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no-droids · 2 years

Text

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!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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pumpkinbxtch · 5 months

Text

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

— I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

#trials of apollo #apollo pjo #apollo pjo x reader #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x reader #apollo x reader #apollo x you #apollo x y/n #lester papadopoulos x you

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wickjump · 3 months

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Not exactly hurt comfort but I am enjoying the idea that every time Cross reveals something about his past/childhood it slowly but surely makes the team angry. Like he happens to share a "funny story" or mention how he was treated and one by one the gang is horrified to the point where if xgaster actually showed up in the same au as them they would all be gunning for him immediately.

Also the stars showing up during this fight and like Dream: Nightmare stop this!! What are you doing to- Nightmare: (goops over and whispers something in Dream's ear) Dream: WHAT?? No fuck that (starts aiming his arrows at xgaster)

IVE SPOKEN ABOUT THIS SO MANY TIMES WITH FRIENDS/MUTUALS I AGREE SO MYCH HE HAS SO MANY TRAUMATIZING CHILDHOOD STORIES HE INTERNALLY NORMALIZED GOD. HE DOESNT REALIZE HOW BAD IT WAS AND THE REACTIONS HE GETS ARE UNNERVING. THANK YOU FOR THIS AND OTHER CROSS RELATED ASKS YOURE SO GOOD WITH THEM THEYRE MY FAVORITE

ok ya this is just plain whump warning for lotsa child abuse including physical. like beating the shit out of an 8 year old physical. also I’m so tired right now

chances are that’s not even the worst of it because you know his seven year old ass was told ‘don’t tell anyone about me beating you to near death’ and he still sticks to that. but he speaks about abuse he doesn’t even grasp counts as abuse.

withholding food. sleeping in the yard. eating food on the floor while the others sat at the dinner table as punishment (or to eat out of a dog bowl on the ground i had to do that once lol). as a kid still scared of the dark he was locked in dark rooms until he got over his fear (he’s still scared to this day but he won’t seek help because he doesn’t want to be punished again). cross touched something he wasn’t supposed to? put your hand on the burning hot stove for however many seconds that item was worth in G (maybe divided by 5/10), or until he cried.

cruel and unusual punishments were xgaster’s forte but he tells them like funny stories to the horror of literally everyone around him.

cross is not coping well with figuring out that no that’s not normal and no that’s fucked up. most of his scars are probably from xgaster (excluding the red one on his face obv). and when he delves into the traditional abuse it gets worse somehow?? anyway xgaster is on THE multiversal hitlist. star sanses and bad sanses all want his head on a wall. even ink because ink didn’t know about the abuse because xgaster never told him for obvious reasons and it’s not like cross was willing to share.

i think that once he starts talking about the abuse he can’t stop (same) and he’s just. slowly crying and eventually hyperventilating and oh he’s been holding onto that for SO long. and then he hates that he told people because he wasn’t supposed to and is scared that they’ll see him less or punish him for some reason or hate him now, but he isn’t expecting to be comforted after? wtf? he doesn’t grasp that saying ‘yeah i got in trouble at school so my dad beat me until i lost two of my baby teeth and got a temporary crack in my skull’ normally results in being hugged or something. like dude you were 8 wtf. and he’s so scared but he just wants to feel safe AUGH HE MAKES MY HEART HURT. like dude, he almost beat papyrus at a time he was so young he had to use a step-stool to reach the sink to brush his teeth :( dude…

anyway ya cross is me fr (the burning hand stove happened once/twice to me actually idk i was like 5 lol. my grandfather is not the best man) and he deserves to go through hell on earth and be tortured in his childhood i think. oh and experience comfort or whatever after idk. kross maybe because their dynamic is ‘my childhood was ruined’ x ‘my adulthood was ruined’ and i think that’s sweet. or mtt + cross poly with nightmare as the outlier wondering why they’re so affectionate all of a sudden (he’s aroace…)

BUT THATS SELF INDULGENT LMAO what really matters is how much we torture the poor lad that is cross 🥰

also make him trans because abuse isn’t enough he needs extreme dysphoria all of the time. xgaster isn’t transphobic btw this is independent from everything else

#cw abuse #cw child abuse #cw physical abuse #cw child neglect #cruel and unusual punishment #cross sans #utmv #xgaster #undertale #bad sanses

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jubiilee13 · 10 months

Note

I am begging for jealous Mike either angsty or fluff

But just imagine him pouting because we are focused on Abby and he wants our attention

But angst hes suddenly back to when the house was hollow and his parents barely uttered a word to him

YEA YEA YEA YEA NOW WERE TALKING OMG

this literally made me emotional writing it my poor pookie bear hes so wifey he doesnt deserve that

this is not proof read so it may be a bit ass so sorry

love you anon 😍

—

It was summer break for Abby, and by this point you and Mike had been dating for a few months.

Mike was… clingy to say the very least.

Not that you minded of course, you thought it was quite cute when he clung to your side at every oppurtunity.

It did interfere at times however...

Now was one of those times.

You sat beside abby at her desk, listening carefully as she explained each little bit of her drawing which was currently in progress.

A gentle smile formed on your lips, and you watched her carefully, your hand combing through her hair as she works.

She continued her rambles, and you cant help but chuckle at her eagerness.

A knock on abbys door tears you from your thoughts, yet abby doesn't flinch, continuing her work as you gently pat her back, telling her you'll be back in a moment.

When you open the door, you meet mikes tired gaze, and you frown a bit, stepping out and closing the door behind you. (to ensure abby's masterpiece making isnt disturbed)

"You ok my darling?" your voice asks, concern evident in your tone.

Mike nods, but it is hesitant, and he immediately begins to ramble nervously "it-its stupid nevermind" he whispers, sounding almost embarrassed as he turns on his heel to leave.

Your gentle hand reaches out to grab his own, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

"Its not stupid, talk to me mike, im here to listen" You say, your grasp on his arm gentle, yet enough to cause him to break.

He lets out a quiet sob, and you dont hesitate to pull him into your arms.

"Hey hey hey im here mike, im here, talk to me, ive got you" you say gently, one hand combing through his hair as he cries into your shoulder.

You let him cry, leading him to the living room couch where he rests his head on your shoulder as he sniffles.

"You wanna talk about it" you mumble, still caressing his hair

He nods softly, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself before he begins to speak.

"I-i- i wasnt g-given much attention as a kid... after garret a-after all my... my mom and d-dad were too wrapped u-up in their grief to... to care... there were nights w-when i had to cook my o-own dinner... i-i i didnt even know how... but burnt food was b-better than starving. even before the w-whole garret thing, he was t-their golden child" he says, taking in another shaky breath as he continues.

"Ever... ever since i started dating y-you... i felt... i felt loved... cared for... but s-sometimes i get... scared that... one day you'll just... stop caring. I-i mean you love abby s-so much- and i d-do too dont get m-me wrong... its s-stupid i know but s-some days i get scared abby w-will be just like garret... and you'll leave me like they did" he whispers, a bit embarassed by his jealousy of his younger sister.

Your face softens, and you pull away to cup his face with your gentle hands.

"Your problems are not stupid, and i love you so much mike, more than i think words can even portray, i will never, and i mean NEVER stop caring about you, you are my sun, moon, and stars, you know that?" you say gently, a smile on your face as you wipe any stray tears that escape his beautiful eyes.

"Im sorry it seems like ive been neglecting you for abby, that girl is just the sweetest and shes like a daughter to me, but never will i ever stop caring for you over her" you say eyes never leaving his own

he sniffles again, and another wave of tears takes over him as he engulfs you in his arms now, body shaking as you comfort him.

The two of you would be ok

It takes time to heal, but deep down mike knew that he had found a keeper, and he wouldnt want to heal with anyone else but you

#mike schmidt #michael afton x reader #mike schimdt x reader #michael afton

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mymelodymia · 11 months

Note

Hey bby how r u? I got a request cause my emotions have been wonky asf can you write where Mike has a younger sis like 13-14 basically going through a lot and is getting bullied at school for not being the "prettiest" being teased and picked on constantly for being the "weird" one, shy, mostly to themselves hard to make friends etc. Iv gone through that and it sucks :(

Uhh fluffy lots of comfort mike lowkey beats the shot outta them. Anyways ty 😊 have a good one hun 🩷

Bullys // Mike Schmidt x sister!reader

**not a ship**

Summary: you're being bullied and don't say anything,

Warnings: bullying, bruises, Mike beating the shit out of some middle-schoolers,

Age: 13

A/N: hi baby! I'm doing good, I hope you like the way this came out 🥰

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

You had been being bullied for a while now. You kept it a secret for a while, most nights you cried yourself to sleep. What did you do to them? You hadn't done anything to them, they just did it to be little pains in the ass.

You tried to make friends but no one liked you and you didn't know why. You got good grades, you helped people in class, and you were literally the sweetest person in the world.

One day you couldn't take it anymore, you were riding home on your bike when you were suddenly hit the ground. Some kids had pushed you, (assholes) you skined your knees on the road, and Injured your palms from catching yourself.

They all took turns kicking you, before an old man walked out in a robe, yelling at them to get off his lawn (sorry)

You were badly injured from the force of the kicks. You could barely stand back up. You had been able to cover up most of your bruises with hoodies and sweaters, but you couldn't take it anymore

You broke down crying on your bike, sobbing loudly. You somehow had the strength to slowly peddle the bike and got home two hours after your curfew. It was now sundown, the street lights had turned on not long ago.

Mike was extremely worried about you. You had been very distant and quiet over the past few months. You spent most of your time in your room. And you oddly always left food on your plate. He didn't know why, he assumed it was connected to puberty in a way.

But when he saw you biking down the street, he let out a sigh of relief, but soon turned angry.

