idea. if anything, i was against this whole thing but a husband's word is the law.”

her words were casual enough, but there was something beneath them—a quiet fatalism that rang through her tone, as though she had long since stopped fighting against the roles others had set for her. it was so unlike her. the woman he had known would have never allowed herself to be so... tame. it made him wonder if, had she heard him say that, would she still have hexed him like how her normal reaction would have been?

she had always been a force in her own right—a woman who did things her way, consequences be damned. and for all his own reservations about this hector, sebastian couldn’t deny there was a certain respect in the way she spoke of him. no, not respect—submission. it was the resignation of someone who had, for better or for worse (pun unintended), accepted their fate.

well, if it had been him—if he had been the one to give her that ring—things would have been different.

oh. there it was again—champagne clouding his judgement, making him think of what-ifs. but really, how much longer could he hold onto the intoxicating delusion that things could still be different? and most of all, how much longer can one blame the champagne?

sebastian set his glass down on the railing, the crystal making a sharp, definitive clink that cut through the silence. the sound seemed to echo, as though marking a turning point in the conversation, a shift in the air between them.

“i ought to warn hector,” he said, the playful edge to his voice sharpening in the thick air. “you can be quite scary when things don’t go your way. i remember once, ominis asked you to stop breaking and entering into random homes, and what did you do? used a very advanced locking charm to lock him out of his own apartment. took him days to get back inside. perhaps i should share that delightful story with your fiancée.”

her eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed a knowing amusement. “oh, i’m sure hector would enjoy that just as much as he’d enjoy the scolding he'd give me after,” she said, her voice smooth but tinged with something heavier. “he’s a man of strong opinions—loves to hold court on matters of... propriety. and best believe, he doesn't sway easily.”

“ah, but you forget my irresistible charm. you were the most relentless person i know, and it worked on you, didn’t it?”

“more like it wore me down.”

“same thing.”

she laughed. actually, more like guffawed. the sound bubbled up from her chest and filled the space between them, louder and freer than he’d heard in ages.

for a moment, everything seemed to fall away—the lingering heartbreak of their separation, the party, the expectations, the wretchedness of it all. they were just two people, lost in the simplicity of shared history, the ease of old comfort.

her shoulder brushed his, the smallest of touches. sebastian hadn’t even realized how close they’d gotten, how their space had slowly shrunk until they were practically leaning into each other. he could feel the warmth of her next to him, the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

it made his head spin and he didn't know what to blame this time. was it the champagne he’d been nursing all night? or perhaps the party had made him stir crazy? maybe he’s gotten a cold from all this biting air? all he knew was that if she were any closer, he would surely die. but in that same breath, he didn’t want it to stop. he didn't want the dizzying rush of this feeling to end. to be this close to her, so near, so... alive—if this was what death felt like, he would die happy. hell, he'd beg for it.

and it seemed the universe, in all its cruel, whimsical glory, did indeed want him to die. because in the next breath, she moved again—just a slight shift, but it was enough. her head, soft and weightless, found its place against his shoulder, a gentle pressure that sent a shiver through him, down to his very bones.

it was a dangerous thing, this proximity. it made him ache for the things he couldn't have anymore. but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t mind the pain.

“i haven’t laughed this much in a while,” she said, her voice almost dreamy. “i forgot how easily you could do that.”

“you know for someone so talkative, you're awfully quiet today.” she added.

sebastian exhaled, trying to force a chuckle past the lump in his throat. “ah, well... it’s not every day i come to my ex’s engagement party."

the words were dry and brittle, a thin veil over the mess of feelings roiling beneath. he could feel the weight pressing down on him, his usual charm lost to the quiet ache that had been building ever since he’d walked into this damned party.

she looked up at him, her head leaving his shoulder. sebastian fought the urge to wince at the loss of contact. he hated how it made him feel—small, like a child caught in the act of wanting something he could never have. a pathetic little loser, lost in his own head.

“right. the party,” she said, her voice distant now, like she was already stepping away, back to the world she was now leashed to. “i should get back in there.”

sebastian could feel the words coiling in his throat, but he couldn’t make them come. the lump was too heavy, the ache too deep. he didn’t want to stop her, didn’t want to be the one to hold her in this fleeting moment, knowing it was already slipping away. so he simply nodded.

she nodded back, a small, quiet acknowledgment. and in that brief exchange, something shifted—like a subtle current pulling them together without either of them willing to fight it. they were both standing still, suspended in the space between them, as though the world around them had melted into a blur. neither could look away. their gazes locked, drawn together by the gravity of everything unspoken, everything left unresolved.

for a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, quiet and steady, as though time itself had momentarily paused. sebastian could see the subtle flicker of emotion in her eyes, the fragility of it. the distance between them was vast, but in that instant, it felt narrower than it ever had before. she wasn’t just the woman he’d lost; she was a stranger, yet also someone he knew more intimately than anyone else in the world.

her lips parted, but no words came. it was as though they were both afraid to break the fragile tension that hummed between them. they were too fixed on each other’s eyes, as if speaking would shatter something delicate, something that might never exist again.

but then the sound of the balcony doors opening broke the stillness. a shift in the air, sharp and unwelcome, as if the universe itself was demanding they face the reality neither of them wanted to acknowledge. the doors clicked shut behind the intruder.

