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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 days

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This story started with Guthláf, Théoden’s banner bearer. To carry a flag in war was (in LOTR and real life) very dangerous, and it got me thinking about the kind of person who would willingly take on that danger and why (see here for Guthláf’s answer). And then I got thinking about what it would be like to love that kind of person and have to watch them do something so brave and glorious and selfless but also so perilous. And that brought me to Wídfara.

Like Guthláf, Wídfara exists in canon for just a few sentences. He’s from the Wold. He’s intuitive about the weather. That’s it from Tolkien. But I do so love an obscure horse boy of Rohan, and two together is even better. Here they are in part 1 of 7, where our boys have their first meeting.

August, T.A. 3017

When he’d taken a third wrong turn in as many tries, Wídfara finally decided to ask someone on the street for help. Unfortunately, getting anyone in Edoras to stop to answer his questions proved even harder than finding his own way around the city. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly or unwilling to assist, but rather that they didn’t seem to even notice him as he tentatively raised a hand or stammered out the beginnings of a greeting. Everyone walked so quickly and with such a busy sense of purpose that they were invariably four steps past him already by the time he got his first few words out.

A quick glance up at the sun told him that he was going to be late if he didn’t get himself together soon, and the last thing he wanted was to make a poor impression on his very first day. He already had enough working against him – his simple country clothing, his thick rural accent, his obvious cluelessness in navigating his way around, all of which marked him clearly as an outsider – and he didn’t need his new éored thinking that he was careless or unreliable on top of everything else. He shifted his pack on his back, hastened his steps around another corner and felt a wash of relief at the sight of a garrison complex with the king’s banner flying in front.

An older man, clad to the waist in armor and standing with a rigid military bearing, waited on the front steps of the central building, just under the banner. His eyes scanned all the passersby, and when they landed on Wídfara they lit up with a spark of intuited recognition. The rigidity melted away in an instant, and he beckoned Wídfara over with a smile and a welcoming wave.

“I’m on the lookout for a new rider just in from the East-mark, and I would bet my horse that you’re him. And right on time, too. My name is Elfhelm.”

Wídfara dropped his pack and stood to attention. For all that he didn’t know about Edoras, he certainly knew the name of Elfhelm, the commander of the garrison and the functional First Marshal of the Mark any time the king himself wasn’t present. “Yes, Marshal. I just arrived in the city last night. My name is Wídfara, sir.”

Elfhelm’s bushy eyebrows shot upward at the distinctive heavy twang of Wídfara’s words. “The Third Marshal told me he was sending us a real country boy, and I see that he wasn’t exaggerating. Where exactly are you from, son?”

Elfhelm’s open, casual manner took Wídfara by surprise. Back home, his captain had been a rather grim man, one who never spoke an unnecessary word or showed his riders even a hint of his own personality, and Wídfara had expected the leaders of Edoras, some of the most powerful in the kingdom, to be even more stern. But yet again, it seemed, he simply had no understanding of how life in the capital actually worked. “I’m born and raised in the Wold, Marshal,” he answered. “My family has run herds out there for generations. It’s quite…” He glanced around at the bustling rush of people moving in and out of the collection of buildings around them. “It’s different from the city.”

Elfhelm nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s certainly true. I imagine that Edoras can seem a little overwhelming at first to someone who’s spent his whole life in a place like the Wold. And an éored reordering is never easy on anyone. Saying goodbye to the people and places you’ve always known is a rough task.”

Wídfara swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his throat. It had been less than a week since he’d been forced to say those goodbyes, gathered together with family and friends and brothers-in-arms out near his old post in the plains where the Limlight joined the Anduin. The Wold had never been a thickly populated area – the land was too unforgiving, the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the herdsmen too harsh – but as more and more families moved out of the grasslands and into the East-mark’s larger settlements and towns, an independent éored for the Wold had become increasingly unsustainable. No one had been particularly surprised when the reordering was announced, but it had been painful nonetheless and especially so for Wídfara. Because while his friends were reassigned to one of the three surrounding éoreds in the Eastemnet, all within a few hours ride of home, he had been singled out for transfer to Edoras, a place so foreign to him that it might as well have been Dunland or Rhûn.

His face seemed to betray some of his thoughts to Elfhelm, who put a large, comforting hand on Wídfara’s shoulder. “Change can be tough, son, but it also presents opportunity. And you’ve been given a golden one here. It’s not often that someone gets called up to the king’s éored – I can only remember one other time that it happened, and my memory stretches back longer than you’ve been alive. But your old captain was adamant that there isn’t a finer mounted bowman in all of Rohan and it would be a waste to just reassign you to yet another remote outpost. If you’re even half as good as the men of the East-mark claim, you can make a real name for yourself here.”

Wídfara felt his face grow hot, and he looked down at his feet. No one had told him how this transfer had come to be, and the thought of that dour, taciturn captain singing his praises to anyone was almost more than he could believe. And while he was proud of his own talent, he felt an instinctual urge to defend against the implication that the other riders of the Wold were any less skillful. “Everyone who grew up where I did learned early to shoot from a moving horse, sir,” he offered. “A herd will always attract wolves.”

Elfhelm chuckled. “That may be so, but your captain didn’t convince the Third Marshal of the Mark to send just any old herdsman to us. He picked you. Try to remember that.” A bell behind him tolled, and he glanced toward the door over his shoulder. “I need to get back to some other business, so we’d best get you on your way. You’ll be living in Barracks A with the other unmarried men of the company. You can drop your belongings there and then head over to the armorer to get everything you need. Training starts tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

Elfhelm was already halfway out of sight before Wídfara realized that he had no idea how to find either Barracks A or the armorer. He considered calling after Elfhelm for help, but the marshal had indicated that he was busy and surely his other tasks were more important than giving basic directions to an ill-informed newcomer. Instead, he reshouldered his pack with a sigh, resigned to wandering the complex until chance took pity on him again, and he took a few hesitant steps toward his left.

“Other way, Wídfara!”

He looked up to see Elfhelm watching him from the doorway, one foot already inside and the door itself held open with his elbow. The older man laughed and nodded in the opposite direction. “Second building on the right. Can’t miss it.”

A furious blush rushed back to Wídfara’s cheeks, and he winced as he felt it spread across his ears and neck. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m still…I’ll learn my way quickly, I promise.”

Elfhelm stepped back outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he walked a few paces toward Wídfara again. “It’s alright to be new, son. You just need someone to help show you the way of things here.” He cast an appraising eye over Wídfara and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. “Keep an eye out for Guthláf. He’s from Edoras, but his mother grew up in the Eastemnet and he spent much of his childhood out there. He even talks a lot like you do. You’ll like him, and he’ll help you get to feeling like home again.” He turned once more to head inside.

“Marshal Elfhelm?” Wídfara called after him. “How do I find him? Guthláf, I mean.”

Elfhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Anywhere there are people gathered, he’ll be right in the middle of it. You can count on that. He’s one of our best, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t let him talk you into playing dice with him unless you’ve got money to burn.” He pulled open the door and his last few words drifted out from the hallway. “See you at training first thing tomorrow!”

Wídfara rolled over again, grimacing as his left shoulder made contact with the floor. One of his first tasks that day had been to see the garrison’s armorer, where he had been fitted for new equipment and received the distinctive tattoo that would identify him as a member of the king’s éored: a small crown above a hill. Each éored had its own mark, used as a crude means of identification in the event that a rider was injured or killed far from home, and the armorers typically etched the designs onto the shoulders of new members, punching a small ink-tipped needle repeatedly into the skin to create the necessary lines and curves. The new tattoo left a lingering pain in Wídfara’s arm, though it was minimal compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he watched the armorer draw a line through his old éored’s mark, casually crossing out an entire decade of his life with a few minute’s quick work. But that had just been the start to an increasingly difficult day.

The éored’s clerk seemed unaware that Wídfara had joined the company, and no arrangements had been made yet for his pay. Wídfara was counting on those funds to support his parents back in the Wold, especially now that he was no longer close enough to help his father with the herd work during his free hours, and the possibility that his first wages would be significantly delayed left a sour feeling in his stomach. Then he had gotten lost on his way to the mess hall and again between the mess hall and the stables, where he discovered that the stablehand sent to fetch his horse from last night’s boarding house had brought back the wrong animal. At every turn, he seemed to be in the wrong place, with the wrong information, running into obstacle after obstacle while being constantly asked to repeat himself as the city dwellers struggled to understand his accent.

He had greeted the eventual coming of night with urgent relief, happy to retreat to the privacy of his little room in the barracks where, at least for a few hours, he knew where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. But even then, he struggled. The small, soft bed in the room felt unnatural to him after so much time spent sleeping rough in field camps or out on the plains with his family’s horses, and he quickly gave up on it, crafting himself a makeshift bedroll on the floor instead. After an hour of further tossing and turning, though, he realized that the bed wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. A windowless box barely big enough for both the empty bed and his nest of blankets on the floor was a poor substitute for having shimmering stars overhead and endless golden plains around him, and he wondered how he would ever find rest in such a confined little space. He sat up, frustrated, and decided to take a walk in an attempt to clear his mind.