"Where have you been!? Do you know how late it i-" he yelled, pausing when he saw your tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes. "What happened? W-who did.....whats wrong?" He asked holding one of your shoulders

You slowly took of the jacket you were using to hide the cuts and bruises all along your body. He gasped and gently caressed a few down your arm.

You sniffed and he hugged you. Wrapping his strong arms around you securely. "Who did this to you?" He asked as you sobbed into him. "Y/n...please tell me who it was, i need names." He said in a soft tone.

You slowly whispered every single person who ever hurt you. And that took a while since practically everyone in the school was bullying you.

He listened carefully, remembering everything you said. He carried you inside, sitting on the couch, he allowed you to crawl into his lap and cling to him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, he held you to his chest. He couldn't belive someone would hurt his baby sister. This disbelief quickly turned into anger.

Filled with rage, he slowly set you down and took his car keys and put on his coat. You didn't have the strength to follow him, so you curled up into a ball and sat there for a good hour.

Mike returned with a small bruise on his cheek, just under his eye. Let's just say that he took care of them 😈

He picked you up like a baby, cradling you in his arms. He walked you over to his room and plopped you down, forgetting about your injuries.

When you winced in pain he immediately apologized, "oh im so sorry, i forgot, im sorry baby.." he said taking you his arms again, kissing the top of your head.

He walked out for a moment and returned with a tube of something, he applied a small amount to his cheek in a mirror, before coming over to you.

He rubbed it gently into your skin, being sure not to hurt you.

You thanked him when he was finished, he set the tube down on his night table, he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you gently. You rested your head on his chest softly.

"Mike."

"Hmm" he responded, waiting Patiently for you to continue. "They have been doing this for a few months now, they'd call me fat and ugly all the time and whenever i would laugh they'd say its ugly." You kept going on and on about what they did to you for a few more minutes.

"Y/n, baby, you are not fat, and your laugh is one of my favorite things to hear, dont let that stuff get to you okay? I love you, and since i haven't heard you laugh in so long i would definitely tickle you right now, but i might hurt you so, just wait until your bruises are gone" he said with an evil smirk on his face. You whimpered, giggling at the same time, you snuggled into his chest.

He ran his fingers through your dark curly locks, rocking you back and forth, he sung you a lullaby to lull you to sleep. This was one of the only nights were he didn't dream abt Garrett.

This was a good excuse.

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

Tags

None :((((((

#mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x sister reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf x you #x reader #x you #reader insert #comfort #fluffy fic #request done #anonymous

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dragcnbreak · 11 months

Note

hiii can u maybe do a drabble with little!mike, like he wakes up tiny after a nightmare and cg!reader (masc if thats okay :)) has to comfort him? i love ur mike drabbles and headcanons btw theyre so RASKJHFLD /pos /nf obviously :)

HI FRIEND <3 I literally have like 7 requests to get to but I decided to write this because little!mike and I love the idea <3 ive kinda avoided using daddy because of how sexualized the term is but I use it here! I hope you don’t mind; I can always change it!!! I hope you enjoy <33

◞♡࿐ (post movie, so contains spoilers)

You were asleep when Mike woke up, sweating and crying. He had just woken up from a nightmare featuring the yellow rabbit, the man who had hurt his little brother and almost his little sister too. He had a bad day before and was ultimately exhausted so his nightmare made him age regress.

“Daddy,” he cried out for you, softly shaking your shoulder, “please wake up.” In his dream, the yellow rabbit had hurt you too and he couldn’t bare it if his dream had become reality. You were too important to him. When you didn’t wake up, Mike began sobbing even more and shaking you even harder. “Please, don’t tell me the bad man hurt you too.”

Fortunately, you had woken up and caught the last half of Mike’s sentence. “Hey hey hey bear, I’m okay. Daddy’s okay.” You reassured him, mumbling with sleep still evident in your voice. You slowly sat up on your elbows and gathered your boy into a hug, running your hands along his back in a repetitive manner to soothe him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened? What bad man?” You asked even if you likely already knew. You had barely known Mike when he worked at Freddy’s but you had heard plenty about the events surrounding William Afton from him, Vanessa, and even Abby.

Mike sniffled, “the yellow rabbit. The one who took Garrett and almost hurt Abby. He had hurt you this time and I couldn’t save you and he laughed and laughed and laughed. And then he came to hurt me and that’s when I woke up.” He started to sob more because of his rambling, this time in your arms.

You lifted a hand up and ran your fingers through his soft hair. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby boy. That must have been so scary. But I’m okay and so is Abby. She’s right down the hall and I’m right here with you in my arms, safe and sound.” Mike nodded but kept crying, clearly still upset with his dream.

You began to think of ways to further calm him that didn’t involve staying up too much longer. He might not want to sleep again but you know he should, as he’s always tired. “Hey, how about we go warm you up some milk? And then I can borrow a book from Abby and read you a bedtime story? Does that sound okay?” Mike blanched at the thought of sleeping again but nodded anyway.

“That’s my good boy.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead and detached yourself from him, quickly getting up and rushing over to his side of the bed. You helped him up and held his hand as you walked to the kitchen together. You knew he was regressed to his usual age of about 10 but the fact that he didn’t reject your hand holding meant he was still pretty scared.

You arrived at the kitchen with your boy in tow, grabbing a pot and the gallon of milk in the fridge. You poured out some milk into the pot and turned the stove on before putting the milk back in its place. You grabbed a plastic spoon to stir and began to hum softly, squeezing Mike’s hand as you did.

Soon enough, the milk was warm enough (as per your taste tester’s word) and you still held hands on the way back to his room. He sipped his milk and sat on the bed. You ran your fingers through his hair once again and then made your way to Abby’s room. You were plenty quiet as you grabbed a book you knew Mike liked.

Back in his room, Mike had laid back down and put his glass on the bedside table, his eyes already starting to close. But he fought it, wanting to hear you telling him a bedtime story. And so you began telling it, making sure to do all the voices you know he loved to hear. He giggled at the appropriate times, still sniffling a bit as he drank some more milk.

Within a few minutes, you had finished the story and looked up to see the glass empty and your boy soundly asleep. You smiled fondly and shut the book softly. Putting it next to the glass, you got back into bed with Mike. You moved him slightly so you could spoon him, hoping to protect him from any more nightmares. And with that, you fell back asleep as well.

#mine #text #asks #pyr0-bra1ni4c #sfw agere #sfw age regression #agere #age regression #mike schmidt #michael schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x male reader #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy’s movie #my fanfics

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jaemified · 1 year

Text

major, minor, and the things in between - nishimura riki

"are we friends, lovers, or whatevers in between?"

pairing ; nishimura riki x fem!reader

genre ; slice of life, enemies to lovers-ish (y/ns mean to riki smh), romance, drama, fluff, small angst, non idol au

warnings ; swearing, drinking, brief mention of blood (someone gets cut), mention of offing yourself but its just niki making a joke

wordcount ; 7.0k

synopsis ; though never quite well acquainted, sim y/n had always felt strongly against nishimura riki, until her brother jake had forced them to get along. but, what was meant to have them get closer turns into something a little more.

note (5/29) - there isnt rlly much mention of jake/nikis actual siblings but for one scene theirs like additional (baby) siblings

note (7/10) - its finally here!! im a little upset it took me 2 months to write 7k since i used to be able to write 4k in 8hrs but summer has been kicking my ass so im glad its out despite being 10 days past release date

taglist 🏷️ ; @stinkoscope @asyleums

read below the cut !

"'when im with you, i.. im so happy. i like you, na bora!' 'i like you. i like you too! i really really like you!'" y/n cried at her computer screen, rewatching 20th century girl for the 2nd time this week, before being so rudely interrupted by her brothers presence, bugging her with the same, repetitive question. the same question hes been asking for years on end now.

"the guys are coming over and of course you know niki is gonna be here as well. i want you to talk to him. why cant you just be friends?"

"id appreciate it a lot if youd leave, this is my space."

"i dont know if you noticed, but this is a small flat with not much room to move around. its not only you living here you know." jake reminded.

of course y/n knew there was limited space, she knew the moment she first realized she had already circled about the unit, trying to escape her brothers nagging.

"if you know theres not enough room for you and me then what makes you think theres room to accommodate an additional 6 other grown ass men. go to your room, im doing homework.'

'annoying..'

"you were literally just crying watching 20th century girl milliseconds before i walked in, and im not asking much y/n! all i want is for you to talk to him, even pretend like youre getting along, thats it!" jake remarked, before catching the pillow y/n attempted to throw at his face.

'so damn annoying.' y/n thought, growing more and more annoyed by her brothers constant nagging as each second passed.

"whats so hard about getting along with niki? hes a good kid!" jake complained. since his little sister couldnt get along with one of his best friends, it made even the intimate gatherings.. unpleasantly awkward.

"hes annoying, like you are being right now."

"no, why do you really hate him so much."

"i dont know! he just reminds me of someone i guess? and he always cheated on projects back in middle school. even stole my ideas so he could make it look like im in the wrong."

"thats it? youre holding a grudge over him just being a middle school kid from, what, 5 years ago? cmon, theres gotta be something better then that. not to mention even if there wasnt, that makes you sound hella dumb holding a grudge from the 7th grade when youre graduating next year."

y/n thought to herself. of course there was another reason, but it seemed unnecessary to bring up. and she also just didnt want to share it with jake. or maybe, it wasnt the right reason after all.

"well hes cocky as hell and is still a better dancer, basketball player, volleyball player then i, not to mention ive been playing longer and layla likes him more then she likes me!"

"thats your fault youre never home, laylas just more used to him. and me. i am clearly her favorite between you and i."

"more like his fault hes practically living in my apartment cause hes never at his own home. and how can she be more used to him when ive known her since way before she met riki.."

"tough luck." jake pat y/n on the head on his way out before shutting the door.

