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pathologicalreid · 24 days

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heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

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jihyoruri · 5 months

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❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 LOVEFOOL ahn yujin x idol!reader

🪽★ ͘ ⴰ in which yujin realizes that the girl that the girl that’s caught her attention is the same annoying younger sister of her ex member that told her she needs dance lessons

warnings: yn is apart of new jeans and is sakura’s younger sister, fluff, yn is described as a brat, swearing

all yujin can think right now is how stupid she is.

of course the yn that she’s fallen for is the little shit head that told her that she needed “dance lessons” a couple years back.

yujin was definitely in shock when her and wonyoung knocked on the door to the lesserafim dorms and instead of being met with one of the members at the door, yn opened it, the girl that she’s been talking to for the last couple months.

also sakura’s little sister.

“hey unnie, what are you doing here?” yn asked with a smile on her face, opening the door wider so wonyoung and yujin could come in.

“I should be asking you that,” yujin says standing in front of the girl awkwardly earning a confused look from yn as wonyoung walks deeper into the house, leaving them at the front.

“you mean chilling at my older sister’s place?” yn says tilting her head, yujin would’ve thought that was adorable but due to the circumstances that was the last thing on her mind and it was now her turn to look confused.

“you never told me kazuha was your older sister,” she replies dumbly which causes yn to let out a big laugh.

“my last name is miyawaki not nakamura you dummy.” yn says in a playful tone looking up at yujin and pushing her shoulder softly.

wait?

“oh…”

“yeah oh,” yn mocks before grabbing yujin’s hand and placing the older girls arm over her shoulder, “now let’s go, she’s actually been wondering who ive been talking to, I can’t wait to see the look on her face," yn says mischievously and again yujin would’ve found it adorable if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

"oh, also my members are here as well."

yn who yujin now remembers as sakura’s brat of a little sister is the same yn that’s practically her girlfriend, how did she not see the similarities? yn is still very much a brat the only difference is that yujin now finds it cute rather than repulsive.

and the last names, gosh was she really blinded by love to not realize that yn had the same exact last name as her former member?

yujin wonders if yn still sees her as a bad dance, yn is an amazing dancer one of the best yujin has ever seen, was yn just suppressing her thoughts now that she liked yujin?

yujin doesn't know why it bothered her but it did, if yn really did still think she was a bad dancer it would completely ruin her self confidence, who knew when you liked someone how much power their opinion could have over you.

"hey, you okay?" yujin looks down to see yn looking up at up her still lucked under her arm, "are you nervous? come on its just sakura who you should be worried about is minji-gosh I can already see the glares." yn rambles.

"I'm okay," yujin smiles at yn hesitantly, thoughts still clouding her mind as they reach the living room where everyone is.

the talking that filled the room stoped when they entered the room, sakura's eye widening when she takes notice of yujin's arm over yns shoulder.

"yujin, you're the girl?" is the first thing that comes out of sakura's mouth, yujin can feel the new jeans leaders gaze on her but that's the least of her worries right now.

"yeah..." she responds nervously, yujin really wished now wasn't the time that all of this was being unwrapped not with all the thoughts that are circulating her mind right now.

"why is it so quiet?" yn asks with sass in her voice like always causing everyone to start back up their conversations while sakura gets up from her seat on the couch and walks over to the couple.

"is this for real?" she whispers, "you guys genuinely like each other?" both girls nod, yn with a little bit of more attitude because is that even a question?

sakura turns to yujin, "you know she's quite the handful right? can you handle her?"

"she can handle me just fine thank you very much." yn butts in leaning into yujin's side as yujin nods.

sakura stares at them for a little longer before letting out a sigh, "as long as you guys are happy I guess,"

"we're gonna have to set some ground rules, but that's for another time, we're gonna play just dance come on."

dance? why did that sound like the worst to yujin right now.

yn squeals and removes herself from under yujin's arm and jumps onto sakura's back as the older girl walked away, "I'm gonna crush everyone."

yujin trails behind them, this should've been an enjoyable moment but not with all these insecurities circling her mind.

she walked into the room and gave everyone a greeting and smile as they set up the game before taking seat beside minji who leans over to her, "we're gonna have to set some ground rules."

yujin lets out a sigh "yeah, I figured."

yujin kept to herself as everyone had fun playing the game and just as yn said she destroyed everyone, it was at the point that everyone was trying to forbid her from playing for the next couple of rounds but it was all fun and games, yujin wished she was in the right state of mind to enjoy this moment with everyone else.

"hey," yujin is snapped out of thoughts by the voice she loves the most, she looks up to see yn sitting beside her while everyone is still discussing kicking yn out "wanna verse me?"

that did not sound enjoyable at all.

"no, it's okay," yujin says quietly.

"are you okay?" yn asks worried, and that's a tone that you'll barely hear from the younger girl, "your vibe is completely off right now."

"I'm fine."

yn shot yujin a look that screamed "get real" before standing up and grabbing yujin's hands and pulling her into the hallway nobody even noticing to deep into their deep discussion.

"okay, tell me what's going on." yn said crossing her arms over her chest, "and don't give me any bullshit"

yujin lets out a sigh and mumbles so quietly that yn couldn't hear her.

"what?"

"If I'm gonna be honest I completely didn't put together that you and sakura unnie are sisters so seeing you here today really brought it to light but then I remembered what you said to me a couple of years ago about how I needed dance lessons and it didn't bother me much back then you were just really annoying but then now with how much I like you and I wonder if you really think im a bad dancer yujin says rushingly while yn looks at her in shock.

"yujin," she whispers her face softening as she grabs both of the taller girls hands, "of course I think you're a good dancer."

yujin just stares at yn as she continues, "you really remembered what thirteen year old me said to you? thirteen year old me thought you were the cutest girl ever but decide to tease the hell out of you because she couldn't handle having a crush."

yujin feels a smile make its way to her face at that, "you had a crush on me for that long?" she teases quietly as yn rolls her eyes, "yes, and im sorry for making you think that you weren't a good dancer, you're amazing"

"yn apologizing, this is a once in a blue moon experience." yujin smiles pulling yn closer to her who just laughs and rolls her eyes once more, "yeah, yeah don't get used to it," she responds before softly placing her lips softly on yujin's who kisses her back right away chasing yns lips when she pulls away from the older girl laughing.

"lets go back before minji untie realizes were gone and loses her head." yn says interlocking her hand with yujin who nods understandingly.

"evern though she's younger than me she's really scaring." yujin says as yn drags her.

"lets not focus on her and lets focus on how im gonna crush you in just dance, that you'll want dance lessons."

that should've made yujin offended but all she could do is smile and look at the younger girl fondly.

she really was a lovefool.

