#and by it i mean the quiet breakdown over their exchange

[michyeosseo]

Until when can you live a life of night-traveling?  – It is not your fault, Head Merchant.

Honey Lee and Yoon Sa Bong as JO YEO-HWA & JANG SO-WOON

KNIGHT FLOWER (2024) 1.01

#kdramaladies #kdramaedit #kdrama #knight flower #honey lee #yoon sa bong #밤에 피는 꽃 #a whole month passed between first watch and gifs; i think i held it in quite well #and by it i mean the quiet breakdown over their exchange #sowoon unni's heartfelt offer of all that she has as if that sum would match the price of her savior's freedom #then yeohwa's tenacity to live aside she is convinced death is the only path she'll stop being caged in that identity #she prepared tea to comfort her from the scolding and yet it was lacking *dissolves into tears* #i love the directness of the 12ep run but why was time not made for their (meet cute) flashbacks @ mbc

[fernlessbastard]

okk love your blog, so I rlly wanted to send an ask even if its nothing too especific ;-;

soo, since u like tntduo (like me :]) whats your favorite hc for their relationship? I love hearing about hc's, and since your art its so cute, u probs have some cool hc's

Thank youuuuu I appreciate it so much, and by all means flood me with asks! Asks are great, I love asks, be it random thoughts, art ideas, opinions, etc etc, asks are always welcome (unless they're from the 🥝 anon 🙄🙄🙄 /j/loving)

And a favourite headcanon? Hm, i don't know, hard to say. I have multiple headcanons, idk if I favour any in particular

There's one where after revival Wilbur's body is kinda fucked up in the nerves and blood vessels department, so he has some trouble with kinda controlling it, which particularly expresses itself in his hands being unsteady. They're so unsteady, that the first time he picks up a guitar again he can't play right. He blows up over it and has a breakdown, and vows to never play again. He still ends up trying a couple times, but each time he just immediately gets pissed off and upset, and tosses it away. It really breaks him. At some point he's at Quackity's place, and he sees a guitar. He looks at it for a while, but doesn't say anything, of which Quackity makes note. Next time they meet up Wilbur shits on Quackity for not having touched it recently, so Quackity takes it as a challenge. Once the music starts, Wil goes quiet. He's sitting to the side of Q, slightly behind him, and after a while for just a moment he leans against his upper back, and closes his eyes, simply l taking the moment in. This situation repeats, a couple times, and each time Wilbur lets himself relax a bit longer. He starts playing with Quackity's hair as he listens, and one time he l begins trying to braid it. His hands are shaking, he's struggling to divide the thick hair into even parts, he's having trouble keeping the braid even, but what's crucial is that he does it. Next time it repeats. And next time too. And the next, and eventually the braids start to look actually pretty decent. Time passes, they meet up more often, and eventually comes a day when Wilbur takes the guitar. No words are exchanged. No ridicule, but no praise either - no verbal acknowledgement. Instead Quackity just sits slightly behind him, and begins gently braiding his hair. The notes are wonky and don't always sound quite right, and the rhythm is messy, and strumming only goes well sometimes, but he's playing...

Quackity kisses Wilbur's head, right above the new braid. He leans in, partially hugging him, as the other's playing. It's been a bit over a year since he started playing again, and the difference is big. Neither knows if he'll ever fully regain the control and steadiness of his hands, but he manages to keep the rhythm, and the notes now ring out clear a big majority of the time. He plays quicker songs too, now; sometimes they both sing, and laugh when they mix something up. Quackity smiles, closing his eyes as Wilbur once again butchers a random song by changing up the words completely to make it as on the nose as humanly possible. He begins to wonder what they should eat tomorrow for their anniversary breakfast.

#it ties into another hc where I'd say they don't really focus on things like valentine's day or anniversary etc #they obviously still celebrate but they just do it however they want and don't care about whether it's “grand enough” #Quackity's had more than enough relationships where those specific dates would be all there was to the relationship #so instead they just focus on showing each other love on the daily and celebrating however they want whenever they want #but that's more loose cause again they still love celebrating but it's just not performative the way it was in Q's previous relationships #ask #asks #ask fern #tntduo #dsmp #tnt duo #wilbur soot #quackity #quackbur #dream smp #tntblr #writing #fernless writing #c!tnt duo #c!tntduo #c!wilbur #c!quackity #c!quackbur #c!wilbur soot #fernless bastard #hurt/comfort #quackbur headcanons

[thursdayygrrrl]

from the sidelines

⌦ .｡.:*♡

characters: natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff (wandanat)

genre: fluff, slight angst

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood & guns, breakdowns/crying

summary: When Wanda comes into Natasha’s life, she gives the widow something to lose.

word count: 3,859

a/n: this is my first time writing for nat/something nat-centric and, technically, wandanat too! this was inspired by sidelines by phoebe bridgers because i think that song is suuuuper underappreciated and that it was a good fit for them (lyrics are in bold and italics). it’s been a while since i last wrote anything for fun and not for uni, so please be kind. i also don’t know much about gardening so some of the language might not be accurate. you can read it on ao3 (here) or under the cut. i hope you enjoy :>

I’m not afraid of anything at all

If there was one thing constant about Natasha, it was the lack of fear. It wasn’t inherent, but was a habit developed essential for her survival. She learned that pretty quickly. One moment of hesitance, no matter how short, could mean life or death. 

There were other times she felt brave without risking her life though. Like when she first dyed her hair. She chose the color blue because it reminded her of the sky. The horizon always looked limitless, a reminder that there could be more to life than what she had already experienced. She remembers making that choice and following through with it. It made her feel in control of something, amidst all the other things she had no power over.

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

‘Cause nothing ever shakes me, nothing makes me cry

Not a plane going down in the ocean and drowning

One of her most vivid memories is flying the plane with Melina. The night was normal at first. She was playing tag with her younger sister until she fell and hurt her knee. Then, they watched the fireflies and went inside to help with dinner. Alexei arrived and they started eating. It all felt so nice, so normal until he said they were going on a big adventure. Her appetite disappeared. Yelena was excited, oblivious to what it actually meant. She didn’t have the heart or the chance to tell her.

The drive out was tense and quiet, save for American Pie playing in the background. She watched the scenes change outside her window from the suburbs to highways. They had to move fast, but she felt sluggish, overwhelmed with everything going on. She remembers holding on to a photobooth strip of her and Yelena before finally running to get on the plane after being urged by Alexei. The sound of sirens and the whirring of engines, her heartbeat hammering in her chest, filled her ears. Gunshots started sounding off. One hit Melina’s shoulder.

“I need you up here,” She said through gritted teeth. Natasha clambered beside her. 

She was wincing in pain while giving instructions to pull right. 

“Mom, you’ve got blood on you,” Her voice came out strangled, and that tight feeling came along with tears forming in her eyes. She didn’t cry often but she knew she hated the physiological sensations that came with it.

“It’s okay, baby.” Two more cars directly in front of them appeared in the distance. “Hit the accelerator there.”

She did as she was told, speeding the plane up. She faltered when a few more shots were fired at them.

“Hold it steady, hold it steady.” More shots, the headlights ahead were blindingly bright. “You’re gonna pull back at 55 knots.” They started counting in unison. Alexei popped one of the cars’ tires with a bullet, causing them to crash into each other.

“Pull back, you can do it! Pull back, all your strength...” Part of the plane grazes with the bottom of the now-upturned car. But they were finally off the ground. Flying. A sense of relief washes over her.

Considering the past few hours, the rest of the flight went smoothly. They landed somewhere remote, it felt like the middle of nowhere. Alexei carried Melina to a stretcher held by some soldiers she and Yelena ran after. After a short exchange of words with the older woman, she remembers wrangling a gun from someone, unwanted tears threatening to fall from her eyes again, and Yelena’s small form hiding behind her.

“I don’t wanna go back there.”

A needle was buried deep into her neck. She was then thrown into a shipping container with other girls. Masked people were pointing rifles at them, shouting and violently wrenching Yelena from her hold. There was a man, he knelt to meet her eyes. Rough and calloused hands held her face. 

“The Red Room is your home now.”

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

Watched the world from the sidelines

Had nothing to prove

Natasha had just started getting used to being “normal,” just another child in midwestern America. She was going to school, being around other kids, having a family until it was all ripped away. Even though it was all a lie, she couldn’t say it wasn’t important to her.

Being back in the Red Room was a regimented, isolating existence. No one was able to speak to each other for long. Schedules were planned down to the minute. Excruciating physical training, including hand-to-hand combat, ballet, acrobatics, and weapons training, pushed them to their limits, sometimes even beyond. 

The mutilation, both psychological and physical, was the worst of all. They broke down each girl’s hope and willpower if any were even left. They were treated like objects, mere faceless weapons they could manipulate as a means to an evil end. The ones who survived were considered lucky, the prime of their batches, and given an operation. They called it “graduation,” but everyone knew what that meant.

At some point, she was able to get out. Her time with the KGB, then in S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers was filled with twists and turns. It was a lot of battles, moral disputes, and political agendas. There was even a time when she had to expose her own seedy past, much to her discomfort, but it was for the greater good. She didn’t mind as long as it was for the well-being of others.

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

‘Til you came into my life

Gave me something to lose

Now that she thinks of it, the first time she interacted with Wanda was horrible. The witch inflicted a vision, memories that she was trying to bury and leave behind, when she was weakened and vulnerable. There were snippets of a conversation with Madame B. The graduation ceremony. It made her feel like a monster all over again.

The next time they interacted was in the Battle of Sokovia. She remembers regrouping with Steve, but not expecting the very same witch to make an appearance. Despite all the chaos, the jacket she wore looked familiar.

“Is that my jacket?” Natasha gestured at the younger woman, frowning slightly.

“She’s with us,” Steve said.

“That still doesn’t explain the jacket.” 

Natasha was persistent. She didn’t shop for clothes often, never dressing up unless she wanted or had to, so this red jacket was special. It was one of the first few things she bought for herself. Wanda, now awkward and unsure of what to do, ran off. The rest of the battle felt like a blur of robots and rubble.

Since then, Wanda joined the Avengers. The younger woman mostly kept to herself when not on missions, watching sitcoms in her room. Vision would talk to her sometimes. Other times, the widow herself would do so. Natasha understood she needed space and time to cope with everything she’d been through but didn’t want to leave her fully isolated. 

Their conversations, if you could even call them that, were awkward at first. Natasha would ramble on about whatever, trying to fill the silence.

“There’s breakfast in the kitchen.”

Wanda looks up from her book only to be met with a small, warm smile on the assassin’s face.

“It’s the usual American stuff. Eggs, bacon, sugary cereal, some fruit. Pretty sure Clint’s making waffles too,” Natasha points to the door with her thumb. “You should eat with us. Bond with the team, all that stuff that Steve goes on about. We’ll have training after.”

Wanda hums in contemplation. Then, she nods. It’s the slightest motion that one would miss if they didn’t pay enough attention. Natasha nods back and turns to leave the room. The witch’s voice catches her off-guard, though.

“I’ll come with you.”

It’s raspy in the best way possible, with a hint of her Sokovian accent lingering. It’s a sound that Natasha decides she would like to hear more often. Her smile grows ever so slightly as she gestures for her to walk together.

───

When Natasha started helping in Wanda’s hand-to-hand combat training, the two became closer literally and figuratively. In one memorable session, from when Wanda still wasn’t as skilled at combat as she is now, Natasha was able to pin her down. Her lithe fingers wrapped around the other woman’s wrists while she used her thighs to straddle. All to restrict movement, of course. The flustered expression on the witch’s face could not be more obvious.

Their sessions consisted of a warm-up, some rounds of sparring, and a cooldown. After barely surviving this particularly challenging one, Wanda lands on the bench with a sigh. “Fuck… You kicked my ass today, Tasha. No fair,” She says through heavy breaths, leaning back and wiping the sweat from her brow.

Natasha shrugs and smiles as she sits beside her, reaching for a bottle of water across from the younger woman. Her torso brushes with her thigh, making the Sokovian lose her breath all over again.

“Please. I went easy on you. Besides, it’s revenge for taking my jacket,” Natasha says as she sits back up and takes a sip of water.

Wanda stands on slightly wobbly legs while a breathy laugh escapes her lips. “You’re really still holding that grudge?” She raises her hands playfully, “In my defense, Steve threw it at me and told me to put it on. It was a hectic time, you know.” 

Natasha smirks and shakes her head as they both move to gather their bags and leave. The assassin offers her hand. 

“Let me carry your stuff. It’s the least I can do. Look, you can barely stand.”

“It’s okay, Tasha. I go—” 

“Come on,” The widow urges. A knowing look is on her face. 

Wanda’s face becomes flushed, more so than it already was. It looks like she hopes Natasha won’t notice, but she does anyway. She raises her eyebrow teasingly.

“Did the workout take you out that bad, Wands?”

The nickname doesn’t help at all. Wanda rolls her eyes playfully as she hands her duffel bag over. Natasha slings both bags over her shoulder and they start walking together.

“Remind me again why I have to keep doing the hand-to-hand stuff? I literally move things with my mind.”

“If you use your mind, why do you do the thing with your hands then?” Natasha tries to mimic the witch’s signature hand movements with her free hand. This earns her a lighthearted push. 

“Oh, you know I’m just kidding. We both know you can’t just rely on your magic all the time. I want you to be able to fend for yourself if anything happens. Yeah?”

Wanda groans exaggeratedly, “Ugh. Okay, yes, you have a point.”

She chuckles at this. The pair, now embraced by a comfortable silence, walks to the elevator of the compound. As they enter, Natasha wraps her free arm around Wanda’s shoulder. She squeezes slightly, firm muscles under her touch, bringing her closer and looking into her eyes. 

“Wanna have lunch with me today?”

Wanda raises her eyebrow, “Can we watch I Love Lucy while we eat?”

Natasha nods and hands over her bag. “Of course.”

They smile warmly at each other, parting ways to freshen up before meeting again later.

───

Natasha and Wanda have seen each other at different points in their lives. Happy, sad, and everything else in between. But the Lagos Incident was a whole other thing. Natasha herself was a witness to how Wanda had been doing so well before it. To watch the immense guilt, self-loathing, and depression come over the witch after the incident, after slowly building herself back up, was heartbreaking for the widow.

Old habits die hard. Wanda becomes a recluse again. However, instead of sitcoms accompanying her, it was the news. She couldn’t help but keep watching coverage of it as if being constantly reminded of this tragedy was helping anyone.

Steve already spoke with her, Natasha knows this, but she decides to give a different type of comfort to the person she’s grown to love. A silent one, one that speaks through actions. 

On days Wanda doesn’t leave her room, Natasha knows she isn’t eating so she goes up and brings food. Nine times out of ten, it’s a peanut butter sandwich because it’s all she can make without setting the kitchen on fire. Ten times out of ten, it’s returned with just a few bites taken out. It doesn’t matter, Natasha is just happy to provide her with even the littlest bit of sustenance.

On nights Wanda can’t sleep, evident by the faint light escaping from her room, Natasha stays up with her. She takes it upon herself to change the channels on Wanda’s television or switch it off. She puts on some music instead, knowing that noise is a welcome distraction to her spiraling thoughts. Other times, Wanda motions for Natasha to her bed. The contact of skin on skin, the physical reminder that she isn’t alone helps Wanda relax even if it’s only for a few hours. Most nights, the feeling of Natasha’s body pressed up against Wanda’s is enough to lull her to sleep. 

And when it’s not, when she falls into that spiral once more, Natasha’s always there to wipe away her tears and pull her out of it.

“So many people… All those lives lost because I-I couldn’t—” Wanda sobs, breaking down in the familiar hold of strong arms.

Natasha squeezes just a little bit tighter. She speaks softly, interrupting the younger woman, “I know, Wands. I know. But you have to stop blaming yourself, okay? We’ve all hurt people and we’ve all made mistakes. Even if we mean well. And you did mean well. It’s just sometimes things work out in ways we don’t anticipate.”

The consoling words fall on deaf ears. Wanda shakes her head and cries even harder while burying herself deeper into the embrace. Her voice is muffled, repeated pleas of repentance, “It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault… T-tasha, it’s all my fault…” Unsure what to say now, Natasha resorts to her instinct instead. It has never failed her. She starts to rock Wanda gently, pressing a soothing kiss to the top of the younger woman’s head. A quiet, melodic hum resonates from her lips. She continues until Wanda’s breathing evens out and until sleep takes over both of them.

───

A soft stream of sunlight seeps into the room, awakening the Russian. She looks down at the sleeping figure in her arms. Wanda looks so peaceful right now, Natasha thinks. She would do anything to conserve this moment, this feeling of serenity for her. To take away all her pain, heartache, and afflictions. Realistically, she knows she can’t accomplish that. The best she can do is just be there for her. 

It’s been a few minutes since and she feels Wanda stir slightly, who immediately snuggles closer and remains asleep. A warm feeling settles in her body, first in her chest then it spreads all over. She recalls feeling this way many times before, but only ever with Wanda. It’s at this exact instance she finally fully realizes what this is.

I’m in love. 

She bites her lip in contemplation, quiet realization, as Wanda’s eyes flutter open. Hazy green eyes look into clear ones and a mumbled phrase reaches her ears. “Your thoughts are getting loud, Tasha. Are you okay?”

Broken from her trance, she looks down at Wanda. “Yeah, I am. Um. I just… I have something to tell you.” She shifts to lean against the headboard. Now is as perfect a time as any, she thinks. 

Wanda’s eyebrows stitch together in a frown as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. She sits up, mostly leaning her weight on the other woman, while trying to decipher the look on her face. The Russian waits for a sign of approval from the Sokovian. Wanda nods and hums.

“I’m going to be direct about this, Wands.”

She takes a deep breath in.

“I like that we’ve grown close, that we consider each other as friends. I like doing things for you and with you and I like helping you, giving you what I have. Time, insight, comfort, whatever. Watching sitcoms with you, sleeping next to you, and waking up in your bed. I like your voice and your ringed hands, how graceful they look when you use your powers. The way your nose scrunches up and your bunny teeth show when you smile. How your accent slips when you say certain words and how you say my name. The way you carry yourself. How you care so much about others… If you let me, I would care for you for the rest of time.”

Natasha finishes with a sharp exhale, only now realizing her rambling. Losing control was one of the things she never wanted to experience again, but this time was different. Finally letting these thoughts flow through and out of her felt cathartic. 

Wanda’s voice is quiet, “You would?” 

Natasha nods, “Always.”

She says it without hesitation. Because she is wholly certain that she has no other answer. Why would there be?

Wanda becomes silent. An unreadable expression appears on her face as she takes in Natasha’s words. Her posture straightens slightly. Tension is now in the air and a silence begins to settle. 

Natasha screws her eyes shut, willing the tears in her eyes to stop forming. She was just about to take everything back, apologize for even saying anything, before getting interrupted. She feels slim fingers gently hold her face. Wanda strokes Natasha’s cheek, her thumb moving in slow, circular motions while she speaks.

“Tasha, hey, please don’t cry,” Wanda looks at her pleadingly, leaning in closer.

Natasha blinks rapidly, brows furrowing together. “I’m sorry. I got nervous because you weren’t saying anything and I… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I just had to take a minute because I didn’t realize you felt this way. Trust you won’t lose me, please.” She looks away. Her touch slows down and ceases as her hands fall to her lap. “I just don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You didn’t have to do anything, moya lyubov.” Natasha holds Wanda’s hands, “I mean everything I just said. I love you, Wanda.” 

She waits for a response with bated breath. Before she knows it, she feels supple lips capture her own. 

It’s tender yet electric. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. It’s simply perfect.

Natasha closes her eyes and deepens the kiss. She cradles Wanda’s jaw and feels the brunette melt into her touch. They pull away seconds later, foreheads touching as they catch their breath. Wanda says softly, “I love you too, Natasha. You don’t know how long I have been wanting to say that.”

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

Now I know what it feels like

To wanna go outside

It was a calm morning, both women following a routine established over the past few months. Natasha would wake up early and then proceed to training, leaving Wanda to sleep in. By the time she’d be back, Wanda was up and just finishing preparing breakfast. They’d eat together, talk about their plans for the day, and decide what to do from there. Some days they’d spend together while, on others, they’d have separate activities. 

“Detka! Come here, please!”

Natasha was working on some reports when she heard Wanda call out. She looks at the clock and decides now is a perfect time to take a break anyway. She hums as she stands up and stretches her limbs before leaving the room.

Wanda had been tending to the garden in the compound for some time now. She started with small pots of herbs and then moved to random vegetables after discovering she had a gift for raising plants. Lately, she also added flowers and various houseplants to her catalog. Being out in the sun, getting her hands dirty, and nurturing these plants was hard work, but it was work Wanda loved.

Natasha makes a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and pours two glasses of cold water on a tray, then carries it over to the sliding door leading to the garden. She places it down on a table outside and her eyes immediately search for Wanda. It’s an irresistible sight, her beloved’s face beaming and surrounded by greenery. She even thinks she sees her talking to the plants.

She smiles to herself while appreciating the view until Wanda realizes she’s arrived. She gets waved over, “Tasha!” The excitement in the witch’s voice is barely contained as Natasha walks towards her. 

She wraps an arm around Wanda, bringing her closer and kissing her forehead, “Hi, kotenok. I brought over some snacks and water if you wanted them. What is it you wanted me to see?”

Wanda pulls off her gardening gloves, places them in her pocket, and brushes her hands over her pants. She mumbles a quick thank you before taking Natasha’s hand in one of her own and using the other to cover her eyes.

“Close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise.” 

Natasha plays along, using her free hand to help cover her eyes. “Okay. Just make sure I don’t trip, yeah?”

Wanda giggles as she leads Natasha by the hand, “Don’t worry, detka, I got you.” 

They walk slowly, up a few steps, and stop. Wanda takes a deep breath, “Okay, now.”

When their hands uncover Natasha’s eyes, she is met with vibrant blooms of various colors against a green background of bushes. It’s a masterful arrangement of asters, marigolds, hydrangeas, wildflowers, and many more. She gasps, breath taken away by the gorgeous sight. 

“You did all this by yourself?” 

The Sokovian nods sheepishly, “Yeah. I read somewhere that getting them all to bloom like this would be challenging, but I think I did decently.”

Natasha squeezes her hand, “It’s more than decent. It looks stunning, Wands. You did an amazing job.”

Wanda’s arm wraps around Natasha’s waist, her head rests on her shoulder. A satisfied sigh leaves her lips. They remain silent, basking in each other’s presence and the garden view.

“If you’re like this with plants, I can only imagine how well you’d be with kids,” Natasha muses. 

Wanda lifts her head and looks at Natasha, her shoulders raised slightly, “What if, at some point, you won’t have to imagine?”

Small smiles grow on both of their faces. They share a knowing look before assuming their previous positions. “Someday, lyubov, someday.”

Natasha used to feel the need to keep busy, keep moving because she thought anything too constant would be taken away from her again. Though she never admitted it to anyone, not even herself, the thought of settling down and starting a family of her own was terrifying.

But not anymore. Everything felt so much easier with Wanda. It now truly felt like anything was possible. The lack of fear forced onto her when she was younger came from a dark place of abuse and indifference. Now, it comes naturally. It comes from love.

#ky writes! #oneshot #fanfic #marvel #mcu #marvel oneshot #marvel fanfiction #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wandanat #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #wandanat fluff #wandanat fanfiction #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda x natasha #wlw

[maxybabyy]

cross-posted on ao3

Lando is asleep on the couch when he comes in.

His jeans have been kicked to the floor, soaked where a bottle of apple sourz must have tipped over. He looks fine if a little sweaty, hair flat from the pillow but not worse for wear than when Daniel left. Had a night in then, he thinks and pulls the blanket over him.

He heads to the bathroom, breath still rank from the bar.

Lando had wanted to come and almost threw a fucking tantrum when Daniel had told him no. Lando may be allowed in bars now – a proper adult, their father would say –  but that doesn’t mean Daniel is any more inclined to watch him and his friends get sloshed off mixers and shots.

Daniel almost doesn’t notice him as he walks in, head in his phone when he goes to take a piss. Scotty’s trying to settle the bill, the fucking uber ride and bottle of vodka they shared, Chloé conveniently left out of the budget breakdown. He doesn’t care, sends him his share with a quick, ok.

“Hello, Daniel,” someone says just as he’s about to pull his dick out, hand already in his pants. “Lando of course did not say you would be here.”

“Lando’s passed out on the couch, reckon he isn’t up for saying much right now,” Daniel says and turns towards the voice.

It’s one of Lando friends, because of course it is. Max, he decides, watches the kid as he sits on the counter next to the sink. There are two of them he knows, Fewtrell who’s been nipping at Lando’s heels since neither of them knew what it meant. And this Max, the hot one.

“Always he is bad at drinking,” Max says, mouth stretched into a wide smile. “He is very sloppy after one beer only, and then he gets very tired also. Like a little kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Daniel says with a smirk. He steps closer to lean against the sink, feels the warmth pouring off of Max. “Not like you, right?”

Max shakes his head, touches his tit with an open palm like he’s going to swear on it, sucks in a breath when his nail catches on his nipple. It looks swollen too, hot and pink, heavy against the swell of his pectoral. Daniel’s eyes flicker down to where he also isn’t wearing pants, the pile of clothes just inside the door.  

“Sometimes I think of course that you and Lando cannot be brothers,” Max says, kicks his feet against the cupboard underneath him. His legs look long, strong and tan from the summer sun. He must be bigger than Daniel now, taller too.

Daniel remembers the gawky nineteen-year-old Lando had brought home. Max on exchange from the Netherlands, taking the same courses that Daniel had done only three years before, with the same instructors too. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” He had told him just to watch Max blush, cheeks scarlet as he ducked his head, stuttered out a quiet, “Of course, Daniel.”  

“And why’s that, Maxy?” He asks now, touches the side of his knee to watch Max scramble to move, spread his thighs so Daniel can dig into the drawer underneath him.

“Always you are so handsome and funny also,” Max says, waves his hand around like that somehow adds to it. And maybe it does, because Daniel’s chest burns, overwhelmed. He feels almost sick with it, with how easy it is for Max to say, knows then he must be more drunk than he thinks. “Lando is just – Lando.”

Daniel laughs, squeezes Max’s knee. He watches the jolt of the muscle, the buck of Max’s hips up into nothing. Hears the sharp whine that escapes his lips.

He should tell him to leave, to put his shirt back on and go back to Lando’s room. Sleep it off so Max won’t hate himself for running his mouth when he wakes up. But he cannot, asks instead, “Is that a toothbrush in your hand or are you just happy to see me, Max?”

Hazy blue eyes stare back at him as Max squeeze his thighs shut. It’s rhetoric, almost. Redundant at best, and mean at its core, maybe. Because there is a toothbrush in his hand, the bright pink tool held in a slack hand against his thigh. But he’s hard too, obvious in the tight grey boxer-briefs he’s wearing.

“Always I am happy to see you, Daniel,” Max says. He spreads his thighs against and watches with dark eyes as Daniel steps between them, presses against the counter until there’s almost no space between them. “I have a toothbrush also, but I do not think –“

“Want me to brush your teeth, Maxy?” He asks, feels the shame as it flushes his chest, violent. Desperate. But he wants it, can almost imagine how it would feel if it was something else in Max’s mouth. The head of his –

“Please,” Max begs and lets his mouth fall open.

Daniel has done it maybe once before, brushing someone’s teeth. It had been a necessity then, a favour to a friend who had been too drunk to move, vomit still on his shirt. So far away from this, from Max watching him squeeze out the toothpaste and bring it to his mouth, his thighs squeezed tight around Daniel’s waist.

He starts off small, brushes over Max’s front teeth with tiny back-and-forth motions. The movement feels awkward from this end, like jerking someone off when you’ve been masturbating your entire life. Max keeps still, breathes through his nose like Daniel told him to.

Daniel reaches his molars, the toothbrush shoved deep into his mouth when suddenly Max shuts his mouth around it. Daniel is slow to realise it, keeps up the motion of the brush and watches Max move with it. Lips working over the shaft over it until he’s close enough to kiss Daniel’s fist.

“Max, mate. I cannot see what I’m doing,” he says, forces himself to laugh. He pulls back too quick, listens to the way Max chokes on nothing. “Let’s try the other side, yeah?”

It goes great until it doesn’t. Max deep-throats the toothbrush again as he watches him through hooded eyes. His hips rock aimlessly into empty air, pre-come soaking through his briefs.

“Max, no,” Daniel says. He pushes down on his bottom lip to keep his mouth open, ignores the way Max whines. “Be good for me, yeah?” He keeps a hand in Max’s hair, holds him steady as he tries to move with the brush, push it further into his mouth.

The top of the mouth is harder, the angle awkward from where he stands between Max’s thighs. “I don’t think I can do the rest, Max. My wrist,” he says, shows how limited his wrist rotation is.

But Max barely pauses, slides instead to his knees in front of Daniel, “Like this, no?”

Daniel chokes on his breath, feels the way his dick twitches in his pants. There’s barely any room between Daniel’s feet and the counter, but still Max fits perfect. His head tips back against the cupboard, thighs spread wide to make room for Daniel.

“That’s perfect, babe. Yeah,” he tells him softly, cups Max’s cheek in his hand.

Max’s eyes stay closed as he lets himself be moved, tongue wet and pink inside his mouth. Daniel doesn’t know how long it lasts, knows at least they’re above the designated two minutes. His dick strains against his pants when he strokes Max’s cheek to let him know they’re done.

Max is slow to come back, eyes blinking slowly until he refocuses on Daniel. A sweaty hand grabs the crook of his knee, pulls him in until his leg is pressed against the heat of Max’s chest, the tip of his chin resting too close to his dick.

Max tips his head back and opens his mouth, shows off the mess that sits on his tongue. It isn’t – doesn’t really look like come, too foamy with the paste Daniel uses. But it’s enough to pretend, to imagine what Max would look like if Daniel did come in his mouth.

Daniel lets himself look for another moment, soak in the sight before he nudges Max up against the sink so he can spit it out. “That’s it, good boy, Maxy,” he says, watches Max through the mirror.

If he looked drunk before, he looks downright indecent now. Cheeks flushed and chest wide as he sucks in breath after breath. Looks just about ready to pass out too.

Daniel pats his back and nudges him over to grab his own toothbrush, feels the way Max shudders underneath his hand. He’s just about to tell him to go to bed, when Max drops back to the floor, knees loud on the tile.