__________________________________________

the sound of the doorbell awoke y/n from her, well, what was meant to be a quick nap (which later turned into a 4 hour sleep). just as she slowly got out of bed to answer it, she heard jake yell from down the hall, "ive got it! make sure you dont look stupid or anything in front of my friends!"

she rolled her eyes and climbed back into bed, thinking about her outfit. standard pajamas, plaid shorts and a black tee (which probably wasnt even hers). she thought about how the one person out of the 6 she didnt want to see would be out there. truth be told, even she herself didnt know the best explanation as to why she hated riki so much. y/n figured it was because of a little mishap back during freshmen year and she just couldnt bring herself to apologize for everything that had been said during that time, so she forced herself to continue hating him. 'yeah, seems about right.'

the sound of the door opening caught her attention and the next thing she knew, there was a boy in a cream essentials hoodie jumping onto her.

"oh shit, what the f-"

"hi y/nnn!" sunoo smiled, carefully getting off his best friend.

y/n was in joy once she realized who it was, and brought him into a tight hug.

"hey sunoo! god it feels like forever since i last saw you!"

it was really only a week.

"i know right! its been too long!"

she smiled, no matter what mood she was in, sunoo always was the sunshine in the rain.

"so, whos here?"

"oh, you know the usual. sunghoon, heeseung, jake, and jay hyung. niki and jungwon are supposed to be setting up something in the courtyard."

"setting up what?"

"a volleyball net. jake was on nikis ass all week and wanted him to 1v1 you while we all played basketball. jungwon just wanted to help however he could, hes been tired all week from his job and the dance program."

no fucking way.

"youre saying i have to be alone, with nishimura riki? hell no!"

"isnt it great?" "this is a disaster!" they both exclaimed in unison.

"how is that bad?" "how is this good?!"

sunoo signaled for y/n to continue first. "i just cant stand riki. jakes been on my ass to talk to him but i didnt think hed actually talk to him, or that hed even listen either."

"seriously? i always thought you had a thing for him. i mean, you look good together, you both share mainly the same interests, mainly the same circle, not to mention the undeniable love you have when your eyes meet-"

"okay thats enough! you know what, how bout we go outside, im hungry anyway."

sunoo shrugged and went along with y/n down the hall.

he was slightly surprised when he saw niki and jungwon sitting on the couch, having a sip of their drinks.

"back already? i thought you were setting up the nets."

"yeah, but it was easier then expected. and we didnt even need to go to the lobby for the stuff. it was all already in the courtyard." jungwon told the two with a smile, proud of their work.

"y/n." niki looked at her with that stupid grin she had always hated.

"nishimura."

"i didnt know youd be here." he observed, ignoring how she had addressed him by his last name instead of niki, or riki.

she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"i live here dipshit. you think id run away just cause i knew you were coming?"

niki got up from his seat and walked closer, and closer, until their faces were mere centimeters away.

"just like you ran from all our problems in freshmen year huh?"

"you realize it was all because of what you did, dont you?"

it took niki a minute to notice how close they were. he looked down at her lips before realizing what sunoo and jungwon were saying in the background. "are they about to kiss?"

"hell no!" y/n and niki both yelled out in unison, quickly pushing away from each other.

"whatever. i need to use the bathroom, i cant stand seeing your face." she remarked to niki.

as soon as y/n closed the bathroom door, she let out a breath she never knew she was holding in, slowly trying to register what had just happened. 'did i really almost kiss him.'

minutes after being stuck in the bathroom for so long, she left and walked into the main living space, only to notice everyone was gone.

well, almost everyone.

"are you serious."

y/n dryly stared at the boy sitting on her couch, in her spot, watching her favorite show.

"i forgot you were still here." niki yawned.

"where is everyone?"

"did you seriously not hear them say theyre gonna get food and that theyll be back in.. three hours or more?"

"three hours or more? it does not take that long to get food, youre fucking with me." y/n walked into hers and jakes individual bedrooms to see if anyone was hiding from her, to her dismay, niki wasnt lying.

"it does if youre getting food from busan."

"why the fuck are they going all the way to busan for food??"

"language! my young ears cant take this!"

"shut up nishimura youre only 11 days younger."

"more like 11 years at heart cause you act like a grumpy old lady all the time.."

"whatd you just call me?"

"nothing!"

"so why are they going all the way to busan for food again?" y/n reminded, getting niki back on track.

"cause they got a friend whos house is down there and hes in town for the weekend, they said theyll bring us home our own order."

y/n walked into the kitchen, rummaging for food.

"what are you doing now?"

"looking for food, im gonna die if i see your ugly ass face any longer."

"what are you on about 'ugly'? girls at school love this face."

"and apparently you loved those girls too much in return.."

niki got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen bar, sitting down. "are you still mad at me about that?"

she stopped what she was doing and looked at niki, not saying anything, hoping it was enough of an answer.

"so you are." 'so he isnt all that dumb'

"look, i didnt know she had bad intentions, and you were right, i shouldve listened to you. but you really have to stop avoiding me. how was i supposed to tell you i didnt realize what she was trying to do if you keep running away?"

"how do you not realize no matter how many times i warned you?"

"i thought you did it because you were jealous."

"i did it because i loved you!"

niki froze, thinking he was crazy, thinking maybe he hadnt heard right.

"you what?"

"past tense. loved, not love. and how could you think so badly of me? we were supposed to trust each other, always tell the truth, and you thought i told you she would end up using you was because you thought i was jealous? how could you?"

he sighed, thinking about what he had done, realizing how badly he had mistreated y/n in the past, realizing there was no reversing it. he walked into the kitchen where y/n was, backing her into the corner as the kitchen was just as small as the apartment itself.

"get away from me!" she yelled, throwing ramen packet after ramen packet at niki.

"no. i know i havent been the best to you-" "more like you know youve been the worst."

niki glared at y/n.

"-and i know theres no reversing it. i realize i cant undo the past, but what i can do, is fix our future. i want to show you i can be better to you then i was then. we can be what we used to be before, us. our spark."

"there is no us, or we, or, our. but maybe just you, caught up in your daydreams." y/n pushed niki out the way, and walked out the kitchen, not noticing she was slowly being followed.

"i loved you too you know. except for the fact that i still do."

"can you just please leave." she turned around, now facing him.

her vision blurred, head dizzy, face stained, all as her glass like tears trickled down her cheeks.

"hey, its okay. dont cry."

"get away from me!"

niki attempted to hug y/n as she fought against him, trying to run from his grasp, struggling to no avail. she eventually fell still in his hold, forgetting its natural warmth and comfort.

"im sorry for everything." was the last thing y/n heard before falling asleep, growing tired and stressed from everything that had just happened.

__________________________________________

it was late at night by the time everyone else had come back, 2am to be exact. traffic was unusually heavy though it was a saturday night, not to mention the designated driver and his understudy (heeseung and sunghoon. yikes, scary night) ended up being the most wasted while everyone else was still tipsy. poor jungwon, still tired from a 4 hour nap after being on 2 hours of sleep all day, had to drive everyone through the slow traffic.

jake, who was slightly sobering up, turned on the lights in the dark room and dimmed them as his head was still throbbing. he walked into the living room and saw y/n, fast asleep with her head on nikis shoulder with his arm around her as he finished the rest of avengers endgame.

jake knew his sister well enough to know she had been crying once he focused on her puffy red eyes. but, it was a sweet moment, y/n was passed out, niki was barely conscious, and everyone was painfully drunk or achey. he figured he would just yell at riki for whatever happened in the morning.

sunghoon and heeseung ran into the kitchen (as best they could without tipping over) for water, jungwon had knocked out as soon as he sat down in the chair next to y/n, jay was busy trying to figure out how to use jakes water filter, and sunoo was sitting at the kitchen bar eating a pudding cup.

jay called for jakes help, just as his eyes had fluttered shut. begrudgingly so, jake got up and helped the three boys it the kitchen. "you press the bottom button, not the top button. the top is for ice."

"thanks." "yeah whatever."

"i know youre tired hyung, but so are we. where are we all supposed to sleep?" sunoo quietly asked, putting his hand on jakes shoulder.

he thought, looking at the three sprawled out in the living room, and the three bubbling nonsense in the kitchen. "jay and sunghoon can stay with me, ill move niki and y/n to her room, you can stay in the living room with jungwon and heeseung hyung. but move jungwon to the couch since he drove everyone."

"thanks-" sunoo cut himself off as he heard the sound of jakes receding footsteps.

__________________________________________

morning came, and though it wasnt a good one, y/n wanted to remedy that. or, remedy the nasty hangover she knew everyone would be experiencing.

she had woken up with her eyes puffy and red, and even though she didnt want to get up she knew she would have to eventually.

"is that hangover soup i smell?" jake asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes as he walked out his room.

"well i know riki doesnt know how to cook and jungwons still asleep. so who else would be making it?" y/n flashed a tired smile, pouring a serving for jake.

"so, why were you crying last night? and dont say you werent or that you just didnt sleep well. ive lived with you long enough now to tell the difference between your 'i didnt get enough sleep' eyes, and your 'i was crying pretty hard' eyes." he interrogated as he took a big sip of the soup. so good he almost felt better already.

"what did he tell you? or were you watching me?"

"he didnt tell me anything, he was already asleep by the time we came back. i just saw the look on your face and knew."

"just reminiscing on some bad times is all."

jake raised a brow at his sister, taking another sip.

"you dont have to tell me now if you dont want to. but i do want to hear about everything. later. when my head isnt pounding like when i heard mom push you out in the emergency room. after i take a nap. and when youve bought jungwon some coffee."

"me? why do i have to buy him coffee? im not the one who drove him because the designated drivers were too wasted."

"we typically treat him to an iced americano since hes always up taking care of us when were drunk, but we havent gotten this wasted in a while. and he spent so long getting sunghoon out the house, not to mention the long drive to the point he ended up falling asleep as soon as we got back."

y/n thought about it before mumbling a, "tough luck" to jake, patting him on the back before walking into her bedroom.

she was met with the sight of niki making the bed as she walked in. "when did you wake up?" she quietly asked.