#yujin x reader #ahn yujin x reader #ive x reader #Lesserafim #new jeans #ive fluff #girl group imagines #girl group fluff #yujin fluff

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reemieme · 10 months

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SUCCESS STORY! (w photo proof)

story:

ive been in the LOASS community for around a month now, so ive been wanting a vinyl record player for like a few months and last week i was looking through amazon like “oh these are so expensive..” and then i was like im literally a master manifestor why dont i manifest it??? like i completely forgot ab the law 😭😭

anyway so that week i was just affirming to myself a few times a day like “oh yea i have a vinyl record player now!!”, i did SATS bc its fun, i talked to myself pretending i was talking to my friends bragging about my vinyl player, i searched online for new vinyl records to buy to play, and just STAYED IN THE STATE of having my record player. i didnt affirm 10k times, just everytime i thought of it to REMIND MYSELF i have it.

i ABSOLUTELY DID NOT waver. i did NOT get nervous about not seeing it in the 3d, bc i reminded myself i already have it so its fine. the law NEVER fails. so theres no room for failure. i lived in my imagination ion playing songs on my vinyl record player, (bc i LOVE visualization, if you love affirming then affirm for it instead!!) everytime i was like “i cant wait for my vinyl player” or “is it gonna be here?” or “hows it gonna come?” ECT i IMMEDIATELY flipped those thoughts with WHAT? i already have my record player wdym

tldr, i convinced my subconscious that i HAVE a vinyl record player, and since i lived in the 4d (imagination) where i have it, it reflected in the 3d bc thats the LAW. anyway, i wake up and theres a package at the door addressed to my name and i was so confused bc i dont order things. my parents had no idea where it was from and when i opened it, IT WAS A RECORD PLAYER RAHHH!!!

i literally SCREAMED yall i was like NO WAY. but i was also rlly confused so i looked at the address it came from and it was my aunt who lives a state away. (but we r REALLY CLOSE) so i called her and she was like “surprise!!! i know you love music so i decided to buy one for you because it was on sale.” and i was like OH ,Y GOD!! keep in mind she had NO CLUE i wanted a record player bc it never came up, and she NEEVR buys me gifts unless its my birthday or smthn which is in like 2 months. CIRCUMSTANCES DONT MATTER!

anyway here it is!!

i put a piece of paper w my @ next to it bc alot of bloggers r being called out for lying, and i dont want people to lose trust.

(the second pic is on my floor, first on my bed.)

if u guys have any questions feel free 2 ask!! THANK YOU SO SO MUCH TO @coquetteprincesss @nakedbibi333 @fleurlx @miracledarling @aphrodieties @blushydior @cinefairy @gorgeouslypink @heliosoll @hhtpsjup1ter @oonasempire @piercedblunt @remcycl333 @voidprincessblog YOU GUYS ALWAYS HELP ME SO MUCH!!! i love all ur blogs tysm for ur help w the law ❤️

#success story #loa blog #affirm and persist #law of assumption #neville goddard #states of consciousness #manifesting #loa success #states loa

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mydearesthrry · 11 months

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harry’s house home - h.s.

a/n: this is the cheesiest thing ive ever written okay. like its really sweet and almost cringey oopssss sorry. i hope you enjoy anyway !!! (p.s. originally was supposed to be titled harrys mojo dojo casa house but thats for another time)

🎀 warnings/cw: angst, swearing?? i actually dk, fluff, mention of flying anxiety, this is also completely unedited

🐇 pairing: famous!bf!harry styles x fem!reader

💐 wc: 2.1k

summary: it's not home without harry, you've come to realize.

This almost felt like a routine now.

Lying awake in her king sized bed, she was staring up at projected stars on the ceiling, gnawing on her bottom lip as she let her mind drift away in thought.

She misses him. Again.

Due to Harry being on the second Europe/UK leg of tour, she had decided to stay at home for a little until the final show, and it had been a good month since she last saw Harry. She had begun to run on Harry’s time, adjusting her sleep to wherever in the world he was so that she could talk to him. Their time zone differences weren’t gracious enough sadly, and she was wide awake at 3:40 in the morning.

Harry was busy so she couldn’t call or text him, and she wanted to let everything go as smoothly as they could so he could finally come home. Initially, she let herself be selfish and a bit greedy and took up almost 10 minutes of his time, texting back and forth and allowing her brain to read his responses in his voice.

Contrary to popular belief, it was easy for y/n and Harry to have a relationship that could withstand whatever problems they may have faced because they communicated, but communication can only get you so far.

She missed him.

All-consumingly, selfishly, and overwhelmingly missed him.

The amount of rocky moments that the couple had endured on the nearly 3 year long running tour had been more than the past 4 years of their relationship combined. Whether it be a schedule conflict, missed dates, late nights when she didn’t even know if he’d be home, nothing could compare to the feeling that she had swirling around in her chest right now.

They’d gotten into a fight a few days ago and since then she had been hesitant to text and call him in fear that she would ruin his day, or even worse, his shows. She knew well that he wouldn’t let it show to his millions of fans, but she could read him like an open book and the guilt that would swell in her body would just make her shut down. But it was getting hard to be alone. It was hard being in such a big house that was filled to the brim with reminders of him, which in turn would remind her that she was alone and that he was on the other side of the world.

She allowed her emotions to take the reins, and as she slowly started to feel everything, she could feel a harsh tug in her chest. She put a hand to her heart, letting out a deep exhale as she felt the familiar sting of tears tingle her nose, sinuses becoming stuffy immediately. She scrunched up her nose, allowing the tears to fill her eyes as she let out her first breathy sob. It wasn’t uncommon for her now to cry over missing Harry. In fact, she’s never even told him the extent of how much she missed him, and just tried to deal with it on her own. But this time, she didn’t feel like she was strong enough to just let it pass.

Picking up her phone, she quickly pulled up her favorites list in her phone, sobs still wracking her body as she tapped on Harry’s contact. She sniffled and tried her best to calm herself down as she heard the ringing coming from the phone signifying that he was receiving the call.

“Hey, ‘M in a meeting. Everything ok?” And just like that, the entire dam broke open, and she let her emotions flood the room she was sitting in.

“Harry,” she let out a pitiful whine, “I’m sorry I’m calling you like this, I- I knew you were in a meeting, and I’m sorry. And I know we’re in a fight and y’probably don’t want to talk to me, but I just… I need to hear your voice right now.”

“Oh— um, yeah, hold on, baby. It’s okay, ‘m glad you called me. Give me two seconds, okay? ‘M gonna mute m’self t’tell Jeff I need to take 20, but I’ll be all yours in a sec.” He promises, voice immediately drenched in urgency.

“Okay,” she whispers weakly, putting the phone on speaker and sinking back down into the mattress, laying the phone on her chest. There was an uncomfortable weight weighing her down from the inside out, and the pressure served as a good reminder to breathe as she anticipated the return of her boyfriend back to the phone.

“M’kay baby, talk to me. What’s the matter? Are you okay?” His voice exits from her speaker, another whimper emitting from her throat without warning.

“I jus— God, H. It’s so pathetic,” she sniffles, placing her hands over her eyes. “I jus’ miss you. So much.”

“Oh lovie,” a few soft shuffles are heard from his end of the line, and you can only assume he found a quiet place to sit down. “I miss y’so so much more.”

She nods even though she knows he can’t see her, but she knows her sweet boy knows her so well. “‘M trying to be supportive, trying to not freak out about you not being here, but it’s so hard, H.”

Trying to stifle the aggressive breaths leaving her mouth, she composed the best she can before speaking again. “I just want you to come home. I know I’ll be with you in a couple of days, but I just want you home. ‘M sorry, it’s so selfish of me to say this when you’re all alo-“

“Shh, my love. It’s okay. Take deep breaths, can y’do that for me first really quick, sweet girl? Sweet sunshine baby, miss you so much.” Harry cuts her off, knowing that she would cry and gasp her way into a potentially dangerous situation, and he couldn’t handle the thought of her being in danger especially when he wasn’t there.

“Okay, fuck, ‘M so sorry, H.” She breathes out, voice still wobbly, her breathing becoming a little more stable by the second.

“You don’t have to be sorry, ‘s what I'm here for, isn’t it? Now, tell me what’s got you so upset that you’ve cried y’self out so hard that y’got a killer headache right now?” His lips quirk up at the soft, barely noticeable laugh coming from the other end of the line. One that probably would’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else, but not to Harry.