“Daniel, please,” Max says, begs.

Daniel leans against the sinks, angles his hips away from the space Max has created. He knows what Max wants, mouth open even now. But he can’t. Not when they’re both this drunk. So he does the only thing he can think of, shoves three fingers into his mouth and tells him to be quiet.

It works.

Daniel goes through a condensed skincare routine one-handed, feels the warm, wet suction of Max’s mouth around his fingers. The increase in pressure whenever Max swallows, how he leans into it when Daniel presses down on his tongue, sick with want.

He leads Max down the hall of rooms when he’s done, opens the door last on the left and lets him in.

#do you also want people to brush your teeth or are you normal? #maxiel #maxiel fic #my fic #fic #my writing #max/daniel #toothbrush fic

[bcofl0ve]

Could you write an Austin imagine with the prompt “It’s okay to cry”?

Never Grow Up

ship: austin butler x fem!reader!

word count: 650

You'd excepted you and your daughter to shed some tears on her first day of kindergarten, and not that you didn't think Austin wouldn't be emotional. You just didn't think he'd be more bent out of shape than the both of you combined. He managed to get a enough time off of filming Dune to fly home for the big day and surprise Cecilia the night before, a double sided coin in that she was so excited about daddy being home that she barely slept.

"I see the school!" She shouted as you got closer, pointing a finger out the window towards the building. When Austin followed her gaze you saw him swallow thickly before he glanced back at her in the rearview mirror.

"You excited baby?" He said, and she grinned. "I'm so excited."

After an obscenely long traffic jam into the parking lot you pulled in and figured out where you needed to go for check in. The teacher you'd met just a few days ago waved when she saw you, smile widening when she saw Austin.

"I don't think we've had the chance to talk yet Mr. Butler, I'm Keeley," She said warmly and shook his hand that wasn't holding the five year olds. "Do you remember where your desk is Cecilia?"

She stood on her tiptoes to look around before spotting it and dragging Austin over, talking animatedly about making the name tag affixed to it that she'd made at open house. You hung back to let them have a moment, especially with how much he'd missed recently what with being out of the country.

But when it appeared to be the time for parents to start shuffling out you crouched down on her opposite side, running a hand over the braids you'd put in her hair earlier that morning.

"We have to go now, but you're gonna have so much fun and we'll see you later, okay?" You said, starting to feel a little emotional but Cecilia only gave a confident nod, twirling a crayon that she'd picked up between her fingers.

"'Kay momma."

You stood up and Austin didn't join you immediately, hanging back for a second to kiss the side of Cecilia's head, eyes watery. "Daddy loves you CeCe, you know that?"

"Uh-huh, cuz' you tell me all of the time." She said matter-o-factly with a giggle and after another two exchanges of that sentiment Austin got up off the ground to follow you out. And as you left, you noticed the two of you were the last parents to do so.

He was quiet when you got back into the car, save for the little sniffle you heard escape as he put his seatbelt on.

“It’s okay to cry,” You said softly and reached across the console for his hand. He took it and squeezed, the tears that had been building behind his eyes starting to leak out.

“She’s just’s, she’s littler than all of them. Maybe we should’ve held her back a year.”

“Because she’s short?” You joked and that got a laugh out of him as he swiped at his eyes. “She’s gonna be okay Austin.”

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he chewed on his bottom lip for a beat before he spoke.

“I kinda want another one.”

“Another baby?”

Admittedly the idea had crossed your mind a few times, but then things had gotten so hectic between Elvis and Dune that you hadn’t found time to give it much serious thought. Until now, sitting in the parking lot of your daughters elementary school after watching your husband about near breakdown taking her to kindergarten. That certainly had a way of waking up the previously dormant baby fever.

“I know I gotta go back to Budapest, then Ohio, so I’m not sayin’ right this second,” He started and you put a hand on his bouncing knee to get him to look at you. "How about, we revisit this when Bikeriders is about done.”

You almost laughed at how wide his eyes got, his mouth hanging open for a second before he found his words.

“You mean that?” He said, the attempt he seemed to make to control his excitement not doing much. When you gave a soft "Yeah," his excitement only grew, and he almost looked a little scatterbrained as he shuffled around trying to find where he'd put the keys.

When he put a hand on your headrest to turn and look out the back window as he reversed he glanced at you, lips tugged into a giddy smile.

"Shouldn't have put that idea in my head Y/N, it's makin' me wanna go home and knock you up right now." He said with a laugh.

"Mm, patience daddy." You quipped, bringing your hand back to a little above his knee. Austin's Adam’s apple bobbed as he drove, and you had a feeling waiting for Bikeriders to wrap might not work out after all.

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler fanfic #austin butler headcanons #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines

[talesofthesecondcity]

Tales of the Second City: Finding the Gems

Finding the Gems

You can find heart-warming stories in the most unexpected of places.

With over thirty years of misadventures on the Birmingham gay scene, socialising and cruising bars, pubs, clubs, saunas and secluded midnight nooks, I have tales to tell of the places, predicaments and people I have been in… but most importantly the humour and humanity I have encountered… on the gay side of the UK’s much maligned second city.

Shining a light on the scene unseen.

I was in a private members men-only club situated at the shadowy end of Lower Essex Street, which confidently describes itself as ‘the Midland’s horniest club’. While anything and everything can and does go on in this salacious bar, it was a particularly quiet mid-week. Only a modest early evening crowd had come in for a post-work drink and the chance of a hook-up.

I was occupying myself by casually exchanging taps and pleasantries with local guys on… well I’ll say a ‘popular gay dating app’… but I mean Grindr, when a friendly ‘Hello’ popped up in my messages from someone 10 meters way.

I looked up to see a petite, South Asian lad beaming a wide grin at me from the other side of the central bar that dominated the core of the club. The lad turned his doe eyes bashfully to the floor. I waited the few self-conscious moments that it required for him to gather the confidence to look back up again, returned his smile, picked up my pint and walked over.

We introduced ourselves. His name was Nishantand it turned out that he was from a small town outside of Calcutta and in the UK on a three-year student visa.

Soon any hint of shyness had disappeared, and this guy showed that he loved to talk, chatting enthusiastically about his studies, future ambitions and friends, both in Birmingham and back home in India. One subject rapidly tumbling into the next in an engaging monologue, all delivered in his lyrical Indian accent. Most endearing, was the head wiggle, often referred to as the ‘Indian Nod’, that punctuated Nishant’s soliloquy, adding emphasis to key moments and marking changes of emotion, pace and tone, like a human metronome.

Sadly, his narrative took a downturn when he started to talk about a secret affair that he had been involved in with a man in his hometown. Things had turned sour after they had split up and the bitter ex-lover had maliciously outed Nishant to his community, bringing shame and resulting in a temporary breakdown in his relationship with his parents. Feeling he had no choice, but to get away, his studies in Birmingham not only presented new opportunities, but also respite from the scandal.

When it came time to leave for the UK, Nishant’s mother and father refused to accompany him to the airport or even say goodbye.

He had one older brother with whom he was understandably nervous of broaching the subject of his sexuality for fear of further rejection.

When he finally mustered the courage to talk to the brother, he asked, "Are you also ashamed of me?"

The brother replied, "I am neither ashamed nor surprised... and have been deleting your browser history since you were twelve years old." He had discovered his sibling’s taste in internet porn sites years before and had been keeping the secret safe ever since.

“I think I love your brother,” I gushed, once the story was over… and I could finally get a word in edgewise, “but hang on… TWELVE?!! Dirty boy!!!”

“What can I say,” Nishant replied, with broad grin and that characteristic wiggle of the head, “I was an early developer.”

Even in a bar notorious for anonymous cruising, casual bunk-ups and no-strings-attached fun, if you take a moment to look beyond the window dressing of slings and bars, rubber and leather you will find something else.

Within the dark corners… you can find gems in the shadows.

Find over 100 tales from Birmingham's gay scene @talesofthesecondcity.com

#gay #lgbtq #lgbt #gaybirmingham #birminghamgayvillage #gaybirminghamuk #lgbtq🌈 #gaybrum #gaylife #gay scene #gay bars #gay men #gay pride #gay indian #gay india #gay birmingham

[ammonitetestpatterns]

the evening skies of prince george, i saw them as a causeway to hellfire cradletipping out of breathless space, hinting that maybe, hell prefers enclosure and feels exposed at extreme parallels. kintsugi scars, blinding cream yellow, the mistold fortune of a world looted of locality, your eyes are the ransom paid for the last bit of natural mystery, handed over to unreel the pastripened azimuth. was this daylight meant to repair the night? he walked with me through homemade forest trails, advertising to mosquitoes. the sun gilded arrows onto leaves, our arms locking round the other’s waist. for an instant, he jolted with the lost memory of a free trial girlfriend, parting the thicket of dissociative brain damage only for it to recoil back into place. clamoring up, batting bugs and sweat, we found the horizon of a lookout on accident. it caught us with an elegiac feeling, the tension of the changing light. a curving armory of evergreens to entrust the city history before the letter and the ledger. i wondered if this place would ever regain its holocene prestige and surrender back to immemorial waters. a small furor then, entertaining which invisible forces are most likely to affect the accumulation and exchange of social energy by its common means, a density of presence. at least, we were both “feeling it.”

this was beyond any doubt one of my most important trips. the pine boughs responded in their sway, my sensitivity to forgone home, placefulness, the sense of having business somewhere. jonas said with the satyric nonchalance that often hides his spite, you were locked outside consciousness, you lost your key with the loss of the impossible family. he takes himself to be at the end of consciousness, i feel my judgment falling to the end of telemachus. under the same skies that melted him all those years ago, all the catastrophic beauty punctuated by its alienation from the earthly/georgic homing of the human and the mirage of its loss after thought, how dishonesty comes to rot, it all fuses down to the productivity of nature, world without end, an accomplice we can barely understand. why won’t my mind’s poison arrow find him, why can’t i bring myself to hate him? the woundsalted blame, repressed bloodrooted longing for the maternal, strangeness, lying with the wolf, the gold of reality taken between his teeth. reunion, breakdown of the manifold with her smile.

as we made it out, night now inaugurate to its depth in low dying bands of blue, my companion beside me mounted his respect for judas, taking seriously the determinist explanation for his betrayal, the solemn pain, brandishing the social logic localized to a blink of time, for a prophecy of the higher good, mass forgiveness and resonance to form, way past the matter scatter. the paradoxical strength in sinning and willing to be misunderstood and reviled for lifetimes to come, we held a look and felt a sliver of the same. the mortal kiss, such a harrowing, complicated picture of evil.

the touch memory placed me in the same motor mold of late may, real people romance walking under heavy crepuscular glow, gathering lilac bushels and tulips wherever they laced our path, satchels of new herbs in our pockets. my head mooned with the realization that threatened to restore all before me to an imagined valor of unity, how much i respect you, always for who you are, i want to sow your quiet field to a harvest of dreams. like a saint to me, with the smile of a devil! sharing dreams, timeless against the lapse of the scent, however deep its momentary pull. there is an ineffable essence to dreaming and hoping that cannot be uncovered and had elsewhere, the foldless desire for a better day that is lyrical, thin, ephemeral and tender, that threshold of expansion. it compels you back to childhood without overstaying, the progression of the generational cohort at the beginning of consciousness, “we all have a dream, maybe.” in darkened dovelike bed, the first after days of roadside sleep, he placed a square of dark chocolate on my tongue and brought umeshu to my lips, velvety plum like the tulips. terpenes simplified to lipids and even further, the virtual cataclysm of synthases.

what is left after orison? spectacular sunrise, waking out of the offal, over the skew of every shutout star, one speck in the dust ramble, torn by thoughtless time. being ready to live outside the impresses of the external drilled inward, crossing, cut exposure, cardinality of tongue, carrion signs, pointer posture. walking to make not only nature, but a circulatory, somatic awareness into your accomplice against communal death, vanishing inlets. within the boundaries of the individual, the body is a means and not an ends, the self is an ever attractive block.

#text

[sanguineterrain]

No Prisoners - Thomas Shelby

My first peaky blinders fic! This is for a request I got here.

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female!Reader

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: arranged marriage, slight fear elements, brief mention of dead husband and dead mother, crying/a breakdown of sorts. Reader has a daughter in this fic. If I missed anything let me know.

Summary: It's your first day at the Shelby mansion, since becoming the next Mrs. Shelby. Emotions run high.

Hope you like it anon! I think I may have made it a little angstier than your request.

       »»————-　♡　————-«« »»————-　♡　————-««

The carriage ride was long, longer than any trip you'd ever taken, even though your father's house was a short ten miles from the Shelby estate. Amelia, your daughter, had clearly read the expression on your face when you'd boarded the carriage, and rather than whinge over the choppy ride, she kept quiet the whole time, anxiously twiddling her gloves.

"You'll wear a hole into them," you chided and she dug her hands under her legs, turning instead to stare out the window.

The afternoon was damp, the sun moodily hiding its face among the clouds. It had begun to drizzle by the time you arrived and the driver scurried around to help you and Amelia down before fetching your trunks from the back.

"Wow," Amelia whispered as she took your hand, gaping at the museum in front of you.

"Big house."

"Mmhm," you agreed, squeezing her hand gently as you walked to the giant double doors at the entrance.

"Maybe they'll give us a map, eh?"

Amelia smiled at that, shaking her head.

"That'd be awfully silly, Mum."

"Ah, well…"

None more silly than marrying Thomas Shelby at the promise of peace.

The doors swung open and a woman with a tightly swept dark bun and a clean, plain uniform stepped out. You took out the letter of correspondence exchanged between your father and your now husband.

"Thank you," the woman said upon confirming the signatures. "My name is Frances. I'm the head housekeeper. Please, come in, Mrs. Shelby."

You winced, pulling down the brim of your hat even further.

"Right. Thank you."

Frances stepped aside to let you in, then paused, looking at Amelia.

"Apologies, ma'am. I wasn't aware there'd be additional guests."

"Yes. This is my daughter, Amelia."

Amelia dipped into a slight curtsy, purely out of habit, and Frances hummed.

"I see. Someone will prepare a room now. Miss Amelia, if you'd come with me, you can choose the room you'd like."

"Go on," you encouraged at your daughter's hesitation, and she followed Frances.

"Mrs. Shelby, would you like to see your and Mr. Shelly's bedroom as well?"

"N-no, no. That's alright. I'll see it tonight."

If you went upstairs now, you would cry. And if you started crying, Amelia would surely follow. You didn't want to alarm her any further.

"Very well. Mary will show you around the premises. Mr. Shelby requests that you do not enter his study; however, the rest of the house is yours."

"Yes, alright," you acknowledged absently, already overwhelmed by the vastness of it all. You'd lived in a modest house since Amelia was born, and when your husband left for war—and didn't return—you'd made the choice not to return to the city. Your father's business was something you wanted to keep away from for a long time, and taking up a humble life was the best way to do that.

Mary, a young maid with rosy cheeks and wild blonde curls, led you around the house. She was nervous, you could tell, probably no more than five or six years older than Amelia, and you tried to smile as encouragingly as you could. Just because you were trapped in what would surely be a loveless marriage didn't mean you had to incite misery on her too.

"And these are the horses," Mary finally said at the end of her tour, gesturing to the large stables behind the house. "Mr. Shelby really loves horses an' animals in general. Apparently, he wanted to work with 'em b'fore the war."

Mary suddenly flushed, glancing anxiously at you.

"Apologies, ma'am. I don't think 'm supposed to talk this much, showing you 'round."

"It's alright," you soothed. "I don't know much of this life, certainly not about him."

"Well… I think you'll be good for him, if I may be so bold. Frances says he's like a ghost on the days he's not out working."

A ghost for a husband. You wondered if that was any better than a devil.

"Looks like it's about to rain again," Mary observed. "I'd best take you back to the house, Mrs. Shelby."

"Where is my daughter?" was the first thing out of your mouth upon entering the kitchen door.

"Beg pardon, ma'am; Miss Amelia is in the sitting room looking at records. Shall I fetch her?"

"No, that's alright. Fine," you said, breathing a sigh of relief. The maids didn't seem untrustworthy or malicious, but you didn't want to be caught off guard.

Babbling from the kitchen caught your attention then, and you followed the sound. At the table was a maid and a young boy by her feet, nearly still a baby, playing on the floor with a set of Lincoln Logs.

He looked up when you came in, gazing at you with big blue eyes and quietly gurgling to himself.

"Hello there," you said, waving and kneeling to his level. You'd heard once or twice that Mr. Shelby had a son from his first marriage. How a precious child could be related to such a man, you couldn't say.

"His name is Charlie, Mrs. Shelby," offered the maid.

"Charlie," you echoed.

"Hi," Charlie replied. You beamed.

"Hi, Charlie. My name is Y/N."

Charlie blinked at you for a moment.

"Y/N," he repeated slowly and you nodded.

Oh, you'd always been such a sucker for babies. All children were lovely, and Amelia was obviously the apple of your eye. She'd been a sweet baby too, though not as talkative as Charlie seemed to be.

"How old are you, Charlie?"

"Four," he declared proudly, holding up the matching amount of fingers.

Charlie pushed the tin of logs toward you and you gently accepted them.

"Play with me," he ordered and you laughed, adjusting your skirt so you could sit comfortably.

"Alright, Charlie. What are we building?"

"Train."

As you connected the logs, the door creaked open, and Amelia poked her head through the doorway.

"Come in, it's alright, darling," you smiled, beckoning her over.

"My room is so big, Mum. And it's blue, my favorite. Mr. Shelby has so many records too."

"That's great. You put them all back where you found them, right?"

"Yes…" she paused, watching you and Charlie for a moment. "Is that Mr. Shelby's son?"

"His name is Charlie. Come say hello."

Amelia crouched down and smiled. Charlie froze, trying to gauge the intentions of these strange people in his space.

"Hello, Charlie."

"Hi," he replied unsurely, looking to the maid, then you.

"My name is Amelia. I'm going to be your big sister."

"Sister."

"A sister is a part of your family," Amelia explained.

Charlie considered this, then pushed the tin to her in an invitation.

"For me?" she asked, clearly delighted.

"I am making a train," he said and Amelia nodded dutifully, like this was her only job in the world.

You smiled at the sight, cheeks feeling rubbery, then stood, briefly patting Amelia's head.

"I'll be back. Holler if you need anything."

She nodded and Charlie briefly glanced at you before returning to his construction project. As soon as you were outside of the kitchen, you let out a long exhale.

"Where is the loo?" you asked a passing maid, who pointed.

"Down the hall, on your right, Mrs. Shelby."

Mrs. Shelby, Mrs. Shelby.

You nodded and went. The bathroom was just as lavish as the rest of the house, unsurprisingly. Gold furnishings and large, shiny mirrors surrounded the space. There was a bowl of potpourri on the sink, filled with dried rose hips and orange peels.

You turned on the faucet and splashed handfuls of water on your face, uncaring if your dress got wet. Your breathing began to pick up so you kept splashing water, turning it colder. When the front of your dress was soaked, you shut it off and grabbed the edge of the sink for support. You looked up.

You didn't look any different. Your hair was plastered around your temples and there was a haunt in your eye, like you'd seen a, well…

You hadn't worn the ring before today. When it had first been sent to you, delivered by a man on a cart, you'd placed it on the mantle and rung your father to scream at him over the receiver.

It was a pretty ring, likely very expensive, with a big diamond in the center, surrounded by tiny emeralds on the crown. Very pretty, much too pretty for you, for any man you'd ever want.

As you caught sight of it gleaming in the mirror, you broke down, hunching over the sink.

Damn your father. Damn him for using you and Amelia as pawns, for paying off his debts with your blood, your life.

Everyone knew of Thomas Shelby, knew what business the Shelby family was in. Your father, admittedly, wasn't much better, but he'd at least been able to keep you out of the life, and until two months ago, you and Amelia had been happily living in the countryside, away from all the men and bloodshed.

Then he'd shown up in the dead of night, dog-mad and spitting about some territory war. You'd thought it was nothing, just men blowing steam over egos.

Nothing had been the same ever since.

You hadn't even had a proper wedding. Apparently, Thomas Shelby was far too busy to meet his wife down the aisle. You wondered if churches even let him inside anymore. Maybe he'd turn to ash if he stepped foot.

You'd been shipped off to Birmingham one day, primed like fresh cattle. An older woman by the name of Polly had given you a once over, approved with a nod, and that was that. You were surprised she hadn't patted your rump or pulled a tag through your ear like proper livestock.

"Mrs. Shelby?"

A soft knock on the door alerted you and you roughly wiped your cheeks and nose, sniffling hard.

"Yes," you cleared your throat of the thickness, splashing more water on your face. "Yes, I'll be out, one…one moment."

You opened the door, smoothing your hair. It was Frances, and she took in your appearance, her mouth downturned ever so slightly in sympathy.

"Apologies for the interruption, ma'am. But the cook would like to know if you'd prefer chicken or lamb for supper."

"Oh." You cleared your throat. "Er, what does Mr. Shelby prefer?"

"He gave specific instructions to have you choose, ma'am."

You gnawed the inside of your cheek. This had never been a choice you had to make. What if you chose wrong? You didn't even know what lamb tasted like.

"How is the lamb? Is it rather gamey?"

"No, ma'am, I would say not. The cook prepares it very tender."

At your hesitation, Frances continued.

"Mr. Shelby often eats it with mint jelly, if that pleases you, ma'am."

"Alright," you accepted. "If that's one he enjoys, I suppose we… yes, tell the cook to make that one."

"Yes, ma'am. Would you like me to hang your clothes over the fire? I can fetch another dress."

"No," you answered, firmer than you intended. "No, thank you," you tried again, softer than before. "I can present myself however I'd like."

Frances bowed her head, then returned down the hall. You leaned against the doorway for a while longer. If you weren't so concerned about Amelia's adjustment, you'd have made yourself scarce until your new husband came home. As it was, you didn't want to leave her in a house you didn't know with people you hadn't figured out if you could trust or not.

You remained in the sitting room until it grew dark. At some point, Amelia had come out of the kitchen with Charlie toddling behind her. She sat him on the piano bench and began to play simple hymns she'd learned when she had first begun receiving piano lessons.

Charlie listened quietly, little legs swinging over the bench, and your heart ached at the sight. At least, if nothing else came from this arrangement, Amelia would have a brother and Charlie a sister.

Charlie's dinner was made first, too young for lamb, and Amelia, so taken with her new brother, followed him into the kitchen. You remained outside until one of the maids came to you.

"Mr. Shelby's car is up the road," she informed you and you nodded, standing and straightening. Your dress had long since dried.

Your own mother had passed many years before, so the only advice about marriage, something you'd never truly experienced as Amelia's father had been shipped off as soon as you'd discovered you were pregnant, came from your father.

Your father's idea of a good marriage was, "do what he tells you and don't talk back."

It wasn't the best advice, and being that it was well into the twentieth century, you'd expected a little more. But as loafers crunched against the gravel and Frances pulled the door open, your father's words were all that you heard in your brain.

You'd never seen Thomas Shelby outside of photographs, which really didn't do him justice. He was a handsome man, with full lips and piercing eyes. But as they landed on you, you realized that they weren't the kind blue you'd been expecting.

You shifted as his coat was pulled from his shoulders.

"Hello," you greeted, wringing your hands.

"Hello," he replied, expression neutral. "Did Frances settle you in?"

"Yes. She was very helpful."

"Good."

You hung to the side, acutely aware of how lost you felt. He quickly picked up on your awkwardness and approached you, though still held his distance. He made no move to touch you, and you felt a slight tension release.

"Is supper ready?"

"Yes. Lamb chops with mint jelly."

He nodded.

"I've never had lamb," you blurted.

"It's good. One of my favorite dishes."

"I don't know… if I like it."

"Well, if you don't, the cook can always prepare something else."

When you didn't respond, Thomas gestured to the kitchen expectantly.

"Shall we?"

"Oh. Yes."

You walked ahead, feeling his eyes on you.

Amelia was already seated when you came in, but at the sight of Thomas, she stood, chair scraping against the floor.

"Mr. Shelby," she greeted, bobbing her head.

You glanced behind you and found his brows raised, the first hint of any expression.

"Who's this?" he asked, turning to you.

"This is Amelia. My daughter."

"How old are you?" he directed at her.

"Fourteen."

He hummed, returning his attention to you.

"Your father didn't mention a daughter."

Your spine straightened and you clenched your fists.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Your tone was sharp.

"No," he replied, face returned to that carefully neutral mask. "Not a problem. Let's eat."

You took the seat closest to Amelia, wanting to be near her in case anything happened.

"Where's Charlie?" he asked the maids once you'd settled.

"In the kitchen, sir."

"Bring him out, then. I want to see my son."

One went and returned with Charlie, who ran to his father immediately. The change nearly gave you whiplash: his posture relaxed, and a wide smile replaced the otherwise permanent frown etched on his face.

"Hello, hello," Thomas cooed, kissing Charlie's forehead.

Charlie let his father cuddle him for a moment more before he turned and saw Amelia.

"Amie!" he called, grabbing the air with one hand. "Amie, Amie."

Amelia reached for Charlie out of instinct, but Thomas pulled him back warily, expression cold once again. She stopped, crestfallen, and you rested a hand on her arm, easing her.

"They spent the afternoon together," you explained.

"Amie?" Charlie tried again, waving at Amelia, puzzled at why she wouldn't wave back.

"Mr. Shelby, I wouldn't harm him," Amelia said, swallowing hard, eyes on her plate.

Slowly, his grip loosened and he let Charlie down, watching him walk to his new favorite sister.

"Call me Tom," he instructed when Amelia scooped Charlie into her arms.

She nodded silently, adjusting Charlie in her lap while she finished her dinner. Charlie soon grew bored and the maid quietly took him back to the kitchen.

You picked at your food, Amelia doing the same. Thomas carried on as if it were a regular night, but when he lit a cigarette in the middle of the meal, you broke the silence.

"The smoke irritates our eyes and lungs. Could you smoke after instead?"

His eyes flicked to you, considering, white smoke curling around his nose and lips.

"I don't want Amelia to get a cough," you explained, trying to cajole his empathy.

After a moment, he stubbed the cigarette and ordered a maid to open one of the doors to air out the room.

"Mum, may I be excused?"

Amelia's plate was barely half finished, but with the way her leg was bouncing and how her fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of her dress, you took pity.

"Yes, that's fine. Go wash up."

She nodded, sullenly skirting around your side of the table, and disappeared out the door. You focused on your own plate. The rest of the meal was silent, and Thomas got up as soon as he was finished.

"I'll be in my study, if you're looking for me. They'll clear up when you're finished."

You nodded. He stood for a moment more, releasing a quiet sigh, then left.

"Would you like anything else, ma'am?"

A maid waited patiently across the table, clearing the used plates.

"No, that's fine. Thank you."

You stayed at the table, picking at your potatoes. When the clock chimed seven, you rose. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable; Thomas Shelby didn't seem like the progressive type who'd take kindly to his new wife sleeping in the other end of the house.

You went upstairs, taking your time getting to the bedroom. You paused in front of the study, debating whether or not to confront him about what had happened. It might bring a fight, but if Amelia wasn't going to be welcomed the same, you wanted to know.

You knocked.

"Come in."

You opened the door and stepped inside, then closed it behind you hesitantly. Thomas was at his desk, writing, glasses perched on his nose.

It was a nicely furnished study. You especially liked the large floor-to-ceiling window behind his chair. There was a spread of bookshelves with more books than you could count, and you wondered if he had read them all.

"Can I help you?"

Thomas was looking at you expectantly, one brow perched high.

"Mr. Shelby—"

He held up a hand, shaking his head.

"Christ, Y/N. We're fuckin' married, eh? Think you can call me by my name."

"Thomas," you amended, then took a deep breath. "If you've a problem with Amelia's presence, you need to let me know now. I will not allow her nor myself to feel like a stranger in your home. I don't care what you or my father agreed upon."

He squinted at you, lips parting.

"And furthermore," you continued, on a roll, "I think you ought to be gentler with Amelia. She's only trying to make the best of the situation and Charlie's taken quite well to her."

Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he stood abruptly, walking and stopping in front of you, closer than before.

"I don't have a problem with you or Amelia. She's your daughter and I wouldn't break a deal over another child living here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure. And for the record, I didn't mean to scare her. I don't want any children in this house to be afraid of me."

You nodded.

"Good."

"Does she like horses?"

"Yes. She had a pony when she was young."

Thomas nodded thoughtfully.

"I'll get her one. A proper horse, to ride."

"Oh," you began, startled. "I… That's generous of you."

"She's kind to Charlie."

"Amelia's always wanted a little brother or sister. They seem to be good for each other."

He nodded, returning to his desk and pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

"Drink?"

"I'm not much of a drinker," you admitted.

That made him laugh, more of a breathy scoff than anything.

"Doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, marries a Shelby. You poor girl."

Your lips pursed sourly.

"My life isn't a condition that requires anesthetic, Mr. Shelby."

"Quit it with the Mr. business."

"Does it really matter what I call you? We're only married on paper."

"Got you a ring, didn't I?"

You glanced at your hand, at the brand on your finger. As the day progressed, it felt like it had grown tighter, like a serpent strangling.

"Thomas, I... I don't want to share a room with you."

He was silent for a long moment, eventually causing you to look up, too antsy not to.

"Alright."

"What?"

He shrugged.

"Fine. I won't force you to."

"You won't?"

Something cracked in his mask, a slip of humanity. It was gone as soon as it came.

"No. I won't."

You waited, waited for him to change his mind, to take it back. But he merely returned to his papers, finishing his drink.

"Frances will set you up with a room."

You took a step towards the door, paused, then turned.

"Well… good night."

He looked up, removing his glasses for a moment. You fidgeted, twisting your ring around your finger.

"Good night."

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby arranged marriage #peaky blinders imagine

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

hello, i loved short prompt 65! could you continue please (you don't need to)

Request #42

Warning: mentions of abuse/toxic relationship, emotional breakdown.

Here you go, fellas!

And thank you so much! Happy to hear you enjoy my writing!