"not too long ago, you?"

"about an hour ago. i had to cook for them."

"ah. did you sleep well? i know sleeping upright on the couch mustve been a lot less comfortable then this."

"i guess. i dont remember waking up to walk here though. jake probably carried me."

"he was way wasted, snoring loudly way before i woke up. how else do you think you got here?"

it took a minute for it to click in y/ns mind when she realized it was niki who took her to the room and slept next to her. this whole time, she thought it was her brother who lent his own room to his friends.

"of course not, he just asked me to help or make sure you got to bed safely and that i could stay with you since there was nowhere else."

'that bastard.. ill kill him one of these days. im surprised i havent already.' she spoke to herself in her head.

"so. are we good now?" niki questioned, walking over to the other side of the room.

"how can you ask me such a thing after making me relive one of the worst memories of high school ive ever had?"

"it wasnt my intention. i was just trying to explain-" "theres nothing to explain when i had already given you multiple warnings. thats on you."

y/n threw a pillow at niki and walked away, back outside.

"what was that all about?" sunghoon asked, taking a sip of the coffee he had just made. 'where did he get silk pajamas from. are- are those mine?'

"what?"

"not to bother, but i mean, you were kind of yelling." heeseung explained to y/n.

she let out a sigh, rubbing her forehead in stress.

"i dont want to talk about it right now. i- actually. you know what? ill be back."

"where are you going?" sunoo asked y/n, following her to her room just as niki walked out.

"somewhere, not sure yet. dont follow me."

"i wont, i know how much you value your alone time but- oh youre changing. hold on ill turn around. but please be safe. when will you be back?"

sunoo turned back around and saw she had changed into beige cargos and a white crop top. realizing he was staring, he looked around the room, before a certain picture caught his eyes. he walked closer to get a better look. it was baby jake feeding yogurt to baby y/n. 'awe, they were always close werent they.' he hadnt even realized y/n was talking to him, and by the time he faced where y/n was standing, she had already left out the front door.

y/n🤨; srry, u were so immersed in that picture of jake and i as kids, but i rlly wanted to leave. i cant handle being around niki. see u l8r

sunoo😴 ; no worries, have fun, stay safe, and dont take any candy from strangers lol

__________________________________________

y/n drives to her favorite cafe she always used to visit with her brother, mama han's. she sits down at the bar and scrolls deep into her camera roll, coming across some mundane memories of her and riki back when they were close.

"what can i get you, hun?" the waitress, jiwoo, asked with a small grin. she didnt look to be any younger than 40 something now, compared to the last time she visited the spot. jiwoo was always the waitress here, even served the two frequently in their childhood when they visited from australia.

"just a vanilla shake is all. extra whip please."

"sweetie, arent you lactose? it must be pretty bad if you want extra dairy."

"yeah, it is. but, im not comfortable talking about it at the moment if thats alright."

"of course it is. just hope youre doing okay." jiwoo pat y/n on the shoulder, before reaching down to get the ingredients.

"hows your brother? havent seen either one of you in a while."

"hes well, a little hungover, but hes fine."

jiwoo laughed as she poured milk into the blender. "of course. what more to expect from your brother. well, how are you? i realized i didnt really ask."

"im alright. and, do you remember niki?"

"little niki from when you were kids? the one you used to like- oh dear, dont tell me hes the reason as to why youre so down?"

"long story, but yeah. its fine though, ill deal with it. but what about you, whats going on? did you ever pursue your dream as an actress?"

"no, and i regret not going for it. i didnt get to be in stairway to heaven, but shinhye and taehee did though. which is why you need to go for what you want, otherwise you really will regret it." jiwoo advised, adding the cherry on top of the extra whip prior to sliding the glass over to y/n.

"so i should forgive him?"

"if its what you want. though i dont know the backstory, i do know that as long as its something you want then its worth a shot. the worst he can say is no, you know?"

"yeah.. oh and jiwoo, can i get a chocolate shake to go?"

"no problem, just give me 4 minutes. and- oh dont worry about it, put your card away! its on the house."

___________________________________________

y/n heard her phone buzz in the center console as she pulled into an empty parking lot. she turned the engine off the car and pulled out her phone.

sim jaeyun ; Can you come home

Y/n Sim ; can u stop using caps

sim jaeyun ; I don't think it matters but okay

sim jaeyun ; can you stop disappearing whenever you're mad at someone

Y/n Sim ; can you change my name so its not in caps

sim jaeyun ; can you stop changing the topic and just drive back because niki wants to talk to you and i was getting worried

Y/n Sim ; can u change my name

'sim jaeyun' has changed your display name to 'y/n sim'

y/n sim ; i bought u a shake from jiwoos

sim jaeyun ; no you didn't she probably got it to you for free

y/n sim ; cz im her fav sim

sim jaeyun ; im going to tell all the guys about how you pissed yourself at disneyland on splash mountain

y/n sim ; driving home rn

sim jaeyun ; no texting while driving love u

y/n sim ; lyt

she let out a small laugh at her brothers texts. she quickly got out the car, taking some pictures of the sunset for her instagram, and posting it, before driving out as the milkshake was beginning to melt.

niki got the alert y/n had posted and pressed the notification at the top of his screen. he didnt miss how the caption referenced wave to earth as it was always their favorite band to listen to together.

@/05sim_y/nn ; how can my day be bad when im with u? - [9m ago]

liked by @/02sim_ikeuu, @/suniskim, and 99 others - 20 comments

@/rikimura has liked this post ! [now]

___________________________________________

after getting back home and taking a relaxing shower (thanks to everyone leaving 2 hours prior), y/n had continued to keep herself up at night for the past week before deciding it was time to talk to riki.

she pushed her feelings aside, waking up on a random wednesday morning at the crack of dawn then randomly told herself 'ive got to do this, for my brothers sake and our friend group.' (or so she unconvincingly tried to convince herself, but thats already another thing she didnt want to get into at the moment) y/n quickly threw on whatever clothes she could gather laying about the floor, then ran to grab her car keys and hurry out the door.

as soon as she swung the big piece of metal open, she was met with the familiar sight of nishimura riki knowing when hes done wrong, his guilty face, with his hand raised and ready to knock.

"what are you doing here at the ass crack of dawn?"

"what are you doing ready to run out your apartment like its the olympics as the ass crack of dawn?" he responded to her question with a question, with the intent of knowing how much she hated it.

"actually, i was about to leave to see you. i think its time we had a talk. you know, after my.. moment, that i had last week."

"yeah. i know. its not your fault i realize now, or, im telling you that but ive realized it since the moment i lost you. i think-"

niki was interrupted by jake shouting from across the flat, "if youre gonna finally have this talk i think you should go somewhere else! can you leave soon? 'cause my girlfriends gonna come over at like 12!"

"i seriously doubt any place is open for us to be going to at 5:41 in the morning." y/n yelled in response.

"you know well mama han's is open now, and jiwoo works day and night, just go there so i can be alone!" "for 7 hours?"

niki laughed in response as he registered what jake and y/n were arguing over.

"what girlfriend?-" "-talking stage, technically, but he says theyre dating because she accidentally kissed his cheek on their first date when reaching to grab something near him."

"i remember her lips on my skin like it was yesterday, meanwhile you have yet to kiss niki." jake scoffed in english, the words flowing smoothly off his tongue with his accent before walking closer towards where y/n was standing.

"gross. if anything her accidentally very barely brushing her lips against your stupid face is the only action youll ever be getting if you keep trying to get rid of your one and only favorite little sister." y/n muttered in response, slightly ignoring niki muttering about how he thinks y/ns accent sounds cute.

"really?"

and so y/n found herself driving to mama han's cafe with niki after jake called their eldest brother, complaining she should listen to him because shes younger and if she wouldnt listen to jake himself then maybe she would listen to her older-older brother.

"you should listen to your older siblings but jake, if you had someone coming over you shouldve told her in advance. and what are you even gonna do alone for 6 hours??"

after being seated and placing their orders, niki brought back the conversation from earlier that had sort of been killed by jake.

"i get it, youre mad at me, and i shouldve listened to you. i know i fucked up and i know you see it too. i get it if you dont want to forgive me yet, or if you ever even will. but when you decide we could be good, im always here for you."

"why would i be here if i hadnt been prepared to forgive you?"

"huh?"

"i seriously question how dense you are sometimes."

"thanks for believing in me."

"no problem, but seriously. i forgive you. as much as i hate to admit it since i know youll use it against me, but i kinda missed having you around. i mean, you were my first love among other things but you were also one of my first and closest friends. it wont always be the same but im sure if we try enough we can get pretty damn close."

"god have you always been so philosophical?"

the two burst into laughter together, smiling as they took a sip of their milkshakes, reminiscing on the times they had spent together in their earlier high school years. it was moments like these that they has missed the most.

by far the most fun together (said niki), by far the most fun theyve had in a while (said y/n) after having spent the morning together, discussing and going over whats happened in the past few hours before going to pay. "ive got it," niki said, pulling out his card. "its the least i can do."

"thank you for today. i know i was hard on you but i needed this."

"no worries, i think ive owed you for a long time now right?"

"i need to do something in here real quick. you mind waiting in the car?"

"wait are you gonna be okay? i dont wanna leave you here alone."

"im a regular here, i know the people. its fine."

"are you sure?"

"if you go ill let you have the aux."

thats all it took for niki to run straight for the car, rushing to open the door.

y/n laughed as she saw him waving from the passengers seat, before going to talk to jiwoo who was busy wiping down the counters. she took a seat at the bar and felt comfort as jiwoo flashed the same smile she always would throughout y/ns childhood.

"thats a hell of a boy youve got there. special one isnt he?"

"you could say that in the very least. hes definitely special to me though."