“How’d you know? Hurts like hell, though. But, um— I miss you, a lot, obviously. And I hate that we’ve been fighting more now that you’re on the road again and I’m not with you, it doesn’t feel good because all I want is you here with me. All I want is you to come home. It- it feels so empty without you here.”

“Princess, I-“ he starts, but she cuts him off before he could continue.

“In all four years of our relationship, it’s never been so hard for us to be- us? And I thought about it, y’know, been crying myself to death over you, Mr. Styles, you’re quite the heartthrob. Literally.” You snort softly, trying to break the ice. Her lips draw up when she hears a matching chuckle coming from him.

“Tell me then, what’d you realize, silly girl?” He says.

“I don’t feel like I can be away form you for too long. It doesn’t feel like home here, and I think,” She whispers. “None of our places feel like home when you're not there. I think home has always been wherever you are.”

“Lovie,” Harry’s voice breaks, a telltale sign that he too was feeling the swell of emotion. “Y’breaking m’heart over here.”

“I’m sorry, I just– y'told me to be honest and you needed-”

“I needed to know. Thank y’for telling me, but I’ll see you so soon, Angel. Actually, I can even-” His voice cuts before more rustling is heard, and she can hear the muffled sounds of Harry’s voice, so she assumes that he’s pressed the phone to his chest. A few more brief hums are heard before a muffled ‘thank you!’ makes her brows furrow. “Right then, what’re you doing in like, say 4 to 5 hours?”

She makes a confused face at this. “What? Uh– nothing, why?”

“You’re coming home, baby.”

—

After exclamations of shock were given to Harry, he excuses himself from the call to get back to his meeting, leaving Y/N laying in her bed staring at the same stars that watched her weep in shock. She sits up with her hands on the white duvet, eyes wide as she whispers out, “I have to pack.”

Jumping out of her bed, she wheels her extra large suitcase out of hers and H’s shared walk-in closet, her green Pleasing beach bag already resting on one of the hooks on the bedroom door. A flurry of clothes, toiletries, makeup, and hair equipment gets sporadically thrown around the room, everything ultimately ending up in her suitcase. She places her more important items into her beach bag which now worked as her carry-on, and wheels everything out into the foyer.

Checking the time which now reads 6:30, she calls for an Uber to arrive at their house to transport her to the LAX airport. Her flight was set to leave in 2 and half hours, leaving her with just enough time to check in, find her gate, and grab a coffee once she's got to her terminal.

—

The long flight went just as expected, her fear of flying slightly eliminated by the (in her opinion, wildly unnecessary) first-class seating, courtesy of her incredibly dramatic boyfriend. She fell asleep 2 hours into the flight and slept for the majority of the it, her lack of sleep finally catching up to her. Waking up about 30 minutes before landing, she twists her head to open the window door, being greeted with the softest sunset she’s convinced she’s ever seen. And suddenly, her chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore.

The baggage claim was a wreck, delaying her from seeing Harry by another hour, but eventually, she made it into the car of the driver that Harry sent. Staring out the window, the condensation from the weather outside slightly obstructed her view of the beautiful city that she’d never seen before, and all she could think about was how she wanted to experience it with her love.

“Ma’am, we’re here.” The driver calls from the front, distracting her from her thoughts. Thanking him profusely, she jumps out of the vehicle, running toward the back entrance that Jeff had texted her to go to. The security guard at the door, James, a kind older man who she’s known since she started dating Harry, opens his arms and greets her with a smile. She grins and runs into his arms, James lifting her a little. Her dynamic with James reminded her of the relationship she'd had with her late father, and that made him even more important and special to her.

“Mi sonrisa,” She looks at him with a bright smile. “Welcome back.”

“Muchas gracias, te he extrañado,” She greets back, grabbing the VIP pass that he’d pulled out of his pocket. “I’ll see you in a few, thank you for waiting for me!”

A wide grin is now plastered on her face, nearly splitting her face in half. This is where she belonged. Skipping down the halls of the venue, occasionally asking a worker passing by where the hallways were to get to the dressing rooms. Once she finally found them, she walked up to Harry’s, a nervous twinge making itself known in her tummy. Raising a fist to knock, she taps on the door softly with her knuckles, waiting for Harry to answer the door. She doesn’t even have time to register that the door opened at all before she’s grabbed by Harry and immediately pulled into his arms.

“My sweet love,” His voice is hoarse, strained, almost as if he’d been crying. He pulls her back just enough to see her face, a soft smile on his face and green eyes shiny with tears. He places a kiss on her forehead, before dipping down to be eye level with her and laying the softest kiss on her lips. It was featherlight, and the room was quiet, so quiet, that the only sounds that were heard were their soft, slowly interconnecting breaths, and the soft smack of their lips breaking. Harry stared at her face once more, Y/N sharing the same sentiment, nothing but pure understanding in both of their eyes. It was Y/N who broke first this time, connecting their lips in a deeper, meaningful kiss.

When they both pulled away, Harry pressed another kiss to her temple before cradling the back of her head with his hand, bringing her face into his neck. Tilting his head down to have his lips leveled with her ear, he whispered, “Welcome home.”

✿✿✿

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfictions #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry <3

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mickyschumacher · 8 months

Note

NGL I LOVE UR WORK... ive been hopping thru ur m.list since the last hour.... its currently 1 am and i have an essay to finish before 8 am(im sure my prof will give me more time ik dey love me) anywasy i was wondering if u could do an enemies to lovers with Lewis((like really hated eachother)the reader could be a driver its oky don mind what she does) and then they were arguing abt sumting lewis says something thats completely out of the line and she starts crying in front him then he just kinda leaves her be, a few days later he would go on then apologize to her abt wat he said and then more fluff. (just ignore this if ur not into it or not takin a request at the moment. but im actually just hapi i kind of got the courage to ask u for a request also ur stories are soooo good i admire and envy u at the same time.)

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as lewis's former teammate, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. but a bad move from lewis puts him completely out of line.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies to lovers trope!, poor humour, some fluff, in depth moment of an alternated 2021 wdc (apologies in advance), therefore ANGST, bad race jargon, horner and masi discussed :(, mention of intermittent explosive disorder, misogyny, allusion to racism (not from the reader ofc!), shitting on the fia for a bit, lewis kinda being a dick for probably an unfair reason lol, a proclamation of feelings from sir lewis himself

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lewis hamilton x red bull!driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: you're too sweet to me! 🤧 i couldn't tell if you wanted this to be romantic but i went that way in the end! hope this was good! ♡︎ very very loosely based of swift's 'right where you left me'. but if you argued it wasn't, i would be inclined to agree. proof-read...ish?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

No one ever truly understood your move to Red Bull. It was in 2019, far from when Max was practically living on pole, so Red Bull wasn't exactly a threat to Mercedes, your previous team. Toto had even put a three-year extension on the table several months before your contract came close to expiring.

Yet you had chosen to sign with the devil.

When the commentators, journalists, and fans took a closer look at your decision, the only thing they could all collectively agree on was that you had moved to Red Bull because of Lewis Hamilton. Because you both couldn't keep your differences aside and Lewis had finally struck your last nerve.

While you weren't quite sure about the last part, the first was true. You had Lewis had never ever exactly met eye-to-eye. Every F1 driver had a specific style of driving. You liked to call Lewis' the 'calm before the storm'. He raced with a composure and maturity that most drivers did not hold. He was particularly calculative and the everyone loved him.

You, on the other hand, had given yourself a new nickname along side 'Flash 13' because you did everything in a flash: you overtook ruthlessly and calculated, you pushed the car till it was undrivable, and you were decisive to the very nanosecond. But you had also garnered yourself the name 'IED', after the behavioural disorder.