The streets, at least, were much more enjoyable to him at night, when few others were out and about. It was quieter, and he could walk at his own pace without worrying that he was holding up someone behind him. Keeping close attention to where he turned and how to retrace his steps, he headed up a hill, thinking to get a good view of the city from the top of the rise and perhaps be able to better orient himself amidst the maze of the city’s layout.

It took only a few minutes from the barracks to reach the peak of the hill, but he was disappointed to find that the view down onto Edoras and the surrounding plains was largely obscured by a thin haze in the air and heavy overhead cloud cover that dimmed the light of the moon. The quiet of his walk was also broken by the presence on the hill of a small tavern, a little wood and stone building from which drifted not only the smell of ale and baked bread but the clamor of voices and laughter and singing. The windows were aglow with warm yellow light, and he could see a large and boisterous crowd inside, many members of which seemed to be about his age. He considered going in – his rational mind understood that the only way to make friends in new surroundings was to put himself where other people were – but the thought of dozens of bodies pressed into such a small building made him a bit panicky, and he had already used all the energy his mind could spare that day for navigating the stares, questions and sometimes the judgments of so many others. That would need to be a challenge for tomorrow instead.

He leaned against a corner of the tavern and gazed northeast, back toward the beloved home that was now obscured by the intervention of both distance and weather. A gentle breeze blew from that direction, and he closed his eyes to savor the soft feel of it against his cheek and in his hair. There was a clean, earthy scent to the air, and he willed himself to believe that this sign of a clearer morning on its way could also mean that good things were on their way for him.

At that very moment, the door of the tavern flew open, bouncing noisily off the wall, and a tiny gray dog scampered out, followed by the striding figure of a man in the uniform of his éored.

“I just need to let Slaga out for a minute,” the man called back to unseen companions inside. “Hold the game for me, and I’ll be right back to finish taking the rest of your money.” A laughing chorus of boos rang out as the door swung closed again, and the man chuckled to himself.

Wídfara registered the stranger’s words as they were spoken, but what flooded his heart with joyful recognition was the lilting drawl of their delivery, the comfortingly specific cadence and tone that represented Rohirric as Wídfara’s ear had always heard it voiced. It was the sound of his cousins calling to him from across the grasslands, his friends teasing and joking as they sat around a fire at night. It was the sound of his old life, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

The other man was crouched down now, cooing affectionate endearments at the tiny dog that bounded in adoring circles around his feet, and Wídfara lightly cleared his throat. The man froze at the sound, the last doting little trill dying on his tongue, and he smiled sheepishly when he looked up and saw Wídfara standing just feet away. “I’m sorry. I thought Slaga and I were alone out here or I surely would have kept that to myself.” He stood and extended his hand in Wídfara’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Guthláf.”

Guthláf. The name chimed immediately in Wídfara’s memory, and he smiled to himself at how effortlessly correct Elfhelm had been on all fronts – where Guthláf would be found, how soothingly familiar he would sound to Wídfara, and how quickly just a few words of that familiar sound would kindle a feeling of comfort and kinship in him. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and in the dim light that shone from the windows he found himself face to face with an unusually tall, well built man with long blonde waves, a trim blonde beard, and striking eyes of the palest blue. He gripped Guthláf’s hand with grateful enthusiasm and smiled. “Wídfara. You wouldn’t have seen me before, as I only just got here.”

“I certainly don’t have to ask where you came from,” Guthláf said, and Wídfara thought he detected a slight strengthening of Guthláf’s matching accent in the reply. “Welcome to Edoras, Wídfara. What brings you here?”

Wídfara nodded at Guthláf’s uniform. “I’ll be joining your company starting first thing tomorrow.”

“Is that right? We’ll be glad to have you. The boys could use an eastern rider to show them how it’s really done.” He glanced down briefly at the dainty little dog that was now cautiously sniffing Wídfara’s boots. “Don’t hold it against me. The absurd fussing with the dog, I mean. Every man has an embarrassing weakness, and I guess Slaga is mine.”

“Think nothing of it.” Truthfully, in any other circumstance Wídfara would have found both the toy-sized dog and the indulgent spoiling of it a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to say that to the first person in the city to take any interest in him. Outside of Elfhelm, who as Wídfara’s commanding officer was certainly no peer of his, it had been a struggle that day just to be noticed by anyone else, let alone engaged with or welcomed. Wídfara was eager not to squander this opportunity, especially with someone who seemed so friendly and good natured. “I love dogs and have nearly always had one myself, though admittedly never one that size.”

“He is small, isn’t he? I got him when he was a puppy and expected him to get bigger as he got older, but he just never did. And by the time I realized I had myself a lapdog, the rascal had already worked his way into my heart.” He bent down and scooped Slaga up into his arms, where he quickly settled with the look of one who spent a lot of time in just that position. Wídfara reached out and gave the dog a gentle rub behind the ears, which was received with a small, contented sigh.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” said Guthláf, looking up with a smile. “But then again, you’re not a stranger anymore, are you, Wídfara of the East-mark?”

Wídfara couldn’t identify anything unusual or remarkable about the way this question was asked, nothing that would explain the sudden rush of warmth that settled over him when that open, earnest smile was turned in his direction. But it was there all the same. “Not a stranger, at least not in the technical sense. And I would hope one day to be a friend, though I wouldn’t presume to call you that yet.”

“No? Why not?”

“You barely know anything about me.”

“But that’s not a problem. Discovering things about each other is half the fun of friendship.” He inclined his head and fixed Wídfara with a long, thoughtful look. “And I have a feeling there is much to discover about you.”

The steady gaze of those cool, blue eyes sent an anxious flutter shimmering through Wídfara’s chest, and he looked away. Before he could muster the nerve to speak again, the tavern door opened, and a red-haired head popped out.

“Guthláf, if the game doesn’t restart soon, Hildred insists he’ll take his losses back and charge you interest for making him wait.”

Guthláf laughingly rolled his eyes and waved a hand in concession. “Buy him another ale from my pot and tell him I’ll be right there.” The red haired man nodded and went back inside, and Guthláf turned once again to Wídfara.

“Do you ever play dice? If you’ve got the time now, you can join us, and by the end of the game you’ll have ten more great friends, I promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t take your money.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m something of a professional.”

Wídfara laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve already been warned against playing dice with you, and I don’t know the rules anyway. But I appreciate the offer.” The temptation to stay in the kindly glow of Guthláf’s company was strong, but the tumult of the busy tavern still intimidated him. And the length of the day, with its many ups and downs, was beginning to catch up with him at last. “Will I…or, rather, I hope I’ll see you at training in the morning?”

He cringed inside at how needful the question sounded to his ears, but if Guthláf heard it that way he gave no sign. Instead, he smiled broadly and tapped a fist against Wídfara’s arm.

“Of course. I’ll look for you there, friend. Now wish me luck, not that I need it!” He and his dog slipped back inside with a wave, and Wídfara watched through the window just long enough to see them disappear into a rowdy group of men, all wielding mugs and talking excitedly to one another.

Alone again, he turned then to retrace his steps, mercifully finding his way back to the barracks without incident, and he stretched out once more on his floor with a heavy yawn. The weight of sleep closed in on him quickly, and he soon drifted into the comfort of peaceful rest, where a pair of the palest blue eyes lingered in his dreams.

Notes: Guthláf’s dog is named Slaga, which means “Killer.” Presumably he chose that name before he realized his “puppy” was already full grown and would always be a lil’ tea cup.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz (I don’t usually have a tag list but I tried to @ people who had specifically requested it at some point — if you want off (or on, I guess) don’t hesitate to say so!)

Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit ♥️

#guthláf #wídfara #rohan #forth eorlingas #obscure blorbos #♥️🐎🗡️#horse boys in love #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #guthlaf #widfara

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lavndvrr · 2 months

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Flashback to the time I started writing my first fanfic and during that time period I fainted several times, my dog died, my computer got hacked, and my friends left me but as soon as I stopped writing bad stuff stopped happening to me, is this a sign?

#fanfiction #why?!?#im still going to start a new fic #it’s been like 5 months since I’ve written anything for myself #and if everything starts going wrong in my life then it will prove that I’m cursed #im so exited to write my #valgrace fanfic #tho #like im still plotting but after that I think I’ll try to update it once a week #we will see #it may or may not happen #I’ll try #I can’t go back to my old fic tho because it was a Wilbur centric modern au

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nightdiary · 2 months

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first dates with enhypen

word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!

✧ heeseung - tinder date

you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.

there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.

the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.

you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.

then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.

as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.

you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.

you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.

“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”

“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”

snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.

but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.