"thats the boy you were tellin my sister about? he aint from round here, that right?" an distinct, familiar, voice spoke from the back kitchen.

"auntie jiwon?" y/n questioned in shock.

jiwon is jiwoos sister, she also used to work at the cafe just as much as jiwoo did. had been a favoritre of the customers including the sims themselves before moving to the countryside, only popping up on occasion. jake would call jiwon auntie since she was older and it had also grown on y/n.

"thats my name isnt it?" she chuckled as y/n ran up to hug her.

"wow, i cant believe it. i havent seen you in like, 7 years!"

"been a long time right? well, im just down here for a short while before i gotta go back. just here for a weddin and thought to visit my sister at work."

"thats great auntie, too bad you arent here for longer."

"yeah, well. thats what happens when you get 3 divorces and run out of money, that right jiwoo? but, seriously, whats with that boy of yours? he dont seem to be from here."

"hes not, hes from japan, for the dance academy we all go to."

"that explains a bunch. i always knew youd be a dance. you have quite the physique for it, no?"

jiwoo interrupted jiwon from rambling on the way she always would, quickly seeing y/ns desire to leave as she has other things to tend to.

"alright well, im sure y/n has plenty of things to do as do we, so we all really should be going. its about time for the regulars to start coming in." jiwoo awkwardly laughed as she too seemingly forgot her sisters idiosyncratic personality.

"you dont want to spend time with your auntie jiwon is it? kids nowadays have no sort of respect for their elders. you could drive a preacher to drink!"

y/n awkwardly cleared her throat and put on a smile, frozen in a sort of way as auntie jiwon hadnt seemed to be the same as she was 8 years ago.

"oh im only joking now! go on then, ill just see you in another 8 years." she sighed, overexaggerating the moment.

"its not like youre her real aunt anyway." jiwoo muttered, yet jiwon heard it.

"like your supposed to be? what are you to her anyway?"

"someone whos around of course! i practically raised her and babysitted her on top of running a restaurant with my own children whenever her parents would be in office from dusk till dawn with her brother busy at school with his own life."

"i was there too you know! she would tell me things she never told you."

"she only told you things because you made her! she was scared of you!" jiwoo rolled her eyes at jiwon before quickly gesturing for y/n to go.

"what are you doing- where is she going?" "somewhere where youre not."

as y/n go back into the car, she slightly scared niki in the middle of a game.

"what happened in there? looked kinda tense. never seen the other lady before."

"jiwoos sister. shes kinda crazy and possessive and scary. didnt even know she came back."

"maybe we should go.. shes kinda walking towards the car so i suggest to step on the gas."

"shit- shes what??"

------------------------------------------------------

within the next few months, niki and y/n drew closer to one another like they were before.

it was only a matter of time before their unresolved feelings for one another began to surface, yet they continued to push it down with all their might, not wanting to ruin anything like before.

so here y/n was, watching some random kdrama out of boredom, completely uninterested before she received a text from niki.

nishimura ; help

sim ; with what

nishimura ; baysitinf

sim ; the fuck

nishimura ; hold - my brother just took my phone

sim ; babysitting?

nishimura ; yes pls

nishimura ; jake literally js dropped off ur sister here while my brother was having a hyper thingy

nishimura ; hes just very hyper

nishimura ; send a swat team.

sim ; i dont rlly wanna watch sarang tho😐

nishimura ; BUT ITS UR SISTER??

sim ; yea but she’s a headache i have to deal with that like every weekend

sim ; i gave her to jake so i can have a free day just for her to bounce back to me😒 sim ; i hate guys named jake

nishimura ; thats what u get for abandoning a 5 year old

sim ; then im not helping

nishimura ; that lego set i bought you arrived today

sim ; see u in 20

and so here y/n found herself driving towards nikis apartment, reminding herself to lecture her brother once they both get home.

“good thing you came otherwise i mightve actually killed myself.”

“this better be good, i dropped crash landing on you for this.”

with that, niki stepped aside to point at the kids behind him without breaking eye contact with y/n, not wanting to look inside only to furrow his brows as she tilted her head in confusion.

“is this a joke?” she scoffed.

“what are you talking about?” his jaw dropped once he saw sarang and hiro getting along together just fine, completing some puzzle together. “i swear they werent getting along and hiro was just bouncing off the walls, plus sarang was like having a meltdown about ice cream!”

y/n slightly grinned then spoke, “you look fine. they look more then fine. you don’t need my help. did you just want an excuse to see me?”

“no! i- i mean i kinda wanted to see you but that’s not why- i, ughh!”

y/n held back a small laugh at nikis frustration before she heard the two kids watching them giggle adoringly at their older siblings.

“riki has a girlfriend!” “y/n has a boyfriend!” hiro and sarang exclaimed in excitement.

“im going home.”

“absolutely not.” y/n groaned in annoyance while niki pulled her into the house by grabbing onto her shoulder.

“so.” he awkwardly started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously with the palm of his hand.

“so??”

“about yesterday.”

“what about it.”

“we’re good right?”

“of course we are.” she reassured.

just as niki was able to reply, sarang began to cry loudly, like she saw a monster in her closet or something.

“what happened?”

“i cut myself!” she cried, showing the skin between her fingers. her and hiro had been doing small arts and crafts for the past hour, so she has hurt herself with the scissors.

“just put a bandaid on and ice it.” y/n rolled her eyes, shaking her head while not even bothering to look up from her phone.

“you’re so mean y/n unnie!” sarang pouted before holding her ‘injured’ hand up to nikis face.

“what is this, the school nurse? you gotta be a more helpful sister then that.”

“i am helpful. i asked her what happened then gave her a solution.”

“but you were so mean to her.”

“im teaching her to be tough! our parents were hard on me and my brothers, so we have to be hard on her.”

“but you aren’t your parents. you’re y/n.”

“but what if i don’t want to be just y/n?”

“well, then that’s not something you can control. you’re you whether you like it or not. you gotta learn to accept life as it is. that’s what really being hard on yourself is, and that’s what it does to you.”

niki goes over to sarang to pick her up and carry her over to the kitchen. he sets her on the counter and grabs a pastel flower print bandaid before placing a small kiss onto where he placed the bandaid.

he coos at her lovingly, with him who’d always seen her as his own sister having had watching her grow up since she was born despite her not really remembering much of him.

y/n felt her heart melt as she saw how good he was with her baby sister.

she got up from her seat to go over where they were, wrapping her arms around nikis waist to envelop him with into a warm back hug, pressing her head into the space between his shoulder and neck, letting it rest there.

“mean unnie.” sarang stuck out her tongue at y/n, pushing her face away from niki as she stuck out her tongue back.

“what are you, 5?”

“no but she is.”

niki sighed before pulling away (he really didnt want to but you didnt need to know that) grabbing his car keys, and picking up his brother.

“let’s go for some ice cream.”

so here you were, sitting at the local ice cream parlor together.

niki’s face turned as he watched you absolutely devour those three scoops (scoups) of mint chip.

“i seriously dont see how you could eat that. it tastes like toothpaste.”

“why are you talking when you’re eating plain vanilla.”

“hey, sometimes basic is better!”

“well you don’t have to like mint then. ‘cause me and this kid do!” she jokingly replied, hugging said kid (hiro) while niki and sarang rolled their eyes with their vanilla cones.

“hate to be a bother, but you guys are such a cute little family. youre just like me with my kids when they were still young. and, little girl, you really have your fathers eyes.” an elder women from a table across the parlor smiled, patting y/n and niki on the shoulder as she ignored her husbands remarks “stop disturbing the little couple!”

“do we really look like a family?”

“sort of, if you really think about it.”

“okay but she had to be lying because your eyes look nothing like sarangs.”

“i mean.. if you look closely enough.”

“you aren’t even korean!”

they laughed together, for the first time in a while.

“okay, but on a serious note. what are we? are we friends, lovers, or whatever’s in between?”

“i mean.. I guess for now, in between.”

“please date y/n unnie! shes sooo lonely and boring.” sarang interrupted, tugging on nikis sleeve.

“yeah! and i want more playdates with sarang!” hiro pouted, looking up with puppy eyes at y/n.

niki laughed at the kids’ reactions, before taking y/ns hand into his.

“well, no matter what you decide, let’s see where this takes us. they seem to be up for it anyway.”

“you’re right. alright, fine. but if you fuck this up again, you realize you’re not getting another chance, right?”

“i promise i won’t hurt you again. it already cost me everything last time.”

“glad you’re aware.” she bitterly mumbled.

“so. you will date me then?”

“ill think about it.”

241 notes · View notes

lakesbian · 8 months

Note

what do you think the baby undersiders were like :)

you all might be reading this ask and thinking. Ah yes, this is going to be a post about jean-paul. iota loves jean-paul, possibly to an unreasonable extent. Well jokes on fucking you. ive already posted a lot about jean-paul. this post is going to be about baby brian now. i think about brian more than you guys even remotely know and now we're having Brian Time. lakesbian goes brianmoded.

anyway. in my head brian laborn was a very silent serious little child who always took things too literally. one of those children random adults would call an "old soul" in a complimentary way but all it means is the child has already lost all their joie de vivre at the age of ten. you know how in aisha's interlude when she finds out her mom is pregnant again she hopes the drugs & alcohol result in a miscarry so that some poor third laborn kid doesn't have to deal with All The Bullshit? i don't think brian consciously had that full entire thought when he found out he was going to have a little sibling, but i do think somewhere in his little seven year old mind he reacted with a sort of creeping dread and advance desire to protect his yet-to-be-born sibling more than with any sort of excitement.

i think he was, of course, always the tallest kid in class, and he did not like sticking out like that at all. he got used to it eventually but i think on many an occasion he has imagined picking someone asking him about the weather or basketball up and flattening them hydraulic press style. but also, he always felt very Special and Helpful and Masculine when he had to get things off shelves for women. and he liked when elderly people called him a Polite Young Man for it, and he did not think anything negative about the fact that people were already calling him a Young Man when he was 12 or 13, because he figured he was just supposed to keep being a Polite Young Man. i think one time when he was like 8 his mother's boyfriend ran over a cat on the road even though he didn't have to do that and it made brian so sad he cried and he couldn't stop crying even when he got told to stop fucking crying and he doesnt like to think about that memory very much at all.

i think aisha liked when brian held her a lot as a small child and he was always doing it and he liked giving her rides on his shoulders because it felt like being a responsible fun big brother and then she stopped wanting to do that and started thinking he was lame and he would never admit that he wishes she still wanted to. i am. Always thinking about how when he went to go pick her up on the day he triggered she ran and jumped into his arms. do you think that was the last time he held her? i bet it was. [through tears] i bet it was

#brian laborb.#ask #wormblr #parahumans #worm spoilers #brian posting will continue until brian opinion improves

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danaewrites · 4 months

Text

Helmet Over Heels

part iv: hooked on a feeling

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 5.7k

summary: When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives.