In part this nickname was due to the misogyny you faced as the only current female driver in F1 but also due to the sheer anger that bursted out of you whenever you encountered Lewis.

The amount of warnings Toto had given the both of you was simply endless. He had even resorted to putting you two with the team therapist.

The source of your hatred for each other was as clear as day. You hated Lewis' arrogance because somehow it was even worse than Rosberg, Alonso, Räikkönen, and Verstappen. And Lewis hated you for your 'perspective'. You didn't know what he initially meant by that but you regretted asking him. He said you needed to be stronger to be in F1 and that you were far too soft-hearted. Right after you had gotten your first ever pole.

It was ridiculous, to say the least.

No F1 driver was soft-hearted. You were all, simply put, a bunch of dicks. Not literally, of course. Naturally, following that comment, Lewis had pissed you off. He hadn't even had a second to know you before even making that judgement. It was ironic as well, considering your nickname that labelled your anger.

After watching Lewis win several championship titles with you following multiple places behind and seeing you only get angrier with each other, you had decided to call it quits for Mercedes. If people were going to take your annoyance and frustrations with amusement, you were going to head to the angriest team of all and leave your former team fuming.

Two years later, in 2021, you had finally gotten the perfect opportunity.

You hadn't really a clue how exactly Red Bull had made the 2021 car so well that you were matching the speed of Mercedes' car but you didn't care. You were matching Lewis. And Christian Horner was a happy man. A sexist prick but a happy man nonetheless.

Pole was either Lewis' or yours. Either he was a Grand Prix winner or you were. It was a game of cat and mouse, always in a constant pursuit of each other. The same went from your team leaders, Toto and Christian, who practically had the race director, Masi, on speed dial.

And by Abu Dhabi, you were equally tied, locked at 369.5 points. It hadn't been easy after getting penalised for multiple incidents against Lewis, but you were here. Lewis was trying to get his eighth championship and you your first.

You weren't sure how this was going to end. Heck, no one could've predicted what happened that day. But all you knew was that you were not going down without a fight.

You secured pole in Abu Dhabi which had put the entirety of Mercedes and F1 on edge. After a discussion with your engineer and several strategists, you had opted for soft tyres to further your advantage over Lewis.

Despite all of that, it was Lewis who had led the first corner after those red lights had gone out. It was only by turn six did you even get a lead. But it was a moment too short as your former teammate regained his top position by going off into the damn run-off area of the track.

You didn't need to scream in annoyance. You couldn't hear Horner, but deep down you knew he had already called up Masi, demanding an investigation. Your engineer reported to you that the stewards had dismissed it. The gap between you and Lewis was getting bigger, the race was coming to and end, and you knew you needed a miracle towards the end of the race if you wanted to win.

And that miracle was called Nicholas Latifi. The poor guy had crashed into Mick and the safety car was out on the tracks. Thankfully, they were both okay, but the timing of it was simply impeccable.

You had pitted to get new soft tyres and Mercedes was on the fence about heading to the pit lane in fear of the race restarting. So Lewis didn't pit. Miracle 2.

You re-joined the track with five lapped cars in between you and Lewis. And soon enough, Race Control had given the dooming message: lapped cars were not allowed to overtake.

The taste in your mouth was bitter. You had cussed out Horner, asking why you were even seeing these lapped cars in front of you.

Then came Race Control again: only the five cars in between you and Lewis were allowed to overtake. Miracle 3.

But of course, F1 had a flair for the dramatics. Because you were fucking restarting. Putting you and Lewis on a tight show-down for the final lap.

The bad news? Lewis hadn't pitted yet.

The good news? You could overtake Lewis. Miracle 4.

And the headline? You won.

You fucking won.

You were F1's first female champion in history.

You made history... or, well, herstory?

Yes it was controversial. Yes it was dramatic. Yes, questionable decisions had been made.

But you won.

By the time you had gotten out of your car and finished with screaming and crying in pure happiness, you had finally caught a glimpse of Lewis.

A small part of you felt bad. You knew for a fact, that these decisions weren't 'human error' as the FIA would go on to claim the following year in Bahrain.

It was entertainment. It was business. It was money.

You had both worked so hard this year. But the fight between an F1 driver breaking the record for the most championship titles and the first possible female champion in F1 was too good to resist.

Things between you and Lewis after Abu Dhabi hadn't gotten worse. You just talked far less than you normally did. You barely argued with each other anymore. It was disconcerting to say the least. Especially now that you were struggling to match Max's pace, always coming second or third as per the instructions of your engineer. For a moment you thought, what was the point of winning if you weren't going to win again?

━━━━━━━━━━━

You were still determined. Beating your own teammate would be hard. But you weren't a stranger to the idea. You had spent years trying to beat Lewis while purposely being the support for him to win. They were two actions they didn't go together but it had happened.

That being said, the venture was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. In fact, it had caused a full collision with Lewis in the first lap of the Qatar Grand Prix.

You were so focused on beating Max you hadn't taken a second to look around you.

"What the fuck was that?" Lewis' voice invaded the air as he barged into your driver's room, ridden with sweat and still in his racing gear.

"Look, I'm sorry okay. I didn't see you. It was my fault. End of story," You told him curtly, not really wanting talk to Lewis any further.

"Damn right, you didn't see me. You could've taken me or anyone out! Are you so fucking stuck up your ass that you couldn't see me?" Lewis asked incredulously.

You scoffed at his accusation. It was true. But you didn't like when the truth fell from his lips... especially not when they sounded like that.

"Lewis, drop it. No one got hurt. Let's just move on okay?" You queried, annoyance dripping from your voice.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, L/N?" He laughed gently, almost mocking you. "Right... you were always like that."

You snapped your head towards him, raising a sharp brow. "Excuse me?" You spat as if to say he was becoming dangerously close to crossing a line he did not want to cross.

Lewis folded his arms, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? You don't like the truth. It's simple. I told you that you need to be stronger because you're too soft-hearted. And you hated that. And now that I'm telling you that you're selfish, you obviously can't handle it."

"Oh my God, you are one to talk. Lewis, you are so blinded by your arrogance that you can't see anyone else win. That's why you can't accept that I won right?"

"Not Abu Dhabi, aga–"

"Yes, Lewis, Abu Dhabi again. You are so fucking sour about losing that even when the hate targeted me, you let it. You let them say that my win was due to race and gender. Me, Lewis, out of all people, me."

No matter your differences, you had stuck up for Lewis on many accounts when it came to the FIA, 'fans', and haters. But he wasn't there for you.

You could see dark expression fall onto Lewis' face. "That's not true, Y/N."

"Then what was it Lewis?" You flailed your hands in exasperation. "Because you sure as hell didn't come to my aid."

"Because you didn't deserve it!"

You blinked blankly, arms falling to your side. Your mind took a minute to process the words that had fallen from his lips in mere seconds.

Lewis' face dropped as realisation struck him. What the fuck did he just say? "Y/N, I–"

"Get out," You grumbled.

Lewis did a double-take on the fresh line of tears accumulating on your waterline. He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out. "No, no, no, Y/N, I–" But your words made him stop.

"Lewis, get the fuck out of here before I start screaming like the bitch everyone thinks I am."

You watched Lewis return his hands to the side, clenching his jaw tightly as he made way to the door of your room. He stopped briefly, hesitating to open the door, taking one last glance at you before leaving.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Four days.

You had pondered in deep thought for four days. And after 72 hours, one thing had become obvious to you.