“brother, i knew you’d be sulking out here,” came anne’s voice, sharp and too bright. sebastian turned, his jaw tightening at the sound of her footsteps.

her eyes caught the two of them, lingering just long enough to read the unspoken, heavy weight of the moment. then, her expression flickered, a mix of surprise and amusement, as if she were watching something she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“did i interrupt something?” anne asked, a sly edge to her words, as if she could see through the mask they both wore, but was too polite to say anything more.

before sebastian could even process a response, the woman in front of him beat him to it.

“oh, not at all,” she said quickly, brushing past him to put her shoes back on. her voice was light, but there was something strained about it now—an effort to keep her composure intact. as if she was already slipping back into the role she’d rehearsed for the evening. “i was just heading out.”

anne, ever the enigma, chirped with forced cheer. “oh, by the way, congratulations on your engagement!”

“thank you, anne,” she replied, her tone measured, smooth—too smooth.

with the speed at which her mask snapped back on, sebastian felt as if he'd just gone through the looking glass. the moment between them, that fragile flicker of rawness, shattered the second she spoke. the real her, the woman he’d known, was gone—swallowed by a perfect, polished version of herself. he could almost hear the click as the walls went back up, soundproof and impervious.

but just as she turned to leave, her eyes flicked back to sebastian, and for a split second, there was a crack in that mask. a fleeting moment of something raw, something unguarded. the way she looked at him made his chest tighten, the kind of look that carried a thousand unspoken words, a thousand regrets.

her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—anything—but she didn’t. the silence between them grew thick, heavy with all the things they never said and probably never would.

instead, he grabbed his champagne glass, fingers trembling just slightly as he raised it to his lips, swallowing the rest of it in one smooth, numbing gulp. anything to chase away the taste of the moment, anything to erase the feeling of her gaze and touch.

“excuse me,” she murmured, her voice soft and distant, as if this whole thing—this entire exchange—had already been written. she brushed past anne with the grace of someone who had long ago perfected the art of walking away, leaving sebastian with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of champagne and the cold, aching silence.

they say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. but sebastian knew the truth. watching her walk away, the woman he had loved with everything in him, the woman who had been his world before it all crumbled—it didn’t make him stronger. it just made him feel dead. and drunk.

or maybe it was just the champagne.

[megumismyhusband]

haii, can i request oliver aiku angst/comfort fic? i need this man😖

i hate aiku with my entire life so im not the best at writing him but here u go! ive also never written angst before sooo...i hope its not terrible

It started small, like most arguments do.

“I don’t understand why you can’t even text back,” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of Oliver’s apartment. “It’s not like I’m asking for hours of your time—just a text. Something.”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes telling the story of too many late nights and early mornings. “I told you, I’ve been busy,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“Busy?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “You always say that, Oliver. But I’m starting to wonder if you’re too busy for this—for us.”

At that, his jaw tightened, and he finally looked at you. His dark eyes, usually so warm, were hard, unreadable. “Maybe I am.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?”

He exhaled sharply, his hands falling to his sides. “I don’t have the time, alright? Between practice, games, traveling, interviews… I barely have time to sleep, let alone keep up with everything you expect from me.”

You took a step back, his words cutting deeper than you’d anticipated. “Everything I expect from you? All I’ve ever wanted is for you to show me that I matter. That we matter.”

“I’m trying!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it. “But it’s not enough, is it? Nothing I do is ever enough for you!”

You flinched, his anger leaving you momentarily speechless.

He ran a hand over his face, frustration etched into every line. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less sharp. “And maybe… maybe this isn’t working. Maybe we aren’t working.”

Your heart dropped. “You’re seriously saying that right now?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t keep pretending I can balance everything when I can’t. I don’t have the time, and it’s not fair to you.”

“Not fair to me?” you echoed, your voice trembling. “So, what? Your solution is to just… give up?”

His silence was answer enough.

You stared at him, waiting—hoping—for him to take it back, to say something that would make this all make sense. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his arms limp at his sides, his face an unreadable mask.