“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.

as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”

your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.

as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.

you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”

stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.

with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.

maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.

✧ jay - rollerskating rink

for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.

you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.

“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”

your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.

“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”

“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.

“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”

the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.

“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”

jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.

“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.

as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.

“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.

jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.

snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”

✧ jake - bowling

“you know what they say about men and bowling?”

“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”

“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”

but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.

“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”

jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.

unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.

“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.

“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”

jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.

you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.

but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.

“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”

the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”

✧ sunghoon - laser tag

your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.

the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.

surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.

in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.

taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.

your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.

“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”

“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.

looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.

sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.

“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.

“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”

there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.

so that’s what you do.

“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.

seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.

sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.

“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.

“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.

“victory kiss?”

✧ sunoo - picnic

ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.

they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.

your hands itch to reach out and trace them.

“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.

you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.

“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”

"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”

“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.

“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”

groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.

“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”

sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.

“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”

reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”

sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.

your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.

he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–

“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”

pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.

“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."

✧ jungwon - boba place

in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.

“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”

jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.

“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.

you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”

jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.

“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”

you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”

jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”

“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.

still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”

“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”

you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.

jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”

you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.

“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”

jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.

“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."

“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.

“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”

“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.

jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”

✧ niki - arcade

“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.

the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.

“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.

the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.

“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.

you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.

“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”

“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.

with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.

“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.

“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks.

the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.

“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”

staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”

the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”

laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.

you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.

“so– fried chicken?”

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risuola · 1 month

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ENTRY #1 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

My crystal tears and my heart’s beat, And all the pieces of my soul’s depths, I lay my dreams upon your feet, Please be careful taking your steps.

cw: angst-ish, arranged marriage!au, slight age gap (reader's around 22, Satoru is 28), loveless marriage, brief mentions of blood and toxicity — 1,9k words

a/n: starting a new series while two other are hanging in the air and hundreds of wips are waiting for being written? yeah, that's me, but hey, I needed to start something new to get my creative juices flowin'. this one's gonna be a series of entries, a diary if you will.

series masterlist

When you were younger, a girl innocent and little, blissfully unaware of the world around you, you wished to marry a prince. Influenced by tales told by your mother and tv shows you watched with big and curious eyes, you had a vision of the ceremony straight out of a dream. A magical display of love and the path of rose petals and feathers through which you were meant to stride in a dress made of satin and lace – white and elegant. You also saw him, the man that your heart would choose and desire. A prince handsome and kind, who would love and protect you even if by doing so, his life would be on the line. You were too little to be aware of the naivety of the dreamy pictures in your head.

Sometimes you wished to turn back time and once again step into the shoes of the innocent you who never got to know sadness and fear. Sometimes you think of it with a bittersweet smile, reminiscing the way you used to go about your days without care about the world around. With mild regret you reminiscence the moment you learned that everything around you was–

“I’m talking to you. God damn it, are you deaf?”

“I heard you.”

–a lie.

You were a late bloomer but besides the judgmental looks you were receiving left and right from the elders of your clan, you also owe it the beauty of your prolonged childhood. Few years of freedom that you lost the memory of how it tasted and yet, you like to go back to it and drown in the pictures it left in your mind. Whilst all of your siblings were training and learning, fighting and risking their lives against the cursed spirits, you brought shame to your family. There was no place for someone without a cursed technique in a world of sorcery and you were made painfully aware of it at the day of your tenth birthday. That was also the end of your childhood and the day you wish to forget. You remember how the smiles of your parents turned into frowns and the soft, melodic tone of your mother became harsh and never got back to how it used to be. The tales and cookies vanished and what was left was nothing but suffering and degradation.

“Oh, did you?”

It took you six years of training to awaken the technique that later on was called the most powerful in the history of your clan. Six years of days and nights filled with sweat and tears, six years of bloody knuckles and bruises but also, it took six years of your determination to prove all of them wrong. Despite being the youngest of four siblings, you were able to stand against the worst of curses with nothing but a sword and raw power when everyone else relied heavily on the cursed techniques. You were strong and skilled, you were trained and fearless but still, you were looked down. A shame. To your family you were nothing but a shame.

And then, suddenly, you became a pride. You were on everyone’s mouths; you were talked about as if you were the most expensive and rare diamond. Years of harsh treatment you received suddenly became forgotten because once your technique awakened, you became the strongest in your clan, surpassing your siblings, your parents and everyone else who bore the same name as you. Suddenly other clans were talking about you too, with curiosity and fear. Suddenly, you became someone. But somehow, it didn’t make you happy. Once you realized that the world you were born into wasn’t a tale you always thought it is, you lost the ability to enjoy it. Maybe the pain of what you had given to become a true sorcerer rendered you unable to fully appreciate the adulthood, but you found it hard to see the light, when the darkness seemed to embed itself into your soul.

“You know what? Fuck that. I’m leaving.”

Ah yes, the marriage. With years that had passed since you were young and naïve, you stripped yourself of the dreams of sharing a life with a prince, but a part of you still hoped for love and calm. A part of your heart wished to settle with someone you’ll trust and care for. Someone who will ground you in the world of constant danger and for years you thought that you will find a man with whom the stressful life of sorcery will be a little kinder, a little less scary, a little more bearable. It was a child in you, a faint spark of juvenile carelessness that never died down, even in the darkest of days you endured.

You let out a deep sigh and allowed your lids to close. Your head leaned forward, forehead restless against the cold doors of the kitchen cabinet. The loud thud of doors snapping shut echoed in your ears for few moments and then it became silent. An earie cacophony of nothing but your own breath and soft ticking of the clock on the wall next to you. For a moment you thought about how many times you relived this very same situation already. The cold detachment, harsh exchange of words and then he’s gone. A salve of ruthless stabs that never seem to hurt less and the sound of your own voice forming sentences you wouldn’t think of if the circumstances were different.

First time you saw Satoru Gojo was many years before you truly knew who he is. It was a picture that you noticed by accident, somewhere in the papers your parents had spread out on the coffee table. He was a young boy back then. You remember the impression he made on you. He looked cold, intimidating, unapproachable. He looked like someone you’d never think of becoming friends with. You were young, just barely nine years old and he was already fifteen. He was already the strongest and even though you weren’t actively involved in the world of sorcery, you knew his name.

And then, many years later you sat in front of him. While the elders of your clans discussed the importance of the arrangement that was planned within the sorcerer’s society, Satoru was resting on a couch unamused, with his legs crossed and eyes covered by a layer of white bandages. You watched him, analyzed his lack of interest and the veil of cold arrogance with realization that everything you wished for was never on the table for you. During the two long hours of conversations that were about you and yet no one asked for your opinion, you and Satoru didn’t exchange one word.

You heard his voice actively directed at you for the first time during the wedding ceremony. It was small, very private and filled with people that you mostly didn’t know. It was far from perfect, though pretty in a way. Under the cautious watch of the most important figures of sorcery, you said the vows that made you feel nothing and yet meant so much. The words of promise, that for anyone else meant love and safe future, to you meant status and the name. You became Gojo. You became a wife to the strongest man in the world.

Now it’s seven months after the wedding and the day you and him moved together. The apartment you shared was filled with both yours and his belongings and yet it didn’t feel like home. It lacked the atmosphere of love and understanding and on days like this, you were losing hope it will ever feel different than miserable.

That day was nothing out of ordinary when it came to your marriage. Yet another fight, yet another beeline he made to leave you alone in the empty house. You always argue. There was no warmth between the walls of the apartment, there was no care and respect. Instead, there were snaps and insults, there was silence and avoidance. The large bed in what was meant to be a shared bedroom was occupied only by you, while Satoru preferred to sleep on a couch even though his tall frame was way too big for it. Besides one very brief and formal kiss you shared during the wedding day, you never kissed again. There was no holding hands, no incidental touches, no nothing that would convey any sort of feeling and only times your bodies made contact was when he grabbed your wrists in anger or when your shoulder hit his arm while you were passing by.

Truth is, you had no idea what Satoru was talking about that morning before he left. You were lost in thoughts, but you could only imagine he was mentioning the meeting he needed to attempt in the evening. He probably won’t be home until late and once he’ll come back, he’ll be annoyed by elders and for that, you couldn’t blame him. Whenever you face the elders of jujutsu community, your blood pressure raises as well and you’re quite calm by nature. That being said, if unlucky, you’ll be the one to take the hit of his anger.

Your fingers run across the golden band that adorned your finger. It was an absentminded motion that became a habit of sorts, helping you gather the thoughts, calming your mind. The cold feel of metal allowed you to let go of the stress and forced you to suck it up yet again.