Lewis wasn't with you or any of the other drivers. He was still in 2021, right where you had left him. Not a second had gone by for Lewis where he hadn't thought about Abu Dhabi.

What if he had just pushed for Bono and Toto to get him in that pit lane?

What if he had veered the car a little to the side and you didn't overtake him?

Lewis was still reliving the worst moment of his career and his life and everyone had moved on. Sure, every fan and commentator talked about it time to time. But it was something of the past.

To say you didn't deserve your championship title... you had heard it from several 'fans' and insignificant others. But to hear it from Lewis? It fucking killed you.

You cared about his opinion more than anyone in the world. And he knew that.

You would've never said anything as shitty as that to him or anyone for that matter.

You had worked your ass off to get to F1. Fuck, you had won F2 two fucking times because no one was willing to let a girl on their team... into a man's sport. Every driver worked hard to a certain degree. But you were a girl who didn't grow up with the means of driving yourself to your death every day. If everyone worked hard, you had worked ten times harder.

Everyone knew that you and Lewis had fought. And by the looks of it, they also knew it was far worse than your normal fights. You wouldn't look at him, you refused to speak to him, you spent minimal time in the same room, you had even paid your media fines in full to avoid everyone...

Max had even become some sort of bodyguard, telling Lewis to turn back around when he neared the Red Bull garage.

All of this protection, and yet, he had still found you in your favourite place. The one you both came to when you needed to become level-headed. The top stand of any empty Grand Prix, in this case the México Grand Prix, where the air felt a little bit cooler against your heated skin and you could think for even it was for just a second.

You sucked in a sharp breath, seeing Lewis in your periphery while you were firmly seated. He looked nervous, chewing on his bottom lip and taking cautious glances at you.

"Hey," Lewis greeted, making you raise a brow at his lame entrance.

You forced yourself to look at the rest of the empty seats in front of you. "Hey," You mumbled back, trying to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth.

An unsettling silence enveloped the both of you. You were sure Lewis was here to apologise. But you could also tell he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not in a selfish way. But in the most guiltiest way possible.

You sighed. "How are you?" You asked gently, peeking out of the corner of your eye.

Lewis winced at your question. Leave it up to you to still be this kind after what he had said to you. "Sorry. I'm so so sorry," He rasped, voice raw with the pain that had been gnawing away at him ever since those god forbidden words had left his mouth.

You nodded slowly, taking another deep breath. "I know you're going to call me soft-hearted but what you said really fucking hurt, Lew," You jested with a brief smile.

Lewis grimaced at your poor humour, before his ears perked up at the old nickname you had given him when you first started getting on each other's nerves. "I know. I'm an idiot for saying something like that. Or that you're soft-hearted. You've worked so hard for all of this. You absolutely deserve everything and that win was only the first of many, I'm a hundred percent sure of it. Your Dutch shortie doesn't really know what's coming."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile after huffing in amusement at his diss towards Max. "Thank you," you told him earnestly. "Although, I am quite positive he is like almost ten centimetres taller than you. But, thanks anyways."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Have you seen me? You don't think I give off tall energy?"

"You mean tall in insults?" You joked, grinning at the blank look on Lewis' face.

Lewis sighed. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean any of it. And by 'it', I mean all of the insults and fights. I was just disappointed in myself. Even more so that I didn't stand up for you. I'm so sorry."

You drew your eyebrows together, turning your body to face him. Confusion filled you. "Then why did you say it at all?"

"I–" Lewis blew out a small laugh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Lewis, can you not see me dying here? Like a whole kitchen set of knives in my back?" You deadpanned.

Lewis rolled his eyes again. So dramatic.

He brought his hands together, staring at you briefly before looking at the empty stand. "Well, obviously, I heard of you before you joined Mercedes. I thought it was ridiculous that you had to get two F2 championships to get a seat, but anyways, I digress. Toto told me, he was considering you even though you had never been in the junior team.

And I remember just being so fucking jealous of you. Toto was consumed by you. He and Horner had been fighting for your seat for so long and now that they finally had an open seat, it was chaos. Toto won, obviously. And then we met each other in person for the first time and I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world."

You felt your heart begin to race and your skin heat at the sudden proclamation. "You... you what?"

Lewis smoothly glossed over the compliment. "And then we had our first quali together and you beat me. You got pole on your first race. So you were talented and beautiful. A crime, might I add.

And so when you came to tell me, you were so excited with all your talent and beauty, I was pissed. Because out of all things in the world, I had gotten an amazing competitor I was bound to feel for. I thought that by saying you were soft-hearted and all, it would get on your bad side and it would make me less attracted to you. It didn't. It got worse while it got easier to pretend to hate you."

You blinked blankly at him, cheeks aflame. Lewis Hamilton liked you. Your stupid teammate? The same one who's eighth championship you arguably took? "I'm sorry... hold up, we've been fighting for years because I'm a hot, talented, gifted, smart driver and you're a simp?"

Lewis squinted his brown eyes at you. "I did not include all those adjectives."

"I mean... that's basically what you said," You shrugged, flickering your eyes to the setting sun.

Where did all the damn cool air go? You wondered, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks and feeling your soft palm absorb the molten lava known as your skin.

Lewis chuckled, picking up your flustered reaction quickly. He watched as you suddenly stood up. "Okay, well I'm... I'm going to meet Hugh and find a way to beat Max. See ya!"

Lewis paused, grabbing your wrist. "Wait? What? You aren't going comment about what I just said?"

You eyed his hold on your wrist: it was searing you. You turned to him, lowering your head to meet his gaze. You briefly looked down at his lips before looking back up. "I think I prefer hating you."

Lewis felt you press your lips on his cheek before walking past him. He watched your retreating figure, your kiss feeling heavy on his face, putting him right where you had left him: absolutely and utterly smitten.

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic

567 notes · View notes

moonit3 · 1 month

Note

I've been completely addicted to reading your yanderes since yesterday, especially Harem and the Twins.

Therefore, I would like to request a part 3 of the Harem, if possible with more yandere fem, I am extremely lacking with yandere female, if it is not a bother, I thank you in advance for your attention and I am happy with your stories

𓆩❤︎ YANDERE! CONCUBINES HAREM

⟡ cw: yandere! female (of course), gn! reader, mentioned somnphilia (nothing happens i swear), overthinking from concubines, age gap (but like one line only), mentioned blackmail, pure fluff i guess?

⟡ word count: 1.1 k

⟡ notes: a new format? yep, i got a little tired of the same old ive been using since the very first post and its like it changed a lot…also, i am giving up my life to try to get the new mythic mercy skin (even started playing competitive to get more points) and to have aventurine in star rail (i barely have tickets, so i am going to wait to the anniversary rewards…), either way i am working hard to archive my goals and you should too! enjoy today’s writing, my dear readers :)

earlier today you forget to lock your office’s door to prevent the concubines to enter and spend time with you during work hours, which basically mean they are all over the room in completely silence, observing you working in the documents. it’s wearied to have an quiet audience like this one, but you enjoy hearing the breeze outside your office while working and the ladies definitely know, so they keep to themselves when staying at the room with the only goal to admire you.

you catch most of the ladies moving their gaze away when you stare at them when the files start becoming boring, it’s cute to think about these women who often flirt and shamelessly throw themselves at you acting like this. it reminds you they acted so desperate before as many believed that you would kick them out if any of them showed interest in you, but the ladies now know better.

stretching your arms behind your back, a faint smile slowly made to your lips as you know today’s paperwork is coming to an end. it’s a challenge to stay sit down behind the desk and analyze every new law made by the council as the elections has taken place a few months ago. if you only could ask your personal advisers to finish the work so you could take an hour or two to rest, but that won’t be possible as it is necessary to have your signature at the papers.

a yawn came out of your mouth, calling the ladies’ attention towards their beloved one while you didn’t notice their watchful eyes, you did notice how tired you’ve become in seconds. and almost instantly, your body slowly fall into the desk and right there, you began dreaming about tomorrow’s work.

the little noises of snores made all the concubines step closer to check on your sleeping body.

some of them poked your cheeks to try to wake you up, but immediately failed when you just turned out to prevent them from doing so. others had the idea to bring a plate of your favorite meal so you could smell it and suddenly wake up to thank them, but you payed no mind for it. and the remaining ones just accept that you won’t wake up any time soon, so just they carried you back to your chambers to have a proper bed to sleep on.

seeing how your chest goes up and down with your soft breathing, the concubines couldn’t help themselves to just stay quiet to watch you sleeping form. it’s adorable how their great leader looks so precious in a defenseless position like this! all the things they could do with you right now are possible, but they aren’t animal, no. never in a million years would these lovely women use your body without your consent. so, the ladies just stay inside your chamber to admire you.