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

this chapter officially marks the beginning of the *main* plot arc. if you’ve stuck with me this far, please accept my endless gratitude and know that things are about to get exponentially more interesting ;)

p.s. if you want faster updates, my ao3 readers usually get new chapters a week earlier than the tumblrinas <3

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

Weeks passed, and you settled into a routine on the Crest with unexpected ease. You split your days between caring for Grogu—which consisted mostly of cooing enthusiastically at his crayon scribbles and soothing his tired cries until he fell asleep—and testing out which recipes garnered the best reactions from his stoic father. On a particularly busy morning, you’d left a tray of rolls in the oven for too long and didn’t notice the smoke until Mando burst through the doorway in a panic. That was definitely a reaction, though not quite the one you’d been hoping for. And a rather expensive one, too, since he’d broken the automatic closing mechanism with the force of his entry.

But your nights… the best of your nights were spent in the passenger seat of the cockpit, eyes tracing an endless path through hyperspace until you drifted off to the sound of breaths under beskar. You’d bought enough blankets in Nevarro to stay comfortable in the leather seat, although you still woke up to find Mando’s cloak draped over you when the icy chill of deep space permeated the ship. On a good night, one where he’d returned quickly from a hunt and had energy to spare on conversation, you’d punctuate the quiet with the occasional question. They ranged from serious—whether he’d been born Mandalorian (no), why his beskar was so important (forging and wearing the sacred metal was an essential part of the Mandalorian Creed)— to absurd.

He’d been rather bemused when you asked him what his favorite flavor of sprinkles was, but you remained stubbornly tethered to your position that questions like those were quite important when judging someone’s character. That was, as long as the interviewee had an actual answer. Apparently, growing up in a hidden Mandalorian covert limited one’s interaction with dessert toppings.

And to your surprise, he returned the gesture. You’d stumbled into the cockpit late one night, wide–eyed and restless. Grogu had been particularly fussy that day, and you’d assumed that the exhausting effort you put in would shuttle you straight to dreamland. Instead, you found yourself tossing and turning for hours in the soft nest of blankets Mando had previously arranged into a makeshift bed for you. So you’d quietly climbed out of the hull, hoping to find some rest under the stars—or at least allow their muted glow to numb your racing thoughts.

He’d silently acknowledged your arrival by unclasping his cloak and tossing it onto your lap. You’d mumbled a soft “thank you,” simultaneously embarrassed that he knew you preferred it to a blanket and pleased at the attentive gesture. At least he didn’t know why you liked the charcoal fabric so much, you reasoned. Your hand found the button that released the backrest, and you exhaled softly as your torso dipped backwards with the seat. You curled up underneath the cloak, letting its heavy weight slowly subdue your tense muscles into a more comfortable position.

“I never thanked you for what you did at the cantina.” Mando’s baritone broke through the quiet, low and soothing.

You blinked, gaze traveling from the shooting stars above you to his silver outline in the pilot’s seat. “You don’t need to,” you insisted, but his posture remained stiffly tense.

“I was out of vambrace fuel that day,” he admitted. “Without the alcohol, I wouldn’t have been able to use the flamethrower. And my blaster charges were… limited.” He was silent for several long moments, then spoke roughly. “Without you, I—wouldn’t have made it back to the kid for a while.”

Your heart softened at the way he clearly struggled to get out the words. “You would have figured it out,” you murmured, the sides of your mouth curving up into a small smile. “I mean, my next step was to start chucking spotchka bottles at their scaly faces. I’m sure Mandalorians are trained to use more complex fighting moves.”

At that, he released a wry, surprised huff of a laugh that warmed the atmosphere of the small cockpit and set butterflies alight in your stomach. You scrunched your face up and yawned, choosing to ignore that particular feeling. Slowly, the comfortable silence relaxed you into a peaceful, half–drowsy state. Minutes ticked by in the blur of hyperspace, and then—

“Have you always lived on Nath?”

You glanced over, surprised that he was still initiating conversation. “No, I’m from Odala,” you spoke softly, the word dropping off your tongue like a bittersweet hymn. You watched his gloved hands pause their track across the control panel, his silver helmet tilting ever–so–slightly towards you.

“Odala,” he repeated. “Isn’t that planet—”

“Destroyed?” You sucked in a breath, wincing as memories rushing through your brain in a flood of sudden pain. “Yeah. By the glory of Imperial superlasers, as if the plague the soldiers brought wasn’t devastating enough.” You looked down at your hands, embarrassed by the sarcastic outburst.

“I just miss it. So much,” you spoke, half–whispering the words. “My family had a workshop there—we crafted music boxes, radios, metal instruments. Four generations of art, wiped out in an instant.”

Mando remained silent, but his posture was attentive—a quiet invitation to continue.

“I tried to help as much as I could when it all fell apart. Working in the med tents, sending tools from our shop to the rebels. None of it was enough. My mother sold her wedding ring to get me passage on the last cargo freighter to Corellia, a day before the bombing started.”

You sniffed, trying desperately to regain control of the floodgates that threatened to spill over from behind your eyelids. “I had cousins, as close as siblings, and I just—left them all behind. Didn’t even make it to Corellia before the pilot kicked me off the ship.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His tone was gentle, but the words were firm. You started to shake your head, but he stopped you, turning fully to face you.

“You did everything you could. Your family would be proud that you survived.”

At that, your face crumpled. You pressed it into the cloak to hide the silent tears that streaked down your cheeks at his words, saltwater soured by years of pent–up feeling. You never thought you’d reveal those parts of your past to anyone, let alone a man whose face you’d never seen. Somehow, though, his quiet presence grounded you, allowing the waves of your grief to wash over you and slowly recede with your pain.

You finally looked up to see Mando’s head bowed, his deep baritone echoing an unfamiliar language. “O’r ibic aay’han, ni partaylir gar.”

“What does that mean?” You asked softly, hands twisting the cloak in your lap.

He straightened, helmet tilting towards you. “In this time of mourning, I remember you,” he repeated, voice stronger but still reverent. “It is how Mandalorians honor the warriors who have gone before us.”

“This is the Way,” you whispered, and he made a small noise of surprise in the back of throat before affirming your statement.

“This is the Way.”

***

You touched down on Vati in the early hours of the morning, stirred from dreamless sleep by the gentle thump of the Crest hitting the terrain. When you opened your eyes, Mando was gone, but the unmistakable sound of the boarding ramp unlatching echoed up to the cockpit. Curiosity fueled your careful movements as you climbed down into the hull. When you finally stepped out of the ship onto unfamiliar, bluish dirt, your eyes widened with dazed surprise at the sight before you.

Giant, puffy clouds hovered low in the purple–tinged sky, low enough that it felt like you could touch them if you stood on top of the Crest. The land that stretched out before you was barren of trees, dotted instead with thick bushes and tall grasses that waved in the cool morning wind. And to your right—twin suns peeked out from the horizon, piercing the clouds with dazzling beams of pink and orange.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured with awe, head tipping back as you took in the wide, brilliant expanse of the sky.

“Mesh’la.” You whirled around to see Mando standing behind you, helmet turning from the majestic landscape towards you. Your confusion at the unfamiliar phrase must have been painted across your face, as plain as the wisteria stripes on the bush next to you. He coughed self-consciously, then muttered, “That’s—it means beautiful, in Mando’a.”

Your face lit up with understanding, and you slowly repeated the word. Your pronunciation was nowhere near the way it’d rolled off his tongue, somehow sounding both fierce and tender, but he nodded.

“Quick learner,” he hummed approvingly, and stars, now was absolutely not the time for that feeling curling up in your belly to appear at his praise.

You placed your hands on your hips, turning around before your flushed face could betray you. An idea sparked to life in your mind as you surveyed the majestic landscape. You bent down and snapped a twig off of a bush near your feet, bringing it up to your face. You rolled it around in your palm for a moment, testing for moisture. When none revealed itself, you shot a bright grin at Mando over your shoulder.

“Want to try something fun?”

Twenty minutes later, you had a fire crackling and a scuffed pan suspended over it on a makeshift tripod. You handed Grogu a pile of branches, showing him how to select the ones that would make the best fuel and carefully toss them into the fire. It was a work in progress; he wasn’t as interested in the twigs as he was the ruby flames, and you had to keep snatching him back before his tiny green hands could get burned. You’d assigned Mando the job of stirring the batter—a surprise, you’d told him. You weren’t sure whether he was the sort of man who’d be too macho to eat something you’d named Pancake Sprinklesplosion as a child, so you figured the mystery might be a good idea.

When you’d finished flipping the blue bantha–milk pancakes over the fire, you set a towering stack next to the three precious sprinkle jars you’d bought in Nevarro. You fixed the beskar–clad warrior with an expectant beam, pointing to each of the containers in quick succession.