Two hours after the morning fight, you found yourself surrounded by the familiar buildings in the Jujutsu tech area, watching your husband from afar. Satoru was in the middle of teaching students, if whatever the hell he was doing could be called teaching. Megumi was resting next to him as some other kids were fighting on the training field. The sound of wooden swords colliding echoed between the woods that surrounded the expanse of the school zones. Gojo was looking as careless as ever, calm and smiling – a sight that you almost never see unless he’s facing someone else. He was chatting with his almost-son, shouting some advice to the sparing students and going about his day as he usually does, but one thing was different.

“Satoru,” you called his name as you went down the stairs to reach the spot where he was standing. He noticed you, you knew that. He most likely knew about your appearance way before you even got to see him, but now he chose to actively ignore your presence as his light blue eyes stayed focused on the field instead of landing on you.

“What brings you here?” He asked and you could tell how the tone of his voice changed from the friendly sensei to your husband’s rough approach. He wasn’t happy with your visit; you weren’t welcome near him and everyone knew that. The fact of your marriage being arranged wasn’t a secret and it also wasn’t a secret that it was Gojo’s clan decision, not his own. Satoru felt some sort of humiliation that despite him being the strongest, he was stripped of a choice who to spend his life with and you, as his wife, were paying for his resentment.

“I brought you this,” you replied, reaching your hand towards him. His eyes landed on your palm and you noticed a ghost of relief that washed over his features when he took the band of black fabric from your hold. His blindfold, that you realized was ripped – he left at home in the morning. That was most likely what he was talking to you about because once you cleaned up after the breakfast, you noticed the band and his broken glasses left on the coffee table.

“So you were listening,” Satoru said quietly and securely covered his eyes.

“I wasn’t.”

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alexias-putellas · 3 months

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the grudge // barça femení x reader

barça femení x reader

was feeling sad and writing is my preferred version of therapy. definitely didn’t cry writing this.

also i am in no way intending to bash katie or insinuate anything about her past relationship. i love her more than life itself. she just happens to be the person who is facing my wrath.

i’m not too sure if this needs a warning. it’s a lil heavy but nothing is outright mentioned, more suggested.

you had been on autopilot since the breakup in may, focusing solely on football and not on your broken heart. you hadn’t allowed your barcelona teammates to see you cry but you welcomed their efforts to make you feel better anyway, craving the affection you knew you’d never get from katie again.

long distance wasn’t going to be easy and you knew that. but you were trying.

you pretended not to notice when she began pulling away, keeping up the façade that nothing was wrong, even when everything was falling apart. you tried not to push when she shoved, or snap when she bit. it broke your heart when you made a trip to london and ended up spending the entire weekend with leah and lia, not seeing katie once.

so really you shouldn’t have been so blindsided by the breakup.

when you received the news that you were taking over as captain for england for the world cup, you should’ve been ecstatic. your england teammates were, they were gentle and told you how much you deserved it, even katie texted to congratulate you. you didn’t open it.

england were storming through the competition, beating every team they faced. but something happened before the semi-final against australia. you’d finally become aware of the rumours that surrounded katie and caitlin, the rumours that claimed they’d started dating not long after your breakup.

there was no overlap, there couldn’t have been. you and caitlin were good friends when you played for arsenal so you told yourself that she’d never do that to you. neither of them would.

you didn’t shy away on the pitch. you shook caitlin’s hand and looked her in the eye. she almost seemed ashamed. despite having friends playing for australia, you pushed your team harder than before. was it to prove a point? maybe. but it worked. you had won. you had captained your team to the final and suddenly your personal life was far behind you.

when the final whistle blew in the spanish game, you didn’t cry. the switch still hadn’t flipped, you were still on autopilot. you comforted your teammates. you held alessia as she sobbed, you told lucy how proud you were, you hugged millie and rachel. you congratulated your spanish friends. you told ona how good she was and how excited you were that you were going to be playing together soon, you hugged salma, and cata, and aitana, and mariona. you held alexia as she cried, telling her how much she deserved it after everything she’d been through.

you still hadn’t cried. you weren’t sure if you could anymore. you were absolutely devastated and you almost felt guilty for not being able to show it properly.

but it started to catch up to you in mexico. during training, you could feel the waves getting closer, getting bigger. you stayed afloat, despite the desperate need to drown, and you kept the waves at bay as best you could. you were benched for the game against the tigres and you felt the waves again and in a moment of desperation, you reached for ingrid, squeezing your eyes shut and focusing on her and the comfort she radiated.

alexia was your roomate for the night. you followed her into the hotel and up to your room. she headed straight for a shower whilst you collapsed onto the bed.

everything seemed to hit you then. you were exhausted. you were grieving. you were drowning. you covered your face in an attempt to muffle your sobs, not wanting to disturb the blonde.

you were so focused on trying to stay afloat that you hadn’t heard the shower stop, or the door open, or the gasp that left alexia’s lips as she found you.

she pulled you into her arms without a second thought, holding you tightly to her chest as you cried. you tried to push her away, fighting in her grip, you didn’t want her to see you. you were burdening her. she was probably still on a high from the world cup and there you were, ruining it all.

her grip never relented. she never let go. not when you writhed or you swore at her. not when you begged and pleaded for her to.

she only let go a little while later once she was sure you were fast asleep, quickly and carefully placing you on the bed. she swiped her phone from the bedside table, quietly slipping out of the room.

unbeknownst to alexia, you’d started stirring as soon as your back hit the bed. a soft whimper left your lips as you patted the space next to you. with a new storm brewing in your head and the waves growing stronger with every breath, you didn’t know what to think about alexia’s sudden disappearance.

was she mad at you? was she already sick of you? your hands shook as your thoughts spiralled. you glanced at your phone. alexia had always said that you could call her whenever you needed but what if she’d changed her mind? or she ignored you?

with a shaky sigh, you settled for cuddling with the barcelona hoodie she’d previously discarded, crawling back under the covers and letting the exhaustion wash over you once again.

alexia didn’t wake you for breakfast the next morning. she knew you needed the sleep. she made her way to where the rest of the team were and mapi frowned when the blonde sat down at the table alone.

“where is the nena?”

“sleeping,” alexia answered. “she was upset last night so be nice to her when she wakes up, por favor.”

“she finally cracked?” lucy asked, a slight frown on her own face.

“yes,” alexia sighed. “it was not nice seeing her like that.”

“was she bad?” keira sat forward, her leg bouncing. aitana noticed and immediately placed her hand on her knee, giving her a small smile.

“sí. i have never seen her so upset.”

“hey,” ingrid said softly but firmly, sensing the growing anxiety amongst the girls. “she has us. she will be okay, we’ll make sure of it.”

ᡣ𐭩

“hi bagheera,” you murmured, running your hand along the smooth fur of the cat. he purred and leaned into your touch. “we’re roommates now.”

upon arriving back in barcelona, ingrid and mapi had practically demanded that you move in with them for the foreseeable future. you had no objections.

you watched with amusement as ingrid barked orders at some of your teammates, who had so graciously offered to help you move your things, wincing as mapi put a box down a little too hard.

ingrid pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a breath. frido and marta walked in then, saving mapi from her girlfriend. they placed the last of your things down and you shuffled over to them, thanking them quietly and giving them short hugs. ingrid thanked them too and frido made sure to ruffle your hair before they left.

you fell back onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. mapi soon invaded your vision and you really didn’t like the grin on her face.

“ay, maría, no!”

too late. mapi threw herself over the sofa and landed directly on top of you. you huffed out a laugh, a sound that instantly made the couple relax. it had been a long time since they’d heard you laugh.

“what do you want to do today?” ingrid asked you, leaning on the back of the sofa.

“not really in the mood to do anything,” you shrugged. “but if you two have plans—“

“we don’t,” ingrid said and you could tell she was telling the truth. “even if we did, i don’t think maría would want to go anyway.”

“i wouldn’t either, this is nice,” you mumbled, running your hand through mapi’s hair. “maybe tonight we can order pizza and watch movies?”

you watched as mapi moved her hand around blindly until she found your face, gently patting you on the head. “good idea, querida.”

ingrid smiled down at you both before gently nudging mapi. “first we need to help you unpack and get settled, come on.”

you both groaned but slowly got up. ingrid quickly put on some music and the three of you got to work. you had to admit it was pretty fun.

by the time you were done, you really had made the place like your own. the spare bedroom was decorated perfectly to your liking and you had little knick-knacks strewn around the other rooms.

they left you alone when you’d reached for your bags and you were quiet as you tidied your clothes into the wardrobe. as you reached for the last piece of clothing, your mouth grew dry.

ingrid paused outside of your door, fist raised ready to knock when she heard your soft cry. she pushed the door open, rushing over to you. you cried into the old arsenal hoodie as she pulled you into her arms.

“why does she get to be happy?” you asked through your tears. “why does she get her happy ending? it’s not fair!”