(´꒳`)♡

Part 1

~~~~

Civilian's vision swam as her surroundings suddenly changed, colors melting and blending together, reshaping into something new and making her snap her eyes shut and hiss in mild pain.

"Sorry, love." - Supervillain muttered, holding her close until the dizziness plaguing her mind passed. And once it did, she took a look around, finding herself in a surprisingly normal-looking living room.

As she took it all in, the men walked over to a nearby couch, sitting down and gesturing for her to join. The woman obliged, perching herself on one end of the sofa, as far away from the two criminals as she could. It was embarrassing, but for a moment, she forgot just who she was dealing with here.

The civilian's nerves were quick to return, intensified by being in the presence of the two biggest villains in the entire city. She looked between them unsurely, fidgeting under their stares. "W-What?"

Villain settled against the backboard. "Aren't you going to tell us what happened?"

Civilian's eyebrows furrowed in more stress and confusion. "Uhm... W-What do y-you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, love." - Supervillain said, giving her a slightly stern look. "We both know you're smarter than to wander the streets at night."

She wasn't sure how to respond. She obviously knew what the two were looking for but really didn't want to talk about it. Why would they out of people care anyway? It didn't make much sense to her, and so the best she managed to give them was a few blinks and stubborn quietness.

...

...

...

Unfortunately, and rather quickly, the tense silence and expectant looks made the situation feel unbearable, and the woman began to crack under pressure. "W-Well- I-"

She grimaced, bottled-up emotions coming to the surface in a shout. "W-What kind of k-kidnapping is this s-supposed to be?!"

The villain smirked lightly. "I mean, you did come willing-"

"WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

...

...

...

Civilian buried her face in her hands, slumping forward as her body shook with an overflow of anxiety. Her voice came out as a nervous, muffled mumble. "...Hero's not coming to save me..."

The two criminals were stunned by her outburst, at first only staring in shock as the civilian began to sob and sniffle quietly. They exchanged quick glances as she curled in on herself. If it wasn't clear, they weren't very good at this kind of stuff.

Villain carefully scooted a bit closer, extending an arm to her but thinking better of it halfway and pulling back. "You and Hero..."

"We b-broke up..." - the woman confirmed their suspicions, wiping tear tracks off her cheeks, eyes glued to the wooden floor. "H-Hero... He only e-ever paid attention to me w-when he needed something, and- and I j-just-"

Civilian full-on broke down this time, unable to hold it all back anymore. She didn't even pay attention to what was happening around her, not noticing when Supervillain got up, grabbed something, and presented it to her. She flinched in surprise as her blurry vision focused on the object that suddenly appeared before her.

It was a box of tissues, which the civilian gingerly took with shaking hands. She immediately pulled one out and used it to clean her messy face. "T-Thank you..."

The supervillain nodded and hummed in acknowledgment before going back to his seat. The men gave her a moment to collect herself, letting her even out her breathing and racing heart rate, which she wordlessly appreciated.

"I... I just..."

The three were abruptly startled by a sudden noise, jumping on reflex. There was ringing coming from the woman's pocket. She pulled out her phone and visibly paled at the contact name it was displaying.

She shivered as the ringing continued and slowly turned the screen over to the other two, letting them see who it was. The criminals' expressions changed in an instant as they began to glare at the phone in distaste, Supervillain outstretching his hand to her. "May I?"

Civilian hesitated for a moment, considering what he might do or say if he answered and how that might affect her in the long run but ultimately realized that one, her ex-boyfriend wouldn't stop calling after just a single try. And two, the villains were just as persistent as him and would probably snatch her phone by force sooner or later.

On top of all that, she didn't want to deal with this right now. She truly didn't have the energy for it, and letting someone else worry about it was too tempting to pass up at this point. And so, she handed Supervillain the phone, which he instantly answered and put on speaker.

"Where the fuck are you?" - the hero growled from the other end, his angry voice alone making the woman cower and tense up.

She opened her mouth to mutter out some stammering reply. However, before the civilian could attempt to talk, the supervillain's smooth voice entered the conversation. "I don't know. What do you think?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment before Hero spoke darkly once more. "You have her, don't you?"

Supervillain hummed in feign thought, sparing a quick glance at Civilian. "Yes, I do."

A humorless laugh sounded from the phone. "You can keep the bitch. I already found a better one anyway."

A second later, the hero hung up, leaving the civilian and criminals in silence once more. She looked at them nervously again, uncertain of what they would do now that they knew her situation for sure.

They had been uncharacteristically kind so far, but this was Villain and Supervillain, for crying out loud! Dangerous villains! Masters of manipulation and lying! How was she supposed to predict or trust-

"Well, I think that's enough excitement for one day." - the villain proclaimed, stretching out his limbs with a small groan before rising to his feet. "Let's get you to a spare room, yeah?"

"H-Huh?" - Civilian mumbled, confused.

The supervillain also stood from the couch, offering her his hand. "We have guest rooms here. You can stay in one of those for the night."

The woman looked at them skeptically. "O-Or you could let m-me go home...?"

"And potentially let that bastard lay his hands on you again? Nuh-uh, darling." - Villain said, voice filled with the same finality as before, back out in the dark streets.

The civilian moved to argue but gave up soon after, hanging her head and hesitantly taking the offered hand. She let herself be pulled along out of the room and through the maze of corridors that was Supervillain's lair, too exhausted and scared to fight back.

Within a few minutes, the three of them came to a stop before a pair of wooden doors. As Civilian entered the room, she was pleasantly caught off guard yet again. It was just as regular as the living room.

"We'll let you get some rest." - the supervillain said, handing her phone back to her. "And in the morning, one of us will come to get you for breakfast. We can figure out the rest of this... issue from there, alright?"

"O-Okay..." - the woman muttered, watching as the men nodded in agreement and bid her goodnight, leaving the room and disappearing down the hall.

She closed the door, and upon noticing the key stuck in it, locked it for a semble of comfort in this odd predicament. Her first instinct after doing so was to collapse on the giant bed standing in the corner. And she gladly obeyed that impulse.

It was awfully soft and comfortable, like some irresistible cloud of relaxation. And against her better judgment, Civilian snuck beneath the covers and curled up into a ball, falling asleep in record time.

Meanwhile, a few floors down, her two 'saviors' went about discussing their newest scheme.

#villain x villain #villain x civilian #civilian x villain #villain x supervillain #supervillain x villain #supervillain x civilian #civilian x supervillain #writing #writeblr #hero #villain #supervillain #civilian #request #story #short story #heroes and villains #hero x villain community #writing community #abuse tw

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

The counterpart to Uncle Ben and Little Luke (Original Post, Chrono)

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

This got... very long and detailed and I’m going to have to clean it up and post to AO3. As in, this was supposed to be 2-3k and is literally ten times that long. It crossed 25k. And the initial section actually glosses over a bunch, actual fic-style writing starts at “That, of course, is when things get interesting.”

Warnings: discussion of various canon traumas (most relating to being child soldiers), general PTSD, several scenes featuring dissociation or panic attacks upon being triggered, and canon-typical violence.

Rated T, gen.

I still want there to be de-aging nonsense involved so Ahsoka is physically a late teenager despite having a solid two decades of field experience behind her (we’re pulling her from Malachor).

Leia, much like Luke, is now six. She just came from being a rebellion general. She is not happy about being a child. She was already short, this is just mean.  She’s a human espresso.

UNLIKE BEN, Ahsoka is not happy about this turn of events. Being seventeen-ish is not helpful in the outer rim. She’s a female togruta, young and healthy, and in the Outer Rim, caring for a small human child. Sure, she has her lightsabers and plenty of combat experience, and she can keep them safe, but she’s just one person, and a major target for those looking to make some quick cash. It doesn’t matter how good she is; she needs sleep at some point.

It makes my heart happy to treat Ahsoka and Rex as two halves of the same black ops specialist so you know what, he’s there too! He’s physically like... 10-12 in natborn, maybe. They’re not sure, because clones age weird. He’s moderately more useful than Leia (who is very competent but also physically six, and short for that age), but he’s still... very small.

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

Ahsoka has a harder time explaining WHY she has children with her, since she's barely more than a kid herself, and clearly unrelated by species. She sometimes just says “Oh, my adoptive brother’s kids” since it’s kind of the truth for Leia and she’s not touching the actual truth about Rex with a ten foot pole.

Ahsoka definitely knows about Leia being a Skywalker, or at least has suspicions that Bail never outright confirmed but was conspicuously quiet about. She does tell Leia about it, but it’s not like that means anything, right? Just, you know, your dad was my teacher! I don’t have to tell you he became Va--oh shit, you already knew that part. Well, fuck. What do you mean he had a son? OH SHIT, PADME HAD TWINS.

Alt take for explaining why she’s got kids: She’s my foundling, I know her name as my child (Leia shut up!!!)

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

That said, there is... significantly less gambling and significantly more theft to get to Coruscant.

As previously stated, Ahsoka is a black ops kinda gal, and more importantly, she looks like a fairly attractive young woman in the Outer Rim, with two children in good health. She’s a target, and also not the kind of person one generally gambles with. If she does gamble, people get upset when she doesn’t lose, in ways they don’t get upset about Ben doing the same, because she’s, again, a cute teenage girl. It’s exhausting.

As things go, she largely ends up stealing from people who deserve it and/or smuggling herself and her charges into someone else’s ship. They’re small, they can hide. Sometimes she can get them all passage by working as a mechanic, she’s good at that.

Once they’ve got a handle on when they are, they have to decide on Names. None of them have been born yet, so technically they could use their own names without anyone Knowing. Rex and Leia might not even be born, depending on how successful they are at, you know, stopping the war and everything. Ahsoka, though, she’s going be born in two years, and there’s no reason to prevent it, so... she doesn’t want to steal baby-her’s name. That would be mean.

Leia is already calling her “Auntie ‘Soka” when she can for reasons like “selling the bit” and “manipulating adults” and “making us both feel better after we had a mutual breakdown about Anakin being Vader.” Ergo, she decides that whatever new name she picks better include that in some way, and decides on “Sokari” because it sounds pretty.

Overall, they don’t... they don’t actually make it very far before there’s an Incident. Again, teenager with small children. They spend a lot of time hiding out in space ports looking for an opportunity.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil, and thinks ‘well, they’re more likely to help than some,’ because from what she’s heard, the Haat Mando’ade are Decent People Overall. Her view is a little biased, mostly on account of the sheer level of grudge she has against Kyr’tsad. It’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge, right? And Mandalorians like kids and Ahsoka hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! IT’S FINE.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, mostly quiet. Ahsoka’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed. Ahsoka just angles herself between Fett and Rex and hopes that he doesn’t see them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma, and doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Ahsoka later tells herself that he’s killed Jedi and that’s why he can sneak up on her, and that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones and new forms of anxiety that are markedly different from those she was dealing with a few weeks ago.

What Ahsoka wants to say is “that’s kind of a long story,” or “maybe he’s a cousin,” or “kriff off, I don’t know you,” or maybe even “he’s a clone.”

What Ahsoka actually does is burst into tears, which is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

But she is, sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms--oh Force he’s so small--around her, and both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

“So, I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Ahsoka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Ahsoka just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You--you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then... whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Ahsoka lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think it was normal either.”

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Ahsoka watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There’s a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re dumb. Ahsoka decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s visibly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on,” Fett says. “I’ll let you stay on my ship, there’s a spare bunk and you’re small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. “We can negotiate from there.”

Ahsoka takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we... share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Ahsoka says, and then just... hesitates. “Fett...”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and toneless. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Ahsoka says, feeling heavy and boneless. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Ahsoka lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Ahsoka says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m... I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

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

Fett watches her like she’s a predator, which has the benefit of being accurate and slightly flattering. She lets other two take care of most of talking, and then Fett tells her to sleep first, and talk in the morning.

“You’re dead on your feet, jetii,” he snorts. “And that crying jag didn’t do you any favors. Sleep.”

So she does, and Fett doesn’t even wake her. He just lets her sleep. He watches her in the way of a guard. She sees him when she gets up to use the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t even comment when she collapses right back into the mediocre cot she’s borrowed for the cycle.

Rex and Leia are safe, her hindbrain tells her, even in the depths of sleep. Her mind curls around theirs in the Force, and she trusts that they are here. They are not happy, but they are alive and unharmed, and that has to be enough.

When she stumbles her way to true wakefulness, groggy and loose-limbed, Fett greets her with caf.

“The kids wouldn’t let me near you,” he tells her.

“They’re good,” she says, cupping her hands around the mug. She feels wobbly, in every sense. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her connection to the Force. Nothing is on-kilter right now. “Did they tell you anything?”

“They waited for you,” he says. “But the little miss needed a nap of her own. They’re down in the other bunk.”

“I didn’t notice,” she admits. She should have. She’s Fulcrum. She’s a veteran of the Clone Wars. She’s... she’s supposed to be better than this.

“How long?” he asks, and then when she squints up at him, he clarifies. “How long did you fight?”

“My last fight--”

“No, whatever war you came out of,” he says. Her chest twists cold. “I don’t know if the Jedi sent you into it or if you waded in yourself once you left, but you move like a soldier.”

“I was,” she confirms. “But... but I don’t want to talk about the details. Not until the other two are here.”

He frowns at her. “Is there anything you can talk about?”

She shrugs and looks away, trying to take solace in the warmth of the caff she holds above the table, as if it can hide her, guard her, from the disgraced Mand’alor across the table.

“Jedi?”

“I’m not officially a Jedi,” she says, voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

“Then what do I call you?” he asks. “We’re not exactly close enough for names.”

“Torrent,” she says. “It’s not--I can’t claim my family name anymore. But I can claim Torrent, so I will. And if you want a title, I was a commander.”

“Bit young for that.”

“I got the rank when I was fourteen,” she says, and watches his face do something complicated and unpleasant. “Don’t. I know your own culture puts children on the field that young.”

“Not in command.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well... the soldiers were technically younger. Adults, but...”

Ahsoka can see the way he casts about to figure out what species grows at that rate. He guesses a few, and she shoots all of it down.

She won’t tell him. Not until Rex is awake.

This part of the story is his.

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

When Leia tries to sit alone, a foot away on the bench like a proper adult, Ahsoka refuses to let it happen. She pulls the younger girl to her side and quells protests with a glance. It’s a decent skill, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to work on her niece-in-spirit.

“Your body needs the chemical release of skinship,” she says, and Leia glares at her. “I spent way too much time with the boys to not know about this. Deal.”

Rex sits close enough to knock their knees together under the table, and his warmth is the old comfort she needs.

“Do you want the story you’ll believe, or the truth?” Ahsoka asks.

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them involves something so impossible that even most Jedi wouldn’t believe it,” she tells him.

Fett folds his arms and leans forward to rest them on the table, challenging but oddly open. “Try me.”

“Time travel.”

He blinks, just once, fully controlled. “That’s a tough one.”

“There were only three Jedi left alive when I died,” she says. “Or... whatever it is that happened to me. I think I died. All I know is that one moment, I was thirty-two and dying, and the next, I was... seventeen again, and had these two with me. All of us younger than we were. None of us have even been born yet.”

She refuses to look him in the eye. “They both outlived me by... six years, maybe. Got caught up while traveling instead of dying. Leia was twenty-two. Rex was thirty-five. I’m not technically the oldest anymore. I mean, physically I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not exactly doing us any good, and--”

Rex bumps his shoulder to her arm. “I dunno, Commander. I’ve spent a long time looking older than I should. Nice to look younger for once.”

She shoots him a small, pained grin. “Could be worse, yeah.”

“Let’s say I believe you.”

Her attention snaps back to Fett, who’s looking damnably blank, and is showing even less in the Force.

He waits a second for her to relax back into her seat.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he repeats. “How’s ‘Rex’ connected to me? What’s so special about Leia there? And what war did you fight in that has you acting like a veteran?”

“Three years in the clone wars,” she whispers, glancing to Rex and forcing herself to not go for her sabers to defend against an attack that her paranoia says is coming and the Force says is not. “Then almost all the Jedi were wiped out at once, and I spent a year... drifting. Then black ops for the next fifteen.”

“Black ops,” he repeats, still damnably flat.

“There was a Sith Empire,” she says, and she can hear her own tone growing somehow emptier. “Glassing planets. Enslaving entire species. Committing genocides all over. Of course, there was a rebellion, and of course I joined it. I was one of the only people left with Jedi training. For all that I’d left the Order, I still had a duty to the universe.”

His eyes flit to Leia, who shrugs and tries to look prim. “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

“That why you’re special?”

Leia smiles, thin and patronizing. It doesn’t fit on her little face. “I’m special because my biological father was one of the most powerful Force users in history, and his Fall to the dark side and choice to become a Sith is why the Emperor’s rise was nearly uncontested. I do not like power, but it’s in my veins and I can’t change that. Force users are... a lucrative trade, and I’m still the size of a child, so I can’t fight back. I’ll be safer in the Jedi Temple, even if I don’t want to be a Jedi.”

Fett looks to Ahsoka, makes to ask a question, and then shakes his head. Not the time, maybe.

“So, that’s all... very complicated and I don’t know how much of it I believe, but it doesn’t explain...” he trails off, and sighs. “My kid, or whatever you are. I heard you mention clones.”

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

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

Ahsoka has no idea if Fett believes them. Either he thinks they’re telling the truth, or he thinks their delusional kids. Whatever the case, he offers to take them closer to the Core. Ahsoka quietly offers to take a look at his engine in return, and then pretends not to notice when Fett awkwardly drifts to and away from Rex.

“They put chips in our brains to make us kill the Jedi we respected, cared for, even loved. I tried to shoot ‘Soka, Fett. She was seventeen and risked her life to get that chip out of my head while I was trying to kill her. I have never hated myself more than when I woke up and realized what I’d almost done, and I was one of the few that were able to fight it. I heard the stories of dozens of brothers who woke with their chips having degraded and chose to eat their blaster rather than live with the guilt of the orders they’d followed without question because of a thrice-damned Sith slave chip in their head.”

“So no, I won’t call you father or acknowledge you as clan until you do something to prove you’re worth it, shared blood or not.”

What Ahsoka does get out of the arrangement, for all that Fett’s route mostly takes them on a meandering path that isn’t faster than their previous system, is sleep. She gets to rest. She gets to trust that Fett won’t kill Rex, out of guilt for something he hasn’t done, that he won’t kill Leia out of a worry that she’s just a delusional child, a real child, that he won’t kill ‘Sokari’ because it would ruin any chance of gaining Rex’s favor, ever.

She’s not safe, won’t believe she can be until she’s in the Temple and Sidious is dead dead dead, but she’s safer than she’s been in a long time.

Every night, Ahsoka wakes up and stumbles to the little galley, deaths and torture sparkling behind her eyes with the energy of a thousand lost Jedi, ten thousand mourned brothers and sisters.

She is not the only one of their little group to be a survivor of a near-total genocide, but Rex could not feel his brothers die in the Force, even if his nightmares featured what they heard of suicide missions by the emperor’s favored shock troopers, and Leia had... Alderaan had more off-world survivors than there had been Jedi at all.

It’s not worth comparing their pain. It’s stupid to even think it. Part of her can’t help but do it anyway.

“Caf?”

She feels a lek twitch in response to the voice of the only other person on board who can reach the top shelf. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

She doesn’t lift her head from her arms until the mug clicks down in front of her, ceramic on plastisteel.

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain to non-sensitives.”

“Try me anyway.”

Ahsoka twists the Hoth chocolate in her hands, takes a sip as she thinks. “The Force isn’t just one thing. It’s... energy and philosophy and spirit, a sense of being that ties the entire universe together. Sentient and inanimate and living and dead, empty space and lush forests and stifled cities. For those of us who are sensitive to it, it’s possible to feel the life of everyone around you, theoretically possible to feel entire systems. If you have a Force bond, like a master and padawan, that can stretch across planets, even systems if one or both are particularly powerful.

“So just... just imagine, for a moment, what it’s like to feel the screaming of all those Jedi in the Force as their trusted men shot them down.

“Some of them were close enough that I could feel them die,” she manages. “I... it’s horrible. It’s horrific. It’s not something I can ever forget, and I want to. I want to forget what that moment was like. Not that it happened, but...”

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

“Don’t we all?” she asks, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Leia lost her entire planet, billions of people, and she was forced to watch. Rex... Force, I can barely imagine, and I was there for most of it.”

Fett watches her, measuring. “From what he said, they were as much your brothers as his, by the end.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “They could have been, maybe, but the ones I was closest to died earlier, and then I left, and by the time the Empire rose, all but a handful were... no. Rex, I will claim as a brother in all the ways that matter, but I don’t get to do that with the rest. I don’t have the right.”

“You’re hard on yourself.”

“Fate of the galaxy, my good bitch. Guess who’s got it on her shoulders.”

He snorts at her, and nods at the mug. “Drink your Hoth chocolate. We’re landing in eight hours, and you’ve got kids to look out for.”

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

There’s a twitch in the Force when they land, something pulling at her in a way she barely feels. She’s had her shields up so fully for so long that it’s natural to hide away what she is to the point where she can hardly tell what anyone else is, either. It takes more than a moment to remember how to let herself spread out across the world.

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

She doesn’t have an answer to Leia’s prodding question. “I don’t know.”

It’s almost familiar. Old and half-forgotten, not the same as what she remembers, but--

“This way,” she says, and wanders off into the crowd. Leia and Rex follow without question. Fett curses and rushes through the rest of his transaction with the docking attendant. The sound of him jogging after them is almost funny, with the armor, but she can’t focus on that.

Ahsoka slips between people with the ease of a career built on such a habit, children trailing like ducklings. She knows this feeling, she knows this person, what is she missi--

“Oh,” she breathes, going stock still. She knows that face. She knows those braids. She even knows the presence.

Younger than Ahsoka had ever seen her, but unmistakably Master Billaba.

“Torrent, what the hell?” Fett demands, finally catching up. “You can’t just run off like that!”

“It’s Depa,” she says, eyes still fixed on the woman parsing through a datapad with an irritated vendor. She has a padawan braid. It doesn’t feel like Master Windu is on-planet, so this might be a solo mission, a... oh. Senior Padawan, Knight Elect. This is the kind of mission taken to test if she’s ready to be promoted.

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

Fett waits for her to elaborate, but she can’t. This was Kanan’s master. This was a member of the High Council. This was a woman who died and--

“You need to sit down,” Fett says, not a touch gruff. He puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her off the main walkway. “I’m... going to talk to the woman in the Jedi robes. You three just stay there and don’t get kidnapped.”

Ahsoka nods, feeling like she’s not quite inhabiting her own body.

It’s Depa.

Her eyes track Fett without conscious control, and her montrals pick up the sound.

Depa looks up when the armor comes close enough, free hand tensed in a way that says she’s preventing herself from reaching for a saber in reaction to the heavily-armored individual standing several feet away.

“Mando,” the woman says. “May I help you?”

“Are you Depa?”

Depa doesn’t do anything so dramatic as gape or step back, but she does blink rapidly for a moment. She then folds her hands down in front of her, drawing her spine up ramrod straight. “I am Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, yes. May I ask why it is that you need to know?”

Ahsoka imagines Fett grimacing, or rolling his eyes, or maybe dithering. She can’t tell from this angle, and he has a helmet on besides. It turns his awkward silences into judgmental ones.

“I’ve had some Jedi kids on my ship, hitching a ride,” he says at length. “One of them recognized you and then just... froze.”

“You have our younglings in your care,” Depa says, carefully not accusatory, but close enough to be a warning.

“Not quite,” he says. “The one that actually came from the temple is seventeen. One of ‘em isn’t Force Sensitive, and the last one is but hasn’t been to Coruscant before. They’re trying to get the little one to the Temple for her own safety.”

Depa considers that, and then passes the datapad to the vendor. “Lead on.”

It’s surprisingly simple, really. Fett did all the talking.

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

“Like I said,” Fett sighs. “She froze up.”

“Hello,” Depa says, hands laced together inside her sleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I know of you. I’ve seen you spar. You’ve never spoken to me.”

All true. A little misleading, but it’s fine, it’s all fine.

Depa waits a moment, and then says, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sokari T-Torrent,” she manages. The words feel clunky in her mouth, the sound abrasive for all that it’s just her own voice, no different from usual. A little shaky, maybe. She can feel a cool breeze on her upper arms. Shouldn’t she have armor? She should have armor. “It... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen another Jedi. I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.”

“I see,” Depa says. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? You seem a little unsteady.”

Ahsoka lets herself be led back to the ship, in the company of Mand’alor Jango Fett, Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, Princess-General Leia Organa, and good old Captain Rex.

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

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

Fett and Depa talk where she can hear, but they rarely address her directly. Both seem to realize that she’s not particularly useful right now. Leia and Rex are pressing up against her at the little table in the galley, and Ahsoka lets them.

This is real. She can feel Depa in the Force, recognizes her energy even if it’s not quite what it will-was-could-have-been. This is happening.

It’s a textbook Traumatic Stress Response case, one of them says.

Fett has his helmet off. Ahsoka’s sure that’s wrong for some reason. She thinks he might already be on wanted lists. Should she worry about Depa trying to arrest him?

Depa asks about Rex at one point. Fett tells her that someone cloned him without his knowing, but the kid is more comfortable with Ahsoka so they’re still working on what that means for him.

It’s more or less true. Rex squeezes her hand the one time someone suggests separating them. She’s not letting that happen unless Rex wants to leave for whatever reason. They’ve worked apart before. They can do it again.

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

Leia cuddles in closer, and Ahsoka runs a hand over her hair. It’s an absentminded motion, and for all that she knows Leia’s hair is fine as silk, it feels like plastic in the moment.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Ahsoka announces. The words hang in the air like lead balloons, and she can feel Depa staring at her. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Fett says. “Do you need to lay down, Torrent?”

Does she?

“No,” she says. “I... I don’t know what I need.”

“The spicy drink,” Rex tells them. “It’s grounding.”

Right. That.

Fett goes to grab it, and Depa continues to watch.

“How long ago did you leave your master?” Depa asks. “Or... did he die?”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can feel the shivers now, tremors in her biceps and a shudder she can’t control in the height of her ribcage. Her teeth grind together, jaw like stone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Depa assures her. “I’m... going to recommend you see a mind healer on Coruscant.”

That was a forgone conclusion.

A cup clinks onto the table. Fett’s back. “Drink.”

She does.

Depa and Fett continue discussing it as “the adults” at the table. She’s older than both of them. Rex is older than all of them. Ahsoka follows about half of what they say. She agrees with most of it. Rex bullies his way into speaking when she doesn’t, without her even asking, because he knows her mind as well as she does. Fett rolls with it. Depa lets him.

She’s going to reach out to the Temple and see about getting them a ride back to Imperial Center Coruscant.

Fett makes Soka go to bed, taking Leia with her.

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

She feels more like a person come morning.

Depa’s sitting at the table, datapad in her hands and caff on the table in front of her.

“Good morning,” Ahsoka says, rough and croaking, and Depa’s eyes flick up to meet hers. She nods a shallow hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” Ahsoka says, and goes about gathering a breakfast. There’s definitely some dried meat in here. She can get something fresh when they stop by the market later.

“I was hoping to speak with you about your options,” Depa tells her, once she’s sat at the table. “Fett and your friend Rex took care of most of the negotiation, and I feel like I have an idea of what would work best for you.”

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

“There is a Master-Padawan pair a few planets away,” Depa says. “The Council informed me when I spoke with them about you and your wards. They’d be headed back to the Temple in a few days anyway, and the Council has agreed to extend an offer to Fett to handle the transportation. The presence of a Jedi Master on board will allow for him to get in and out of the Core unmolested, and we’d like for you and yours to have a Jedi escort, given what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

“I understand,” she says instead. “I suppose Fett agreed because he’s still trying to get Rex to like him?”

Depa shrugs. “That part isn’t my business.”

Of course it isn’t.

“Rex can stay with me for a while, right?” Ahsoka finally asks. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but I’m...”

“In need of a support system until you’ve seen a mind healer, and against all odds, the child is part of it,” Depa summarizes. “Yes, I recognized as much. I think the Council will be able to allow some leeway there. I don’t know if he’ll enjoy it, given that all the others his age are Initiates, but we can adjust as necessary. On that note... Do you know Leia’s midichlorian count?”

“No,” Ahsoka says, and hesitantly adds, “But her biological father was my Jedi Master, and I’m told his count broke records even as a child. Given what Leia’s shown so far... it’s why I’ve been in a hurry to get her to the Temple.”

Depa frowns at her, clearly working through the implications of a Jedi having a daughter and still teaching... and then visibly dismisses the situation, eyes closing to breathe in the steam of her caff.

Biological father certainly implies a child that was raised by her mother or adopted out so the Jedi father could remain in their chosen career without a conflict of interest or duty.

She’ll tell the council the truth, or... at least Master Koon. Master Kenobi is still a padawan, but she can tell Master Koon.

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

Her head snaps up. She hasn’t been a padawan in over fifteen years. It’s weird to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted some time to think it over before I presented the offer to Fett,” Depa says.