“Fine,” you said, your voice cracking. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t waste any more of your precious time.”

You grabbed your bag and walked out before he could see the tears spilling down your cheeks.

Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You told yourself you were moving on, but the ghost of Oliver lingered in everything you did. The empty side of the bed, the late-night silence that replaced his voice, the way your heart ached whenever you heard his name.

But what you didn’t know was that Oliver was struggling too.

At first, he thought he’d made the right decision. Breaking things off would give him the space to focus on his career, to get his life in order. But the silence of his apartment quickly became unbearable. The things he once found comfort in—soccer, his teammates, the rush of a goal—felt hollow without you to share them with.

He missed the way you smiled when he walked through the door, the way you teased him after a game, the way you made his chaotic life feel just a little more grounded.

One night, he sat alone on the couch, staring at the empty spot where you used to curl up beside him. The realization hit him like a freight train: he’d pushed away the best thing in his life because he was scared of failing you.

And now, he was failing himself.

The next day, he showed up at your door.

You opened it hesitantly, your heart pounding at the sight of him. He looked different—his hair disheveled, his usual confidence replaced by something raw, almost vulnerable.

“Oliver?” you said, your voice cautious.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he just stood there, as if he didn’t know where to start. “I… I messed up.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms defensively. “Yeah, I think we established that.”

He winced but nodded. “I know. And I’ve been thinking about it every day since you walked out that door.” He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I was wrong, alright? About everything. I thought letting you go would make things easier, but it didn’t. It just made me realize how much I need you.”

“Oliver…”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry for what I said, for how I made you feel. You deserve better than that. And I don’t care how busy I am—I’ll make time for you. For us. Just… please, give me another chance.”

You stared at him, your heart warring with your head. Part of you wanted to slam the door, to make him feel the same hurt you’d felt. But the other part—the part that still loved him—could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“You really hurt me, Oliver,” you said quietly, your voice cracking.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders sagging. “You can come in. We can talk.”

Relief washed over his face, and for the first time in weeks, you saw a glimmer of the man you’d fallen in love with.

[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!

[angels-fantasy]

Congratulations on your followers milestone! Can I ask for the prompt "first fight" with Dabi?

Scars and All

Dabi/Touya x Reader

Details/Warnings: lowkey toxic relationship, arguing, kinda angsty LMAO i'm sorry i cant help but make dabi angsty. hurt/comfort i think, angst to fluff? dabi is trying, okay? also dabi is called touya in this fic!

Word Count: 957

hello thank you sm for your ask and the congratulations :) i hope you like this, i really like dabi bc 1) hes hot lol and 2) hes such a well written character. also i'm going to start writing in all lowercase bc its what im used to and upper case drives me crazy!!

loneliness was something that consumed you constantly. it was a scary feeling sometimes, especially because of the things it could drive someone to do.

you wished you didn't feel like this, but you couldn't help it.

before getting into a relationship with touya, you knew of the lifestyle he lived and how much of his time it took up. at first you thought you could handle it, but over time you soon realized that wasn't true. hours of him being gone quickly turned into days, sometimes even weeks and it was driving you crazy. you really wanted to try and continue to sit compliantly and let him do what he wished to do, but you were at your wits end.

sometimes you wondered why you even continued to put up with him, especially when you knew deep down that he'd probably choose to continue committing villainous acts over your relationship.

but you knew the answer to that-it was because you loved him, and sometimes love can make you do crazy things.

so now here you were; sitting on the old couch in your living room. the edges of the fabric having frayed ends and burn marks here and there from the moments touya let his temper get the best of him.

you can't remember how long you've been sitting there anxiously, waiting for your boyfriend to get home, but you felt your heart beat faster when you heard the front door being unlocked.

you wiped your sweaty palms on your pants and took a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself to confront touya, who sighed as he walked through the door and his heavy boots thudding along with each step.

he walked over to you and threw himself down on the couch, placing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. moments like this made it hard to stay mad.

he placed a kiss on your temple, "hey. you miss me?"

you fiddled with your fingers as you leaned further into his chest, "of course i did. i'm glad you're home."

he tilted his head down to look at you, "then how come you don't sound happy, huh?" he asked, squeezing your shoulder as he did so.

you frowned, knowing he'd caught onto your bad mood already. he was way too perceptive sometimes.

"i am happy touya, i promise." you insisted, "it's just..."

"it's just what?"

you sat up from your position and faced him, but it was hard to look him in the eyes. "i just wanted to talk to you about something that's been bothering me."

he looked at you for a moment, expressionless, making you even more nervous until he said, "alright, what is it?"

you took a deep breath.