“Chocolate. Caramel. Rainbow. The three pillars of dessert decoration,” you explained, clasping your hands together with a determined gleam in your eyes. “Prepare for your shiny mind to be blown, metal man.”

Mando’s helmet tilted slowly towards the jars, then back up at you. “Am I… supposed to eat them?”

You gaped at him, seriously considering whether you needed to check him for a concussion. The armored man seemed to pick up on your train of thought and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It’s just the, uh,” he gestured to his helmet. Your eyes widened again, this time in embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot! I can…go inside, if you want? With the kid?”

Mando hesitated for a few long moments, then shook his head. “No, just—turn around. I’ll do the same.”

You bit your lip nervously, thinking of all the ways you could mess this up. Kriff, what if the kid twisted around before you could stop him—

“I trust you,” he added, interrupting your panicked train of thought. The sincerity of his tone was enough to settle your nerves into firm determination. Not on your life would you do anything to break his Creed.

You sighed. “Alright, then.”

You turned around, bending down to strap the kid into his floating crib and sit down on a nearby log with your own plate. You heard shuffling, the melodic clinking of beskar on beskar, and then—a pressurized hiss that made your heart skip a beat. You kept your eyes trained on your pancakes, only glancing to the side to make sure that Grogu hadn’t climbed out of his pod to go looking for amphibious snacks. You didn’t plan on moving from his view for a moment. If the green child thought he had a chance to waddle away on a frog hunt, he’d take it, consequences be damned.

A few minutes passed, and the silence became suffocating. You cleared your throat nervously.

“Mando? Are you… okay back there?”

“It’s been a while since I saw the sky like this.” He confessed, and stars. Without his modulator, his baritone was richer, deeper—somehow more warm than you’d imagined. You choked on a bite of your pancake. Apparently, your body was either going to make you acknowledge your not–so–little crush or asphyxiate trying.

“Take your time,” you gasped out, trying not to alert him to the fact that you were currently losing oxygen from the effect he had on you. Kriff, this was embarrassing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You thought you’d get over your initial attraction once you became more familiar with him, once you’d knocked him off that shiny silver pedestal in your mind. Yet somehow, the closer you grew to the man, the more you felt a breathless tug in your stomach at his presence. You watched him: interacting gently with Grogu, piloting the ship with an air of assured control, even sacrificing a much–needed storage closet so you’d have a place to rest outside of the cockpit.

You felt... Safe. Protected, for the first time in your life. It made your heart ache with a strange mix of yearning and contentment, as if having everything you’d ever dreamed of had only encouraged you to search for more.

To your relief, he didn’t seem to notice your internal distress, and you heard the familiar scrape of cutlery against his plate after a few minutes. You settled into a more comfortable position against the log, your head tipping back to watch strange, elongated birds swirl against the painted canvas of the sky. You were lucky to have landed on Vati at the break of dawn—its twin suns would produce an almost unbearable heat during the peak of the afternoon, but the way their soft warmth kissed your skin right now was exactly what you needed. You closed your eyes, letting your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the wind that ruffled the tall grasses. How long had it been since you’d had the chance to just breathe? Life on Nath had been cold and chaotic, but now you felt at peace—ready for whatever adventure the ship might take you to next.

Grogu’s stomach suddenly gurgled loudly. You glanced over to see that he had somehow gotten ahold of your remaining pancakes, those big, dark eyes staring guiltily at you as he gulped down the last of your breakfast. You sighed as he suddenly looked uncomfortable, his wrinkled face scrunching up in an expression you’d seen very, very often in the last few weeks. Apparently, that next adventure would be changing diapers.

“Not to rush you, metal man, but I think the kid’s going to need the ‘fresher soon,” you called out behind you.

Your armored companion grunted in acknowledgement, and you heard him stand up behind you. You waited patiently, covering your vision with both hands until you felt him gently tap your shoulder. Your eyes flew open at the touch, and you found the Mandalorian standing in front of you—helmet back in place, as if it had never been moved. You wondered if it was hard for him to put it back on. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, since he’d been wearing it for most of his life. But something about the way the beskar settled on his shoulders now just seemed… heavier.

Your gaze trailed down to where his empty plate and the sprinkle jars sat, the latter looking significantly lighter than they were when you’d handed them to him. You gave a delighted wolf–whistle when you noticed how the container with chocolate sprinkles was barely half full.

“Who would’ve guessed that the big, scary Mandalorian has a sweet tooth,” you teased, grinning up at his broad figure. “Stars, at this rate you might get a stomach ache worse than the kid’s!”

He shrugged in a cocky motion that had no right to be as endearing as it was. You wiped your hands on the faded overalls you’d bought in Nevarro, bending to pick up Grogu before he could make himself sick with more food. You wrinkled your nose when the mischievous green child burped—how the kriff did he make those so nostril–burning? Clearly, his cuteness was a necessary evolutionary mechanism, because no one in their right mind would volunteer to wipe his wrinkly butt for fifty years straight otherwise.

“Okay, that’s my cue to take this guy inside.” You sighed, surveying the messy remains of your picnic. “Sorry, I’ll be right back to get this packed up—”

Mando interrupted you, shaking his head. “I’ll take care of it. You have enough to handle already,” he insisted, gesturing at the squirming child in your arms.

He gently nudged you aside and began picking up the dishware that had somehow gotten scattered across the sandy terrain. Your heart warmed at the sweet, unexpectedly domestic action, and you shot him a grateful smile. As you made your way up the boarding ramp, you heard Mando swear under his breath. Then, louder, he called out your name.

“Don’t let him near the cockpit—he puked blue cookies all over it last time, made a hell of a mess to clean up—”

You looked down at the pouty child in your arms suspiciously. “Bantha milk doesn’t go down too well for you, huh?” You turned back to his armored father, an angelic expression on your face as you shifted the kid to your other hip. “Sorry, I can't hear you!” You sang out, sweet as a sprinkle. “Leave him in the pilot’s seat unattended? Sounds great to me,” you beamed, whirling on your heel.

The sound of Mando’s exasperated groan of laughter echoed your steps all the way back into the hull.

***

Somehow, without realizing it, you’d started singing again.

The girl you’d been before the war—the one who’d so loved the ballads the elders cried out during festivals, each note a fragmented burst of joy—she was slowly thawing, emerging from the icy burial you’d unceremoniously given her on Nath. A soft melody while you showered, an old Odalian lullaby when you tucked Grogu into his hammock… your whirlwind infatuation with music was beginning to sweep you off your feet once again, almost frightening you with how intensely it begged to be acknowledged.

Like all good things in your life these days, it was Mando’s fault.

You’d been laying on the floor, Grogu blowing raspberries at a nearby sparking wire for your entertainment, when he descended from the cockpit with a mysterious bag in hand. You watched him unfold a panel from the ship’s wall to reveal a surprisingly well–crafted workbench. When he’d started to peel off his beskar chestplate, your hands flew to cover your eyes in a panic. You tried to reach out blindly to cover Grogu’s vision, too, but yelped when your hand hit a sharp corner of the hull instead.

“Son of a porg–kissing nerf herder,” you groaned, rubbing the sore spot. You kept your eyes scrunched tightly shut as heavy boots stepped closer to you, then paused.

“What are you doing?” Your shiny companion sounded completely baffled by your antics. You winced, wishing that you had a Mandalorian etiquette book handy—a thought that had recurred in your thoughts more frequently as of late.

“Am I… allowed to look? When you take off your armor?”

You couldn’t see his expression, but you would bet good credits that his eyebrows were raised behind that silver helmet. “Yes. It is the revealing of our faces that goes against the Creed.”

“Oh,” you muttered, face red as a Tatooine sunset. You dusted yourself off and stood up awkwardly, trying to regain a bit of dignity as Mando resumed his careful disrobing of the beskar.

After a few moments, he added, “It’ll be your fault if his first word is ‘kriff’, you know.” His tone was deceptively even, but you sensed the undercurrent of amusement that ran through it.

You shot him a look. “Says you, Mister ‘Dank Ferrik’. At least if this career path doesn’t work out, I can always go be a pirate,” you sniffed. You picked up a fine red cloth that he’d set on the edge of the workbench, curiosity overtaking your embarrassment. “What’s this used for?”

He wordlessly motioned for you to place the unusual fabric in his hand, and you obeyed. You watched as he spun the cloth in an unfamiliar, geometric pattern across the metal of his chestplate, leaving a polished silver trail in its wake. The side of your mouth curved up. “So that’s why you never looked scuffed up when you came into the cantina.”

He nodded, then walked over to the other end of the hull. You watched his retreating form begin to sort through the supplies in the armory for a moment before your attention was drawn back to the beskar. It shimmered a strange color in the light, like the reflection of the fuel puddles that dripped beneath the Crest. You extended a tentative fingertip and gently flicked the silvery metal, eyes widening when it vibrated with a melodic echo. You hummed softly, trying to replicate its pitch.

Suddenly, an idea struck you. You glanced over at Mando—he was still working, seemingly consumed by the arduous task of reloading his ammo. You carefully picked up his pauldron and tapped it against the side of the chestplate. A clear, proud note rang out, albeit much louder than you’d expected. Your face broke into a delighted smile at the sound, reminded of the wind chimes your mother had hung above your cottage door.

“Having fun?”

You startled, turning around to see the tall man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, observing your little experiment. Your face heated as he pushed off the hull and walked towards you. He nodded at the glimmering plate in your hands.

“You are not the first to appreciate the sound of beskar. It is traditional for each Mandalorian clan to have a warrior who plays the bes’bev, the sacred war–flute.”

You peered up at him curiously. “I thought beskar was only to be forged into weapons or armor.”

He tilted his helmet in acknowledgement. “Yes. The end of the bes’bev is sharpened to double as a long knife.”