Ahsoka gets the distinct feeling that Depa is planning a report to the Council that has ‘needs a mind healer’ underlined at least three times.

“No, I’m--I’m fine. That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll speak with him, then. Would you like to come with?”

"No, thank you.”

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

Fett agrees. Ahsoka’s pretty sure it’s all to do with Rex and maybe Leia. It’s probably nothing to do with ‘Sokari.’ She’s a Jedi, an adult in mind and in body, or at least close enough to count. She’s a damn sight more ‘enemy’ to Fett than the other two are. Not as much as Depa, maybe, but Fett’s been playing nice with her for Leia’s sake.

He plays nice with Ahsoka for Rex’s. That’s all.

They’re only a few planets over from the meeting point, and they have a few days to hang around before the escort meets them. Depa hadn’t given them a name--apparently it could have compromised the opsec for the Jedi team--but Ahsoka’s pretty sure she’ll be able to identify almost anyone. She gets the feeling that the Force is going to send her a familiar face, just as it did Master Padawan Billaba.

Ahsoka lets herself feel the world around her. It’s dark and dreary, in the sense that the beaten-down port is full of petty crimes and less petty horrors, but it’s still lighter than most of the Empire had been. She sneaks away from the ship at night, ignoring Fett at her back, and performs a bit of vigilante justice while she can. She’ll be banned from doing so as soon as she’s reinstated as a Jedi, probably, but for now... for now, she can look at the drug cartels and ‘they’re not slaves, really’ workers and do something to help.

She doesn’t use her sabers. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since she has, for small fry like these.

“What are you doing?” Fett asks her, landing heavily behind her back.

“Chip removal,” she says, hand pressed to the slave’s leg. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear him shifting. “Let me concentrate, I don’t have a meddroid for this.”

He’s silent until she finishes, and waits until the people she’s helped are on their way to the planet’s freedom routes. He doesn’t ask what she did with the owners.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

He doesn’t answer that, just ambles over to the the chains and stares down at them.

“Fett?”

“You go through this like it’s as easy as breathing,” he says. “It’s... impressive.”

“I guess?” she hesitates to continue. “I’m... I don’t think of it that way. This is the easy stuff. A time-waster that helps people. If I wanted to help for real, I’d been going after Jabba or Sidious or--”

“How old were you?” he asks, turning on his heel to face her dead-on. The vocoder of his helmet pulls the emotion from his voice. “When did this... these missions, the slavery battles, when did that start for you?”

“Fourteen,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, really, what counted as a mission for ending slavery and what counted as just a part of war, but she can round down. “Maybe fifteen. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“And you just kept doing it.”

“Of course,” she says. “If I have the time and the energy, if I need to do something and there’s nothing official on my hands, why not?”

He doesn’t answer her.

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

Rex greets them before she does.

Ahsoka, in her defense, is asleep at the time. It’s a restless sleep, but it’s enough that she doesn’t sense the nearing Force signatures until they’re almost at the ship.

She recognizes one of them.

“Auntie ‘Soka?” Leia questions, when she lurches to her feet and starts pulling on her boots with all the energy of a zombie. “Where are you going?”

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

Leia dresses to follow her, in a little coat that’ll withstand the chill of the outside air, and Ahsoka makes it to the cargo hold just in time to hear Rex saying, “I’m not shaking your hand until you put your gloves on, Vos.”

She laughs to herself, breathless with the knowledge of what she’s about to find. She jumps the railing of the upper walkway, drops down just in front of the Master-Padawan team, and keeps her back to Fett and Rex. “Hello, there.”

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

“Would you be Sokari Torrent?” the Master asks.

“I am,” she says, with a slight bow. She can tell there’s a bit of judgement for how she’s dressed, but they’re covering it well. A Shadow and his trainee know the value of armor better than most Jedi bother with. “I’m afraid Padawan Billaba didn’t inform me of your names before we met.”

“And yet your friend knew my padawan,” the Master says.

“By reputation,” she says, as smoothly as she can. “I’ve encountered Quinlan Vos before, though I doubt he remembers--”

“I’d remember someone like you,” Quinlan interrupts, with a grin she’s sure is meant to be charming and rogueish.

He’s... very young for her, and not her type. Mostly, she wants to pat him on the head, but that probably wouldn’t go over very well. She still looks like she’s younger than him.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the master, “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, Master.”

“I am Tholme,” he says, with the bow that a Master gives a Padawan. She feels a little slighted, but it’s fine. She looks the right age, it’s fine.

It’s not like they know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Tholme,” she says. “My charges are Rex Torrent, the young man behind me, and currently coming down the ladder is Leia Antilles. I’m sure you’re aware of Jango Fett.”

“The Mand’alor,” Quinlan volunteers, and Ahsoka can almost hear Fett’s teeth grinding.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. She’s sure he’s got a hand drifting for his blaster.

“There isn’t a whole lot of room on the ship,” she says before the men can get into whatever weird contest she’s sure someone might start. Her bet’s on Fett. “But Leia and Rex are small enough to share with me, so I’m sure we can make it work.”

“There’s spare rolls for anyone comfortable with sleeping in the hold,” Fett grunts. “Or on the floor in the passenger room.”

“Well, I guess I could ask for a little help fi--”

“Vos,” Ahsoka snaps, letting her voice take on the kind of ‘obey me or get fresher duty’ irritation that she’d perfected back when the rebellion still had her managing people, before they’d realized she was more use in the field. “Do not.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Tholme looks unimpressed with that raised eyebrow, but the kind of unimpressed that’s split between his own padawan and the stranger before him.

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

“No,” she cuts him off. “No flirting.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable and she’d have maybe been okay with it if she was actually the seventeen-or-eighteen-ish(?) that she looked, but she’s not. She’s in her thirties and Vos is... what, twenty? Twenty-one? No.

He stares at her, and she wonders momentarily if she’d gone too far in the direction of judging his intentions in the Force and preempted actual flirtations.

“I’m sorry?” He offers, looking confused, but ashamed. “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

Ahsoka closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes. “Right. That was... I’m not sure how much Padawan Billaba told you about me.”

“Enough,” Tholme says. He moves forward and puts a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. Ahsoka has no idea if it’s to comfort him or hold him back. “I didn’t share most of it with my padawan, but I have a general understanding of what’s going on.”

Quinlan darts a look at his teacher, but Ahsoka doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says, and bows, and stiffly turns away to walk to the galley.

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

Leia squirms into the bench seat, shoving her way under Ahsoka’s arm like a particularly wriggly tooka.

“What was that?” Leia demands, the authority of a rebellion general rather useless in the squeaky voice of a child.

“What was what?”

“The whole thing with Padawan Vos,” Leia says. “You blew up at him before he even did anything.”

That’s pretty true.

“I felt the flirtation coming before it happened and reacted inappropriately because I panicked. I’m significantly older than him, but I can’t tell him that, so it’s just awkward and uncomfortable and... I’m not okay, Princess. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

“What? I need therapy too! Captain Rex needs therapy! I’m pretty sure Fett needs therapy! You, Fulcrum, you really need therapy. None of us are okay.” She huffs, wiggling impossibly closer. “I don’t like it, but it’s true.”

“I know,” Ahsoka groans. “I just... I just need to hold out until the Temple.”

“Will you be able to hold it together if you see someone you actually care about?” Leia demands. “What are you going to do when you see Kenobi?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

“Leia, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I was fighting that war before you were even born, and I’ve dealt with the consequences since. I know the risks and I’ll thank you to remember who taught you to control your own mind.”

Leia stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not the child you appear to be,” Ahsoka reminds her, not a little sharply. “You want to dish it out, be ready to take it. What will you do when we see Bail Organa? When we see the toddler that is Anakin Skywalker?”

“I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Ahsoka mutters. She isn’t surprised when Leia ducks out of the embrace and leaves the galley. She lets the girl go, guilt warring with the memory of how Master Kenobi had more than once spoken that way to Anakin at the height of the war. The fact that she’s an adult in the body of a child isn’t an excuse for poking at Ahsoka’s open wounds. It was cruel and unnecessary, and unbecoming of a... not a Jedi. A princess. A politician.

She rests her head on her arms and zones out. She should meditate, but that seems like... too much effort.

She can feel Vos and Tholme setting up in the room they’ve been assigned. Neither seems particularly angry. Most likely, Tholme’s given the absolute shortest explanation of ‘child soldier, dead master, highly traumatized and emotionally unstable’ to Vos to smooth over the incident in the cargo hold. Rex is with Leia; he’s agitated, but less so than Leia herself. Fett’s annoyed, in the cockpit, but he seems annoyed as often as not. There’s a shudder at lift-off, and a few minutes later, they’re in hyperspace, headed for the Core.

Fett finds her, falls into the other bench in full armor, and drops his elbows onto the table. The helmet clunks down a moment later.

She doesn’t lift her head. “What do you want?”

“Do I need to keep Vos away from you?”

“What?”

“Vos. He made you uncomfortable. Was that him being someone that hurt you in the future, or just the interaction being awkward?”

She lifts her head. She stares at him. “What?”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “Do you need me to tell Vos to stay the hell away from you?”

She’s gaping. “You realize I’m thirty-two, right? I can handle my own battles.”

“You’re also traumatized as hell and everyone can see it,” Fett argues back. “If Vos himself is a trigger, I can handle it.”

“He’s not,” she tells him. This is strange. Fett’s being strange. “He was actually a friend of my grandmaster’s. I’m just uncomfortable with the flirting because I’m a lot older than he realizes, and I can’t tell him that.”

He nods sharply, and then looks away. The silence sits.

“Thanks for asking?” Ahsoka says, well aware of how her confusion over the offer turns it into a question. “I mean, thank you for... caring.”

I guess, she finishes in the privacy of her own head. Or at least pretending to.

Fett makes a face, still not facing her. He eyes the galley instead. She can guess where his thoughts are going. The galley is... not very big, especially with six people on board instead of one, but she’s sure they’ve stocked up enough. On the off chance they do go through more than expected, because of how many growing bodies are in residence, they can stop off and buy more. They have those resources now.

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

“Who’s going to cry if I spice things properly?” he asks.

“Probably Leia,” she says immediately. “Vos will try to power through it even though he’s going to be overwhelmed. No idea about Tholme, but I think he’ll keep a straight face whether he likes it or not. Rex and I are fine, ‘hot’ was pretty much the only flavor of seasoning the GAR had.”

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

“You already knew I was a child soldier, Fett; don’t act surprised.”

“That doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”

“I was fourteen. That’s old enough by Mando standards, Fett. Just think back, when did you get on the battlefield?”

“I take your point,” he says, lip curling unpleasantly. “It just hits different now that I’m old enough to look back and think of how damned young fourteen really is.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

“...closer to seven, by the end. Kamino was just making speedies at that point. Triple growth on the average instead of double, but averages in that case meant they’d been growing at double rates for six years and then got forced through four growth cycles in a single year to beef up the army when we kept losing men.” She looks down at the table, picking at a scratch in the plastipaint with her nail. “Rex and the rest of the ones from the beginning were basically twenty in mind and body, even if they’d only been decanted ten years earlier. The speedies... I always wondered. They’d gone from functionally twelve to functionally twenty in a year. That’s not... even in Kamino, that can’t have been normal. They didn’t act like adults, not the way the originals did.”

Fett rubs at his face, groaning. He swears under his breath in three different languages.

She pities him, if only because he hasn’t actually done any of this yet. He’s paying for the crimes of a man he likely won’t ever become.

She kicks him under the table. “Wanna make tiingilar and see how long it takes Vos to start crying while he insists it’s fine?”

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

Dinner is when the questions start. Some are relatively easy. Others, not so much.

“My Master was Leia’s biological father,” is an easy truth to share. “She inherited his power, so I need to get her to the temple for her own safety, because home no longer is.”

“Yes, her adoptive parents were unfortunately killed rather recently. We’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Rex is with me. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa.”

That one gets her an odd look.

“I thought...” Quinlan trails off, gesturing between Rex and Fett.

Fett keeps his face impassive, but his discomfort and guilt leak into the Force. “I didn’t know Rex existed until I ran into these three in a spaceport cantina a few weeks ago.”

Quinlan blinks at him, looks at Rex again, and then turns back to Fett with a grin that might have been described as ‘saucy’ if he were less smug about it. “Wild oats, huh?”

“Are you shitting me right now,” Leia whispers, and Ahsoka elbows her.

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

Quinlan’s grin fades as Fett just continues to eye him.

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

Darting eyes answer him, as Quinlan tries to gauge Rex. “Ten? Maybe twelve?”

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

Quinlan’s grin fades further as he does the math.

“I’d have been between fifteen and seventeen when he was born,” Fett says, tone flat. “Between fourteen and sixteen at conception. I know damn well I wasn’t doing anything that could have resulted in a kid at that age.”

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

“I’m a clone,” Rex says, and Ahsoka can feel the amusement he gets out of Quinlan’s confused shock. They’d both had plenty of respect for Master Vos, but Padawan Vos was nothing but trouble. “Harvested genetic material, grown in a tube, inconsistent aging meaning I don’t even know how old I am for sure.”

“I broke him out,” Ahsoka adds, which is half true.

“There was a chip in my head,” Rex adds, with a bright smile. Quinlan’s discomfort grows. “She got it out. Also, lots of brothers. None of them are... around anymore. The creators were trying to make an army.”

Vos and Tholme have no response. Fett looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Leia’s just ignoring them and picking at her food.

Ahsoka lifts a hand and, without looking, Rex high-fives her.

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

“Drop your elbow.”

Ahsoka tries to cover her smile at the dirty look that Leia shoots Fett. Fett remains unimpressed by the glare of royalty, just gestures for the girl to do as he said.

“I know how to fight,” Leia grumbles. “I took lessons. I was good at them.”

“And I’m better,” Fett says, leaving no room for argument. “You want the Torrents to take over?”

The Torrents. Rex and Soka. She likes being referred to that way. Like they’re a team that never got split up.

Force, she wished they’d never gotten split up.

“Again,” Fett orders, and Leia moves through the Mandalorian kata with ill grace in her emotions and all grace in her sweeping limbs.

Well, as much grace as an undersized six-year-old can, at any rate.

“Think he’ll ask me to spar her again?” Rex asks, dropping down into the seat next to Ahsoka and passing her a drink.

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “I think he’s wondering if it’s worth asking Vos to spar with her, so she gets more experience with size differences.”

“Hm?”

“She flinched at his face again,” she tells him. “The whole... thing with Boba, I guess. She still won’t tell me why Fett triggers her sometimes, but he’s not pressing her to spar with him, and there’s only so much she can get out of fighting me. Asking Tholme would be presumptuous, but Vos is just a padawan. I think it’d work out.”

“And you?”

She looks at him, already feeling a cresting wave of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with. “What about me?”

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

She should. She hasn’t sparred with a saber since she got tossed back into a body only half-familiar to her. She’s let Leia borrow the shorter one to learn some basic blocking moves, Shii-Cho and then, with hesitance, the first Soresu form. Another time, she loaned it to Rex to practice some attacks; they both know that the next time he picks up her saber in battle, having lost his weapons or she her grip, it will be neither the first or last time he wields a sword of light. None of that, however, is... sparring.

None of that is against someone who knows what they’re doing.

How long has it been since she sparred with anyone other than Kanan and Ezra?

How long has it been since she sparred without the looming specter of Darth Vader in the back of her mind, without fear of the Inquisitors, without the knowledge that any saber held by someone other than her two friends would be red as blood and twice as drenched.

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

“I should,” she acknowledges, eyes on where Fett is nudging Leia’s feet into position for some kind of leveraging flip. She’s so small. “It would probably be a good idea to spar against a master at some point.”

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

“I never knew him,” she says. “And he isn’t Dark. It should be fine.”

Rex nods, taking her word for it. They watch as Leia stumbles on a final move, and Fett gestures for her to sit down and get a drink.

“That man is a terror,” she informs them.

(She’d once described him as a slave-driver. She had not made that mistake twice.)

“Least it’s not Kamino!” Rex tells her cheerfully. When Leia refuses to look impressed, he laughs at her.

Ahsoka has a half-second’s warning before heavy boots thud to the ground next to her. “What’s Kamino?”

“Hello, Vos, it’s nice to see you too,” she drawls. “I’m good, thanks for asking, and yourself?”

The boy-not-quite-man rolls his eyes. “Hi, Torrents; hi, tiny one.”

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth as the conversation drops into the same awkward gap that always happens when Quinlan stumbles into a subject he didn’t know to avoid.

“Like... you were made there, or you were researching how it works for your own--”

Ahsoka slaps a hand over his mouth. “Now’s a great time to stop talking.”

He licks her palm.

She bares her teeth and arches her fingers just enough to press nails into his cheek.

He bites at her palm, and she yanks her hand away.

“You’re all children,” Leia accuses, conveniently forgetting that Ahsoka and Rex are both over a decade older than her.

“I can throw you the length of a swimming pool,” Ahsoka tells her. “One of the fancy competition-ready ones that would make a Tatooinian cry. You are absolutely the child here.”

“Using the Force is cheating, sir,” Rex informs her.

“Only if there’s a competition,” Ahsoka shoots back. “And proving that a certain princess is a small child is not a competition. It’s a declarative fact.”

“I’m going to rip open the seams on all your tops except the ugliest one,” Leia decides.

“Try me,” Ahsoka challenges. “Adi’ka.”

A low, rough cough interrupts them. “Are you done?”

Fett has his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. He knows they’re all adults here, and is entirely unamused. As the silence drags, the eyebrow climbs a little higher.

“Done with what?” Quinlan finally asks, thereby volunteering himself to spar in hand-to-hand with Jango Fett, as one does.

“Poor, poor Vos,” Rex laughs, watching as Fett barks out orders at Quinlan every five seconds to fix his footwork, to stop dropping his guard, to stop wasting energy on flips instead of just dodging the easy way.

“Throw him!” Ahsoka calls. To her delight, Fett obliges.

The thing is, Quinlan isn’t bad at brawling. He’s got training, endurance, skill. The man knows what he’s doing, objectively. He’s just not a match for Fett, and is used enough to relying on his saber that his hand-to-hand skills are rusty. They are perhaps less rusty than those Jedi who don’t take questionable jobs in the Mid-Outer Rim, and Ahsoka’s got a suspicion that Vos regularly gets into bar fights in his downtime, but none of that is enough for him to actually do more than survive against Fett without his saber.

Even the saber wouldn’t help, if Fett had his armor.

“Whose idea was this?”

Ahsoka cranes her head back and smiles. “Hello, Master Tholme. Vos... volunteered.”

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

Tholme snorts, crossing his arms and eyeing the spar in front of him. “I thought Fett hated Jedi. Giving us a ride for the sake of you three is one thing, but why is he teaching my padawan?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

There’s a small twitch of a smile, quickly gone. “He said something wrong, I’m guessing?”

“There was no way he could have known,” she dismisses. “We’re just, like, ninety-percent tragic backstories.”

“You’d think the Force would warn him,” Rex notes.

“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia chides.

“No, no, he’s right,” Ahsoka corrects. “The Force does sometimes step in to stop a person from saying something stupid. However, Padawan Vos is at an age where people think they are very rational while being more irrational than they likely ever will be again.”

“Do I want to ask what you were doing at that age?” Tholme asks.

“Running bla...” she trails off, then whips around to gape at him.

He smiles, bland and unassuming. “Does Fett know?”

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

“That you’re significantly older than you look,” he says, voice just low enough that the sparring duo can’t hear him. “All three of you.”

Ahsoka turns back to the spar, only catching Tholme out of the corner of her eye. “He knows.”

“Mm. Were you planning on telling the Council?”

“Yes.” That part was never in question. “How did you figure it out?”

“I am a good investigator,” he says. “And you rely a little too heavily on your physical forms to obfuscate. Were it just one of you, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the pattern repeated across three is a little easier to discern.”

“I hoped the whole ‘child soldiers’ thing would be a bigger distraction,” Ahsoka mutters. She glances at Leia and Rex. Both of them are used to being in charge to some degree, giving orders and making contingency plans, but in this... in this, Ahsoka is in charge. They’d decided that at the very start. It didn’t matter that Rex had lived longer and had more experience, or that Leia had held the highest Rebellion rank of the three of them. Ahsoka had been agreed as leader, and they were relying on her.

They’re waiting on her orders. Stiff and unhappy, in Leia’s case, but they trust her.

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

“No,” Tholme says. “Your secrets remain your own unless they endanger us, and I’ve a feeling they won’t be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rex jokes, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been working with this family for too long to trust that trouble won’t find them around the next corner.”

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

“Sokari was telling the truth about her master being Leia’s biological father,” Rex says. He shrugs. “I worked with him, with his wife, with both of his kids, with his master and his padawan. All of them, to a one, are trouble magnets.”

“Ah, but that’s not the secret that’s putting us in danger,” Tholme points out. “Simply existence as a Jedi.”

Rex shrugs. “Fair enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Ahsoka lurches to her feet, turning with a smile and dancing backward into the the stretch of empty cargo hold they used for such things. “A spar, Master Tholme?”

He looks past her, to Quinlan, and raises a brow. “Would you not prefer to spar with someone a little closer to your level first?”

She barks out a laugh. “Master Tholme, I’m afraid I’ve spent more of my life fighting to survive than having normal friendly spars. My style is more lethal than the average, and you’ve already seen what war’s done to my mind. I ask to spar with you because, if I lose control, if I slip in time or react on an instinct that isn’t appropriate, I trust that you’ll be more able to stop me than a senior padawan.”

He smiles. “Yes, I gathered as much. Still, better to ask. Shall we wait for them to finish up?”

Ahsoka shrugs, turns, and yells. “Clear the deck!”

Rex snorts behind her, and lowly mutters, “Sir, yes, sir.”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “At ease, Captain.”

“That’s ‘Commander’ to you, I got promoted,” he sniffs, chin held high.

Heavy steps herald Fett’s arrival at their little group. “The hells are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a spar with a Jedi Master, and I want you and Vos to not get stabbed.”

“I’m not that easy to injure in an actual fight, let alone by accident,” Fett grouses. He looks up and over at Vos, who is already significantly taller, if a fair shot less built. “This one, on the other hand...”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka laughs and backs into the center of the cargo hold, drawing her sabers. “Don’t worry, Vos, I won’t play dirty. You’ll probably get your master back in one piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you? He’s a Jedi Master and former Watchman. You’re... what, eighteen?”

Ahsoka raises a brow and activates her sabers, tapping the blades together and watching as more than one person winces. “Wanna bet on how long I last?”

“No,” he says immediately, stepping back to join Rex on the bench. “You’ve already blindsided me enough. I’m not dumb enough to fall for whatever you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

“Greaves go on the legs, these are vambraces.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just going to stop talking now!”

“Good plan,” Leia snarks, and then literally hisses when Rex ruffles her hair.

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

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

She wins, but barely. She's had a few weeks to practice her forms, has sparred hands-only with Rex and Fett, but this is her first real try at using her sabers against a person, instead of a blaster or thin air, since she arrived in the past. She’s only mostly adjusted to her body.

But Tholme is a healer and a watchman, not a duelist. Ahsoka held her own against Ventress, against Grievous, against Maul when she was this age. Still adjusting to her body or not, her lineage is one of battle, and it bled true.

“You’re terrifying,” Quinlan tells her after they’re done, smiling like the sun as he hands her a towel. “Please never turn that on me.”

She laughs at him. “Would you believe that I’m out of practice?”

“Out of practice with what?” he asks, horrified and fascinated. “Fighting Sith Lords?”

“Among other things,” she says, and smirks when he chokes on his drink. “Multiple darkside users who claimed to be Sith, at least. One being a full Lord, one that was disowned by his master, and one that was apprenticed to a Banite apprentice, so she wasn’t technically allowed to be a Darth because of the rule of two.”

Tholme meets her eyes past Quinlan’s shoulder, head tilted and eyes half-shut in consideration. He’s taking her seriously. He knows what she’s not saying.

“How...” Quinlan trails off and shakes his head. “You know what, no. Asking you people questions never ends well.”

“Good plan,” Ahsoka says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Also, you need to spar with Fett more. Your footwork is shit.”

“It is not,” Quinlan gripes. “You’re all just scary good at this stuff.”

“You mean surviving?” Leia pipes up, and smiles innocently when Quinlan turns to pout at her.

“You’re getting bullied by a six-year-old,” Rex informs him.

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

Ahsoka laughs, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. For a week, everything is honestly great. She trains, she laughs, she works through the nightmares.

Then fucking Denon happens.

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

Denon is a city-planet on the intersection of two major hyperlanes. It’s the kind of place where they stop for two things:

Fuel.

Paperwork.

Technically, there’s a whole mess of paperwork they have to fill out to continue along this specific hyperlane, since they aren’t official Republic ships, and don’t have the licenses to just pass along like ships that are pre-registered to the Trade Federation or the like. They could sneak past--literally all of them know smuggler’s routes--but it’s honestly less of a pain to do things legally. They have a Jedi Master. They have cash. Some of that cash wasn’t quite legally acquired, but nobody needs to know that.

It’s supposed to be a pit stop. That’s all.

It’s just a pit stop.

But no, the galaxy isn’t that kind and Ahsoka’s luck is currently being compounded with a Skywalker, two Fetts, and Vos, which means that of course they run into trouble. Of course they do. There was never any other option, was there?

“Motherfucker,” Ahsoka snaps, lifting her head up and slamming her drink on the table.

The glass is empty. That’s good. They’re in a restaurant right now, a little splurging after weeks with only each others’ company, and spilling the sugary child-friendly juice with that move would have drawn way too much attention from the servers.

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

“Sir?” Rex asks, kicking Ahsoka under the table. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wr--that jackass,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Rex, grab a blaster, I’ve got shebs to kick.”

“Okay,” Rex says, grabbing one out of Fett’s holster and scooting out of the booth before anyone can tell him not to. “Whose?”

“I didn’t even know that he was... osik, I don’t have jurisdiction,” she realizes. “I don’t have any record of wrongdoing. I can’t arrest him since we don’t have evidence of criminal wrongdoing...”

“Are you two going to explain what’s going on?” Vos asks. “Or sit down, maybe?”

Ahsoka makes her decision. She eyes the window--the restaurant in question is a little dingy, but it’s also several dozen stories in the air. “Rex, remember the thing we did on Geonosis that you hated?”

He pauses, and then sighs heavily. “Yes, sir. I remember the... yeeting.”

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

It’s a good thing the windows are forcefields instead of transparisteel. A bit of a twist to the energy and they’re gone.

She only hears a little screaming before the wind tears all noises away while they plummet.

They land lightly--of course--and Ahsoka wraps them both in a don’t notice me aura. Nobody even notices that they’ve just come from above. It’s great that she can just Do These Things again, and get brushed off as Weird Jedi Shit, instead of worrying about the Empire. She’s missed being able to jump out of windows without fear.

Rex follows her as she starts running through the city. They don’t have comms, and he’s still so small, which means he can’t keep up with her even if she runs at normal speeds without Force enhancement.

“Should you carry me?” he asks, before she can figure out if it’s worth suggesting. She did it a few times before they joined up with Jango.

“It’s not... urgent, I think,” she says. She hesitates to speak, even as she keeps jogging with Rex at her heels. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can ding him for so we can attack him. It’s all well and good that I can beat him right now, but all the crimes I know about haven’t happened yet, so it wouldn’t be legal...”

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

She scrolls the conversation back mentally, considers, and says, “Oh.”

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

“Ah,” Rex says. He makes a face. “I understand the desire to jump out a window, now. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”

Ahsoka laughs. “I mean, I just... every time I’ve seen him for almost twenty years, it’s been like... on sight, you know? We’ve never not attacked each other, except when I needed him to cause problems on Mandalore. But I always knew I was in the right, then.”

“So... what do we arrest him for?” Rex prompts.

“Um... carrying a lightsaber without a license?” she hazards. “We’ll need Tholme there. Hopefully I can just shout at him and he’ll attack me, but I think he only went full nutjob after Master Kenobi cut his legs off. He might be too controlled to try to kill me just for yelling at him.”

“...do we have to stalk him?” Rex asks, sounding like he’d most likely sigh if he weren’t mid-run.

She scoops him up and swings him around onto her back before she answers. “I think we have to stalk him, Rex’ika.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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

Maul is... exceptionally sneaky, actually. Either that, or he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. Ahsoka’s betting on the former, because she’s seen this particular skocha kung take over a planet before anyone realized he was the most dangerous person around.

Or maybe he’s just not committing crimes, and is in fact just here to buy groceries.

He’s examining a papaya.

She fantasizes about jumping across the market and greeting him with a heel to the cheekbone.

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think I should go hit him?”

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

“Why does he have to be so bo--did he just fucking bite a nelom?”

“It appears so, Sir.”

“Like... like rind and all. Just bit the little fucker.”

“Seems it.”

A scuff of metal. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Ahsoka tips her head around to peer through the grate. “We’re spying, Fett, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Rex cranes his head. “We’re hanging upside-down from a fire escape to get a look at a suspected Sith Apprentice that is currently shopping for various fruits, Mand’alor.”

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

“Sokari,” the master greets. “This seems a very conspicuous way to spy.”

She shrugs as well as she can from this angle. “Yes, but you see, this way’s more fun.”

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

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

Apparently, Tholme and Fett had told Quinlan to take care of Leia, as Leia had wanted to finish her juice and refused to get involved in the Torrents’ nonsense. According to her, if they couldn’t be bothered to explain the nonsense, they didn’t need her.

This was true and accurate.

Quinlan shows up while they’re still stalking Maul, having moved to a low rooftop for a decent vantage point with less likelihood of being spotted. He’s giving Leia an eopie-back ride, and the pout on her face at needing it is adorable. She pouts harder when she sees them.

“Are you even trying to hide?” Leia scoffs.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admits. She’s got Fett’s binoculars out. “I’m not sure he’s caught wind of the fact that we’re here yet.”

“Or he has and he’s just biding his time to escape while we’re distracted,” Tholme points out.