“no, it’s not,” ingrid agreed, pressing a kiss to your hair. “it’s not fair, elskling. but you know what? that doesn’t matter. you are going to get better, you are going to be so so happy. and so loved. more than you already are. she didn’t deserve you and you didn’t deserve this. but you are not alone, we are going to be with you every step of the way, okay? you won’t have to deal with any of this on your own anymore, i promise.”

you sniffled, fiddling with the hoodie strings. “you mean it?”

ingrid nodded. “i do. you have us and we’re never letting you go.”

with careful hands, the norwegian gently pulled the hoodie from your grip and tossed it onto the floor. you stared at it sadly for a few seconds. it was for the better, and you knew that, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“vamos, chicas!” you heard mapi shout. “the pizza is here!”

ingrid stood and held her hand out to you. you took it gratefully, letting her pull you up. “thank you, ingrid. for everything.”

she shook her head. “you do not have to thank me for anything.”

“yes, i do.”

“no,” she said sternly. “now let’s go before maría eats all the food.”

“oye, i heard that!”

“good, you were supposed to!”

…would any of you be interested in me turning this into a series?

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #alexia putellas #lucy bronze #keira walsh #ingrid engen #mapi león

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 months

Text

GOOD THINGS TAKE TIME

A/N: can't believe i actually wrote this, but yaay!! i did it!!

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

SUMMARY: Harry has been in love with Y/N since forever. Unfortunately the plan he comes up with to win her over leads her to meet the man she eventually would get engaged to...

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

“This is literally the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it is brilliant!”

“Brilliantly stupid,” Niall retorts, staring at his best friend who is standing in front of the tiny mirror they managed to squeeze into their dorm room. Harry runs his fingers through his unruly curls, settling them in a messy, but organized way before grabbing his jacket and phone.

“Why would it be stupid? It will work out perfectly. These speed dating things never work, we will have a round with each other and I will prove that I’m the perfect guy for her! Easy!”

Niall can’t help but bark out a laugh from his bed.

“Yeah, that’s a cool fairytale, but have you thought of everything that could go wrong?”

“Nope, because nothing will go wrong. Don’t piss me off, I’m about to win over the girl I’ve been in love with my whole life. Why are you being so bitter?”

“I’m just… not sure this is the best way to do it,” Niall sighs.

“It’ll be fine. I have to go now. Wish me luck!”

And with that he is out of the small, cramped room.

Harry is quick to forget about Niall’s warning, in his mind, it’s the perfect plan. He begged Y/N to come to this speed dating event held on campus for a week before she finally agreed. He’s convinced there’ll be no one he should be worried about and he has thought about what it will be like when he will be sitting in front of her, how he will charm her and finally step over the lines of friendship and head towards something more.

It all played out well in his head.

He meets her by the café that’s the location of the event. She is already there, wearing a flowy dress with a denim jacket over, she is not too dolled up, but he can tell she spent quite some time in the bathroom probably before leaving.

She looks breathtaking.

“Hey there,” he smiles widely as he walks up to her. “Ready?”

“Not really,” she huffs out a short, nervous laugh.

“Come on, it will be fun!” he smirks, opening the door for her, catching the scent of her sweet perfume as she walks past him.

They come here often between lectures, now the tables are lined up straight, two chairs by each of them with notebooks and pens waiting to be used during the speedy rounds. There are a handful of people lingering around already and soon enough the place fills up and the event starts. Harry and Y/N end up sitting a couple of tables away from each other, so it will take about five rounds for them to meet. The host of the event explains how it works: every round is ten minutes long, either people get five minutes to tell the person across from them about themselves. At the end of a round they can exchange numbers and carry on with the event or they can decide to step out of the line and carry their conversation on.

Harry is confident as he waits for it to start, while Y/N seems nervous as she examines the men sitting in front of the line of women. The bell that signals the start and end of the rounds rings and everyone focuses on the person sitting across the table.

One round, two rounds, three rounds go by, Harry tries his best to focus on the girls he talks to, but he is just too excited to finally get to Y/N. She is now just one table away from him, only one more girl before he finally gets to take the chair in front of her.

The round ends and it’s time to move to the next table. Harry is collecting his notebook and pen when he sees two figures stand up from the corner of his eyes. He turns to his right and sees Y/N standing up from her table along with the guy she just talked to in the last round.

Harry’s stomach drops and his jaw hangs open for a moment as he watches the two of them move to a table on the side, she is laughing and the guy touches her arm as they exclude themselves from the rest of the daters.

Harry is frozen, panic settles in the pit of his stomach, then someone nudges him to move and he is forced to carry on while the table she was sitting at before is now awfully empty.

He was not expecting this. This was not part of his plan, he was supposed to be the one to sweep her off her feet, not some random guy. He forces himself to carry on with the rounds, but he can barely focus, he keeps looking back at Y/N, but she seems quite happy to be talking to the guy.

It feels like forever until there are no more rounds and everyone is free to chat with whoever caught their eyes. Harry is tempted to go over to Y/N, make the guy leave and claim her to be his. But all he can do is just watch as the girl he’s been in love with forever falls for someone else.

It’s his personal hell.

Hours go by and they are still talking, but Harry can’t watch it any longer. He sends her a text saying he’s gone back to the dorm and to text him when she is home as well. When he walks into his room Niall is about to ask how it went, but just one look on his face is enough to figure out the plan did not work.

He lies in bed wide awake for hours and then her text finally arrives.

Y/N: Back in the dorm :) thanks for asking me to come, it was awesome! I’ll tell you about Oscar tomorrow Xx

Oscar. Harry didn’t want to know who she chose over him, but now he had a name and even though he knew nothing about him, he hated the guy.

With a heavy heart he drops the phone to his night stand and stares at the wall until the Sun rises.

Harry has read over the menu at least five times by the time Y/N walks into the restaurant finally. It hasn’t been that long since the last time he saw her, he can still feel that stinging feeling in his chest every time he sees her he’s felt in the past years.

“Sorry, finding a parking spot was impossible,” she huffs as she reaches the table, he stands and they share a short, but tight hug.

“It’s fine,” he smiles.

“Have you ordered?” she asks, grabbing the menu Harry’s been staring at the last ten minutes.

“No, not yet.”

He watches her read through the menu, though they both know she will order the same thing she always gets, no matter where they eat. The waitress comes and takes their order and when she’s gone they are finally focusing on each other.

Meeting up has been harder since they finished college two years ago, even though they live in the same city. Harry has been working at a label the past year and Y/N secured a great position at a firm after graduation, so they both have been quite busy.

Especially Y/N, because her and Oscar moved in together after school was over. They’ve been dating for almost two years then, so it was a logical move, but it didn’t make it easier on Harry, who’s been silently suffering since that stupid speed dating event he will forever regret asking Y/N to go to, because her and Oscar have been together for almost four years now, happier than ever, twisting the knife in his chest every time he has to see her being happy with someone else.

“Ah, it’s been such a crazy week,” she sighs, leaning back in her seat.

“Want to rant about it?” Harry smiles at her softly.

“Well…” Her lips curl upwards as she takes a deep breath before peeking up at him. “It’s not really something I want to rant about, because… It’s quite good news.”

Harry is just about to ask her to elaborate when she holds up her hand in front of him and it takes him a couple of seconds to put the picture together. But when it finally sinks in, he almost throws up.

There’s a shiny diamond ring sitting on her ring finger and the cheesiest smile is stretched across her face behind it. She wiggles her fingers as Harry’s lips part while he silently fights for his life to hold his not too uplifting feelings and thoughts bottled up. He succeeds, because she doesn’t realize just how much he is struggling.

“It happened last weekend, I wanted to tell you right away, but I also wanted to tell you in person,” she enthuses, turning her hand so the ring is now facing her, the beaming smile should make Harry happy, but he can taste the awful bitterness again he’s been swallowing back for so long.

She goes on to tell him every detail about the proposal, how romantic it was, from what Harry hears it was just how she imagined, but he is still frozen in shock, his eyes glued to the diamond on her finger.

“So, now I’m a bride!” She finishes her speech, but as she looks at Harry her face falls. “Oh my God, I’m such an asshole!” She covers mouth and Harry’s stomach drops, thinking that his expression gave him away. “I’m telling you about my engagement when you are probably still not over the whole Wren thing.”

Wren? He almost asks her who Wren is, but he realizes that she is talking about the last girl he dated. Things ended a few weeks ago, but he already forgot about it, because it was the same as before. He couldn’t bear being with someone who wasn’t Y/N.

“Ah, no, no…” he manages to speak up finally, gulping harshly. “It’s fine. And… congrats!” The smile on his face would probably not fool her, but she is too lost in her pink clouds.

“Thank you! And there is one more thing. It will sound stupid,” she giggles, before continuing, “I don’t really have any girl best friends, I’ll have just a few bridesmaids, but… I want you to be my maid of honor?”

Harry is staring back at her with parted lips, her words playing in his mind on repeat.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but Harry, you are my best friend and I want you there, by my side. So, what do you say?”