“should we get our love’s plushies to let them feel savior in their dream?” the daugther of a merchant asked.

“don’t be ridiculous, anne. do you think [name] would be happier if we show that we learn about their secret stock of plushies? I don’t think so.” the third daughter of a former general answered. “also, they can’t know we stole some of them.”

the others nodded, a little scared that you would discover of all the things they have stolen from you. would you learn how many of your undergarments just vanished? or would you question they found out about your recent discussions with the former emperor? every single of them loved hearing the old man scolding you for not having any heirs to the throne, even daring to ask you if you are sterile or just a coward.

while they got angry at the your father for speaking nuisances about your body, the women couldn’t be happier when hearing the words coming out of lips. ”i will h-have my f-first night soon! just let me choose someone, okay?” and that only made them more eager to stay around you. all the ladies made a pact to keep their newly found secret away from the man who are part of the harem, after all, they are already rivals and none of them need more people to complicate their plans.

that’s why the women of the harem have become more overprotective over you in recently days, not that you’ve noticed any change on their behavior. you are too busy working to make the nation better and to take care of the harem as a whole that you barely notice the immense change on their behavior.

“it’s been hours that [name] has fallen asleep! can we wake them up to spend some time with us? please.” a foreign princess was immediately stopped from touching your forehead, her hands quickly slapped away by a older woman.

and that woman is no other than a renowned actress who retired of her incredible care to become part of the harem, but still gaining enormous revenue from her previous works. “didn’t we said to let our love to rest? oh, wait. we have been talking about it for the past hour or so and you keep insisting on waking them up? you are dumb.” the woman’s words made the princess’ face go completely red as a tomato, then leading to a silent argument between the two of them. with everyone else to witness it.

the discussion continued for ten minutes until both stopped when noticing that you’ve wake up due to their constantly shifting in their voices. of course, both of their face became red of embarrassment while the rest of the concubines could only watch you yawning, probably thinking on what you would to the troublemakers.

“…how long i was sleeping?” even with your best attempts, you can’t keep an eye open to see how many women are inside your chamber.

“a-around seven hours, your majesty.” one of them answered. “are we disturbing your rest? if so, we can leave.”

“oh, don’t worry…” a yawn escape of your lips, interrupting your words. “…you, ladies, aren’t bothering me at all. i was just thinking if you guys would like to rest with me.”

did they hear correctly? are you really asking that or they are just imaging those words to make themselves calmer of this situation. but they knew this is real when you began patting the bed, asking them once again if they would like to sleep with you for the rest of the day and of course, all of them accept it.

it didn’t took much time to you fall asleep again, this time surrounded by many and many ladies over your immense bed who almost fought each other to gain the opportunity to lay next to you. the only reason a conflict didn’t broken out was because you began cuddling a pillow of yours, leading to the concubines crying to themselves while others took photos of this precious moment to use as an important blackmail material in the future or perhaps just to sell at a high price to the male concubines.

@moonit3 . don’t repost it, don’t modify it, don’t plagiarize, translate it without my permission.

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fandomfix13 · 7 months

Text

Get Him Back - Rafe Cameron 18+

* HI ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE WRITTEN ANYTHING BUT IM HERE NOW

* TBH THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT SO BARE WITH ME

* This is so super long and also completely filthy at parts SO MDNI and pls read warnings

* little bit of fluff? Def some pretty smutty smut. This did not start out as smut but here we are

* WRITTEN IN Y/N’s POV, lots of dialogue

*anything in italics is your inner monologue

Word count: 4K

WARNINGS: MDNI!, mentions of cheating (not rafe), toxic ex, oral (giving and receiving), fingering, rough-ish??, p in v sex, hair pulling, light choking??, not rated e for everyone

The rain is pouring down in sheets. Falling harder than it has in a while. My head is pounding from holding back tears, that I might as well let out. I never thought that I would be in this situation. Forced out of my boyfriend's car after a fight at nearly one in the morning, with a dead phone, left to walk home alone in the pouring rain. How cliche. Not to mention the fact that I’m just over three miles away from home. What a dick. Some “man” he is to leave me like that. For all he cares, I could be kidnapped out here. However, it's highly unlikely being that I’m wandering in one of (if not the nicest) neighborhoods in this entire state. Constantly guarded by a neighborhood watch, with gated community after gated community.

I can see the the sharp rain plummeting down in the glow of the street lights. Unlucky for me, the wind has picked up too making this walk even more miserable. At this point, I have two options; 1. I could continue to walk home in this miserable weather OR 2. I could lose all dignity and show up to Sarah’s house after not talking to her in months. Seeing as this storm is showing absolutely no sign of stopping, its looking like the second option is better. As I turn the corner, I approach the Seabrook Gated Community. A little ways down is the fence that Sarah and I used to hop all the time when we would sneak out. That’s my in. It’s an old rusty fence that is hidden behind some overgrown hedges behind some wildly overpriced house that rarely ever has anyone living in it.

After nearly slipping off of the slippery fence, I make my way down the street to Tanny Hill. Mentally preparing myself for the absolute humiliation that will occur if Sarah opens the front door. We had our falling out about 3 months ago and we haven't spoken since. We have tried our best to avoid each other at all costs. At least I’ve tried avoiding her, that is, until this very moment.

As I approach the front lawn, I genuinely consider turning around and quite literally braving the storm and walking home. As it is, I’m already soaked from head to toe and probably on the verge of pneumonia. However, I shake off my thoughts and walk towards the front door. I knock three times in hope that someone will hear. I don’t ring the doorbell out of fear of waking up the entire Cameron household which is the last thing I need to do. After a few seconds, nobody answers. This house is huge maybe they are coming. I convince myself that nobody is answering the door so I turn accepting my fate and I walk away. Suddenly, I hear the front door unlock and my breath gets caught in my throat when I hear his voice.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Fuck. Me.

“Hey Rafe.” I choke out. God I probably look insane.

“What are you doing here?” he looks at his phone “at 1:26 in the morning.”

“Um. Is Sarah home?” I spit out, trying to avoid conversation.

“She’s not…but I am.” He leans against the door frame looking me up and down in a ‘you good?’ way. “You also didn’t answer my question.” He adds.

“I uh…I didn’t know where else to go.” I say quietly. I was right. This is in fact humiliating. He just stands there and stares at me. Clearly unamused at the fact that I still haven't answered his question as to why I am standing on his front porch looking like a wet dog. I would stare too. “Are you gonna let me inside? Or are you just gonna keep staring at me in silence.” I add.