“Meh,” Ahsoka says, avidly devouring the visual that is a teenage Maul glaring at leafy vegetables. “I just want him to do something so I have an excuse to beat his ass.”

“Do I get to know who?” Quinlan asks, setting Leia down on the roof. “Or are we going to keep being completely unwilling to share information?”

“Baby Sith Lord,” Ahsoka says. “He’s fifteen. A child.”

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

“You’re... that’s... ugh,” Quinlan groans as loudly and as dramatically as he dares, flopping down to the rooftop. “Master Tholme, please tell me this isn’t a real Sith.”

“He’s Dark,” Tholme confirms. “Sith is... up for debate until we have evidence.”

“He’s a bitch is what he is,” Ahsoka mutters. She observes the teenager in question stop to poke at some pink tomatoes. “E chu ta, break the law, already!”

“Does he have a lightsaber?” Quinlan asks. “If he has a lightsaber and no Jedi ID or specialty license, we can probably arrest him.”

“Auntie Soka doesn’t have a license or ID,” Leia points out.

“She’s got a Jedi escort,” Tholme says. “And if our supposed Sith is polite and plays nice, we can probably escort him to the Temple as well.”

Rex snorts derisively.

“Do you know why he’s on Denon?” Fett asks.

“No clue,” Ahsoka admits. “Evil reasons, probably.”

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

“Thanks, princess, how’s that attempt to open the jam jar by yourself coming?”

Leia says something very inappropriate for a princess, for a child, and for a lady. It’s fairly appropriate for a soldier, which is admittedly what she’s been for a few years now. Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at the girl like the mature operative she is.

“I wish we could still get him to lose his osik by just showing up and insulting him,” Rex mutters, low enough that Quinlan probably can’t hear.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Ahsoka confesses. “I want him to try to punch me in the face, and fail.”

“Don’t bully the baby Sith,” Rex admonishes.

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

“I know, but you’re tw--significantly older than him.”

“But... but it’s the motherfucker himself.”

“...you can bully him a little, but only because he’s a Sith.”

Fett steals the binoculars. “You can borrow them again when you stop acting like children.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rex says, dry as Ryloth. “I’m ten.”

“Pretty tall for your age,” Ahsoka mutters, and then giggles.

“Don’t steal my jokes,” Rex says. He elbows her, hard.

“You know,” Quinlan says, slow and tired. “Master Tholme and I are trained investigators.”

Ahsoka and Rex look at each other, and then up at him.

“Okay?”

“...do you want me to find actual evidence of this guy doing something criminal?”

“Oh, yes please.”

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

Quinlan, as it turns out, is not overselling his skills. He does catch Maul doing something illegal later that day. It’s a little more ‘stealing corporate secrets in the dead of night’ and less ‘torturing people for kicks,’ but it’s still enough to legally arrest him. Quinlan attempts to do so.

Quinlan does not succeed, and is forced to jump out a window to avoid getting cut in half. Maul follows, steals a passing speeder by throwing out the driver, and takes off. Someone--looks like Tholme--drops back to save the driver, but the rest of them give chase. Ahsoka gleefully takes point on that, of course. She’s the best pilot.

(Rex looks bored, but someone is likely to puke by the end of the night. She hopes it’s not Leia, who insisted on coming for some fucking reason.)

“How the kriff is a teenager that good?!” Quinlan yells, clinging to the edge of the speeder to avoid getting tipped out as Ahsoka swerves around a corner with a wild laugh.

“He’s a Sith!” Leia shouts over the wind. “What do you think?”

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

Ahsoka screeches as she drifts across four lanes of traffic and into an alleyway to pursue Maul. He’s pretty good at dodging cross-building walkways, but she’s better. She bares her teeth, hissing, and tries to pick a plan.

“Vos, how’s your aim with Force throws?” She calls to the backseat.

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

Vos takes a second longer to process that than Jango does.

“I’m wh--”

He cuts off, screaming, and is flung forward by Quinlan to crash headfirst into a teenage Sith.

“Take the wheel!” Ahsoka commands, not waiting to see who follows the order, because Fett and Maul are both getting to their feet, the other speeder is about to crash, and she’s not sure who’s going to win that fight.

She jumps from the speeder they’ve been violently dragging around Denon, and lands feet-first on Maul’s... shoulder.

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

“You should wear armor!” she chirps at him, drawing both sabers and grinning as he whirls to face her, eyes wide with hate.

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

“Did you just throw me?” Fett demands, higher pitched than she’d normally expect.

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

“Why not? Throwing people was standard practice in the GAR.”

She can’t see his face, but she’s pretty sure he’s about ready to strangle her.

Ahsoka cannot, at that point, continue snarking with the father of her best friend, because there’s a red lightsaber coming for her throat, and she should probably worry about that. Maul’s very good at killing people and she’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic.

As she is quickly reminded, he is... fifteen. And shorter than she’s used to. And already injured.

It’s really, really easy to take him out, actually.

At some point, the other speeder was safely recovered before it caused property damage, and their own is landing a few meters away with Vos and the kids.

“You have Force-negating cuffs, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

“Oh,” she says, and grimaces. “I guess I’ll just... keep sitting on him then.”

Maul snarls, and she raps him on the skull. “Stop that, it’s uncivilized.”

Rex snorts.

Jango makes a noise that is incredibly frustrated with the lot of them, and turns on Rex. “Was she telling the truth?”

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

Rex’s face goes pained. “It was in the five-oh-first. And a few others.”

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

Quinlan throws his hands up in the air again. “Come on! I just proved I know what I’m doing!”

“And their tragic backstory is none of your business, prudii!”

Quinlan blinks at him, and then glances at Ahsoka. “Um.”

“He called you a shadow since your training, um, seems to be pointing in that direction,” she says as carefully as she can. “We were theorizing.”

“Wh... you actually paid attention?” Quinlan asks, looking horribly confused. “I thought I was just annoying you.”

Ahsoka laughs at him. “Oh, Vos... I’ve been running black ops for... much longer than most would guess. Trust me, I know another spy when I see them.”

She smiles as kindly as she can, because she hadn’t actually meant to make him feel left out or unwanted or... well, she’d been pretty patronizing, especially for someone seemingly younger than him. The smile does not work. Quinlan just looks kind of horrified about how young she just implied she started spy work.

Granted, she’d been sixteen for Zygerria...

Deciding to ignore him for a bit, she shifts on Maul’s back and pats him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby Sith. We’re going to get you lots of nice therapy. Mind healers, no Sith tortures, all that fun stuff. Maybe some plushies.”

“You’re also getting therapy, right?” Quinlan asks. “Please say you are. I’m required for the specifics of my training and if anything you’ve said is true, I feel like you really need it and I’m scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Ahsoka laughs, knowing exactly how empty it sounds. “Oh hell, if I didn’t get therapy, I imagine Kix would rise from the grave to force me into it.”

The name means nothing to anyone except Rex, and... ah, yeah, she told Fett about Kix a few weeks ago.

“No more throwing me without warning,” Fett grumbles, dropping to sit on the ground next to her. “Especially not at baby Sith Lords.”

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

“He speaks!” Ahsoka cheers. “Aw, I knew you could do it.”

“’Soka, I told you not to bully him,” Rex complains. “It’s tacky. You’re being tacky.”

“I’m allowed to be tacky,” Ahsoka declares. “I’ve died twice, that’s, like, permission from the universe.”

“You’ve died twice?” Quinlan asks, back in ‘fascinated horror’ territory. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t ask--”

“Too late! The first time was on a planet that doesn’t exist and my Master lost his mind, killed a god, and used the good favor of another god to have me brought back to life at her expense. Not in that order.”

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

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

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

“Maul, you’ll never get big and strong and ready to kill if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

He bares his teeth.

“No, I don’t eat my veggies, but I’m a Togruta, so if I eat too many vegetables I throw up.”

Rex kicks her thigh, right on the faulds. “What did I say about bullying the Sith Lord?”

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

He kicks at her again. “Get up, we’re swapping out the watch.”

“But I wanted to hang out with my favorite little criminal mastermind.”

Rex drops to the floor and presses his forehead to her shoulder. “How the hell is being around this guy the first thing to make you cheer up in weeks?”

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

Rex jabs a finger into her ribs, and she squeaks. “Go get something to eat, Commander.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling to her feet and moseying along to the galley. She walks in on Tholme and Fett having an argument about the ways in which Jedi and Mandalorians differ. Quinlan���s on the side, watching with wide eyes, and little Leia’s drinking a juice box at his side, tucked up under his arm and occasionally saying things to fan the flames. Ahsoka assumes she’s enjoying herself.

She opens the cooling unit, looks over the contents, and pulls out a raw leg of eopie mutton. She leans against the counter, bites into the chilled-but-not-frozen meat, and uses the back of one hand to wipe the blood off her chin. The ‘real adults’ don’t notice.

“I’m like ninety percent sure you’re doing this to mess with me but also...” Quinlan trails off, staring at her with horror. “Why?”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but all the obligate carnivores I know are like... generally holding to basic rules of courtesy when it comes to not grossing people out,” Quinlan says. “Like, I don’t chew with my mouth open. You don’t... eat in the most intimidating--did you just crack the bone with your teeth?!”

Ahsoka smirks at him, using her free hand to take away the shard of bone so she can suck out the marrow without eating the bones themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t polite society. We’re in a galley on a bounty hunter’s ship, and I’ve been living on the run or in an army for most of my life. Table manners are optional.”

“No, they’re not,” Leia orders. “Fett, it’s your ship, tell her to--”

“--and another thing!” Fett snaps at Tholme, clearly paying less than no attention to the food argument.

Ahsoka keeps on eating, trying to catch wind of where the discussion’s at. Mostly, it seems to be at ‘talking past each other.’ Neither of them seems to have fully grasped more than the absolute most basic parts of the other culture, and that’s only enough to insult each other, not actually have a constructive conversation. She’d have expected more out of Tholme, at least. He’s not exactly young.

“Hey, quick question,” she says, in a moment where both of them have paused for breath and the opportunity to seethe. “Fett, when’s the last time you worked with a Jedi, or any member of a Force-based religion, before I popped into your life?”

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

“And Tholme, when’s the last time you worked with anyone from the Mandalorian system?”

Tholme’s reaction isn’t any more gracious than Fett’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says. “Vos, were either of them actually interested in that conversation, or just looking for an excuse to yell?”

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

“Fett,” she snaps. “I am not a child.”

“And neither am I,” he growls right back. “This is my ship, and I damn well don’t need you treating me like a misbehaving youngling. You’ve got a problem, you bring it to my face, not get all smug about people’s tempers blowing over.”

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

He stands with his arms crossed, in full armor save for the helmet. She puts aside the eopie meat and wipes her hands, smiling until she can put her hands on her hips and let it drop to a challenge.

“You know, I’m just--I’m just gonna go,” Quinlan mutters, pulling Leia out with him, the girl hanging from under one of his arms. “This, uh, this looks like a problem for... you folks. Um. Yeah.”

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

Fett rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then gestures at the table. “Sit.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

He drops his hand and glares at her. “We have another week on this ship together. We are going to have this conversation. Sit.”

She sits, right on the warm spot left behind by Quinlan and Leia. She crosses her arms, lifts a brow, and waits.

Fett takes the seat across from her. Tholme leans against the counter.

“We all know you’re older than you look,” Fett says. “I heard Tholme mention it, I know that much has been shared. You’re acting like an actual teenager, and I’ve... I’ve put up with a lot. I am trying to keep things civil, particularly with you. I’ve tried to be friendly. You’ve been fucked up since we met, fine, everyone’s got trauma. The thing where you’ve started talking shit to our faces for what seems like your own amusement? That has to stop. You’re older than me, Torrent. Fucking act like it.”

She blinks at him, slow and not exactly happy, and turns to Tholme.

The man shrugs. “I was planning to put up with it until we arrived to the temple and handed you over to some mind healers. Fett doesn’t have that kind of time.”

There’s a curdle in her stomach, defensive and angry and guilty.

“You’ve been... a bitch,” Fett finally says. “You know that. I’m not going to mince words. You’ve been holier-than-thou and rude and condescending, and aiming that at Antilles is one thing, when you’ve apparently known her since she was a toddler and taught her things. Aiming at the rest of us isn’t going to fly. We’re all adults trying to share a space. Stop acting like... just like you have been.”

There is no defense to be made that they aren’t both already aware of.

She closes her eyes and tries to strangle the burst of irrational rage.

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

She’s felt freer than she had in years, and in that freedom allowed herself too much rein, let herself lace her words with barbed wires and poison instead of sparks and spices, comments that were cruel instead of just joking. Too familiar. Too comfortable.

“My behavior’s been inappropriate,” she finally says, the words clumsy and too big in her mouth. “You’re right about that. I’m sorry, and I’ll endeavor to keep a tighter rein on my less pleasant behaviors in the future.”

At least she only lashes out with words. It could be worse.

She opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on the wall behind Fett, wrestles her expression into stiff neutrality. “Am I dismissed?”

“...uh, no, not after that,” Fett says, sounding just a little horrified. “What the hell was that?”

Tholme hisses out a breath. “Let her go.”

“No, this needs to be discussed, that’s not a healthy rea--”

“Fett, let her go,” Tholme insists, low and heavy.

Fett looks between the two for a moment, seems to come to a realization he doesn’t like, and then gestures almost violently towards the door. “Fine. Go.”

She walks out, doesn’t sprint. She’s stiff. She’s controlled. She’s the one that fucked up, so it’s fine if she doesn’t feel great right now. Getting called out on one’s own failings as a person isn’t something to get upset about if the failings are real. The feelings are real and normal, but this was her fault, and so it’s up to her to fix it, and she can’t let them know it hurt her, because this was her mistake.

She goes to the cargo hold.

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

Ahsoka works out her frustrations on Fett’s punching bag. She does not augment herself with the Force, just uses raw strength and technique, ignoring the tears that press at her eyes.

She’s fine.

It’s not weird. It’s not odd. It’s not strange to not notice she’s been kind of a bitch since her mood came up with the whole Depa thing, and then Maul. She’s been mean, mostly to Vos and Fett, and nobody’s confronted her about it until now. They let her have room for her trauma, and she hadn’t reined it in. She’s just gotten worse.

‘Snippy’ she’d always been, but age apparently hadn’t fucking tempered it.

“Um.”

She catches the punching bag, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She hasn’t worked out all the twitchy, nervous energy yet.

“Vos,” she greets, once she’s caught herself enough that her voice won’t waver. He’s on the other side of the bag, but she knows his voice. “Do you need something?”

“You’re kind of... projecting,” he tells her, drifting to where she can actually see him. “Not self-loathing, but, um, recrimination? You just don’t feel very good and I was hoping to help”

Why in all the Sith hells does he have to be nice.

“I got called out on my behavior and wasn’t ready to face the fact that I’d kriffed up,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine. And I’m... sorry. I haven’t been fair to you and was using you as an easy target for some of my ruder comments.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” he admits, coming closer. “I’ve been tutored by Shadows before, and a lot of them act like you. I just assumed it was more of that.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself run loose like that,” she says. “I’m... it wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says. “Not with... not with you. Or anyone other than Rex and a mind healer, really. Most of it is...”

She trails off, distantly noticing that her eyes are tearing up enough to blur her vision, and her nails are digging into the bag in a way Fett won’t appreciate.

There’s so much that beat her down, never quite breaking her, that she doesn’t even know what made her act the way she does.

“Want to spar?”

She looks over at him, wonders what he sees that makes him want to fight her when she’s visibly unstable.

He smiles, kind and easy, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s genuine in intent, if not in energy. He wants to help. “You all keep saying I could work on my hand-to-hand. Just take off the armor so I don’t break a finger, maybe.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

She’s going to wipe the floor with this boy. “You sure you wanna fight me?”

“You won’t be able to meditate until you do,” he says. He’s right, damn him. “The other option is that I go get your... vod, I think? I go get Rex and you two can talk it out since you trust him with more. I don’t want to do that, though, he’s still a kid.”

She eyes him, lips pressed together and mind awhirl with emotions and thoughts she’d tried to beat out of her head and into the bag. “Ever fought someone without the Force?”

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

“Oh, you meant me not having the Force,” he realizes. “Er, no. Is... is that something you’ve done a lot?”

She smiles at him. “You’re planning on Shadow work. That means getting captured and stripped of everything you are at some point, Force included. Unfortunately, the cuffs are in use on a very annoying Dathomirian right now, so we’ll have to make do with you shielding like your mind’s a Kessel Spice Mine.”

“...do I want to know how often you’ve been captured?”

“No, you don’t.”

When he comes at her, it’s easy to dodge. It’s easy to tap him on target points, little pokes that show she could take him out, but isn’t going to until he’s learned something. He stays grinning throughout, letting her take the lead, and he treats her like... like a knight. Like a teacher. He’s stepped back and gone from trying to impress her as a fellow padawan, to proving himself to a full knight.

She’s not sure when that change happened, or why or how, but it makes things much smoother. She wants to think that it would have even if she hadn’t gotten a wakeup call from Fett.

So she treats him the way she treated Ezra, for the year she’d spent traveling with Kanan. She treats him as a student that’s willing to learn, good but not yet great, competent but not yet ready to survive. She draws him into the kind of chest-heaving exhaustion that tells a fighter just how much energy they waste.

(Ahsoka may have had her own style, but her grandmaster had been the pinnacle of a Soresu user. She’d spent years on the frontlines of a war. She knew the worth of conserving energy, and she’d teach it to any who stepped in to challenge her.)

“Who taught you to fight like this?” He asks, when they’ve taken a handful of moments to circle each other. His steps are heavy, sure, planted. Her own are light and ready.

“Soldiers,” she says. It’s true enough.

“Not your Master?” he asks, just as he tries to kick for her upper arm. It’s a safe question. For anyone else, it would be a safe question.

But for Ahsoka, it’s another chink in the armor, after a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of self-loathing, a dervish of instability.

She doesn’t break right away.

She spirals. She fights Quinlan, but doesn’t quite see him. Her strikes get sloppy, her feet stumble. She can’t make herself meet Quinlan’s eyes, not when the scrape of his heel against the metal sounds like the rasp of a breathing machine. Her shields get fuzzy, she knows, and she leaks what she feels into the air, making it sour and thick. She doesn’t notice, because all she can see, all she can--all she can hear and feel and--

She drops to her knees and grabs at her head, trying to stop it.

“Sokari?”

She breathes. In and out, harsh and jagged but natural in a way that the damned respirator wasn’t.

Her master her teacher her brother the traitor the hound the executioner

Her face is hot. Something prickles. It might be tears.

She tries to say something, tries to say a name or a request, tries to make anything come out of her mouth that isn’t the broken wail of a woman who hasn’t let herself think about how she died.

She feels herself pulled into someone’s arms, and she can’t quite tell who, but they’re bigger than she is, and feel warm and worried. They care. They don’t understand, they’re scared, but they care.

Her hands shake, clutched to her chest and she can’t breathe she can’t make herself take in enough air to do a Force-damned thing the empire is going to feel her her shields are down and broken and her emotions are spilling and the empire is going to find HER ANAKIN IS GOING TO FIND HER AND--

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

Her breath is coming so fast that she’s hiccupping more than she’s actually inhaling. She feels small hands in gloves on either side of her face, and then her forehead presses to something warm.

Rex. A Keldabe kiss. Her brother, her partner, her other half. He’s here. He’s calm. If he’s calm, then things are fine.

“What happened?” Light voice, high voice, small and distant. Leia. Little Leia little princess Leia she’s in danger she’s in trouble Anakin will--

“Commander.”

No. Here and now. She needs to focus on here and now. Her throat feels cold. She breathes too fast, still. She can’t stop it.

“I don’t know.” That’s Vos. He was... they were doing something. He was here. Talking to her. “We were sparring, and she just--”

Right, sparring.

“I don’t know if I said something?” He offers, voice pitching up, unsure and worried. Is he the one holding her? He’s the one holding her. That’s embarrassing.

“Commander?” Rex prompts. “Commander, can you open your eyes?”

She tries. She can’t. She shakes her head.

“Soka?” he asks, voice quiet. “Where are you?”

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

His voice is so soft. So worried. She held him the same way after Mandalore, after Order 66, after all his brothers, all her friends...

“Soka.”

Her mind is spinning, and suddenly all she can hear is Anakin Skywalker is dead. I destroyed him.

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

“Commander,” Rex tries again, but her head is a vortex of Then you will die and Perhaps this child and not the Jedi way.

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can only see that yellow eye that’s too familiar but belongs to a stranger can only hear a voice that shouldn’t exist can only mourn and break and--

“Soka?”

“Malachor,” she manages. “I--h-he--I died.”

“What did you say?” someone asks. A vod. It’s the right voice, almost, rough and business-like, not accusing anyone yet, and... and... no. No. Not one of her boys. It’s Fett.

“Um, right at the end? I asked her who taught her to fight like this,” Quinlan says, nervous. “And she said it was soldiers. And I joked, I asked that it wasn’t her Master, and she didn’t answer that. A couple minutes later, she just started...”

“Oh, Soka,” Rex whispers, pulling her closer. “Commander, just breathe with me.”

“H-h-he, he just--R-Rex, he j-just--and I c-c-couldn’t--”

“I know,” her captain whispers. “I know, just breathe with me.”

“He k-k-k-killed me,” she sobs, falling out of the Keldabe and into too-small arms. “I l-loved--he was my broth-ther and--and he just--he killed me, he didn’t even stop.”

“I know,” Rex whispers. “Soka, I know.”

Of course he does.

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

“It was just bad timing,” Rex says, once they’re in the room she’s been sharing with her little family, curled up under a blanket and watching the floor like it has all the secrets to how she lost her world three times over.

“Is there anything we need to keep in mind?” Fett asks, gruff and uncomfortable. She wonders if he’s angry that she took his necessary confrontation and turned it into this mess.

“Don’t bring up her Jedi Master,” Rex says, and pulls her in when she shivers. Her eyes squeeze shut before she can stop them, tears beading up again. “Just... don’t. It’s too soon.”

“He’s--”

“He Fell,” Ahsoka interrupts. “I thought he died, but he became a Sith. And fifteen years later, we ran into each other, and I refused to join him in the Dark, so he tried to kill me.”

Fett swears, low and muffled. She thinks he has a hand over his mouth.

Quin and Leia aren’t there. She thinks they’re keeping an eye on their Baby Sith prisoner. That’s good.

“Soka,” Rex whispers, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She’s too old to be this kind of mess. She’s thirty-two. She’s Fulcrum. She’s...

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

“We can avoid the subject unless you bring it up,” Tholme promises. “Definitely until the Temple. Is there anything else we shouldn’t talk about?”

Ahsoka can practically feel Rex’s deadpan look. “Sir, we’re a trio of child soldiers ripped from everything we know. Every other sentence is a risk. We’re just... working our way through.”

There’s a knock at the door. Oh. Quin and Leia.

“Just figured we’d drop this off before we went down to visit Mr. Grumpy-Face,” Quinlan whispers. He still thinks Leia’s a child. He’s trying to make things less terrible for her. That’s nice. “We decided he’ll be less angry if he tries Hoth chocolate, and made some for everyone.”

They definitely made it for Ahsoka herself, and Maul was an afterthought. Still. It’s sweet.

“Commander?” Rex prompts, jostling her a little to try and get her to sit up.

“Gimme a sec,” she manages. It takes longer than it should to push herself away from him, to accept the mug that Leia gives her, too-serious worry in the furrow of her brow and the twist of her soul.

She doesn’t look six. She doesn’t even look twenty-two. This girl was always too old for her skin, forced to grow up in the hostile fear of the Empire.

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

She can barely taste it beyond the ashes she imagines coating her tongue.

I destroyed him, her memory echoes. His slightest hesitation before he made the final move, it haunts her. She almost reached him. If only she’d tried harder, yelled louder, been better...

She shivers.

“Do you need help falling asleep?” Tholme asks. “I’m a regular healer, not a mind healer, but...”

She probably should.

She takes another sip of her drink, willing herself to taste it. It’s good. She likes it. She knows she does.

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

“It doesn’t always work, but I can try,” he tells her.

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

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

Everyone’s careful around her for days. The whole decision to be nicer doesn’t mean anything when she’s walking about in a daze of too few emotions, drained of everything she could feel in favor of a grey cloud of fluff in everything she does.

She does forms. Single saber and Jar’kai. Ataru and Djem so and Soresu. Reverse grip, regular grip, partial reverse on either side.

Again. Again. Again.

She loses herself in the motions, not meditating so much as just empty.

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

Leia and Tholme keep their shields locked up tight, and she doesn’t know how they feel. She thinks Leia might be judging her. She think Tholme might be pitying.

Maul simply hates. It’s an old and familiar sensation to walk into, and she takes unthinking comfort in his rage. She’s silent instead of snippy, when she plays the role of guard, and they stare at each other in silence. His eyes burn, and she wonders how much he’s heard of her nightmares.

“You need to talk,” Rex tells her, when he finds her with a cold cup of caff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond it all. She lifts her head. “Soka.”

She just stares at him.

He sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Commander, please.”

She can’t.

Ahsoka stares at the wall behind him, resting her chin on his head. Her neck itches under the lek at the back of her head, a little tingle of a feeling that she can’t bring herself to do anything about. The pale light of the galley is sharp against the chipped paint of the metal that surrounds them. It hurts her eyes to look, but it’s not the deep and dark lit only by red--

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

“Breathe,” Rex tells her, too-small hands clinging at her back. “Just breathe, ‘Soka.”

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

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

“Tell me something good.”

Ahsoka blinks. She looks at Leia. She doesn’t have the energy to parse that.

Leia chances a look at Rex, who isn’t leaving Ahsoka’s side any more than he has to, and Fett on the other side. Tholme’s asleep and Quin’s on Baby Sith duty. It’s just people who know, right now.

The little girl across the table, the child senator, the spy, purses her lips and huffs in irritation. “You knew my biological father before he became one of the worst people in the galaxy. Both of you did. Tell me something good about him.”

Good things.

About Anakin.

“You fought a war as a Jedi,” Leia prompts. “Surely you must have done some good things with him, or at least thought you were.”

Did they?

Every mission ended in tragedy or was just a ploy of Palpatine’s. Every saved life was just...

Wait.

“He built Threepio,” she finally says. “Your father wi--I mean, Bail wiped Threepio’s memory after the Empire rose, for your safety, but Anakin was the one who built him.”

Leia sits up, eyes brighter. “I didn’t know that. I... was Artoo involved? Did he build R2D2, or...”

“No,” Rex says, “But Artoo was his favorite astromech, and they always pushed each other into stupid stunts. We risked a hell of a lot to save that droid, more than once, and I didn’t find out until you started working with the Rebellion full-time, but Artoo and Threepio were the witnesses for your bio-parents’ wedding.”

Leia gapes at him. So does Ahsoka. (Fett doesn’t know enough to care.)

Rex grins, and if it looks a little forced, that’s fine. “He had a holo recording. I was one of the few people left that knew about the marriage that might have wanted to see, so Artoo offered. It was... sweet.”

He waits, probably for Ahsoka to add something herself, but she has nothing.

“I think that’s when they swapped droids, since Threepio was more useful to a politician and Artoo did his best work when we set him loose on the enemy.”

“He never changed,” Leia muses. “Did he always swear that much?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers, as Rex laughs. “Always. All the binary I learned started with the best swears.”

She tries to think of another good memory, something else that Leia might appreciate. Her mind ticks back to saving Stinky, which is just a terrible option, because that mission started with Hutts and ended with the Battle of Teth. That massive loss of life, all for the son of the creature that had put Leia in chains.

She wonders if she has anything in her memory that doesn’t end in blood and graves.

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Fives and Echo got lost in the undercity their first time on leave, and we had to get the General to help us find them?”

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

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

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

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

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

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

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

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

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

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

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #rex and ahsoka #Quinlan Vos #Tholme #Depa Billaba #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ben Kenobi #Maul #Darth Maul #time travel #de aging #ptsd #trauma #child soldiers #Phoenix Files #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #disaster lineage

[mindninjax]

Awake

Bakugo x Reader (duh)

wc: 1.7k

A/n: Had a full on mental breakdown yesterday. Tried to sleep tonight. Couldn’t. Wrote this instead. I listened to Rain Clouds by The Arcadian Wolf while writing it and it’s the song that’s referenced in this. I could link it but I’m lazy and depressed so I’m not gonna *dabs sadly*. Anyway here’s a comfort Fic I guess.?

Bakugo: Hey

(2:38AM): uh…hey?

Bakugo: You up?

(2:39 AM): clearly… clearly I’m up Bakugo. Why are you?

Bakugo: Can't sleep.

(2:39 AM): oh. I’m sorry.

Bakugo: Come outside?

(2:40 AM): like outside outside?

Bakugo: What other outside would there fucking be?

(2:41 AM): don’t curse at me stupid. I meant the balcony? Or are we going for a walk or something?

Bakugo: Fine. Nevermind. Forget I asked.

…

…

…

Bakugo: Balcony.

(2:52 AM): gimme five to put on pants.

Bakugo: Ok

(2:52 AM): folk or classical?

Bakugo: Ugh neither.

(2:53 AM): neither wasn’t an option shit head. Pick one.

Bakugo: Whatever you played last time. It helped me feel far away.

(2:54AM): Folk it is.

You put your phone down, the light dying and drawing you back into the darkness of your room. It’s quiet, you can hear him rustling on the other side of the wall, hear the balcony door slide open in his apartment next door and then shut.

You sit in bed for a moment, your heart the only thing thrumming in your ears as you take a deep breath. The city is quiet for the first time in a long time. There are no cars on the street, no sirens, just the sleepy lazy sound of the wind blowing and alley cats slinking through the garbage filled alleyways.

Then you get up, grab a pair of sweatpants and exchange the large holey t-shirt you’re wearing for a comfy but secure cami top. You search around your room for the little Bluetooth speaker and pause when your eyes fall on your acoustic guitar. You smile to yourself, it's perfect. You’ve been thinking about the song, the chords should be easy enough to grasp, and the words have been drifting around your head for days now.

You grab your phone to send him another quick text.

(2:58AM): Change of plans. The roof.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Bakugo: Ok.

He’s up on the roof of your city apartment building before you are, gazing out at the city lights , the moon in the sky blazing white shimmering light through his ash blond locks. He doesn’t turn around or acknowledge your presence when you land delicately on your toes and deactivate your air quirk. He’s wearing a red tank top, must’ve had to change out of the usual black one he wears to bed from all the sweat. His shoulders look broad and you can see the scars rippling down the muscles of his arms.