Blinking, he fights the part of him that wants to stand up and walk away. Because she is asking him to watch her marry someone from the front line, to assist her on her big day when he has imagined himself being the man she would one day walk down the aisle to. But now this image will be different and ruined forever, because she is marrying someone else.

For a moment he is back at the speed dating event. He thinks about how he should have just told her how he felt instead of that ridiculous plan that brought her together with Oscar. Maybe she would have rejected him, but at least he could say that he tried. Now he has to put up with the pain of his heart breaking over and over again, all because he couldn’t man up and tell her he’d been in love with her.

Exhaling slowly he licks his lips before nodding his head.

“Yeah. Sure. I’m happy to… I’m happy for you. I’ll be there for you.”

Harry had nothing against weddings. Up until it was the wedding of the woman he loved and he wasn’t the groom.

As Y/N’s man of honor he couldn’t exclude himself from the planning process. Choosing decoration, cake tasting…. dress shopping… he suffered through it all while he had to come to terms with his unpleasant fate.

Now it’s the night before the big day. The wedding is held in a botanical garden, there’s a small hotel connected to it, that’s where the guests are staying. It’s the perfect venue for the perfect wedding.

Y/N is in her suit with her bridesmaids while Harry is in his own room. His suit is hanging on the door of the closet next to his bed, haunting him about what he will have to witness tomorrow with a smile on his face. He already thought of ways to get himself out of it, but he knows there’s no excuse good enough to miss Y/N’s wedding.

His phone chimes on the nightstand with a text and when he looks at the screen Y/N’s name appears in the notification bar.

Y/N: come overrrr maid of honor!!

Then another text follows.

Y/N: we have champagne and I need my best friend here!!!

His thumbs linger over the keyboard, trying to come up with a reply, but then she keeps texting him, begging him to go over and he breaks. With a groan he puts on a hoodie and grabbing his keycard he heads down the hall to her suit.

What welcomes him there is exactly what he was expecting. It’s like a sleepover, the bridesmaids are drinking and dancing around, Y/N is wearing a cheap veil on her head that’s attached to a tiara, wearing matching PJ’s with the rest of the girls.

“Harry!” she beams when he is pulled into the suit by two girls, right into the middle of their little party.

Y/N runs across the room and hugs him, she almost loses her balance, but he catches and steadies her with an arm around her waist.

“How much champagne have you had?” he breathes out a short chuckle.

“Just a little,” she giggles. “Hey, I want to talk to you about something, come on.”

She takes his hand and pulls her into the bedroom, closing the door to have some privacy from the laughter and music outside. Her wedding dress is laid out on an armchair in the corner of the room, an open, pink suitcase by the bed, clothes flowing out of it. Her presence is all over the room and he wishes he could see these traces in his own home too.

He sits on the edge of the bed and watches her grab a lip balm from her bag. She applies it and then keeps it in her hands, playing, fidgeting with it.

“You seem worried,” he voices his thoughts.

“No, I’m…” She sighs, looking up at him. “It’s natural, right?”

“What is?”

“That… I’m scared.”

“Of marrying him?”

“No, just generally. It’s a big step,” she shrugs. “I always dreamed of my wedding and now it’s all happening, I’m just… I don’t know, I’ve been thinking a lot, but it’s all part of the ride, right?”

She is trying her best to sound calm and collected, but Harry knows her better than anyone and can see through the mask. He knows she is having doubts and though these thoughts could be normal, Y/N is never one to doubt her decisions, so her current fears are definitely raising his concerns.

And his hopes as well.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Y/N just shrugs. “Did Oscar do something to make you question it all?”

“No,” she chuckles, but it’s more bitter than genuine. “He is amazing, really.”

The stinging feeling returns in Harry’s chest, but he just keeps listening to her.

“I just… I don’t know, sometimes I question if we were meant to be. It’s all been so easy and convenient and maybe it’s just all the books and movies, but I imagined… more.”

It’s like the tiniest light is now forcing its way through the dark, thick walls Harry has built up around him, a glimmer of hope that maybe he still has a chance to make it right, that he hasn’t missed his chance.

“Don’t marry him then,” he says, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What?” she chuckles.

“If you’re not sure, then don’t marry him.”

“Harry, I won’t call the wedding off. I love him.”

She turns away, but not before he could catch the look of doubt in her eyes, crystal clear, telling him this is the moment he missed all those years ago.

He stands up from the bed and there’s a second when he almost changes his mind, but he has to do it or he might lose his mind forever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

She stills, her back facing him.

“I love you too Harry,” she says. “You’re my best friend.”

“But I’m in love with you.”

She doesn’t answer for so long he starts to think she didn’t even hear him, but then she slowly turns around with an unreadable look on her face and he decides to continue.

“I’ve… been in love with you for so long, I don’t even remember what it’s like not to love you. I know it’s not ideal to tell you this right now, but I feel like if you’re questioning whether you should marry Oscar or not, it might… that maybe you’re…”

She’s still silent, just staring back at him, not giving away any emotion or thought.

“Y/N, you can still call it off. I-I will be by your side and if you want to try and—”

“Stop.”

“I know it’s scary, but I love you and I would do anything–”

“Harry, stop!” she raises her voice and it finally gets him to stop talking. Clenching his jaw he takes a step backwards.

Y/N exhales shakily, Harry is still unsure what she is thinking and the words are begging to keep bubbling from his mouth now that he started talking, but he swallows them down. Shaking her head she takes a step closer to him.

“You… Harry, I…” She is trying to find the words and Harry starts talking again, but he is cut off rather fast.

“I swear we–”

“You have the nerve to pour all of this onto me on the night before my wedding? Right after I tell you about my deepest fear?”

Now it’s clear to him. She is mad, her eyes are throwing flames, but he’s confused, this is not what he was expecting.

“Y/N, I just–”

“You just thought that choosing this vulnerable moment was the perfect timing to tell me you’ve been in love with me all this time?! What were you expecting, huh? That I would throw myself into your arms giggling and confess my love? Call my wedding off?”

“I-I’m… I don’t…”

“I can’t believe you! Get the hell out of here!” Turning around she wraps her arms around herself, breathing heavily. Harry reaches out and touches her shoulder, but she jerks away instantly. “Get out!” she screams. “And don’t even think about showing up tomorrow!”

Harry is in shock, denial, completely destroyed as he stares at the back of her head. He wants to beg for her to forgive him, to forget everything he said. He would rather suffer by her side than lose her, but he knows he has no choice now.

He walks over to the door, looks back one more time, but she is still turned away, her body shaking. He opens the door, the music floods into the room from outside and he walks out without a word.

He returns to his room, packs all of his stuff and under the shining stars, he drives away, barely seeing the road through his tears.

Anne’s backyard looks magical this time of the year. The blooming flowers, the bright green grass, it’s a beautiful scenery and Harry would love to bask in it normally, but now he is just blankly staring ahead of him.

It’s been a week since he confessed his love for Y/N at the worst possible moment and lost her forever. He has no idea who ended up being her maid of honor after his departure, he turned his phone off and hasn’t turned it on since. He would rather claw his eyes out than see all the wedding content from their mutual friends. He’s been hiding at his mum’s since then.

“Tea?” Anne’s chirpy voice asks from the sliding doors.

“No thank you,” he answers. Anne sighs and he hears her footsteps, but he doesn’t look her way.

“You know you can’t hide here forever, right?”

“If you want me out of here just tell me that.”

“You know I love having you here as long as you want, but you’ll have to face reality at one point.”

“I’m hiding for a bit more, thanks.”

Anne sighs again and Harry hopes she would just let him be, but also knows she likes to say what’s on her mind.

“You know she was mad at the timing and not your feelings, right?”

“Mum…”

“Y/N loves you, romantically or not, she loves you. She might have to get over how you chose the worst possible moment to tell her you love her, but she will come around. And when it happens, you better not still be a mess.”

The sliding doors close behind her and he is left alone with his thoughts again. He hates how right she is, but it still hurts.

Groaning he marches up to his room and digs his phone out from the depth of his suitcase. Turning it on the notifications start flooding in, texts, emails, voicemails, he is skipping most of them until his eyes catch one particular thing. Then another and he slowly starts to put the picture together and he fears he is about to have a heart attack.

The wedding never happened. Y/N didn’t marry Oscar.

He drops his phone as if it was on fire and starts packing right away. He needs to get to the bottom of this, he needs to know if it was because of his confession. Even if she screams and cusses him out, he needs to find answers. What’s the worst that could happen? He is already on the floor, there’s only up from here.

How is it that no one knows where she is?

Harry has been trying to track her down since he arrived back from the UK, going from one friend to the other, but no one knows where she’s been hiding since the catastrophic almost-wedding. Everyone is saying the same thing? she packed her stuff from the place she’d been sharing with Oscar, left and no one has seen her since. She just sent a few texts to her parents to let them know she’s alright, but that’s all.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath as he heads back to his home, completely lost about where she could be.