You carefully set his pauldron down on the cloth with a thoughtful hum. Stars, your grandfather would have been instantly inspired by the musical weapon. The workshop would’ve been full of prototypes within a few days at most, a meticulously crafted instrument in your hands within the week. It had been too long since you’d so much as whispered a tune, you realized with a start. Perhaps it was time to start reconnecting with your once–beloved hobby.

Suddenly, your ears perked up with apprehension. The ship was quiet. Too quiet. You scanned the area, a feeling of dread creeping up on you as you realized what was missing—

The room suddenly lurched, sending you flying into the side of the hull. Your hands grasped for purchase on the edge of the workbench, but just as you were about to pull yourself up, the ship spun again and your ankle twisted beneath you with a violent snap. You gritted your teeth, trying your best to ignore the sudden shoot of pain up your leg.

“The kid,” you breathed, Mando seemingly coming to the same realization. He swore loudly and fumbled his way to the ladder, narrowly avoiding slamming into the workbench. You slid across the floor, hoisting yourself up onto the ladder after him with a wince. When you finally entered the cockpit, he’d already crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching Grogu up from the control panel. But the damage had already been done—the ship shuddered once, twice, then abruptly dropped out of hyperspace with a dull roar. Mando tossed the misbehaving green child to you, and you quickly buckled him into his seat with a stern look.

“What’d he do?” You called out from the back of the cockpit, frantically trying to make sense of the flashing lights near the door.

“Don’t know,” he yelled back, voice barely audible over the sound of the sputtering engine. “Damn it—asteroid field coming up, get ready—”

You paled, whipping around so fast you might have broken something in your neck. “Did you just say asteroid field?”

But it was too late for him to respond, as the intimidatingly large space rocks spun closer and closer to the Crest’s glass panelling. You scrambled to strap yourself into the second passenger seat as Mando skillfully piloted the ship through the dangerous patch of space. You didn’t understand how he did it—it was like he knew where an asteroid would appear before it even flickered on the radar screen. He’d grown quiet, gloved hands moving smoothly across the controls like he was locked in a dance with the machinery.

Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn’t predict every meteorite. You breathed a sigh of relief when a burnt–sienna planet came into view, signaling what you assumed was the end of the asteroid field. But right when you had started to relax back into your seat, a fragment of rock broke off from a passing meteorite and slammed into the side of the Crest, sending it spinning on its side through the field. A gasp escaped your mouth at the impact, your arm reaching out to hold onto Grogu as the ship hung upside–down.

“New plan,” Mando muttered, flicking a series of switches on the transmitter. A squeaky voice crackled to life over the comm. “You have entered airspace under control of the Mos Eisley Spaceport. Please state your reason for—”

“Engine failure, requesting immediate emergency landing,” he interrupted, doing his best to balance the ship as it hurtled towards the surface of the planet.

The voice paused, then continued, sounding more annoyed this time. “Request denied until further information has been given—”

Mando scoffed in frustration, punching the button to end the transmission. He guided the shaking ship through Tatooine’s heated atmosphere, just barely regaining control of it before it crashed into the open hangar. You waited for him to carefully stand up before rushing over to Grogu, checking the small green baby for any injuries. Seeing none, you gathered him up into your arms with relief, but not before sending him a look that promised a very serious scolding in the near future.

You followed Mando down the ladder, but you couldn’t contain a tiny whimper of pain when your injured ankle hit the rungs. You closed your eyes, steeling yourself against the throbbing feeling, and slowly continued your downward climb. When you reached the ground, you found Mando staring at you. Oops.

You shot him a bright smile, praying that he’d buy your cheerful act until you had time to fix your injury on your own. You thought he might have been about to say something—but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the boarding ramp hissing open, clouds of steam obscuring the entrance to the hull. He immediately stepped in front of you and the kid, hand poised on his blaster. When the dust settled, a short figure with wild, curly hair appeared, soot-covered hands reaching up to pop off dusty welding goggles. The woman gave an impressed whistle at the sight of Mando, spreading her hands wide.

“Phew, what an entrance!”

***

Peli Motto was not someone who lacked personality. She kept up an incessant stream of chatter as you subtly limped into the hangar, commenting on everything from the smoke pouring out of the Crest’s left engine to the ineffectiveness of her droids. She’d eagerly stretched out her hands to hold Grogu when you first stepped off the ship—a request that made you nervously look to Mando for approval before granting it. She was certainly one of the odder characters you’d met so far in your travels, but she seemed to hold genuine care for the kid beneath all that boisterous energy, and that was good enough for you.

“I gotta say, Mando, when I saw your ship crash into my hangar, I thought there was a good chance you’d died trying to pilot the damn thing.” She shook her head incredulously. “Musta been quite the asteroid field,” she muttered as she surveyed the damage to the ship.

“How much will the repairs cost?”

She made an exaggerated walk around the outside of the ship’s hull. “Hmm.. the wiring here’s toast, the engine repair’ll cost me a few good tools, and—kriff, it’s not even legal to fly with a stabilizer this outdated!” She paused, giving the Crest a final once-over. “Seven hundred credits.”

Mando scoffed. “Seven hundred? Even a Jawa wouldn’t charge that much.”

Peli shrugged, unbothered. “Take it or leave it. No discounts, even for cute little womp rats like this one,” she spoke, ruffling the wiry hairs on the kid’s head.

Mando grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly dropped the money into Peli’s eager hands. He turned to head back up the boarding ramp, but she stopped him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going? My droids need to work on that overnight, unless you wanna pay for an extended stay,” she exclaimed.

Mando crossed his arms. “And we need to sleep overnight. I’m not making them—” he jerked a gloved hand towards you and the kid—“stay outside in the hangar.”

Peli brushed aside his annoyed tone with a wave of her hand. “Ah, I have a spare room in the back. A bit dusty, but I suppose you can use it.” She shrugged.

“There’s only one bed, but I assume that won’t be a problem, considering…” she waggled her eyebrows at the two of you, and your face heated at the assumption.

“We’re not—” you started, unintentionally speaking in unison with Mando. You glanced over to the tall man, making awkward eye contact for several long seconds before he sighed and turned back to Peli.

“Fine. But I’m not handing over another bag of credits,” he warned. The smaller woman rolled her eyes, but acquiesced.

You made your way to the tiny room, slumping against the speckled wall with exhaustion. You bent down and inspected your ankle, wincing, as you tried to remember where you’d stored the last of the bacta spray. First the scrape on your cheek from the Tradoshan’s claws, and now this—apparently, you really couldn’t catch a break when it came to needing medical attention.

You heard a sudden noise and turned, only to see Mando paused in the doorway—his gaze trained on the bruise already forming on your ankle. Kriff.

“You’re injured,” he stated, his deep baritone sounding strangely frustrated.

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle (a lie—it hurt worse than the time you’d accidentally pressed your palm onto the hot cantina stove), but he’d already left. He returned before you had the chance to question his disappearance, carrying a scratched black case under one beskar-clad arm.

“Sit on the bed.” His tone brokered no room for argument. You gingerly limped over to the old mattress, fighting back a sneeze when dust puffed up from the sheets. Mando clicked open the medkit and began sorting through the supplies.

“I can do it,” you spoke softly, but he tugged the case away from your outstretched hand.

“I know.” He found a small packet of bacta gel and motioned for you to hold out your ankle, carefully dabbing the tincture onto your aching skin with a cotton pad.

Minutes passed as you waited for the cool gel to dry. The silence became suffocating—the armored man seemed angry about something, and you hoped to Maker that it wasn’t you.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke suddenly. Your eyes widened. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, that wasn’t anywhere on the list. You had a feeling that his apologies were rarer than the beskar he wore, especially when they were spoken with this much sincerity.

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt—at the cantina, or back on the ship. I… understand, if you feel that this is too much to handle.” He crouched down, wrapping a rolled-up bandage around your ankle.

You shook your head incredulously. “It was my fault that Grogu was left unsupervised,” you began. “It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. If anything, you’d have every right to kick me out after today,” you muttered.

At that, his helmet snapped up to meet your gaze. He sounded almost offended. “I wouldn’t just drop you off at the nearest outpost,” he scoffed.

You blinked, feeling rather exposed. Somehow, he’d guessed the thing you were most terrified of happening on the first try. “Well, then I’m not leaving,” you replied. Your mouth curved up in a tiny smile, and you tried for some humor. “The kid’ll have to work harder if he wants to get rid of me, anyway.”

Just then, the door swung open. Peli stepped inside, cooing at a drowsy Grogu in her arms.

“Hey, the little womp rat looks ready to go nighty–night!”

She paused, taking in your position—Mando’s hand on your ankle, you smiling down at him from your seat on the bed. You flushed bright red as you realized exactly what it looked like.

Peli’s eyebrows raised as she eyed the two of you. “On second thought, he and I will just spend some bonding time together instead.”

Mando shot to his feet. “That won’t be necessary,” he began, but Peli was already halfway out of the room.

“Don’t forget to name the next one after me!” She called out, shooting you a wink over her shoulder as she slammed the door shut.

You both stayed frozen in place for a moment after the curly–haired woman’s departure. Eventually, Mando cleared his throat.

“You take the bed. I’ll, ah…” he gestured awkwardly to the pile of throw pillows and scratchy blankets on the floor. You didn’t have it in you to argue, nodding mutely and desperately trying to avoid eye contact. He walked stiffly across the room to the light switch, cloaking the room in a blissful darkness that hid the crimson splotches of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You buried your face in your hands, praying that whatever deity was listening would take you now before you had to face Peli again in the morning.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @aheadfullofsteverogers @dindjarinsmut @orcasoul @maellem @pigeonmama

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read on: part v coming soon!

p.s. @djarins-cyare thanks for the extra motivation to build on my sprinkles idea!! your 'sweet' comment totally made my day and inspired a couple hundred extra words about the Pancake Sprinklesplosion TM <333

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