“Took you long enough, even with your floaty little air quirk,” he taunts, back still to you.

“And yet you’re still here,” you quip back, rolling your eyes and grabbing a crate to sit on. You pull another over and plop it down across from you the same time he turns to join you on the other crate. He has dark circles under his eyes, there’s still a gleam of sweat shimmering on his jaw and neck. He watches in anticipation as you ready the guitar on your leg and hook your arm over it, expert fingers finding the correct chords to strum a lovely tune.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, gesturing to the guitar. You smile down at the guitar, concentrating on the correct note in your mind to start the song.

“It’s a nice night,” you murmur, eyes still focused on the instrument on your lap.

The muttered “It is now,” is swallowed by the sound of you strumming the strings softly diving into the tune as you rock back and forth. You close your eyes and hear Bakugo take a deep calming breath in and out before you start singing the lyrics.

I'm being frightened by the people

They look at me like I'm a scar upon their perfect skin

Perfect to only them

I'm being shadowed by my past

Reminding me of what I was and what I could become

My sins should stay where they belong

The wind is blowing gently and you can smell Bakugo’s sweet scent on the breeze. His crisp pine scented body wash mixes with his smoky sweet scent and it almost feels like the two of you are sitting around a campfire. Your voice drifts dreamily over the lyrics, enunciating the words and basking in the ease of the notes while putting your own lovely spin on it.

Listen to my voice

Close your frightened eyes

Hide behind my love for you

Fear's only a choice

One that we all must make some day

So know you're not alone in this

It’s clear and strong like a bell, punctuating every phrase with meaning that sits in Bakugo’s core and makes his heart do that weird thing where it’s fluttering but also extremely tranquil at the same time. When you end the song and finally open your eyes, he’s looking at you incredulously.

“How do you do that?”

“Hmm?” you say, placing the guitar against a huge wooden pallet gently.

“How do you fucking do that? Every time. It’s fucking creepy.”

“You mind elaborating, dummy? I’m not a mind reader.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he grunts, rolls his eyes and folds his arms, pouting.

You roll your eyes before chuckling and answer the question you already know he’s asking. “Somewhere out there. Someone has made a song for every feeling you’ve ever felt. So I won’t take credit for that.”

“But you show them to me.”

“Yes,” you say this as if it’s an obvious statement.

“And play them for me.”

“Yes.” Again, another obvious statement. Why wouldn’t you play them for him. It’s why the two of you are here. Right?

“And make them….ya know… sound good and shit,” he says, stuttering over the words as his cheeks and ears start to turn pink.

You smirk, “You can say I sound pretty. I won’t tell anyone you said it,” you tease.

“Tch. Idiot.”

There’s a beat of silence, you’re lost in your thoughts staring up at the starry sky before you look at him again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to even if I say no.”

“Correct. Why do you text me when it happens? Why me?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looks away sheepishly and doesn’t meet your questioning gaze. "Don't know.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, “Yes you do”

He sighs, holds out a hand to gesture as if it’s obvious. Why would you be asking this? Especially after the many nights the two of you have done this. “Just feels right I guess. And after we talk I can go back to sleep just fine.”

“You realize what that is right?” You lean in closer to him, elbows on your thighs, chin in your hands. “That’s called trusting someone.”

“Sure I guess.”

Another beat of silence and then a long winded sigh from you, one that definitely says “I’m tired of this” and it makes a shiver of fear run up his spine.

“Look Bakugo. I’m not usually one that skates around feelings. And as much as I enjoy late night jam sessions or sneaking out and gazing at the moon with you until you feel ok enough to sleep, I…”

He holds his breath, “What?”

“Hmm…” you have a finger up to your chin in the universal thinking pose.

His heartbeat picks up and his fingers start to fiddle in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Fucking what? You just said you don’t skate around feelings so what?”

You frown at him, “Hold your flippin’ horses I’m thinkin’ first.”

“‘Flippin’ horses?’ You’re such a weirdo.”

And now you’re glaring. "Speaking of thinking before speaking. You should try it.”

“Fuck you.” There’s no hostility to it and he knows you know it.

“Very original. ANYWAY, I was going to say despite your constant attitude and constant shouting, I still really like hanging out with you. So I’d like to not only hang out at…”you pull your phone from your pocket and gaze at the tiny blue screen, “4 AM”

Another pause as he processes his elation. He’s happy you’re not telling him this is the last time. But this isn’t the hard part. “Ok.”

You squint suspiciously. “I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Then say it aloud to me,” you challenge.

This is the hard part.

He takes a few deep breaths and then… “I don’t wanna be just friends with you. I don’t know what any of that shit even means. All the stupid lovey dovey shit Raccoon Ey-”

“Ashido.”

It’s his turn to glare. “Fine, Ashido talks about all the time. All I know is no one talks to me the way you do. And I always feel calm around you. Calmer than usual. I always wanna hang out more with the idiots when you’re around to hang out with them too.”

You smile but hide it behind your fingertips. He doesn’t look finished so you nod to encourage him to finish.

“And I don't know what it is. But whenever I wake up from the fucking …” He doesn’t say the word “nightmare”. He struggles with it like if he says it he’s surrendering to weakness or something. “Whenever I wake up the only thing I think of is you. Wishing you were there, like a fucking idiot. But it never goes away, not until I text you and I see you and I hear your voice.” His head is in his hands, like he’s ashamed to admit this to you.

It’s quiet again, some cars from below have started bustling on the street. The morning wind carries his scent and the city's waking smells of coffee and fresh baked bread. You stand quietly and walk over to him, head still hanging in his hands as he crouches over on the crate.

You hug him, force yourself between his legs and wrap your arms around his head. And at first he stiffens but he doesn’t pull away from you or move out of your grasp. He just sits there with his arms hanging limply at his sides,eyes wide, and your arms wrapped around his head. His ear is pressed against your chest, listening to the city waking around you. You're warm and you smell impossibly good and he knows this is what he craves when he wakes up from those terrifying nightmares. Your embrace is the cure.

“I like being here. I like being there for you.”

Then his arms move up to wrap around your waist and he hugs you back and sighs into your chest. He stays there for at least 10 minutes listening to the steady beating of your heart.

And then he quietly mutters, “Thanks.”

--

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #marquie writes #yea it’s unedited #I just told y’all I was depressed #sheesh #idk what I’m doing anymore #I’m numb and empty 🙃

[ptergwen]

sensation

w/c: 4.6k

warnings: some swearing, suggestive tings, and a pretty bad ending

summary: it’s the last night of your world tour, and tom has the perfect way to celebrate

a/n: i know y’all have been waiting for this one! everyone really loved when worlds collide but i ran out of ideas for it lol sorry... anyways my solution was to turn it into a oneshot :D based off the au!! i’m honestly nervous about posting this cuz a lot of you asked for it and i don’t wanna disappoint but i tried my absolute hardest to make it special <3 please enjoy

-

“thank you so much! we love you!” you shout to the audience, laughing breathlessly when they shout back. one of your dancers pulls you into a side hug, you throwing your arm around his neck. “we’re so fucking lucky you chose us, that you came all the way here. i’ve seen some of you back at night one. wow.” your voice gets wobbly, thinking about how loyal your fans are.

the tour started in new york, and they’ve followed you here to london.

tonight is an emotional night for everyone. you’re about to wrap your last show before you continue again in the summer. touring the u.k. has been a dream, and you’re just as thrilled to travel the rest of the world after your break. it’s bittersweet because you’re going to miss the hell out of your crew and the millions of lovely faces you’ve sang to each week. but, you do get to spend your time off with a special someone.

he’s watching you from the sound booth, sending fond smiles and loud cheers your way. thanks to you, tom has been at every show you’ve played in england. he brought harry along this time because he’s also a fan and wanted to see you. well, tom is more than a fan at this point. you’d say he’s more of a boyfriend. you haven’t discussed labels just yet.

your dates have mainly been over facetime, since you live on opposite sides of the world with insane schedules. a heartthrob actor and international popstar is quite the combination. you’ve only seen each other in person a couple of times, the first being pretty recently.

zendaya brought tom along to hang out with you in los angeles. he happened to be there recording some lines for a movie. she saw your concert earlier that night and invited him to crash the dinner plans you’d made, resulting in the best surprise and most fun you’ve ever had. the other time you enjoyed each other’s company was one weekend in paris. that was... something.

besides those two miracles, everything between you and tom happens through a screen. you’ll down bottles of champagne or keep warm under blankets while talking about your days. it’s nice, having someone on the other end who listens and actually hears you. tom gets it. you both do.

finishing your tour in london is convenient because not only will you have tom to comfort you, but you get to stick around for a while. he’s invited you to stay at his place. you can’t wait to meet the other holland’s, his friends, and obviously tessa.

“fuck, i’m gonna cry. i’m already crying,” you announce to the crowd, though they can tell from the tears streaming down your face. more dancers huddle around you and turn your single hug into a group one. you’re laughing and sobbing and holding on tight to everyone. fans bawl their own eyes out, the fact that this is it starting to settle in. the onstage crew even gets choked up, seeing you like this.

tom pouts from where he’s watching. he wishes he could run up there and squeeze you tight, but he’ll have to save that for when you’re done.

“i love you all so much, literally every single one of you in this room,” you tell everyone for the nth time tonight, swiping a perfectly manicured finger under your eyes. “my lighting crew, sound crew, my band, my fearless fucking dancers-“ a hiccup cuts you off. people burst into fits of giggles, which is a much needed tension breaker. you adjust your headset so the mic doesn’t pick up any other bodily noises.

grinning, you rest your arm on a shorter dancer’s shoulder, then go on. “sorry, sorry. i just wanna say, like, three more thank you’s before i get out of here.” there’s a chorus of no’s and encouraging whistles at the mention of you leaving. you blink back more tears to delay the breakdown you’re going to have. “thank you to my friends who always show up for me.”

with a knowing smile, you glance over at tom. “and, thank you to my more than a friend.” he smiles back, both hands held over his heart. harry elbows him in congratulations. more screaming erupts from the crowd as they realize where you’re looking and who you’re looking at. this will be sure to spark some headlines. whatever, you’re used to trending on every possible social media platform by now.

“this is the big one,” you preface, taking in a breath while everyone quiets down again. “thank you to you guys. for trusting me, for caring about what i have to say in any way. i feel your love. i really do, and i hope you feel mine.” your fans yell that they love you back, dancers gently swaying you side to side, emotions on high. there’s one last song, and it’s over.

“this has been the sensation tour, and i’ve been your host. was i good?” you try to lighten the mood, earning a bunch of what sound like positive shrieks. the earpiece you have in makes it hard to tell. “y’all were even better.” exchanging looks with your dancers, you pull out of the hug so you can get to your mark for the finale. they follow your lead. music comes through the speakers.

“i’ll see you again soon, okay? i promise. here’s sensation,” you introduce the song, immediately bursting into more tears. it’s torture to say goodbye. thankfully, you have the most incredible fans on earth, so they sing along with you at the top of their lungs. that includes tom and harry, your ultimate stans.

when the show is over, you run right off stage and over to tom. he’s waiting on the side with actual heart eyes for you. you practically leap into his arms, a hand cradling the back of his head, both his arms draped low and tight around your body.

“you were so amazing up there! absolutely smashed it, darling,” tom breathes out. his face is smushed between your neck and mostly bare chest. “thanks, tom. seriously, thanks for being here tonight and every other.” you smile a tired smile and wind your other arm around his neck. he presses some light you’re welcome kisses to your skin. “mm, thanks for having me. how’s it feel to be done?”

you sigh, fingers running through his curls. “like the biggest relief, and also really sad.” you’re such a mess that you could cry again on the spot. tom senses it and lifts his head up to see if you’re alright. “super depressing,” you surprisingly reiterate without the waterworks. “i know the feeling. you’ll be back soon, though. you said it,” he murmurs, a grin on his lips as they brush against the corner of yours.

you’re about to kiss him properly, then one of your dancers comes up to you. you’d forgotten that there are still stage managers and security everywhere, too. you get completely lost in tom whenever you’re together.

“you killed, babe,” coco greets you, linking your arm in hers. tom takes the hint and lets go of you. he watches on with a smirk. “nah, you murdered,” you send the compliment back and bite your lower lip. “i dunno, i feel like someone murdered me!” there’s coco with her dramatics. she’s genuinely hilarious, your shared sense of humor playing a huge part in your friendship.

she brings your free hand to her heart. you gasp at how fast it’s going. “that shit is really beating, coco. are you, like, okay?” “probably not. it was the freestyle that got me.” coco went a lot harder than usual tonight, since it was her last big dance break for a while. she puffs air from her cheeks and nods to tom. “this your man?”

“yeah, you could say that. i’m tom,” he answers, holding out a hand for her. “coco.” she pulls it like you would in a handshake. you beam at them, one of your best friends and unofficial boyfriend finally meeting. “sounds promising. i approve,” coco mutters to you. bumping your hip into hers playfully, you take one of tom’s hands in both of yours.

“aw, we have your blessing or something? your permission?” you coo and get a push at your shoulder from coco in return. tom chuckles, his thumb running over the back of your hand. “no! i was gonna say you should bring him out back,” coco clarifies, like it was obvious. you’re not sure what she’s on about. “uh, what’s out back?” you question. “an axe?” tom teases.

coco gestures to the nearest exit. “we’re having a little goodbye party in the parking lot. fire pit, snacks. remember?” nope, you’d completely forgotten. the idea first sounded like the perfect way to end your night, so you agreed to go. that was before you were dripping sweat and mentally exhausted. now, all you want to do is unwind with tom and tom only.

the superstar life is one you’re happy to lead, just not at this exact moment.

“i do now.” you muster up your most apologetic smile for coco, tugging on tom’s hand. “i’m sorry, co. i think we’re gonna pass.” her jaw drops. you’re never one to skip these things. “aw, for real? it’s our last night!” tom threads his fingers through yours while you talk. “bro, we’ve been together for almost a whole year,” you laugh out, nuzzling your cheek into tom’s chest. “get sick of me.”

“never,” coco deadpans. she catches you gazing up at tom, relaxing as his arms hug your middle. she’s known you long enough to tell what’s a fling and what’s real love for you. this is something special, and she can’t get in the way of it. she’ll let you navigate this yourself. “ok, just for tonight. you’ll text me?” coco gives you a real smile, raising an eyebrow at tom. he gathers that’s a good thing. he’s in.

“mhm. maybe we can hang out tomorrow,” you agree and let your eyes flutter shut. all that’s keeping you up are tom’s strong arms. “tell everyone i love them.” “i think they know.” coco shakes her head lightheartedly. tom laughs at her. “be good,” she tells him and means it, rubbing your back on her way to the lot. that leaves you and tom alone at last.

custodians are cleaning up the arena, fans are piling out, and you’re clinging to tom while his steady heartbeat grounds you. this is the only after party you need.

“harry’s got the car when you’re ready,” tom mumbles, tucking a piece of damp hair behind your ear. you loop your arms around his torso with a hum. “i was kinda wondering where he went.” “yeah?” he gives you a small smile. “gotta ask what he thought... of the show.” yawns are creeping past your lips, tonight’s events catching up to you.

“i like feedback from the fans, or stans,” you elaborate in your sleepy state. tom uses his fingertips to tap your temple. “what about me? i’m your biggest.” “i’ll, um, follow up with you later.” your words are slurring. “right now, home.” warmth spreads throughout tom’s entire body, his house becoming yours for a bit. “your chariot awaits,” he affirms before helping you to your dressing room.

after collecting your things, you follow tom out to the car. harry is in the driver’s seat, and you two slip into the back. he exchanges a look with his brother through the mirror while you settle on his shoulder. you’re hugging his bicep, his lips pressing to the side of your head.

“thank you for driving,” you speak softly to harry. he starts to pull out of the spot with a nod. “no problem. get to say i was y/n y/l/n’s chauffeur.” tom clicks his tongue even though harry is joking. you snicker at his remark, joking back. “you want the job? better be a five star ride, then.” your banter brings yet another smile to tom’s face. his family is everything to him, so seeing you get along so well means the most.

“right, right. did you have a good time?” harry wonders, twisting to see behind him while he turns around. he also peeks at you snuggled up to tom before facing forward. “great, actually. did you?” you check, the grin clear in your voice. harry goes into full stan mode. “no shit! you were brilliant, y/n. god, every note was just like how you did it the studio.” he’s raving, which is much appreciated by you.

“good answer.” tom shoots his brother a wink. “‘s that what you wanted to hear?” he asks in reference to your conversation earlier. your response is a kiss to his shoulder. “yay. i’m happy you liked it, harry.” he buzzes with excitement, having his favorite artist care what he thinks.

not much is said for the rest of the drive. tom and harry make some hushed conversation about golfing this weekend while you struggle to stay awake. they’re obsessed with that damn sport. it’s honestly nice to see, that tom has something he likes to do when he isn’t shooting hollywood’s biggest movies. your free time will finally give you the chance to discover other hobbies.

you stumble out of the car upon arriving to the boys’ place, a backpack on your shoulders and tom’s hand held tight in yours. you’ve got only a few essentials with you for tonight. the rest is on the tour bus, so you’ll gather it after your hangout with coco. besides, everything you need at the moment is right here.

“home sweet home,” tom announces as harry unlocks the front door. his words bring a tired smile to your face. “finally,” you exhale, keeping your fingers laced with tom’s and following the two of them inside. “i could show you around a bit, give you the grand tour. or-“ tom stops talking, feeling your weight on him. harry huffs at how oblivious his brother is.

“mate, she’s falling over. save it,” he suggests and kicks the door shut lazily. you’re done in. you’ve been having to lean on tom since the show ended. “another time, then,” tom mumbles, securing his arm around your waist. “there is one thing i wanna see.” your voice is low, body curled into tom’s side. he raises an eyebrow. “and that is?” “your room.”

tom takes that in a suggestive way, like he does most things. “we’re getting right to it, are we?” he questions, harry gagging and you nudging his arm with your head. “not like that, dummy. ‘cuz i’m sleepy.” there’s a beat of silence. “ask me again in-“ “wow, look at the time!” harry interrupts so he doesn’t have to hear the details. he’s sure he’ll witness enough after it happens. “off to bed i go! goodnight.”

he rushes to get to his room, yelling out, “great show, y/n!” on the way. “thank you! night!” you call back, tom letting out a sigh. “div of the century,” he says under his breath. “must run in the family,” you playfully retort. that gets you a firm poke at your side. “where’s everyone else?” you glance up at him. there should be two other idiots and a lovely, furry lady running around.

“tuwaine’s gone to the pub, harrison’s filming late, and tess is at mum and dad’s,” tom fills you in, grabbing your arm and draping it around his middle. doing him one better, you hug him with both. you squint in confusion about the last part. “they watch her when i’m out,” tom answers your unspoken question. “ah,” you nod, then deflate ever so slightly. “i wanted to meet her, though. the other boys, too.”

tom smooths the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “you will, darling. it’s only for tonight.” he kisses the same spot reassuringly. “we’ve got loads of time.” “yeah, we do,” you agree, instantly cheering up and letting your head fall onto his chest. “now, where’s your room?” “just upstairs. you need some help getting in?” he’s only playing around, but you accept, tightening your arms around his neck.

“show me the way,” you beam at him. “happy to.” tom wiggles his eyebrows, you jumping up. your legs wrap around his waist, his arms holding you against him. with a satisfied hum, you squish your face into his insanely soft shirt. “what a diva,” tom sarcastically complains while taking you to the staircase. “doesn’t even say please. no manners from this one.”

“you try dancing in six inch heels for two hours,” you shoot back, patting the side of his neck. he moves one hand down to your thigh for a better grip. you’re nearing the top of the stairs. “think i’ll leave that to you,” he decides and squeezes your thigh. “look at me, carrying the whole music industry.” your face easily gets hot and your words turn to murmurs. “shut up. you should listen to other songs.”

you’re on the second floor now, tom going for the first door. he frowns at his rejected compliment. “no, i like yours. they’re my favorite.” “really?” your muffled laugh sounds from his chest. “what was the first thing i ever said to you?” he asks, a toothy grin on him even though you can’t see it. you recall the faithful night he slid into your dms while he carries you into his room.

he’d tripped over his words somehow, the fangirling fool. before that, he tweeted to the whole world that he wanted to see you in concert. it was a huge thing, and people were freaking out about it, even more so when your online interactions became routine. that’s nothing compared to where you are now.

you’re currently living with him and basically dating. possibly, in love. the base of it all really is your music.

“that you love me.” you pause for the ellipses. the corners of your lips turn up. “but, you really meant to say my work.” “both apply.” tom passes that off like it’s a side comment, carefully laying you down on his bed. you look up at him with a curious glint in your eyes. “what does that mean?” his cheeks flush, and he bites back the smile that’s growing. this was supposed to go... differently.

you sit up, breathing out a laugh at tom’s boyish behavior. he’s precious, truly. “you do love me?” those three words will change everything if he says yes. he takes both your hands in his and holds them between you two. you meet his doe eyes. “yeah, y/n/n. i do.” so, you were right. “i love you... and, that wasn’t how i planned on saying it.” signaling for him to elaborate, you tilt your head to the side.

tom sits down next to and faces you before continuing. “it was supposed to be romantic, right?” he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, annoyed he ruined this. “candlelit dinner, flowers, that sort of thing. seems more fitting for the occasion.” you shift closer to him until your knees are touching. your face is lit up, voice dropped to almost a whisper.

“since when do we do things the way we’re supposed to?” you point out and set your hands on his shoulders. “we’ve gone straight from online dating to me moving in. that’s usually not how it works.” tom chuckles lowly. his own hands find their place on your hips. you’re so good with words. then again, you are a singer. “guess you could say we’re, um, spontaneous,” he agrees, fingers drawing circles on you.

you and tom have explored some of each other’s most intimate places, yet you’ve never shared a moment quite like this. it’s like meeting him for the first time again. he’s too tongue tied to spit out what he wants. you somehow know, anyway. what you cherish most about your relationship is that you two completely and totally understand one another, on every level.

“tom?” you speak quietly, butterflies filling up your body. “hm?” he hums back. this is one of those moments where it all just clicks. “i love you. i really, really love you.” you giggle out of the pure happiness that consumes you, tom joining in your laughter. “i love you, too.” he sounds like he’s said it a million times and he’ll say it a million more. he leans over so his forehead rests on yours. “really, really love you.”

your warm breath hits his face, eyes darting from his own to his lips. “i want you to be more than...” you trail off, unsure of how to phrase it. “more than... more than a friend?” tom pokes fun at what you said during the show. there’s less and less space between you with every second. “you mean, like, a boyfriend?”

“exactly. be my boyfriend,” you all but demand. you’re half asleep and desperate to be able to call him yours already. “bossy, bossy, bossy,” tom chastises, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. how he goes from being shy and giddy to the cockiest person alive in minutes, you’ll never know. “please?” you throw in to sway him. your hand locks with his, slowly moving it off your face.

you run your tongue over your teeth. “at least kiss me.” “you don’t have to ask,” tom breathes, lips now ghosting over yours. “i was going to.” true to his words, he closes the microscopic gap between you, you pushing forward against him as you kiss back. your first kiss in love. his lips taste like the chapstick he always uses, and he moves them softly.

he places a hand on your knee, you opening your mouth so he can have access to it. instead, a yawn exits. tom pulls back with a breathy laugh. “you must be exhausted, yeah? let’s get you to bed.” he pecks your lips once more. “my girl needs her beauty rest.” that confirms your relationship. you scrunch your nose and grin wide. “and, she’s gonna get some with her boy.”

you’re reminded of how sweaty you are when you catch a whiff. “oof, wait. do you think i can take a shower first?” you grimace, fanning at the air for emphasis. tom uses the tip of his nose to nudge yours. “absolutely. need help in there, too?” he’s not asking in that way, only so nothing happens. the hospital wouldn’t be the most pleasant place to spend your break. plus, he doesn’t want to be without you too long.

“you know what? yeah.”

that’s how you end up intertwined under the hot water, letting it cascade down your back as tom hugs you close to him. you sigh in content and tangle your fingers in his fluffed over curls. you’ve learned that he’s super into having his hair played with. it’s endearing, how he instinctively leans into your touch, eyes closing as you tug on the roots.

he drops his head down to kiss your shoulder, dragging his lips to your collarbone in a way that tickles. they land on one of your breasts next. there isn’t anything sexual about it, only loving. just in case he gets too excited because it’s not uncommon he does, you gently put a finger to his lips. tom takes the hint and lets up. you continue combing through his wet hair while you step out of the water.

“do you ever sing in the shower?” he questions, drawing your naked body in closer to his. “sometimes, yeah. i honestly feel like i sound better there,” you admit and slide your hand down to the nape of his neck. tom’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. “not true. you sound beautiful everywhere, and don’t fight me on this one.” he smirks in satisfaction, you groaning at your loss.

“i really enjoy hearing your voice when it blares through an arena, though,” tom keeps buttering you up. you shake your head and settle both arms around his neck. “man, i just love you so much.” “i love you, sweetheart,” he murmurs back, you switching places so he can give his hair a final rinse. you watch him and his glowing body, admiring the sight.

“what a sensation you are,” you say mostly to yourself, which doesn’t stop him from hearing. “i see what you did there.” he eyes you while you do the same to him. your arms still around his neck pull him back to you. “tommy? do you sing in the shower?” you meant to ask him before, then he started throwing all those compliments at you.

tom scoffs, walking you back so you’re against the wall. “i don’t sing anywhere.” “what?” you gasp and put a hand on his chest. “you’re lying, you have to be. wasn’t billy elliot a musical?” he narrows his eyes at you as he tries to gage where you’re going with this. “that i did a decade ago, and way before puberty. couldn’t sing a word without cracking after that.”

your mouth is left hanging open in shock and disappointment. you bet he has a nice voice, and he’s downplaying it. “y/n,” tom begins, cupping your jaw with his palm. “since we’re living together now, there’s a lot you’re going the learn about me. good things, weird things.” he shrugs casually. “this is one of the weird things.”

“only because you make it weird! come on, let me hear you,” you request and wrap a leg around his waist. you’re giving him a hopeful smile. “god, no. you’ll hate it,” he almost laughs, a hand on your thigh. “i’m literally a singer. how could i hate something i love?” you refute, batting your lashes at him. “especially when someone i love is doing it.” “i love you, too. but, i’m not.” he’s quick to shut you down.

“drop a bar!” you try to coax him, which he already has a comeback for. “you first.” “i can’t. my throat is all scratchy from earlier,” you lie. tom presses his lips into a line, feigning pity. “aw, you know what’ll make you feel better? tea. i’ll go get you some.” he turns to shut the water off, so you grab his shoulders. “no, the steam is working. you can stay.”

“love,” tom addresses you in a warning tone that you can’t take seriously. he can’t either, a giggle escaping him. “my voice is shit. ask anyone, and they’ll tell you.” “i won’t believe them,” you hum, pushing back curls sticking to his forehead. “sounds like you just have stage fright. we can work on that, though.” “how?” he tightens his arm around your middle.

“i’ll bring you on for my next show. we’ll do a little duet.” you’re joking, though that would definitely be interesting to see unfold. “uh, never. what happened to you being tired?” tom cleverly deflects and digs his fingers into your side. you look down in defeat. “i forgot about that.” “yeah, yeah. no, seriously. we should really get to sleep, y/n/n.” he’s back to his sweet, attentive self. “‘s been a long night.”

giving in with a nod, you capture his lips in yet another kiss. tom never gets tired of them, and neither do you. you break it after a few seconds, lips lingering on his as they detach. “carry me?” you ask again, not caring how whiny you sound. tom presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “oh, you’re adorable. of course.”

well, you’ve found something to keep you occupied until the next leg of tour. you’re going to discover the many layers your intriguingly unusual boyfriend has.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland au #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland request #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader

[httpdabi]

Strawberry

Genre: smut, romance? Idk?

Summary: The reunion with your childhood best friend took some turns, and instead of hugs and tears all you wanted to do was kill the familiar stranger, that made your day at work worse.

(Ye, I suck at describing lmao)

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI), unprotected sex, dom!Dabi, creampie, a bit of dacryphilia, a bit of teasing, rough sex, choking, facefucking.

,,Girl, just hop into the water’’ Mina screamed, taking all the attention you were giving to your phone. You were already regretting the decision you made to join her and Bakugo. You’ve never liked those public pools, and you never understand people who did. Like seriously, children there pee in the water, some of them even poop, who knows ? And its not that you are some hygiene freak, it’s simply a no go for you.

,, Nah, I’m good over here’’ You screamed back, hoping she heard you, as you hid under the shadow of the tree. Sun was also a big minus for you, since 10 minutes were enough for you to get sunburnt and end up with Yoghurt all over your body trying to pamper the burning stings. Plus your pierced nipples didn’t help in this case either, heating up too fast in the sun, since the only peace of clothing that covered them was your swimming suit.

,, You are no fun’’ she pouted, hoping her puppy face will work on you.

Usually on your days off, you liked to enjoy your time at home, reading a nice book or simply lazing around watching a movie, cooking for yourself, and doing simply anything that didn’t include contact with others. Yeah, you had enough contact with people since you were working at the famous café in the city.

People who saw you working there thought that you loved your job. Always smiling, always having so much patience. Truth to be told, you were exactly the opposite. You hate it wholeheartedly. You couldn’t deal with children screaming around all the time, while their parents ignored them, you couldn’t deal with drunk dudes, cat calling you all the time, and you couldn’t deal with rude costumers always complaining about something. Fuck it, you couldn’t deal with anyone.

You felt more than happy once the day came to an end and once you waved goodbye to your co-workers. Nothing against them of course, you loved Mina and Bakugo, but sun, water and loud crowd of people drained your energy out. At that point you found yourself appreciating your apartment and your bed more then ever before.

The next day you woke up pretty late, since you had late shift. Not that you were complaining, you liked sleeping longer, but the fact that you will be working till fucking 10 PM, if not even longer since it was summer, was driving you insane.

Sure waking up early isn’t amazing, but in the morning there wasn’t that much work, and it was much more quiet then in late shift. And sure, some people would consider calling sick, but you didn’t want to be such an asshole toward your co-workers.

Since you will be the one getting the orders on the counter and maybe, only maybe work with ice cream, you decided to wear your favorite comfy skirt, not too long, but also covering everything up. Once you found your fav comfy shirt, you tucked it inside of your skirt and did your casual make up before you left your apartment.

You didn’t like your work, but you were thankful that you could at least get a free meal there, since it saved a lot of time for you. It wasn’t anything special, but at least you didn’t have to prepare anything or stop to buy something before work.

,, DROP THE BEAT’’ Bakugo yelled once he saw you coming, making some weird noises as you gave your best to give them a Top Model walk.

,, TC, TC, TC’’ you repeated, waving your hips from side to side in the beat with the weird sound you and Bakugo made. You hopped beside them, as you took the small pack of cigarettes out of your bag.

Usually after the end of the morning shift, you and your co-workers sit together, enjoying the last minute of the shift exchange together. Of course if there’s a new costumer, one of you would go to work immediately. But most of the time, the café was almost empty at that time, giving you a chance to catch up a bit.