He is trying to come up with other ideas as he is climbing the stairs up to his apartment. He slides the key into the lock, too deep in his thoughts to realize that it’s unlocked at first, but when he does, he freezes, then practically runs inside.

He spots the familiar pink suitcase first, then hears the footsteps and a few moments later Y/N appears down the hallway.

He is trying to find the right words, but nothing comes out his mouth as he is slowly walking closer to her.

“I still had your spare keys,” she says quietly. The anger he last saw from her is now gone, she looks so small and broken and all he wants to do is wrap her in his arms and never let her go. But he knows they need to talk first.

“Have you been here all along?”

“Yeah. I promise I didn’t read your diary.” She cracked a joke, but her weak laugh doesn’t fool him.

“It’s fine. How… How are you? I know you didn’t…”

“I didn’t marry Oscar? Yeah. And I feel like shit.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you then, I was an idiot, you were right. I chose the worst moment, used your vulnerability and tried to use it to my advantage. I am so sorry.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Of course I regret. My timing was incredibly awful and disrespectfu–”

“No, not the timing. That you… That you told me.”

He clenches his jaw, thinking of what to say, but he decides he needs to be honest with her and with himself as well.

“I don’t regret telling you. I’ve been keeping it a secret for a very long time and it needed to be said. I’m not expecting you to forgive me, let alone… consider giving me a chance, but I just want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Was there any other moment when you wanted to tell me before?”

“The speed dating event,” he answers right away. “I had this ridiculous plan that you would find me the best match and I would… finally tell you how I’d been feeling. But then…”

“Oscar,” she breathes out.

“Yeah, Oscar happened,” he smiles bitterly.

She closes her eyes and he wishes he could read her mind, but he is just waiting patiently for her to process everything. Then she looks at him and finally starts talking.

“I thought you wanted to go there to pick up someone. I didn’t want to go, because I didn’t want to see you flirt with other girls.”

“What?” he whispers.

“I told myself I needed to get myself over you, because you’d never want me. Oscar was nice and funny, but… deep down I always kept comparing him to you. I hated myself for that, because he was so amazing, so caring and loving, but… not you.”

Tears start rolling down her cheeks and he can feel his throat closing up as well.

“I was so mad at you that night. You let me… go through with all that just to tell me you’ve always loved me the night before my wedding. I was angry and I felt like I was played with.”

“That was never my intention.”

“I know,” she nods. “When I calmed down I knew I couldn’t get married to Oscar. I went over to your room in the morning, but it was empty. I wanted to go after you, but I also needed some time to think.”

“And… where are you standing right now?” he asks as he walks over to her, but he’s still not touching her, giving her the chance to move back.

She never does.

“Do you still love me?”

“Y/N, I will never stop loving you.”

“Okay, good,” she breathes out. “Because love you too and if you–”

She doesn’t get to finish, he grabs her and kisses her like he should have all these years ago, like he wants to erase all the bad, the almost-wedding, the suffering, the miscommunication, nothing matters now that they finally met each other at the right time and place.

“Isn’t it funny?” she breathes out against his lips.

“What is?”

“That you wanted to tell me you love me at a speed dating event, but it took you the longest fucking time to actually confess. It was anything, but speedy.”

He can’t help but laugh, because she is right, it’s comical.

“Don’t they say good things take time?”

“Mhm, sure,” she grins, pulling him down for another kiss.

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sweet-as-an-angel · 10 months

Text

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it.

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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uzurimisery · 5 months

Text

chapter 4: the bluff. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, rough sex, he's still insane and possessive, PIV, unprotected sex (this guy is never wearing a condom ever), angry sex, he's not a good guy but he's hot, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

You slammed the dressing room door shut. “What the hell was that , Coriolanus?” pacing the length of the room, anger seeping out of you. “Did you forget what we were supposed to do? We were supposed to play it off, say we were too young. That was not playing it off! That was proposing!”

In your rage, you stumbled in your heels. He watched you curse under your breath, undoing the strap on them and throwing them across the room. Coriolanus didn’t move, cemented in his spot just past the door.

“Listen to me Y/N,” his tone was stern, like a parent scolding a child. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you did!” you interrupted your voice tinged with sarcasm. “You always do whatever you want, don’t you? Here, the gala, the dinner. Always regardless of the consequences!”

Your words were sharp, digging in the fact that whatever was going on between you two there was meant to be a unified front, a single storyline. You were meant to be partners in the power play, both of you using each other to further your positions. All the work that went into constructing the next five years of the act was undone in an instant.

“I thought we were on the same page, Coriolanus. There was a plan for what we were going to do, but you just fucked it up!” He was always hypercritical of himself, internal monologue pointing out his every mistake, but you doing the same set him off.

“Can you shut up for five seconds! Or are you so self-obsessed that you can't let anyone else get a word in.”

“How dare you try and talk to me about being self-obsessed you narcissistic, unthoughtful-”

“There you go! Proving my point. You can’t even get off your high horse for a minute so I can explain why I did that.”

“You want to explain? Fine then, explain.” you spat.

Coriolanus’ jaw clenched. You were so hot and cold with him. He could never gauge what you really wanted in all of this, and you would never just tell him either.

“I saw an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“To play the part, to make the story so much better. Picture it, Coriolanus Snow, a man who has always been so organised and timely there are articles on how to put your life together like him, rushing into something. He’s so in love with his mentor’s daughter that he proposes to her on stage in front of all of Panem, and he doesn’t even have a ring on him because at that moment he realises that he can’t live without her.”

Your eyebrows were drawn, scanning over his face like you were looking for a fault in what he said, as you dissected it. There was nothing wrong with it though. The show was exactly how he described it. It painted him as a kind and caring man, beyond his known abilities at game making.

“You should have told me ahead of time.”

“I didn’t have a chance. I thought of it while getting ready.” he was lying, and you could tell. Seeing through lies was your speciality. He hadn’t thought about it while getting ready.

You called him on his bluff. “Bullshit. You didn’t have any plan, that was all impulse.�� you were digging your finger into his chest to make your point. “You could have ruined everything we’ve been working on, made the past year pointless. What if I hadn’t followed along? What if I lost my composure for your little outburst? It’s not just your future on the line here Coriolanus. I’m leaving.”

Your shoulder bumped into his as you moved to walk out of the room, but his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you back and lifting you off the ground.

“Y/N,” he started.

“Let me go!”

“You don’t get to walk away from me. You need to listen to me.”

“I’m done listening to you, put me down!”

“Well, I’m not done talking!” Coriolanus pushed your back against the wall, pinning you in place.

Why couldn’t you just listen to him like you normally did? Why were you so upset with him? What he did was off-script but it still looked good, and it still achieved your shared goals. You didn’t get to walk away from him when he was right.

You slapped him, still able to move your arms. “I told you to let me go.” He tasted blood in his mouth. When he smiled at you, you felt your blood run cold.

“Are you done?” His teeth had traces of blood on them.

You weren’t about to be intimidated by him. You didn’t cower or beg anyone, and that included Coriolanus Snow. “Let. Me. Go.” your demands fell on deaf ears.

His smile only widened, eyes glistening with a sinister light. You thought he’d be furious with you, and hated that you were out of control, but it seemed more like he enjoyed it. That he liked it when you fought back.

“I told you Y/N, I’m not done talking.”

You moved to slap him again but were met with your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head, utterly defenceless for whatever happened next. The expectation for him to strike you back weighing in the air. But he didn’t. Instead, his lips met yours, forcing your mouth open and letting his tongue in. You tried to fight back but he bit down on your lip and stopped you. His tongue only became more insistent. Copper on both your tongues.

You didn’t hate it. You were still mad at him, obviously, but the sexual tension that always between the two of you beckoned, its tendrils wrapping around you. Who said some angry sex wasn’t the solution to your being mad at him?

Your teeth clacked against each other as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his midsection. Coriolanus’ free hand moved to support you. Standing like this he was able to grind his hips against yours, the friction delicious. The kiss was messy, both of you trying to prove something to the other with it.

When you pulled apart for air you spoke. “Let me go.” His breath was laboured, just as yours was, the rough makeout session leaving the both of you breathless.

“Not a chance, sweet girl.”

His grip on your wrists loosened, letting you slip free to pull at his hair, connecting your mouths once again. Your moans mixed with his own, body rolling to press your clothed pussy over his erection. Even though he had picked you up a multitude of times, it was always surprising how strong he actually was. His slim build did not give away how strong he actually was.

Everything between you was primal, driven by lust and anger.

Coriolanus brought you over to the couch, dropping you on your back. He liked you best like this, on your back and needy. Your high horse forgotten, and the only thing you rode him. The both of you took care to remove your clothes carefully, neither wanting to deal with a lecture from Tigris as well as knowing you had a dinner to attend in them after this. But that was where the caution ended.

The moment you were naked he had his fingers stretching you open with his thumb toying at your clit. His mouth was all over your skin, biting your breasts, adding to the marks already covering you. He was so rough with you and made you feel so small. But god did he know exactly what to do to you.