“That depends.” He says lookin back into the house then back at me. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re here? Or are you just gonna avoid the question.” Touche. We stand here in silence for a moment as he watches me get pelted in the face by the rain and I chatter my teeth. He finally pushes the door open further and gestures for me to come inside. Thank go Sarah isn’t home because I would be shitting myself out of embarrassment right now. I walk in and Rafe opens a hallway in the closet as he reaches in and grabs a towel that he throws at me. “If You get anything wet, Rose will lose her shit.”

“How kind.” I say with strong notes of sarcasm.

“Hey I didn’t have to let you in. I could've just left you outside on your own.” he’s right.

“Well you wouldn’t be the first guy to leave me outside tonight, so I probably would’ve been fine” I blurt out without thinking. What happened to me tonight is none of his business. Plus I’m sure he will hear about it anyway. However, he did let me inside which he did not have to do, so I could at least pretend to be grateful.

“Damn. That's rough. Sorry about that.” he almost sounded embarrassed.

“No, it's fine. Thanks for the towel.” he nods and sits down at the kitchen counter. We stand in silence for a bit as I ring my hair out into the sink. This couldn’t be more awkward. Here I am standing in my ex best friend’s house with her older brother, who was in fact my first kiss in a game of truth or dare years ago, and who happens to be the best friend of my boyfriend who just dumped me on the side of the road in the middle of the night. This is just grand. “Do you have a phone charger? My phone is completely dead.”

“Uh yeah its upstairs. Do you wanna-” he cut himself off before speaking again. “Do you just wanna come up with me so you can change?” Right. So. Apparently this absolutely CAN feel more awkward. Whatever. I need to charge my phone and honestly a change of clothes sounds devine. I silently follow Rafe up the stairs and into his room. “If you want you can take a shower to warm up. Your teeth haven’t stopped chattering since you got here.” he’s being frighteningly nice.

“Um sure.” I say hesitantly as I am incredibly confused by his nice attitude. I plug in my phone and Rafe hands me one of his old t-shirts and a pair of booty shorts that were surely left here by some random girl, but honestly I don’t care. I have to get out of these clothes. “Thanks.” I say taking the clothes and entering his bathroom, closing and locking the door quickly behind me. Literally what the fuck. There is no way this is really happening.

I take my time in the shower as I let the steaming hot water warm me up for a while. When I’m done, I put on the clothes that Rafe gave me, and open the bathroom door seeing him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey Topper called you like five times when you were in the shower.” He says unfazed. My attitude shifts almost immediately.

“You didn’t answer it did you?” I blurt out. Nice job y/n! That wasn’t suspicious at all!

“No…why would I?” he laughs clearly confused as I let out a sigh of relief. Once again. Awkward silence. I take a seat on the edge of the bed going through my phone. “Are you gonna call him back?” he asks. Before I could answer him, his phone starts to ring. Toppers name is displayed on the screen. Rafe looks at his phone, then back to me, then back to his phone.

“I am NOT here. Answer it. Put it on speaker.” I say frantically. Now he's intrigued.

“Hey Top!” Rafe answers. “Rafe! I fucked up man. I fucked up BAD! I’m coming over. I need a drink asap.” I am immediately shaking my head and mouthing ‘no’. “Top I can’t tonight man. My dad is on my ass and if Rose finds out I have someone over, I’m dead bro.” Is he seriously helping me right now?

Topper scoffs on the other line. “Since when have you given a shit about what Rose thinks? I’m already on my way!”

“Then turn around and go home man. I can’t tonight.”

“What is up with you dude? You never turn down a drink” its silent for a minute “Oh shit do you have a chick over right now?” Im disgusted at the change in tone in Top’s voice when he brings up Rafe having a girl over.

“Yeah bro I do. And she’s alone right now in my bed so I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow.” Rafe responds, very quick to go along with Topper’s question.

“That’s my man!” Topper laughs “is she hot? She better be hot!”

Even Rafe rolls his eyes at Topper’s comment. “Yeah she’s hot. Okay gotta go man.” Rafe responds as he hangs up the phone. Is that true, does he think I’m hot? I don’t care. Do I?

I let out a huge sigh of relief that we dodged the bullet of Top showing up here.

“So. Are you gonna tell me why I just had to lie to my best friend?”

I shift nervously. “Well technically you didn’t lie. There is a ‘chick’ here and she is sitting on your bed.” I try to make a joke avoiding this conversation at all costs.

“Y/n.” He says, raising his eyebrows. He clearly wants an answer.

“I broke up with Top and he didn’t take it well.” I say on an exhale. He doesn’t say anything because he’s not stupid. He has probably figured out that much already. I let out a heavy sigh. “He kicked me out of his car in the middle of the road three miles away from my house in the fucking rain because I accused him of cheating on me. He told me that I had no idea what I was talking about. He said I was crazy, and that I was making shit up. But I’m not. I know for a fact that I’m not. It’s not the first time either. He’s done it before, which I’m sure you already know since you’re his best friend and he probably tells you everything.” I make that realization as I’m rambling my story out to him. Rafe is probably well aware of Topper’s lack of loyalty.

“I uh. I knew about it the first time.” He admits. His honestly with the situation makes me laugh a little as I roll my eyes.

“Of course you did. Being that it was with your sister. I’d be shocked if you didn’t know.” The look on Rafe’s face instantly changes. It’s almost like he’s holding something back. “Unless…Sarah wasn’t the first girl was she. There was someone else.” Tears that I have been pushing back for weeks start to well in my eyes. Not because I’m sad, but because I’m furious. Even Rafe doesn’t know what to say. Without thinking, I grab my wet clothes and my barely charged phone, and head towards his bedroom door. “I should go. Thanks for the shower and-”

“Y/n don’t be ridiculous” he says quickly following me. “You can’t leave right now that storm is getting worse” He puts his hand on the door, shutting it.

I turn and he is standing close enough to me to create an odd sort of tension.

“Why don’t you get him back?” Rafe suggests as I roll my eyes.

“I don’t want to get back with him Rafe I’m so ov-” he cuts me off.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I mean get him back. As in revenge.” he says as he steps closer to me. Jesus Christ I’m an absolute idiot.

“Revenge…right.” I laugh awkwardly. He continues to inch closer, creating an even bigger amount of tension. Not that tension is an unfamiliar thing with Rafe and I. There has always been a weird tension between us. Ya know…the whole best friends brother thing. I’ve known Rafe for almost 10 years. Something about his cocky attitude has always been attractive to me. Call it toxic. I don’t care. It’s just the truth. Rafe and I are standing right infront of each other. He is towering over me as my back is still to the door.

“You know…They say that one of the best ways to get over a guy is to get under another.” He almost whispers while moving my hair out of my face. I can’t help but blush. The thought of getting back at Topper crossed my mind the second he cheated on me. The thought of getting back at him by hooking up with his best friend? That’s even better. Rafe leans down and starts to kiss my neck. “Rafe we probably shouldn’t do this” I whisper clearly enjoying it.

“Of course we shouldn’t. But I do shit that I shouldn’t do all the time.” He stops kissing my neck to look me in the face.

“Me too” I nod letting out a breath as I crash my lips onto his. The kiss is instantly filled with an insane amount of intensity. Rafe backs me up against the wall as he deepens the kiss. He moves from my mouth to my neck, leaving hickeys all over. He is making sure that I can’t hide what we are doing. And I’m totally here for it. His hands move from my hair, to my hips, to underneath the hem of my shirt. Well. Technically his shirt. I’m braless since my bra got soaked in that rain earlier. He quickly realizes this as his hand grazes over my tits. He starts to grip them while kissing me, making me moan softly until he stops for a second.