,, Today was pain in the ass, I swear’’ Shiggy said, taking one cigarette out of your package, while Bakugo told you everything you needed to know, if there was something to do and so on. Nodding your head, you lit a cigarette for yourself, preparing yourself for one hell of annoying day that was waiting for you.

Once Bakugo and Shiggy went home, you made your way toward the small counter, preparing everything you needed for the late shift, as you waited for Mina to arrive. You were glad that there weren’t any new costumers, since it gave you lots of time to prepare everything, from ice cream, to sandwiches and drinks.

,, Hiii girl, sorry for being late’’ Mina greeted you happily, while you placed the new drinks into the fridge. It wasn’t anything new for you, she was always late, but you never minded it at all. Your team had some up’s and down’s, but after all, all of you worked great together.

Around 7PM you wished you never got that fucking job. The café was getting fuller and fuller, and people were getting more and more annoying.

,, Can you please serve that table ?’’ Mina asked, pointing on the table where some boys were sitting down. Nodding your head, you took the small notebook and pen, before you made your way towards the table you had to serve.

,, Heyy, what can I do for you?’’ you asked, acting all happy as you prepared the small notebook to write the order.

,, Well, you can blow me off if you are asking that nicely’’ one of them said, making the rest of the boys laugh loudly. Taking one deep breath, you almost rolled your eyes in annoyance.

,, Can I take your order ?’’ you repeated yourself, ignoring the rude comments they gave you, talking about your skirt and how you looked, like you weren’t standing right in front of them.

,, Five beers. Sorry, they really don’t know how to behave’’ one of them, mature enough, said. Giving you one small and apologetic smile. Nodding your head, you just hurried back, wanting to finish their order fast enough, before you did something you would regret later.

Once you bought them their beer, and once they gave you the money, you almost smacked the bottle against the blondies head, when he started checking you out shamelessly. What pissed you even more was the fact that the line waiting for fucking ice cream was already waiting for you.

The whole day was a complete disaster and you wished more then ever to finish your shift and leave the fucking café. At least you had Mina by your side, as the two of you gave each other encouraging words.

,, What can I get for you?’’ you asked, faking a smile at the woman with a child. You were so done with that fucking job, but you couldn’t let the costumers figure that out.

,, Honey, what do you want?’’ she asked her child, as she prepared her wallet. The fact that she was waiting for you to come, and than ask her child what she wants was lowkey pissing you off. They could literally decide before you arrived, but whatever.

,, I want vanilla… Hmmmm, I want mint and strawberry!’’ the little girl screamed excitedly, as you prepared the cone, already putting the vanilla ice cream in it.

,, I’m sorry, we are out of Strawberry ice cream’’ you said, giving her a small smile, as the child started screaming and crying around how she wants strawberry. You had to give your best and stop yourself from throwing the cone against the child’s face. That little girl was old enough to understand what a no means.

,, Sorry sweetie, do you want anything else?’’ you asked, hoping she’ll stop with the whole theater.

,, Noooo I want strawberry’’ she screamed, crying loudly.

,, Just give her raspberry’’ the woman said, rolling her eyes in annoyance like it was your fault that you were out of the strawberry ice cream. Mina noticed that your blood was already boiling, as she asked you if you need some help. Once she heard you saying how everything’s fine, she continued with her work.

NOTHING WAS FINE FOR FUCKS SAKE, NOTHING.

,, What can I get you?’’ you repeated the same question, as a guy approached, holding his phone in his right hand. You looked at him, giving him one fake smile, as you analyzed his face. Black hair, scarred face, few tattoos and lots of piercings. His appearance was pretty much freaking you out, but you had to stay professional and just wait for his order.

,, Hey, strawberry and chocolate’’ he said, casually scrolling the screen of his phone with his thumb. The moment you heard him say strawberry you wanted to quit that fucking job and just move to Poland or whichever country.

,, We are out of strawberry, sorry’’ you breathed out, hoping that the last cell in your brain didn’t die at that moment.

,,Oh ok, then only strawberry is fine’’ he said, giving you a small smile. At that moment you were more then sure that he was making fun of you, even a deaf person was able to catch up that strawberry wasn’t an option anymore after that stupid child made a scene. And that’s when you finally snapped, having enough of everyone’s shit.

,, Which part of we are out of strawberry you didn’t understand?’’ you asked, slamming the cone onto the counter, almost regretting your actions. But once you noticed the way he was trying not to laugh made you snap even more.

,, Are you making fun of me ? Is this funny to you ?’’ your voice was raising with every word you spoke. Once Mina realized that you were having your half mental breakdown, screaming at costumer, she hurried toward you, repeating your name all over again as she tired to catch your attention.

Hearing your name, his eyes widened in surprise, now totally focused on you instead of his cellphone and if Mina wasn’t there, you would probably start a bitch fight with him for even looking at you that way.

,, Woah, what’s going on? ‘’ she asked confused, as you gave the dude death glares.

,,This guy here is going on. He’ll be my 13th reason why’’ you screamed waving your hands in air, not even trying to calm down anymore.

,, Chill out, we only have 30 minutes more till we close’’ she said, patting your back slowly, as she mouthed small sorry to the guy.

,, Oh, 30 minutes ? We’re out of the ice cream’’ you hissed, slamming the glass down, giving him a clear sign that he won’t lick shit tonight. If your boss heard and saw you at that moment, you would be fired in just a second.

After 20 minutes, the two of you happily told the costumers that they have to leave. Before you could leave, you took two corona tests, already working on your own test as Mina went to the toilet to change.

,, OH MY GOD, YOU’RE PREGNANT’’ she screamed, placing one hand over her mouth.

,, Bitch, this is corona test’’ you hissed, loud laugh following your words. ,, And it’s only one line, which means that I’m negative. What the fuck’’ you laughed, placing one test in front of her, thinking about where the fuck did she get all her informations from, since she thought that one line means pregnant. Ignoring the fact that she thought that corona test is fucking pregnancy test.

,, You really overacted today, maybe he didn’t hear’’ she said, as you puffed onto your cigarette.

,, Girl, even my grandma from nursing home could hear that we were out of strawberry, and trust me her hearing aids ain’t worth shit’’ you rolled your eyes, making Mina giggle quietly.

,, But still, he might tell to boss, you don’t know that guy’’ she whispered, as you watched the guy sitting on the bench with his friends. She had a point sadly, he did look like someone who would cause trouble just for fun.

,, You’re right, I’ll go and apologize’’ you said once you saw him wave goodbye to his friends. Taking one deep breath you hugged Mina, before you forced yourself to walk fast enough to catch up with him.

,, Hey’’ you screamed, almost running behind him, hoping he actually heard you. Once he turned around, giving you one hella confusing look, you sighed in relief, placing both of your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

,, Wow, such a sporty spirit’’ he joked as he watched you fight for air.

,, Yeah, oh my god. I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier’’ you managed to say somehow, ignoring his comments.

,, Yeah, that wasn’t very nice of you’’ he pointed, taking one cigarette and placing it between his lips. ,,I was ready to write a review on google about the way you treated me’’ he joked once again, but you completely misunderstood it.

,,I KNEW IT, I FUCKING KNEW IT’’ you screamed, pointing your finger in his direction. ,, Look man, I already hate my job, don’t make it any worse’’ you whined loudly, not getting the irony in his voice.

,, Well, let me treat you with dinner, what do you think? And then I’ll think about the review’’ he smiled, using the way you misunderstood his words in his advantage. Once you heard him say that, you definitely regretted the way you acted one hour ago.

,, That won’t work, I have a cat waiting for me home and trust me, he ain’t capable feeding himself on his own’’ you spat, hoping he’ll understand and simply leave you alone, but once you saw him raise his eyebrow at you and giving you one questioning look, you almost rolled your eyes on him.

,, but you can come with me and we can order fucking tacos or whatever’’ you added, surprised that you went that far and disappointed once he accepted your invite.

,,Taquitoooo, I’m home babyyyy’’ you screamed, kicking your shoes as you got inside your apartment. Turning around you found the tall man looking around, analyzing every corner of your apartment.

,, Taquito? You’ve gotta be kidding me’’ he laughed at you. Even tho you just met the guy, it felt like you knew him for ages for some weird reason.

He sat outside on the balcony, as you prepared the two glasses and drinks for the two of you, while he ordered some food.

,, Anyway, what’s your name ?’’ you asked, remembering that you don’t know shit about the man sitting in your apartment.

,,Ah yes, I totally forget that, the name is Dabi’’ he grinned, taking the glass away from you, as he made himself at home.

,, Why the fuck did you call your cat Taquito?’’ he asked, as your cat jumped onto his lap, purring softly, making you just stare at them surprisingly. Taquito didn’t even like your family and friends, yet he was all cuddly with some fucking stranger.

,, Yeah long story short, I was drunk as fuck, found him on the street while I watched the stupid Tiktok about a girl that bought a turtle and called it Taquito’’ you said fast, as you sat there waiting for the food. Once you had a good look of him, something felt off. Nothing weird or scary, but you only felt like you already knew him. Sure, you definitely wouldn’t forget a face like his, but something about his eyes was telling you that you met him somewhere.

,, Anyway, enough about my cat. Did we meet somewhere?’’ you asked, staring at him shamelessly as he played with Taquito.

,, Maybe ?’’ he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

,, Cut it. Your eyes are familiar. I swear, I feel like I know you from somewhere ‘’ you confessed, placing a finger on your lip, as you tried to figure out from where you know him.

,, Yeah, I have such a pretty eyes, don’t I’’ he said, blinking fast as he tried to give some weird effect with it.

,, You can’t be that stupid doll’’ he added, when he realized that you still can’t remember him. Sure he changed, sure he went thru some shit and ended up with scars, and sureee he colored his hair black, but still he felt a bit disappointed when he realized that you have no idea who he is.

,, Does a name Touya tell you anything ?’’ he asked, raising his eyebrow at you playfully, laughing loudly at your confused face.

,, Nah, go fuck with someone else, that can’t be true’’ you hissed, crossing your arms on your chest. If you saw Touya, you would remember him, your childhood best friend.

,, Monday, 2PM, old tree house?’’ he said, almost asked about something only the two of you knew, trying not to laugh at your shocked expression.

,, It can’t be’’ you gasped, eyes wide enough, almost popping out of your skull. ,, YOU PIECE OF SHIT WHY DIDN’T YOU CONTACT ME?’’ you screamed jumping suddenly, making Taquito run form his lap, scared from your sudden reaction.

,, Honestly, I forgot what your last name was, so I couldn’t find you anywhere’’ he admitted, happy you finally remembered him. Sure he didn’t recognize you at first either, but once he heard your co worker calling you by your name, he immediately figured everything out, and understood why you seemed so familiar.

,, Are you serious ? And what kind of reunion was that ? I was ready to choke you with a fucking ice cream cone’’ you laughed, still not believing that the stranger sitting in front of you was no one else than fucking Touya Todoroki, the best friend you once had that left you behind and went overseas.

,, Yeah that was one iconic reunion if you ask me’’ he laughed out, thinking about the way you acted few hours ago.

The two of you talked about everything possible, about his life overseas, about the past, your shitty job, your cat and his dislike on every living being. Once it was too late, he wanted to leave, but you simply couldn’t let him go home at such a late hour, since people at the city were pretty weird and the city isn’t the quiet and safe one and after a long time of your insisting he finally agreed.

When you woke up, Touya was nowhere to be found, but he did leave a small piece of paper, with a number and apology written on it. You grinned to yourself, as you hurried to get ready for your work, since you stood up too late.

The day was much better than the last one, only instead of Mina who always managed to calm you down, you had Bakugo who was even more aggressive then you are by your side. You had the same task as last night, but once you saw Touya and his group of friends making themselves comfortable at one of the tables in the corner, you told Bakugo that you’ll take their order.

,, hayyy, alredy know your order ?’’ you asked excitedly placing your hands on Touya’s shoulders from behind, the smile on your face being honest for a change.

,, My girllll, why didn’t you text me ?’’ he whined, as he grabbed your hands and pulled you down, forcing you to hug him.

,, Didn’t the two of you have a huge fight last night because of strawberry ice cream?’’ one of his friends asked, totally confused.

,, We talked it out’’ you laughed, as he placed a small kiss on your cheek, before you finally took their order, almost forgetting you are at work.

If you were being honest, the whole shift was better with him and Bakugo who was cursing every second costumer around. Almost every 15 minutes Touya would end up at the counter, asking for a strawberry ice cream. Every time you would tell him that you are out of it, he would simply ask for the Book of complaints, making you roll your eyes playfully at him.

You were surprised when you noticed that he was actually waiting for you, laughing loudly when Bakugo commented how this whole romantic shit is making him sick.

The next few days the two of you spend way too much together, and first time in forever you actually liked having someone around. Every day he would drop by at your work, and wait till you are done and then the two of you would go home and have a late dinner, while he had cuddle season with Taquito.

On Saturday, you were looking for excuses to call sick, and once Mina told you that the only person who would be forced to jump in was no one else than Rumi, you immediately called them, acting all sick and everything.

After you called, you gave yourself one good deserved nap, not feeling bad anymore since Rumi was the co-worker no one liked.

The loud knocks at your door woke you up, grabbing your phone your eyes widened in shock once you realized that you slept almost the whole day. Rubbing your eyes, you rushed to open the damn door.

,, What the fuck?’’ Touya hissed, once he saw you healthy and alive standing there in nothing but oversized shirt.

,, what? I overslept a bit’’ you gave him a weak smile, as you let him in. You were surprised yourself that you slept that long, but you totally deserved it.

,, I swear, once your co worker told me you’re sick, I thought you died or something’’ he added, following you inside.

,, Yeah, I just needed some rest’’ you laughed, hoping he’ll chill the fuck out. Thankfully he calmed down real fast, almost forgetting about all the worry he had once he saw you all healthy, and once he saw Taquito running happily to him.

There was something comforting in having Touya around again. Somehow it made you feel like a child again, and the fact that he’s staying this time, for real, made your heart skip a beat for some weird reason. He was all the time around, at your work waiting for you, giving you a ride back home or walking you back home, dropping by on your days off with your favorite snacks and so on. Usually you wouldn’t like it, but since it was him, you embraced the affection he was giving you wholeheartedly.

You even became a laughing stick at your work, as your co-workers always made jokes about your new lover boy. Especially Mina and Bakugo, turning every conversation into Touya related one.

Making the drinks some costumers ordered, a yawn escaped your lips. Still sleepy as fuck, you somehow managed to put your attention on your work instead of the lack of sleep.

,, So, how was the date last night ? What did you two do ?’’ you asked, remembering that Bakugo met some girl he liked so much last night.

,, See when two people come together, they perform an intimate act called getting fucking railed’’ Bakugo said, trying to sound as romantic as possible.

,, You’re disgusting’’ you gasped, throwing the small sponge at him, as he laughed loudly, making his way to the costumer that just got in.

You were completely focused on your work, until Bakugo told you that your lover boy is there, and he’ll be the one to get his order. Rolling your eyes, you just let him do it, as you continued with the work you already did.

Bakugo was much louder than usually, probably because his little date went good, singing around you and joking around every now and then. Not that it bothered you, in fact, you were so glad that he showed his unusual side that day, since he’s grumpy and mad almost all the time.

,, I swear the headache is killing me today’’ you whined loudly, hopping beside Touya once you got the chance. You took one cigarette from him, and lit it up, enjoying the peace with almost no costumers around.

,, You seem pretty close with that guy’’ Touya said, also taking one cigarette.

,, Huh? You mean Bakugo?’’ you asked and he simply nodded his head, not taking his eyes from the spiky haired guy. ,, Yeah, we are pretty close’’ you added, puffing onto your cigarette.

,, You like him ?’’ Touya’s eyes met yours, making you feel a bit uneasy with his sudden behavior.

,, No, we are literally only friends and he’s much younger, wait, why ?’’ you were too confused, finding it hard to proceed the whole situation. Changing the topic, he simply asked what you wanna do after work, acting as nothing happened at all.

,, So, that Bakugo guy, he has a girlfriend ?’’ Touya asked, as the two of you made your way to the nearest store.

,, At this point I’m not sure if you are interested in me or Bakugo’’ you joked, dragging your feet lazily.

,, In you, obviously’’

After that day Touya was giving his best to show you how he felt, he was giving his best to show everyone to who you belong. Being a little too touchy in front of his friends and your co workers, in a way that seemed innocent to you, yet clear to everyone else. Small kisses he usually placed on your cheeks, were getting closer and closer to your lips. The hand he usually places around your shoulders, was getting lower and lower.

Even when he comes over, he was using every little chance he had to touch you, using everything you liked into his advantage. He knew how much you loved when someone caressed you, and he did it more than gladly for you. Tracing his fingers against your soft skin, starting with your arms, only to end up with his hand under your shirt, caressing your back slowly, until you would end up falling asleep in his arms.

,, What do you want to watch ?’’ you asked, placing the bowl of popcorn onto the table, while Touya waited for you patiently on you couch. The weather was perfect for nothing else than a lazy movie evening.

Hopping next to him, you made yourself comfortable as you listened to the storm outside. The sound of strong wind and thunder was more then relaxing to you, and for some reason you enjoyed weather like that.

Gasping loudly, you jumped a little once your cat tried to climb onto you, destroying your small enjoyable moment.

,,Taquito get the fuck off her, she has a boyfriend’’ Touya pushed the cat away gently, joking around, as you just sat there and watched him, eyes wide in shock.

,, Do I?’’ you asked, not moving at all.

,, Fuck yes, you do’’ he added, wrapping his right arm around you, pulling you closer to him, as he looked for a perfect movie to watch. He took his time searching for anything interesting, mumbling some words of disappointments as he couldn’t find anything on Netlfix. At the end he played Oh, Ramona! , since none of you watched it and it was it was simply in Netflix recommendation list.

Pulling you closer to him, he started tracing his fingers along your arm, both of you concentrated on the weird movie that was playing on the screen of your Television. You always begged your friends to caress your arm, since you loved the ticklish feeling that always made you sleepy, yet they would always refuse it, giving you some lame excuses how they’re tired and so on.

Now that Touya was doing it without you having to ask him, you tried to enjoy every second of it. If you only knew, how much Touya enjoyed it, almost as much as you did. The feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips was driving him crazy, as he traced them down your tattoos, mesmerizing every inch of them.

The air got steamier in one moment, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the overly erotic scenes that were showed in the movie, or because his hand was now under your shirt, slowly moving from your back, to the side of your hips.

Trying to calm yourself down a little, you grabbed your phone, checking out all of the unread messages in the group chat. The way he moved hiss hands from side to side made you almost way to shaky. It took you some time to write a reply to your friends, and you almost dropped your phone once he put a little bit pressure into his touch, making your skin burn under his palm.

,, You should concentrate on the movie doll’’ Touya said, not stopping his movements.

,, Yeah, sorry’’ you mumbled, dropping your phone beside you, as you tried not to close your eyes in pleasure.

Once the movie got too erotic fro your taste, you found yourself with your phone in your hands again, trying to hide the blush that was spreading across your cheeks. Of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by Touya. Annoyed groan left his lips, as he snatched the phone away from you.

,, You really don’t listen’’ he pointed, hiding the phone away from you, as you complained quietly. The hand that was under your shirt was suddenly wrapped around your neck, pushing you slowly into the couch, there was no pressure in it, but the sudden turn of the whole situation made your eyes widen in shock.

,, Are you bored doll? ‘’ he asked, his face only inches away from yours as he locked your body under his own.

,, No, it’s just.. the movie is too much’’ you whispered, gulping on your saliva as he slowly tapped his fingers around your neck. This time you didn’t have to ask yourself, you knew that he was the one turning you on, and not the fucking scenes from the movie.

,, too erotic’’ you mumbled, making him laugh loudly.

,, You should have kept your eyes on me, instead of your phone, if it was getting to much for you’’ he gave you a smile, a dangerous one.

,, That won’t help’’ you confessed, making him smirk widely as you spoke those words. How could it help, when he was laying beside you handsome without even trying, as his hand was caressing your body gently.

,, Oh, am I turning you on?’’ he asked, mocking you shamelessly, as you tried to avoid his eyes.

Touya didn’t need your reply, the way you acted in the moment was enough for him, and God did he want to fuck you senseless in that moment. His hand moved a bit up from your neck, holding your jaw in one place, as he connected his lips with yours.

His hold on your jaw grew stronger, forcing you to open your mouth just enough so he could slip his tongue inside. Not breaking the kiss, he parted your tights apart, as he hovered on top of you, his hips between your legs, slowly grinding against your clothed core.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer into the kiss, not giving a shit about the movie or your phone anymore. The way he was grinding against you, the way you could feel his hard dick rubbing against you, made you insane in that moment and you found yourself wanting more and more.

,, On your knees’’ Toyua commanded, breaking the kiss as he sat onto the couch, spreading his legs enough to give you some space between them. Without thinking twice, you obeyed, positioning yourself down, between his legs, as he pushed his hips just a bit to pull his sweatpants and boxers down.

Touya looked down on you, not hiding the smirk on his face, as he slowly caressed your hair. Kissing the tip gently, you looked up through your long lashes, satisfied with the fact that he was going crazy as much as you do. He cursed something under his breath, as you gave him one lick, taking your time and making sure you licked every inch of it.

,, Don’t tease me doll, you’re not in position for it’’ he hissed, as you placed your lips on the tip of his cock. His hand found its way to your hair, gripping onto it, as he brought your mouth farther down him. You wanted to take your time, to play at your own pace, but Touya didn’t let you, he waited too long for this to happened and teasing wasn’t something he needed in the moment.

,, Open your mouth a bit more’’ he growled, gripping your hair tighter then before. He wanted you to obey him, he wanted you to do everything he wanted in that moment and you did, you gladly did.

It was the first time you had someone’s dick deep down your throat, and the feeling you weren’t used to made your eyes glossy so fast as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag a little.

Without giving you any time to get used to it, he started moving his hips, as he held your head in place. You could feel his hardness more then clear now, as his hips thrust into your mouth at some lazy, yet strong pace. Focused on his dick, you didn’t even realize that tears were rolling down your cheeks, vision getting blurry as his moves got much faster, not giving you a chance to breath properly.

,, You look so pretty when you cry’’ Touya groaned, getting even more turned on as he watched you get ruined because of his dick. The small amount of mascara you had, was all gone, turning your tears into blurry shade of black. You started gagging, and without even knowing you tried to move away a bit, giving your best to breath through your nose.

Looking up on him, you saw him squeeze his eyes shut, head swung back into the edge of your couch. You could feel your saliva dripping down your chin, and if you weren’t in that position at the moment, you would probably end up blushing. But none of that was possible, since all you could focus on was his dick hitting the same spot of your throat.

Touya stopped his movements, slowly petting your head, as you fought for your breath, coughing loudly, while tears rolled down your cheeks. If it was someone else, you would probably told them to go to hell and throw them out of your apartment, but it was Touya, and all you wanted was to do was make him feel good.

,, My good girl’’ he praised, pulling you up into his lap. You wanted to stay in his lap a bit longer, you wanted to snuggle into his neck and enjoy the moment, but just after he gave you one sloppy kiss, you found yourself under him again.

Touya took your shorts and panties off, throwing them across the living room together with his shirt. In less then a minute, the two of you were all naked, enjoying the feeling of each others skin.

,, Touya, please’’ you begged, feeling his hard erection between your legs, as he sucked onto your neck, leaving wet love bites all over it. Taking one deep breath, he started rubbing the tip of his dick up and down your clit, making you beg for him even more.

,, Needy baby’’ he mocked, placing his tip only a bit into your core, as he continued to tease you, loving every second of the way you were almost breaking down for him.

A loud scream escaped your lips as he entered his full length into you, kissing your jaw and giving you some time to adjust his size. The moment he looked down your body, to see his dick buried deep inside your core, something else grabbed his attention. Cursing loudly, his eyes focused on two shiny pieces of metal, pierced thru both of your nipples.

,, How didn’t I notice this earlier’’ he hissed, lowering his head just enough as he sucked onto your nipple, the contrast of the warm feeling of your skin and the cold metal against his tongue made his curse all over again. His hand found it’s way to your left boob, slowly pinching and twisting your nipple, making you throw your head back, and making it hard for you to concentrate on anything else than his dick that stood still inside you, while his tongue was working wonders on you.

Playing with the small piercing, Touya started moving his hips at a lazy and sloppy pace, making you feel every single inch of him. Touya groaned against your nipple, deciding to waste no time, bringing his cock out and then slamming it back inside almost urgently.

Your hand reached up to his hair, tugging it roughly, as your other hand went up to his back, scratching red lines down helping release some of the pleasure you felt in the moment. Touya rocked his hips quickly, gaining depth with each thrust he made, as you were pulling at his hair lightly, eyes shut strongly as you moaned his name loudly.

He loved how you felt around him, he loved the way you were scratching his back and tugging his hair, yet he wanted more. Placing his hand around your throat, he gave it a small squeeze. It looked like he was asking for a permission, but he wasn’t. In fact it was more like a sign, a little sign for you to prepare yourself for what’s coming.

You didn’t get the little hint he gave you, totally unprepared once his grip around your throat grew stronger, making your breathing stop, as he slammed his hips at ruthless speed. He enjoyed playing with you, giving you only a second to fight for air, before he puts the pressure around your neck again, wrapping his fingers firmly around it.

In one moment you weren’t sure if he forgot about the fact that you couldn’t breath, hand wrapped around your throat for too long making your eyes roll back. You clenched his hair, yanking it tightly, giving him a sign that you need air, only for him to smirk in response as he held it even tighter, thrusting into you with much more force then he did before.

You were more then grateful when he gave you a whole minute to breath properly. But even without his hand around your neck, you had trouble catching your breath since he was hitting your sweet spot all over and over again. Of course, that was your problem and not his.

Feeling your walls getting tighter around his dick, he once again put the not so small pressure onto your throat, forcing the tears out of you as he continued to reach your g spot each time he slammed back inside. Scratching his back, your grabbed his hand that was wrapped around your throat with your own, closing your eyes shut as you found yourself coming undone. You weren’t sure if it was because of the lack of air, or because he didn’t stop his movements, but the orgasm that hit you was the best one you ever had.

In that moment, Touya left your neck alone, smirking to himself as he noticed the marks of his fingertips buried deep in the skin of your neck. Placing his hands onto your hips, he sped up, rocking his hips against your at animalistic speed as he reached his own high.

Groaning loudly he came inside, body collapsing on your own as he slowly fucked his seed into you, as he repeated how much he loves you all over again.

Once the two of you finally calmed down, Touya helped you clean yourself, being extra careful like you were a small piece of glass that was about to break any moment.

Hopping back onto the couch, you rolled your eyes at the view of the ending of the stupid movie Touya found. He wrapped his arm around you, snatching the cigarette that was hanging between your lips and placing it between his own.

,,Oh God’’ you gasped loudly, as your cat jumped on top of you, making you jump a bit in surprise. ,, Fuck off Taquito, I have a boyfriend’’ you pushed your cat lightly away, repeating the words Touya said few hours ago, making him grin widely as he placed a kiss on your cheek.

#smut #dabi fanfic #dabi headcanons #dabi smut #dabi todoroki #dabi x oc #romance #bnha fanfiction #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha dabi #mha x y/n #mha x reader #dabi x y/n #yandere dabi x reader #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #touya x y/n #touya todoroki #touya #touya imagine #touya fanfic #touya smut #touya x reader #yandere dabi #dabi #dabi request

[princessofprocrastination]

request because i adore the way you write angst to fluff, but maybe a just the reader and cc (whoever you prefer) getting into an argument, voices are raised or regretful things are said and cc has to fight to win back reader? idk just an idea for writers block!

have a good day :)

You’re Leaving Me (Sapnap)

this story fast forwards to the future a little, getting after 2021!

pairing : sapnap x fem!reader

summary : voices were raised when you were concerned about where you relationship is going. all this just to know if you were going to be in his future. was it worth the argument?

a/n : dude i fucking love you for sending this request. this def helped me :))))

"when are you coming back?" you asked your boyfriend of 3 years now.

he shrugged his shoulders. "i didn't think that far yet." he told you, eyes not meeting yours, busy packing his suitcase.

"what?" your voice slightly raised. you flinched at your own tone. "you mean to tell me you bought a one-way ticket to florida and didn't think about coming home?"

"i'll come home, just don't know when." he tells you, glancing at you to see your reaction.

okay, let's back track. sapnap, and you met at a dinner your mom hosted. her colleague, sapnap’s mom and her got close and shared some personal family details, one of which being that they had a kid, both around the same age, addicted to their electronics.

both moms hadn't thought that you two would get so close, you being uncomfortable in meeting new people, and him being socially awkward.

but, not even a while later, you two were inseparable and soon started dating.

and now, that boyfriend that you were once attached to the hip to had just told you that he had bought a ticket to florida to visit his friend, dream, and didn't have a ticket back.

you had nothing against dream, you two had spoken a while back in a light-hearted conversation, exchanging a couple of jokes here and there.

"you were the one who told me to visit him." sapnap tells you, exasperated.

yes, you had been the one to encourage him to go to florida. it would be good for him to have a change of scenery. you told him to think of it like a mini vacation, the borders finally opening again. you thought it was a great idea.

but you hadn't thought he wouldn't come back for a while. that's not what you wanted, at all.

"yes, i did, but i wanted you to come back after like 2 weeks." your hands brought to your face to ease the headache you suddenly got.

"you're being stupid." your boyfriend tells you.

you drop your hands to your lap, a small slap sound emitted from the action. "i'm being stupid? all i want is you to have a break. a short break, and then come back." you told him honestly. you were tired of the argument at this point.

"and what i want is to stay with my best friend for a while. stop being selfish." he scoffs.

you stayed quiet, trying to reorganise your thoughts before the argument turns big for no reason.

the air turns more tense by the minute. the quiet turns eerie at one point, the only sounds are you two breathing.

to be honest, you couldn't remember how you two got here. how it got this bad. but as you thought this situation is bad, it got worse. and it had been because of the next question you asked.

"where are we going with this?" you finally say something- well, more like asked. "this relationship, where are we going with it?"

you heard his breath hitch, albeit quiet, you still heard it. "what?" he scoffs once again.

"you're leaving me, for god knows how long, so i'm asking, where is this going?" you were done with questioning yourself everyday. this conversation had been way too long overdue.

and if the two of you were going to argue, might as well argue about something else, too. and something that was important. 

“this is irrelevant.” he tells you, continuing to pack his suitcase on the floor. you look down at him, you being sat on his bed and him being on the floor, legs crossed, folding his clothes. 