"you're never home touya, and i miss you." you frowned, "i worry about you and when you're gone for so long i get lonely. i miss spending time with you."

he groaned, "babe, do you not understand why i'm gone? or do i need to tell you, is that it?" he asked.

you regretted this now.

"no, i know why but it's just-"

"if you know why, then why do you fucking ask me?!" he yelled, making you shrink into yourself. you two had bickered over things before and there were even times when you needed space from each other, but touya had never yelled at you like this.

you could feel your eyes prick with tears and the lump in your throat grow, "touya don't yell at me!" you cried.

"i'm yelling at you so you get this through your god damn head!" he snapped, "i can't be here, sitting on my ass like you every fucking day. i have shit i need to do to make my plans happen!"

you gasped at his words. did he really think that's all you did?

"you know damn well i don't just stay at home on my ass, touya! i work too!" you said, tapping his chest with your finger as you pointed it at him.

"i buy the groceries! i make the food! i wash your blood stained clothes! i do everything i can, but you don't know because you're never here!" you yelled, taking a deep breath after so you could continue speaking.

you sighed heavily and spoke softly, your energy gone from yelling. "you're never here touya..." you sniffed, letting the tears run down your cheeks. you brought your hands up to your eyes to wipe them away, "i love you, so i miss you. i just wish you were home more so i don't have to spend my nights all alone."

touya was breathing heavily, but sitting silently as he processed your words. he was perceptive, sure, but he wasn't really good with emotions and dealing with people when they were upset.

feeling guilty, he wrapped his arms around your crying figure and hugged you tightly to his chest. he brought a hand up to your head and stroked it gently, shushing your cries. you stayed like that until your crying had become sniffles with occasional hiccups.

"i'm sorry," he said softly, "i'm sorry i'm always gone. i fucking suck at this, i don't know how to be here for you... but i'm going to do better now, for you, okay? i love you too. i don't say that enough."

you brought your hands away from your face and wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his beating heart and closing your eyes.

"as long as you try, touya. i know you're not perfect, and that's okay with me. i love you the way you are."

"scars and all?" he asked jokingly, making you giggle.

"scars and all."

authors note

love ya!

[voidcat]

i. welcome to summoners rift

characters: narumi gen, gn!reader

a/n: the game i had in mind while writing this is league of legends.. boo i know. anyways i tried to keep the LoL terms down so itll be easier to understand. reader is implied to be a part of first division- part time operations leader but more involved in data collecting and medical side of things, (I’ll decide fully later)

. i need to make this pathetic loser suffer in games so bad its not even funny anymore... first of many more fics to come im afraid

The first few times to play it safe and because it’s what you’re used to, you take a generic support class— Seraphine got crowd control, enough damaging spells to trigger a DoT or do some extra last minute damage, provides shield, speed and health.

A well balanced support and pretty, Narumi cannot help but think as the Seraphine on his screen hits ctrl+3 and dances for the third time while waiting for the opposing team to make a move. You seem to know what you’re doing, you placed wards, dance when it seems idle but keeping your attention enough to cut it when you suspected an ambush few times. Plus it’s one of the most recent skins you got for the champ so he knows you know how to play the champion, despite your low score on her-

After all, not everyone has been playing this damn game for 5 to 10 years now, a newbie is no problem as long as they know how to play and show it. You leave the minions to him, heal him at critical moments the enemies thought he was dying so he can attack back and get them one by one— you’re good, and you’re especially good with him.

By the time the entire team gathers on the same lane, pushing to the opposing team’s base, you send your ult at the perfect moment, charming four enemies at once and creating the dream situation of any player.

Well, the rest of your team slowly dies because of heavy damage over time they took but it’s alright. The screen says in big letters: PENTA KILL! With his champion icon right under it, and in the game chat even the opposing team congratulates him, saying it was insane game play.

Then Narumi hears that same melody since the beginning of the game whenever you hit the dance animation and a new message in the game chat:

> victory dance for that lovely penta ( *｀ω´)

Reading the message, he watches your champion dance with his eyes glued to the screen, heat rising up to his face… absolutely adorable is what it is. Standing there with his champion, he then hits ctrl+3 as well to join you on the dance, letting the minions carry on.

The game is about to end, the opposing team begs in the chat to not end, to keep playing, meanwhile his team makes some jokes referencing early minutes of the match. Then at the last second, Narumi quickly types in and hits send.

The chat box reads: ‘support diff’

Before queuing up for another game, his hand acts on impulse and invites you to the lobby.

And to his surprise, you accept!

The sound of message notifications reaches his ears short after and he quickly reads over.