“As hot as you look in my shirt…it’s coming off” he nearly growls. I lift my arms as he lifts the shirt over my head and throws it across the room. I reach for his shirt to take it off. Once he takes it off his mouth is back on mine. Our foreheads are pressed together as our bare chests are rising and falling against each other. He hoists me up, grabbing my ass as I throw my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. We don’t last long against the wall before we move to the bed.

He lays me down on the edge of the bed as he hovers over me kissing me yet again. Each kiss gets more aggressive. We bite each other's lips between kisses. He moves his mouth from my lips to my neck leaving more marks. Slowly, he makes his way to my chests. The marks he makes get darker and darker. He puts his mouth over my nipple, making me moan as he slightly bites down. He quickly moves his hand up to cover my mouth.

“Shhh. Baby we gotta stay quiet.” He says as he moves from one nipple to the other. I moan into his hand as he stifles the sound that comes out. His hand moves from my mouth to my throat as he wraps his hand around it lightly. His lips meet mine again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” holy shit. I moan into our kiss as his hand is on my throat. His hand travels down my body until its hovering over my shorts. He’s moving his hand from one thigh to the other. Barely grazing the spot where I need him the most. I breathe into our kiss as his hand stops at the waistband of my shorts. He’s such a fucking tease. He hovers his hand there for a minute sensing that I want more.

“Oh my God Rafe” I moan out of anticipation.

“You want more baby?” he smirks against my lips.

“You know I do” Smartass.

“Say less” he moves from his position above me, to kneeling on the floor at the edge of the bed. He hooks his fingers around the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down, revealing my bare pussy. He pulls me closer to the edge of the bed and spreads my legs in one swift motion, causing my breath to hitch. He leans down and attaches his mouth to my clit. This of course causes another accidental moan to slip from my mouth. I immediately throw my own hands over my mouth to quiet the noise. His tongue is swirling circles over my clit as he inserts two fingers without warning. As hard as I am trying to stifle my sounds, nothing could stop the groan that I let out at this moment. He moves his fingers at a faster pace that matches what his tongue is doing.

“Holy Shit Rafe.” I whine.

“You like that?” he smirks up at me. I nod and roll my eyes to the back of my head before shutting them tightly. But suddenly Rafe stops. “Open your eyes y/n. I want you to look at me when you cum. I want you to see who is making you feel this good.” I do as he says and open my eyes as I prop myself up on my elbows to get a better view. “Atta girl” He smirks before burying his face into me yet again. He adds a third finger as I throw my head back while remaining eye contact. He curls his fingers as he eats me out and I want to scream at the pressure building up inside of me. I reach forward and tangle my fingers through his hair as he grins up towards me.

“Rafe! Oh my God” I let out a string of other soft noises and words.

“Go ahead baby. Cum for me,” I look Rafe in the eyes as I jerk my hips and arch my back, completely unraveling in front of him. As he removes his fingers from inside of me, he brings them up to my mouth. “I want you to see how good you taste.” he says as I take his fingers into my mouth until they are clean. He removes his fingers from my mouth and laces his hands through my hair as he devours me with a kiss.

“That was incredible.” I breathe heavily.

“Oh we aren’t done yet princess.” the sound of him calling me princess was enough to nearly send me over the edge again.

“I’d hope not” I tangle my tongue with his as he deepens the kiss by pulling my hair back. I reach for his pants and I undo his belt.

“Eager are we?” he scoffs, pulling away for a moment. He removes his belt and his pants. Leaving his boxers for me to remove. I gesture for him to sit on the edge of the bed where I just was. When he sits, I climb onto his lap, straddling him over his boxers. I can tease too. I lean in kissing him as I slowly start to rock back and forth on his lap. I can feel him getting harder by the second. To be honest this is doing just as much for me as it is for him. I start to kiss his neck, leaving marks similar to the ones he left on me. I start to rock faster back and forth until he is letting out moans the way I was. I cover his mouth.

“I thought we had to stay quiet.” I give him a sly smile before kneeling on the floor and removing his boxers. I come face to face with his cock as I run my tongue up the side, looking up at him while I do it. I move my tongue to the other side slowly, taking my sweet time.

“Fuck y/n” Rafe groans as he places his hand in my hair.

I wrap my mouth around the head of his cock and start to suck slowly, using my hands to work the rest that I can’t fit in my mouth. I bob my head up and down while I look up at him, my eyes are starting to water. He grabs my head and slightly pushes me down further, and I can feel his tip hit my throat. When it does Rafe lets out a deep moan with a mumbled string of “oh fucks”. After a few minutes, I can sense that he is going to cum. I don’t bother asking where he wants to finish before he finishes in my mouth. I swallow and look up at him with a smile.

“Holy shit. You really know what you’re doing.” He lets out a heavy content sigh. “We still aren't done yet. I need to be inside you.” He says laying me back down on the bed. I still cannot believe that this is happening.

Rafe wastes no time climbing on top of me leaving sloppy kisses up my chest and meeting my mouth with his. “You sure about this?” He looks down at me.

“Never been more sure about anything.” I nod.

“Good” He says as he grabs a condom from his nightstand and puts it on. Seconds later, he is lining himself up at my entrance. His tongue plunges into my mouth as he enters inside of me. His cock stretched my pussy perfectly. He moves with smooth motions leaving us both moaning into each other's mouths as he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts. He brings his hand to my throat once again,barely applying pressure, making me let out a moan that was too loud to be stifled. He doesn’t seem to care.

“You like when my hands are around your neck?” He whispers in my ear.

“Yes! Oh my god yes” I am starting to get louder. He moves his hand from my throat to my mouth to keep me quiet again. I moan into his hand as his thrusts hit the perfect spot inside of me. He can tell that he has hit the spot when my hips start to buck in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. I am almost screaming into his hand. As he leans down to kiss me again.

“You gonna cum with me?” he asks, pressing his forehead against mine. I nod unable to speak, to stop myself from screaming. “Words y/n. Use your words”

“Fuck yes. I’m gonna cum!” I whine out. He thrusts in and out a few more times, hitting the spot perfectly making me squirm underneath him. With one final thrust, I arch my back as I scratch my nails down his, definitely leaving scratch marks. We cum simultaneously as we let out deep and hungry moans into each other's mouths. He just gave me the best orgasm I have ever had. He pulled out and laid next to me.

“Holy shit. I’ve waited so long to do that.” he says looking at me out of breath.

“Me too. I always had a crush on you ya know.” I say looking at him equally as out of breath.

“Yeah I know.” He smiles and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Took you long enough to do something about it.” I laugh back.

“Thank God I did. And I plan on doing it again. Just so you know.” I winked at me

“I’d hope so.” I smile, laying there next to him. He was right. That was the best way to get over someone.

** hi! I really hope you liked this. If you did and want to see more let me know what you want to see! I had fun writing this and in my many many years of writing fanfics this is somehow my first time writing smut so I hope it was okay lol ❤️

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #obx fanfic #rafe cameron #rafe obx #obx fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x female!mc #obx smut

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no-droids · 1 year

Text

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

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

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

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

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

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

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

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

They’re… awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

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

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

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

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

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

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

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

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

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make the decision immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

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

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

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

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

Din needs to go.

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

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

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He also spoke of a girl.”

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

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

“A girl?”

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

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

Except, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

You’re right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A star destroyer.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

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

“No,” you eventually whisper.

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

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Mandalorian.

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

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

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that covers everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

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

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