“no, it’s not.” you tell him, this time more seriously. you were sick and tired of being asked what is going to be your next move, being 20 and had been dating for a while. 

some would say you two are too young to take the next step in anything, or even have this conversation, but you and him had always taken the express train in things. 

“i just want answers.” you sighed. “you could come back next week, next month, hell, even next year. and i just want to know where this is going.” you pulled your legs to cross them on his bed. 

“i’m not leaving you, i’m coming back to you, all i’m doing is going to meet my best friend.” his tone more serious now. 

“which means you’re leaving me. and i’m terrified.” you told him, seriously. “we’ve been together for 3 years, since we were in highschool.”

“it’s only been 3 years.” he laughed. “what’s the rush.” 

“we’re both working. sure, we’re both taking online classes, but, what’s not to rush about?” you say. 

“you’re being ridiculous.” he rolls his eyes at your last statement. 

okay, you might be exaggerating. but you weren’t telling him to get hitched, you were asking him what comes after this? moving in together? 

“i just want to know what happens after this, after you leave.” your shoulders slumped down, you knew he was going to get mad soon, his temper already rising. 

“for god’s sake, i’m not leaving you. i will come back, i just don’t know when.” he screams. “stop fucking asking, i’m getting a headache.” 

your eyes widen slightly. no, you didn’t flinch. you knew this would happen, anyways. 

“all i want to know is what’s in for the both of us. give me something to hold on to after you leave for florida.” your voice small, yet still pushing for an answer. 

“oh my fucking god.” he says, his voice full of malice, which made your goosebumps rise. “i don’t want to marry you, what part of that do you not understand.” he raises his voice slightly towards the end of his sentence. 

“do you get it now, my silence. i don’t want you to move in with me, i don’t want to propose, i don’t want to marry you. i don’t want kids with you.” he finally looks you in the eye.

the air turned tense once again as you became quiet. 

“yeah, i get it.” you finally speak up. 

you took your phone and stood up from your position from his bed and went near him on the floor.

“thank you for being honest to me.” you bent down to him, giving him a last kiss on the cheek.

you walked to his bedroom door to walk out before glancing at him one last time. “i love you.” you told him for the last time. 

you wanted to let him know that you didn’t leave because you lost feelings, but more like because having a more serious relationship is not what he had wanted, and you respected it. 

you took your bag from the couch outside, telling his mom that you were going to go home, giving her a kiss on the cheek and thanking her for the dinner you made for you earlier. that was probably the last time you’d talk to her, too. 

sapnap was still seated on the floor, hand in the air, holding a piece of clothing he was meant to fold before you kissed him on the cheek. 

he knew what it meant. the kiss, and the “i love you.” 

and that terrified him. what did he just do?

- 

fast forward to more than a year later, you were thriving, if you said so yourself. 

you quit your job, deciding to finish your  double major in college before starting to work again. you took in as many classes as possible, during the summer and winter breaks and extra classes to graduate as early as possible. 

after that eventful day, you spilled everything to your mom. you sobbed on her shoulders. she comforted you through the entirety of your breakdowns. 

she was one to thank of your success now. 

she cried when you graduated, being the most proud of you for finally finishing college and being able to do what you love. 

with that double major, you only decided to be a flight attendant. always wanted to be one, you were happy to hear back from one of the most prestigious airlines in the world.

and now, you were happy and healthy again. 

and here you are now, sitting at a table, with your parents and your ex boyfriend’s parents. 

at first when you met his mom again after he had left for florida, it was awkward and weird. you didn’t know if she knew if he had even told him. 

but she assured you that she knew and to not feel uncomfortable with her just because of her son. and with that information, you started talking to her again comfortably. 

- 

‘fuck, i’m nervous.” he told his tall friend. 

his friend chuckles. “you’ll be just fine.” he assures his texan friend. 

the taller man looks out into the restaurant booth that the two families were sitting at to peek. “holy fuck.” he lets out. 

“what? what?” the shorter man in a suit asks repeatedly in panic. 

“man, she was hot before but she is smokin’ now.” the floridian says. “i hope you mess up, now.” he jokes. 

“shut up, dude.” the texan says, now more nervous. he had seen a couple photos of you that his mom sent him and his friend was right, you did get more attractive, and he didn’t even think that was possible, given how already beautiful you were from a year ago. 

“this is a bad idea.” sapnap says after a while of silence. 

his tall friend turns to him. “what are you talking about? no, it isn’t. you’ve thought about this for over a year now.” he says to his friend as assurance. 

“yeah but she won’t just take me back.” he sighs out. “it has been over a year. i just left her.” 

the two fell into a comfortable silence, both not knowing what else to say. dream knew better than to say anything, he learnt to let his friend let it all out. 

“that last kiss, that last ‘i love you’, plays in my head over and over again from the day she left my house.” sapnap says after a while. he needed to let out his frustration about himself one last time to gain the balls to talk to you again. 

“and as much as i regretted screaming at her, telling her i didn’t want to have a life with her, i let her go. i tensed up and stayed on the floor and i let her go.” he continues. 

“and almost 2 years later, i just come back? what kind of person does that to a woman so perfect? all she wanted to know was if she was in my future, like how i was in hers.” the texan 22 year old finishes. 

his shoulders slumped lower than before before stretching his tense muscles and giving himself a pep talk in his head to go talk to you. 

dream glanced at his obviously nervous friend. “again, you’ll be just fine.” he says to the man fiddling with a red box.

“she’ll say no.” sapnap says, exasperated, trying to understand why he’s here again.

“with your charming looks? no chance.” the tall man jokes light-heartedly. “look, we both know you thought about this for a long time now, and now is not the time to back off from it. you spent a lot of money and effort for this. now what’s left for you to do is ask.” he says. 

“right, right. just ask.” he mutters to himself. he prayed silently to all the gods above that he got the private booth instead of one in the middle of the restaurant. he wouldn’t want you to feel obliged to accept him just because you don’t want him to feel embarrassed. 

he walks out of his hiding spot, not before dream giving him a comforting pat on the back. 

he fiddles with the box in his hands before putting it back into his suit pocket to hide it. 

the closer he gets to you, the more he gets to see how much you’ve changed. you looked elegant in your dress, in his favourite shade of red. you looked collected and mature. 

“okay, here i go.” he told himself before approaching your table. 

“hey.” he said slowly and quietly, hoping he didn’t startle you but loud enough that you heard him so he didn’t need to repeat himself. 

he could see his mom and yours giving him the biggest smiles or assurance. of course both your parents knew. he needed to ask for permission, anyways. they were supportive of him, but ultimately, it’s up to you. 

his breath hitched as you turn your head to look at him, wondering how greeted the table. 

“she’s even more beautiful in real life.” he thought to himself. 

you were sipping on champagne when you heard someone greet you. as you turn and put the glass down, you were shocked to see your ex boyfriend. 

a more attractive version of your ex boyfriend. 

his face more mature, the suit he was wearing fit perfectly on his body. but you could still see how tired he looked. his sunken eyes were too obvious for you to ignore. 

the table grew tired. you glanced at your family, trying to see if they knew this was happening, if are just as confused as you are. 

but they were smiling. sly jerks. 

you turn back to the man you haven’t seen since that day you left his house. 

“i know, this is shocking to you. we haven’t seen each in almost 2 years.” he starts saying. “and i know i have no right to be here after i let go of you.” he sighs. 

“but ever since that day, i have been kicking myself for being so stupid to even think that i could live without you even for another second.” 

you open your mouth to say something before he cuts you off before you could even utter a word. 

“i know, i still left for florida and i still stayed there for a long time. i didn’t even call, i didn’t text. and i feel terrible.” he comes closer to you. 

“i said terrible things to you, when all you wanted to know was what i had in store for the both of us in the future. all you wanted was something to hold on to until i came back to texas to you.” he says, eyes teary. “i got to see you grow to be a more wonderful and smart woman over the year, thanks to my mom for sending me your updates.” 

“and i see that you’re great without me. you have this amazing job and amazing friends and an amazing family who supports you through whatever you want to do.” he tells you, looking you in the eye. he looked extremely nervous, hands shaking as he goes to take your hands into his. 

you stayed sat down, not knowing what to say. and at some point, you didn’t know when, you started crying silently, slow tears going down your cheeks. 

you took one of your hands away from his to wipe away the tear before holding his hand again. this gave him a little bit of hope for the next thing he was going to do. 

“and i know this is late, but i do want you to be in my future. but i just hope there is still space in yours for me to be in.” he kneels down on one knee as he finishes. 

you tense up, eyes widened. slowly, your mouth opened and you took your hands to cover it. this is definitely not what you had expected to happen today. 

you look at him as he reaches in his suit pocket to take out an elegant looking red box, with pretty gold swirls on the top. he opens the box for you to see the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen. 

the ring that you’ve saved multiple times on your pinterest board. the ring you’ve told your mom you fell in love with. 

the ring of your dreams. 

“so i guess this is when i ask the question.” he inhales through his mouth and exhales out of his nose. his hands start to shake as he holds the box. 

“will you marry me?” he finally asks the question. your eyes staring into his, tears still flowing, but you don’t bother to wipe away. 

“um. you can say no, i’m sorry if this was too invasi-” he talks but is cut off by you. 

“yes.” you say once, still not believing that this was happening. he looks at you to make sure he heard it right. 

“say that again.” he says quietly. 

“yes, i’ll marry you.” you tell him before he smiles brightly. he takes the ring out of the box and takes your left hand, sliding it on your bare finger. 

he admires the glimmer of the ring under the restaurant lights and the ring being on your finger before he kisses your hand and takes you into his embrace. he gives you a tight squeeze before pulling you back to finally give you a kiss on the lips. 

“fucking finally.” you heard a familiar voice say. 

“shut up, dream.” you heard your now fiancé, say, not looking at him but still looking at you with his dreamy eyes and the dreamy look he has on his face. 

you heard applaud going on in the restaurant as the people in the start to notice the romantic atmosphere. 

sapnap stands up and pulls you up to stand with him as he hug your tight once again, this time staying that way for a while to busk in your scent that he had missed so much. 

after a while, the two of you detach and hug your families. you notice the tall man in a classy white button up and black pants and shiny shoes standing there. 

you give him a hug before talking. “nice to finally meet you, dream.” you say to him. 

“alright cuties, let’s take pictures of you and that beautiful ring.” your mom says. 

to which you remembered about the ring. you look down at your hands, admiring it for a while before turning to sapnap.

“you are so sneaky.” you told him. 

“i know. tell me i did good.” he tells you before pulling you in by your waist. 

“you did amazing.” you say before kissing him on the cheek. 

“i love you.” he says to you before kissing your forehead and turning to look at the camera when your mom called for another pose. 

what a day. 

#sapnap #sapnap imagines #sapnap imagine #sapnap x reader #Dream Team

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.    

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

~

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do.                                                                                           Sincerely,                                                                      Steve Rogers

                                                                                            ~

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

 When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.  

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

#dark fic #dark mcu #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #mcudarklibrary #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #marvel fic #mob au #mob!steve #mafia!steve rogers #Mob!steve x reader #dark! mob! steve rogers #mafia au #ray writes #just my type #Lipstick and Crayons #Lipstick and Crayons series

[chenziee]

Romance Dawn for the East Blue

Inspired by @feriowind‘s blessed tweet about Yamato winding up on Dawn Island :)

Enjoy 4k words of the 4 brothers driving everyone  crazy :D

[Read on AO3 or below the cut]

----------

Slowly blinking awake, Yamato struggled to remember why he was lying on the beach of some strange island, the smell of sea salt and trash mixing in the air into something almost worse than the confines of his prison of Onigashima. Almost. It was still freedom after all, and Yamato would gladly take this disgusting smell over his father threatening to place bombs on his wrists.

Looking around groggily, his eyes finally fell on the sad, wooden remains of a small boat, a boat that Yamato had been using to sail this unfamiliar sea during the past weeks. And he finally remembered the terrible events that had led him to this island.

 Yes, it was a dark, stormy night, the likes of which Yamato had never seen even in the unpredictable New World, and definitely not since his escape in the peaceful and calm East Blue. He had fought to keep his boat from capsizing, fighting against the strong winds and ocean currents all by himself for hours… but then suddenly, a Neptunian so large it could only have come from the Calm Belt appeared. Yamato had managed to fight it off but unfortunately, his boat suffered too much damage from the power of his Thunder Bagua. He was then forced to swim to the nearest shore with the last bits of strength he had left—

"I saw the Lord of the Coast attack the fishing boat this person was sleeping in. It was really funny, when they woke up, they screamed so loud I think even the people in Fuusha heard. And then they fell in the water while trying to stand up. But the idiot apparently can't swim so I had to go fish them out."

Yamato froze in place at the boyish voice who was retelling his heroic battle so rudely. Wasn't he allowed to at least pretend?  

Another boy, this one sounding even younger, started snickering then. "I like this person, Sabo! They’re so funny!"

"Luffy, you're the last one who should be laughing here," a third voice sighed. "Anchor boy." Yamato could almost hear the cheeky smirk on his face as he teased this 'Luffy'.

“Don’t call me that!” the youngest one cried, sounding like he was about to fight the other boy.

“Ace, don’t provoke him,” the first boy chided. “You’ll wake the idiot with your fighting.”

That was it.

“Will you stop calling me an idiot?!” Yamato shouted as he sprung up to a sitting position, an embarrassed blush on his face.

They all paused at the sudden movement, blinking up at him in shock. Yamato glowered at them one by one, taking note of how tiny these kids were—the blond and the freckled one looked no older than 12, while the other could be maybe 8. The blond was the only one dripping in water, just as much as Yamato himself was, and Yamato could only assume this was Sabo, the one who had pulled him out of the water. That would make Freckles ‘Ace’, and the youngest one ‘Luffy’.

Yamato had to wonder, though, how Sabo was able to save him all by himself. Yamato was 16 years old, a lot older than however old these boys were, and he was Kaido’s son—meaning he was already much taller than some adults. Although, he supposed he had seen stranger things and people a lot stronger than a human their size should have been. An image of Oden during his execution came to mind immediately but Yamato quickly chased the memory away.

“Oh look, the idiot’s awake,” Ace said lazily, looking thoroughly unimpressed by Yamato’s glare and simply returning it with one of his own.

Luffy, on the other hand, grinned brightly, hopping over to Yamato to stare up at him with stars in his eyes. “Are those horns? Real ones?”

Blinking, Yamato’s hand automatically reached up to touch one of his horns. “Yeah?” he replied slowly, unsure of what he was supposed to say. Was it that weird to people not from the Grand Line to see someone with features like this?

“That’s so cool! Join my pirate crew!” His grin only widened with his request—or demand.

Yamato tilted his head to the side. “You have a pirate crew?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, not yet,” Luffy said, a small pout appearing on his lips. “But eventually, I will be the Pirate King so of course I will have one!” he announced looking so proud and sure of himself and Yamato felt his lips twitch upward.

“Sure, King, I’ll tag along with you,” he laughed, seeing no harm in indulging the adorable kid. And who knew? Maybe he really would end up sailing with him. After all, in 12 years, the Nine Red Scabbards would come back to Wano and Yamato needed to be back there by then. He needed to help open the country.

And who was to say he couldn’t bring the Pirate King with him?

Sabo clicked his tongue then, walking up to Luffy and ruffling his hair. “Stop that, you don’t even know this person’s name.”

“Oh right,” Yamato said, hitting t he palm of his hand with his fist in sudden realization. “Sorry. I’m Kozuki Oden. You can also call me Yamato. Son of Kaido. Thanks for helping me.”

----------

“Ace! Luffy! What’s the meaning of this?!”

Yamato groaned; always a wonderful way to wake up. “Are you drunk again, you bull-gorilla? Go away it’s too early for this,” he shouted back, not even bothering to open his eyes.

There was a moment of silence until someone stomped over to stand right above Yamato’s head. “What did you just call me, you brat?”

Finally, Yamato blinked up at the person with long ginger hair, a cigarette between their lips, and looking decidedly female. He closed his eyes again, mumbling, “Oh you’re not my father. Whatever then.” As soon as he was done, he pulled his blanket over his head to try and get some more peace and quiet.

It might not have been his father but it still was too early for this.

“Dadan, shut up,” some one whined from somewhere around halfway down Yamato’s body.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?” another person joined in, their voice coming from Yamato’s other side.

Oh right. Ace, Sabo, and Luffy had brought him back to their place last night; this had to be the nasty old hag they mentioned. Definitely seemed like one.

“First Garp drops you two on me, then you bring in more and more kids with you? What do you expect me to do, this isn’t a daycare!” It sounded like the woman was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Finally, Sabo spoke up, sounding about as sleepy as Yamato felt, “Dadan, this is our brother, Yamao. Yamao, Dadan.” With that, he flopped back down, his head coming to rest against Yamato’s thigh.

“I’m not a pillow, you three!” Yamato snapped upon the realization of how the boys were laying with their limbs thrown all over the place, Yamato’s own body included. “And it’s Ya-ma-to,” he added with a sigh, already giving giving up on convincing them to not use Luffy’s nickname.

“Where the hell did you manage to pick up another brother,” Dadan complained and Yamato was starting to feel a little sorry for her. He had to admit that dealing with these three was like fighting a hurricane and it hasn’t even been 24 hours since he met them. At least now he was there, a responsible teenager to keep them in check. She should really be grateful he happened to… choose this island to land on.

“Alright, kid. I don’t care who you are you where you came from—” the woman paused, folding her arms over her chest as she stared down and Yamato— “but I will not feed you. One bowl of rice per day is all I can guarantee you.”

Yamato laughed, “That’s not necessary. Oden could do it, I would be a disgrace if I couldn’t take care of myself and my brothers, too.”

Dadan stared at him for a moment, blinking once, twice, before she threw he hands up in frustration. As she walked away, Yamato could hear her mumbling to herself about stupid brats who couldn’t be phased by anything and how she was going to ‘let Garp have it’ the next time he ‘bothered to show his sorry ass’ there.

Yamato simply shrugged and went back to sleep.

----------

Life on Dawn Island turned out to be surprisingly easy and, even more surprisingly, fun. It didn’t take Yamato long to get to know the forest, the mountain, and the Grey Terminal beyond it, running around the place with his little brothers like he was born there with them.

“Yamao, where are you going, that’s the opposite direction!” Sabo called after him in exasperation, pointing the right way.  

A few days after his arrival, he went to retrieve his kanabo from the waters just off the shore. Ace had looked at him, asking why he was so desperate if it was the same weapon the father he so hated used and Yamato couldn’t admit he had a point but… he simply didn’t feel right without it. It was his weapon as well now, and the bull-gorilla wouldn’t take that away from him.

It took him three hours of diving but the happiness and rightness of his kanabo next to him was well worth the effort.

“What are you two anchors doing?” Ace shouted from where he was in the water and towards the two at the beach, looking incredibly annoyed.  

Yamato and Luffy exchanged a glance before turning back to Ace and replying in unison, “Building a pirate ship from sand.”  

Just then, Sabo’s head popped out of the water next to Ace. “I need a break,” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath after being underwater for so long.  

“This club of yours better be made from gold, Yamao, or so help me,” Ace grumbled before leaving Sabo to rest and diving in instead.  

Once he had his kanabo in hand, it became incredibly easy to hunt even the most ferocious beasts around, allowing Yamato enough room to stay back and direct the young brothers, giving them pointers and helping them with their hunting techniques. Usually, he simply watched, letting the boys do most of the hunt, even if it meant the prey got away sometimes. After all, making mistakes and losing was a good way to get stronger. So he let them do their own thing while making sure they were okay, and only jumping in when necessary.

“Okay, here’s the plan. We go around the river, then we split up. Me and Luffy will go up while you and Ace follow the riverbed. It’s risky, but on my signal, you will catch its attention and keep it distracted. Then me and Luffy jump down at its head. Hopefully that will at least knock it out so you and Ace can then come help us finish it. And Yamao—” Sabo paused, giving Yamato a hard, subtly threatening look— “if you run ahead screaming and scare it off again, we’re having you for dinner.” 

Yamato could only gulp and nod obediently.  

He even managed to impress the local Madonna, the cute pub owner Makino. The first time she had come to visit after Yamato had arrived, she immediately dropped all the food, alcohol, and children’s clothes that she had brought, and ran straight to him. She gave him all of her attention the rest of her stay. And even though Yamato wasn’t interested, he had to admit that being fawned over, and especially the jealous stares all the bandits were giving him, felt great.

“Oh my,” Makino muttered when she noticed Yamato. “Luffy did say Yamao was a little taller than him but…” she trailed off, her expression turning troubled.  

“You don’t have any clothes big enough for him, do you?” Dogra asked, munching on one of the cones Makino had brought.  

The young woman shook her head, sighing, “I think I’ll have to make them all from scratch. Yamao, can you come here? I need to take some measurements.” 

"Yamao, you're blushing more than Ace did!" Luffy pointed out immediately, clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.  

Yamato made sure his hand was coated in haki when he hit the boy over the head.  

Over all, he had to say he much prefered the life of a cool big brother over being a pirate crew’s' ‘young master’. It was a lot more fun, a lot easier to breathe. He never felt more free than he did while laughing and running around the mountain, plotting pranks on their brothers with Ace, or getting grounded— getting thanked by Sabo for running off and beating up the pathetic excuses for pirates who had hurt Luffy and threatened the boys' treasure stash.

Even Dadan's frustrated screaming felt more loving than anything the bull-gorilla of a biological parent had ever shown him. And no, it definitely wasn’t much more embarrassing.

----------

"I don't want to be a marine!" Luffy screamed one morning just as the others were getting ready to head out to work their brand new tree house base.

Both Sabo and Ace froze, turning to stare at each other for a moment with wide eyes.

"Run?" Ace asked in a whisper.

"Run," Sabo nodded seriously before they both turned to look at Yamato.

The teen simply sat there, turning his confused gaze between Ace, Sabo, and the direction from which Luffy's voice came a few seconds earlier. "What's going on?"

Ace and Sabo exchanged a glance once more, seemingly coming to a mutual understanding before Ace answered, "Go see for yourself. Luffy could probably use the help."

Immediately, Yamato was on his feet, heading outside to save his adorable baby brother from whatever monster he was facing. He was slightly suspicious of the high five Ace and Sabo had exchanged, not as sneakily as they probably thought, but as long as Luffy was in trouble, it didn't matter much to him.

As soon as he made it outside the little house, his eyes fell on the two figures fighting just a little bit away from the house. Obviously, one of them was Luffy, who was visibly fuming; growling and snapping his teeth like he was getting ready to literally bite the legs off of his target.

The target in question was a tall, although obviously much shorter than Yamato, and muscular old man clad in a bright red and white aloha shirt, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared Luffy down. He looked thoroughly unimpressed by Luffy’s pistol punches—which admittedly still left much to be desired despite Yamato’s efforts to help him out; it was only a question of time before he managed to find the right bang feeling. The man he was fighting looked vaguely familiar but Yamato couldn’t place that face no matter how much he wrecked his brain.

But it didn’t matter.

“Luffy, are you okay?!” Yamato called in alarm, rushing forward while preparing to swing his kanabo at the stranger.

The both of them turned to look at him then, identical angry expressions on their faces and suddenly, Yamato realized who the man reminded him of. It was more than obvious where Luffy got his personality and expressions. Maybe he should… not attack this person on sight?

Making the decision for him, Luffy huffed upon seeing him approach, raising his hand and making Yamato stop. “Stay back, I’m fine! I can kick gramps’ ass myself!”

“Who’s ass are you gonna kick?” the man snapped, his light punch making Luffy clutch at his head. “You can’t win against the fist of love, Luffy!”

Yamato blinked. That was obviously haki but… fist of love?  

Ignoring Luffy’s complaints, the man gave Yamato an obvious once over. “And who are you? Wait—” he paused, looking like he just remembered something— “you’re Yamao, aren’t you?”

“My name is Ya-ma-to, and I’m Luffy’s big brother,” Yamato replied, not entirely sure why he even bothered to correct anyone on his name at this point. No one ever listened.

“Part of the family already, hm? You have an impressive swing; you’ll make a fine marine.” The grandfather nodded, grinning at Yamato in approval.

Yamato did a double take. “I’m not going to be a marine!” he responded immediately, the horror he felt at the though clear in his voice.

“Exactly! We’re gonna be pirates!” Luffy joined in, fully recovered and launching a new rubbery pistol punch, which went completely ignored.

Gramps puffed up, raising his fist threateningly in front of himself. “Nonsense! All four of you will be the strongest marines the navy’s ever had if I have any say in it!”

“No way!” Luffy and Yamato cried in unison, the both of them jumping at the man in a joint attack.

A second later the both of them were rolling on the ground together, clutching at their heads and trying to recover from yet another fist of love. Seriously, Yamato only just met this guy, why was he getting a fist of love? Or better yet, why did it sound like he was already considered a grandson? He didn’t even know his new grandfather’s name.

He guessed it was simply one more proof of his relation to Luffy. It was exactly the same to when Luffy had decided by himself that Yamato was the big brother now, not even half an hour after meeting him, and just like back then, Yamato was powerless in defying that decision.

Not like he wanted to. He would be lying if he said being considered family so easily, so warmly, so unconditionally didn’t make him happy. But still…

“I’m already a pirate,” he growled. Not to mention marines did nothing but fight Oden and the Pirate King’s crew. Like hell was he becoming one of them.  

Gramps took a deep breath, looking like he was about to explode, but Yamato interrupted him. “The navy wouldn’t want someone with my blood anyway. They’d execute me on the spot,” he said flatly, looking the man straight in the eyes, trying to convey how disgusted by the institution, the world government, the current world he was. Like hell was he participating in that. He’d much rather wait patiently for the one who was going to change it all and support them.  

Neither of them said anything for a moment, neither of them faltering as they stared each other down silently. Until finally, gramps grinned, a smile so similar to Luffy’s that Yamato startled.

“If blood’s the problem, all the more reason you should join,” he announced, the smile never leaving his face even as his eyes turned almost sad.  

Yamato tilted his head to the side as he watched the man slowly look at Luffy before his eyes slid in the direction of the bandits’ house. When Yamato turned to look, he could see Ace turning around and walking away, Sabo quickly following with a worried expression on his face.

Well.

At least Yamato wasn’t the only one who obviously hated his biological family around here.

Deciding to leave Ace in Sabo’s hands, Yamato turned back to the problem at hand but before he could snap at the man, Luffy did so for him, “No. He’s joining my crew!”

“Over my dead body!” gramps roared in response, looking like he was going to go off on a rant.

Yamato, however, wasn’t about to sit around and listen to that. “No, over my dead body. Do you even hear how fucked up it is that you need to join the navy to be safe from getting hunted? Neither of us going there,” he growled, baring his teeth for good measure.

The old man paused, blinking at Yamato once, then twice, before he burst out in laughter, one so loud, so honest, and so contagious that, despite having no idea what was so funny, it made even Yamato want to laugh. All his anger was forgotten as his lips stretched in a grin, shaking his head at the sudden realization of how weird this entire situation was. He barely knew what was even happening but… it wasn’t like Yamato ever really paused to think about things. If it felt right, he’d go with it. If it didn’t, fuck it.  

And this, incredibly, felt right.

It was only a long while later that gramps finally caught his breath enough to speak, “I like you, kid. Are you sure you’re Kaido’s son?”

As if hit by the bull-gorilla’s Thunder Bagua, Yamato stopped laughing, only staring with an open mouth as dread ran through him. “How?” he could only say after a dreadfully long moment of heavy silence. Or maybe it was only a second. But it was too much, and made Yamato feel too on edge. Ready to fight. He didn’t want to even hear the bull-gorilla’s name; definitely didn’t want to hear it in relation to himself.

Gramps looked at him as if asking if he was kidding then, but with his only answer being a glare, he started laughing anew. “Kid, if you don’t want people to know, or the asshole finding you, maybe stop introducing yourself with ‘son of Kaido’ to anyone you meet. You have poor Makino quite worried.”

Oh.

Whoops?

“Yamao, you’re stupid,” Luffy laughed.

The teen huffed, shoving hard at Luffy’s shoulder. “You’re stupid,” he hissed back, making Luffy stick his tongue out at him.

Yamato saw it only fair he do the same in return.

Just then, a dark shadow loomed over the both of them and they slowly looked up, only to see gramps looking down at them with an evil grin on his face, slowly cracking his knuckles. “Whatever you say, I will train you stupid brats into proper marines, yet.”

Yamato finally understood why Ace and Sabo’s immediate reaction was to run, then send Yamato as what he could now only assume being a sacrifice. There was no way even Yamato was going to be a fair match for this man. “Oh fuck,” Yamato cursed, scrambling to his feet to follow Luffy, who who was already hafway down the clearing away after taking the first popped knuckle as his signal to bolt.

“Watch your fucking language in front of your baby brothers!” gramps shouted after him just before something that might have been a pine cone flew past him at an impossible speed.

Yamato and Luffy exchanged a glance, identical grins spreading in their lips before they both took a deep breath. “ACE! SABO! HELP!!”

If they were to die today, they’d make sure to take the other two down with them.

----------

Hours later, Yamato lay awake in his bed on the floor of the mountain bandits’ cabin long after his brothers started snoring softly. He was exhausted from the day spent laughing and running away from gramps—or Garp, as he had finally learned earlier that evening once Dadan finally stopped hiding from the man—but as opposed to the others, he didn’t want to sleep.

Not when gramps and Dadan were busy talking on the other side of this thin wall. What had started as the two of them sharing their frustrations and complaints about their kids quickly turned into fondness as they instead told each other stories about the brothers and their antics. Yamoto wasn’t surprised the bandit knew exactly where their secret base was, just as he wasn’t surprised by Garp only pulling out the most embarrassing stories he probably could.

It was a good thing the other three had managed to pass out the second their heads hit their pillows or they’d be trying to fight the old man all over again over it.

Yamato, on the other hand, refused to miss out on a second of this. The adults might not have allowed him to drink with them, claiming Yamato was too young for that—to which he not-so-politely disagreed, but then Garp’s fist disagreed with him—but they couldn’t stop him from listening. Those were his brothers they were talking about and he wanted to hear all about the past ten years of their lives that he had missed.

And if he maybe got a little bit happy every time they brought Yamato up, well… no one had to know that.

“Yamao, I swear if you don’t stop laughing at their shitty stories, I will strangle you with your own hair.”

#one piece #yamato #one piece yamato #luffy #monkey d. luffy #portgas d. ace #ace #sabo #one piece sabo #asl brothers #yamato & asl #canon divergence #found family #comedy #fluff #idiots being idiots #i love them #yamato thinks he's a lot cooler than he is #and i love him #beautiful idiot king #katie pretends to fic #asl #not me avoiding writing my lawlu asl fic by writing yasl #OH WELL #now back to avoiding said fic with pure lawlu #hopefully i did the au idea at least a little justice :') #also remind me to never post anything that's over 2k on tumblr ever again #cause of death: formating text posts on tumblr dot com