>awww >seems like someone enjoyed my presence;P

Adorable and cheeky, this just might be his best in game interactions by far. without a word, he queues up another game and another, the night goes on.

messages from you in-game keep on coming, at one point he thinks to himself "what he hell is a fryslan bop" to which you just send a keyboard smash followed by a "its a song lol"

so you are a chatter, he gathers quickly. not often but when you do, you send in a lot. he soon catches up to when you're actually talking versus spamming a song's lyrics while having Seraphine dance in your stead.

until you cancel the queue start up and send a message.

>gotta go >its late >booo >we jst got started >work tmr sry T-T

with a sigh, he watches as you leave and tries playing another match, but for some reason during the entirety of the match, he has no fun.

when you log into your game accounts in the evening, relieved to have an easy day, you notice a few friend request. "kaijuslayer"

you click accept and before you can open another tab, you instantly receive a lobby invite. its unreal how quick this person is... and how much he enjoys gaming, apparently. with no plans for the night and no desire to do anything else, you accept the invite.

Narumi is over the clouds to see not only has his request being accepted but also his invite too. gaming is more fun when you are winning, and thus playing with people who know what they're doing. you pick the same champion again and accomodate to his various picks, supporting him however he needs. it's perfect, it's distracting. while the two of you wait for the client to find another match, you begin to talk. since it's a friday, he tries his shot and asks if you'll stay for longer this time.

>nah >my v much serious v grownup job has saturdays too >and awfully early waking hours >sucks to b u> v serious v grownup huh >yea? >im starting to suspect u might b a child >OLIFSDJFIGOJSDOLŞGJSDFOLŞG >the calls coming from inside the house

before Narumi can send a reply, the 'match found' screen pops up and the two of you leave it there.

the match starts off smooth. he's farming a good amount, the two of you reached level 6 before the others, and as the opposing lane tries an ambush, you hit them with your ult, charming them in the process. as narumi begins to unleash his combo, your slowing down waves slither there gently, quitely. then follows your shield and speed buff, and right before his very eyes, your now-powered-up-double skill hits the enemies and the screen reads: "TRIPLE KILL" with your icon next to it.

as much of an ideal support as Seraphine is, Narumi remembers the fact all too painfully that Seraphine was first released as a midlaner... a very much capable AP damage unit if built that way. a part of wants to see, and a part of him is afraid of what he might see if he goes to check which items you have purchased- or if it was a brilliant calculation by itself.

as Narumi stares at the screen, Seraphine dances again, sometimes ending the animation to go around him. seeing him frozen for far too long, you ping him few times. as if his misery, and his kills stolen wasnt bad enough already, your team's jungle has the audacity to send a message to in-game chat. 'supp diff'’

complimenting his support? his duo? Narumi begins to see red.

as you begin to teleport back to the base, you send an emote of one of the characters, tongue poking out, winking and doing a peace sign.

and on his side of things, narumi gen cannot find it in him to stay mad at the turn of events- because just look how endearing and cute you are! it's alright if you took a kill or two by accident, you're still his support, his duo after all!

despite the... technical errors, the game ends in another victory and with you doing a victory dance again, now pinging him if he's staying idle until he joins you as well. his heart cannot take it. it's too much... and as if you are dead set on being the final blow, you send cute emotes, and whenever he sends one back, you reply with another, it goes and goes until the matches end.

a flood of message notification sounds brings him back to earth again.

>heeeey >r u gonna start the queue some time this year? >oh btw pick a color

puzzled at the last message, he says a color, not expecting much out of it. until he sees you have picked another skin with the chroma he said. candy and teeth- you are so adorable and charming, so bad for his poor health. waiting in your lane, you begin the dancing animation again and narumi grins at the screen, watching you dance.

oh no, this is bad. this is pathetic even for him now... he cannot be possibly finding some gamer maybe across the country, someone he never saw nor even heard the voice of charming...

maybe that annoying part time operations leader was right about his... pent up frustration... if he's this down for a game model supposedly representing a person, maybe you had a point when you implied he goes to seek some action and revive himself of whatever's been building up down there.

there is no way he can let anyone learn about this- worst of all, you. with your stoic face and condescending eyes, you'd never let him live that down.

Him! Narumi Gen! the first division captain and the strongest anti-kaiju combatant! he'd rather die than give you the satisfaction of knowing he's so desperate to get some sort of friction he's starting to mix an online person with the character they're playing.

aggressive pings snap him out of his running thoughts and he realizes he's a little behind game-play wise.

now, looking over at the match stats, it doesn't seem all to unsalvageable. he better get to it, there's a match to win and a lovely duo to impress.