Your moans were sharp as he brought you to an orgasm. Everything you did drove him up a wall. Every time he thought he could move past it, ignoring the feeling, your pussy sucked him back in. It was your fault he made a mistake, that he lost his composure, that he went off script. He wanted access to your warmth whenever he wanted.

No matter how much he consumed you, he was still hungry, the type of hunger he hadn’t felt since the war. The one with claws that tore at his insides, teeth grinding into his bones. A bottomless pit that could never be filled. It clouded his mind with thoughts of you, your breasts and hips, the pout of your lips. He could almost always feel the sensation of you against him, biting into your soft flesh. It made him emotionally volatile, willing to risk everything for just a crumb. But every time he got a bite it filled him with dread.

Your perfume, boozy and peachy, a reminder that the only thing that would ever fill this hole was you. That when he was on the brink of death, starving and empty, it was you who would nourish him. Your being the very source of all his problems and all his solutions at the same time. A double-edged sword driving into his heart with every step he took towards you.

“See? Look how good you have it when you just behave.” you weren’t out of it yet, still able to spite back in vitriol.

“Fuck you.”

“Already have.” Coriolanus flipped you on your front, positioning you on your knees with your chest pressed against the couch.

Like this, he got to spread you open, look at what your body could offer him. Why did you have to be you? Why did you have to rival his mind and have such a perfect body? It ruined everything.

His fingers pressed back into you. He could watch you drip down them for hours, whiny and whimpering from his actions. Begging him to fuck you. No matter how you tried to act like you weren’t. You were just like him. Hungry and waiting.

Coriolanus lined up his cock with your entrance. Instead of easing into you, he thrust in fully, jolting your body forward. He wanted it to hurt, to make you feel sorry for blowing up at him. To show you that no matter how you acted out he could fuck you back into place.

He fucked you hard and fast, pulling your head back by your hair. It forced you up and to put your hands on the back of the couch. Your back arched, your shoulders almost against his chest. His other hand pinched at your nipples and tugged at them. It hurt, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Moving his hand out of your hair, his fingers hooked into the side of your mouth. “Your mouth can be used for better things than being disrespectful.” your drool pooled around them, dribbling out the side of your mouth as you spoke.

“I’m gonna cum.” your speech altered from his fingers.

“I don’t care.” he did care, but he couldn’t let you know that, not right now. The biggest ego death to him would be if he was unable to make you cum. It fed his ego every time you clenched down around him, pussy fluttering from your orgasm. He didn’t slow down or let up, fully intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The air between you was hot and heavy, thick with the smell of sex. With his hands free, your waist became his new hold stone. Coriolanus didn’t even have to pull your hips to meet his, you were doing that for him, bucking backwards in time. Each trust had you panting little praises for him.

He wanted to see your face. You felt him pull out of you and then sit down on the couch next to you. “Ride me.”

You shifted, placing your knees on either side of him as you sunk down on his length. When you got to the base, you took a moment to recollect yourself, head tucked into the crook of his neck. Coriolanus’ lips found the crown of your head before he even recognised what he was doing. It was odd. This intimate act in the midst of all of this. He wanted to show you that he cared, that he wasn’t mad at you anymore. Why wasn’t he mad at you anymore? He was the type to let his anger fester, angry with infection. He waited until the moment was right and then he spread his sickness, cutting down whoever upset him. You were more useful than being cut down; however, he felt strongly towards you. The one thing he wouldn’t do is name those feelings.

The drag of your hips cut off his line of thought. He watched as you rode him, your thighs shaky but not letting it stop you. When you pulled your head out to kiss him he met you, enjoying the feeling of your lips against his. Hair and makeup would have a hay day with the two of you but the way you went all the way up, his tip the only thing inside you, to then your ass flush with his thighs made their annoyance worth it. Wanting to feel you cum around him again, his thumb began circling your clit, working you up to another orgasm.

“I’m close.”

“I know.”

Your hips slowed as you came, exhausted from riding him. But Coriolanus wasn’t done. His hand wrapped around your waist, moving you to an elevated position with his dick still inside you, and he began thrusting up into you. “Hold yourself just like that sweet girl.” You did as he told you, your head lulling to the front pressing your forehead against his. With a few final thrusts, he came inside you. You were winded, your eyes closed as he guided your bodies apart and grabbed a disposal west wipe to clean the both of you up. Finally, with that done, he could lay down and settle you on top of him, both of you naked and sweaty.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just listening to each other breathe, your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” apologises always felt like he was trying to speak a foreign language, his tongue struggling to make the sounds. “I shouldn’t have acted impulsively.”

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown up on you.” his fingers traced your hairline as you lay on top of him, still reeling from the sex. “I just don’t like when things don’t go to plan, and they’ve not been going to plan between us.”

He couldn’t argue against that. Everything was so fuzzy between you. He didn’t know what you were feeling, but his feelings were you weren’t something he could ignore. When he said that he couldn’t picture his life without you it was true. He thought that speaking it out to the world would alleviate the pressure, and make it something he could keep inside himself, but he didn’t. He needed you to know that it meant it.

“Would it be so bad, marrying me?”

You picked your head up. “No,” you sighed. “It wouldn’t be.” He watched you find your original position, ear over his heart.

“We could be allies.” his heart pounded as you traced patterns on his skin. “You’re the first person I’ve met I’d consider that with. I could make you the First Lady of Panem.”

Being the First Lady was an appealing idea. You’d be able to do so much more in that position. It was a core belief of yours that the games were only the first step in binding the loyalty of the country, to furthering the control over the populace. Aid programs needed to be doled out in the Districts. People who were content were less likely to look behind the curtain and see what was really happening.

“What happens when you fall in love with someone? Would we divorce and I’d lose everything, both the games and my position?” there was uncertainty in your voice.

There could never be someone after you. You were it for him. Sure he could find a docile wife and marry her, leave her be and just have kids with her. But she could never truly know him. But you could, and you were learning the true him. And you wouldn’t make him separate his work and home life, you’d dive into it with him, lethal and cunning.

“That won’t happen,” he was blunt with his statement. “You’re the only one I could do this with.”

It felt like the weight was finally lifting off him some. The pressure that had been building and threatening to blow, to whistle like a kettle. As much as he had intended for your relationship to be a temporary political alliance, he wanted it to be permanent. He didn’t trust people, but he was growing to trust you, knowing that your goals were ultimately the same.

“But what if it does?” He had never seen you so worried about his feelings, genuine concern. “Or what if I fall in love with someone else?”

“Y/N,” his thumb brushed your lips, making you face him again. “I promise you that is never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

With a final look of determination, kissed you, his lips bruising against your own. He was hoping that it conveyed that he meant it with all his heart. He was never going to fall in love with someone else, the home you made in his heart was always going to be yours. The decor exactly how you left it if you ever walked away, waiting for you to come back. You’d never get the chance to walk away but that was the sentiment, that he could forgive you for leaving him if he took you back and you stayed with him. A dove with a broken wing was still a dove. It might not be able to soar in the slides, free from the gravity of the world, but it was still a dove. Even if he broke you and locked you up, you’d still be you.

He could never love another, not when he loved you. Coriolanus loved you. The realisation shook him, a tempestuous collision of the man he was and the man he wanted to be. The crack formed by Lucy Gray was broken open once again by you. He had convinced himself that love was a weakness, that it was something to be exploited. Over the past year of getting to know you, getting to be with you, you had challenged his core beliefs, forcing him to confront the fact that he loved you.

It was hard admitting it to himself. Just hours earlier he had told Tigris off for even suggesting the idea of it, vehemently denying it. He didn’t want to love you then, terrified at the idea of you finding out and leaving. But you had said it wouldn’t be so bad to be married to him, that you’d be willing to be allies for the rest of your life. The truth was there though, written into every interaction he had with you. The glaring reality that he could no longer ignore, lingered in his eyes like a burned-in image.

It was terrifying, the exact opposite of the control he wanted to have over those around him, to have you control his heart. The practised emotional detachment he had led his life with failed in his darkest hour. The fear that you’d be just like Lucy Gray and run. It didn’t matter that you both worked on the games, that he had seen you develop new ways to punish the Capitol’s enemies, that you had just as much darkness within you as he did. That you were as ruthless as he was. The betrayal he had once experienced at the hands of a District dog had him petrified of it happening again.

Could he erase your existence like he did hers if something happened? The thought was both horrifying and tempting. He didn’t want it to come to that, to erase you, to discard you like a broken toy. You were better than Lucy Gray, you wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t let you. But he couldn’t come to you with this, not yet. Coriolanus Snow needed you to break down and beg him to tell him that he loved you. When he could see you, lost in your feelings for him, then he could tell you. Not before, not after. But at the moment when you are in desperate need of him, he could tell you. Only then could he believe that you loved him too.

______________________________________

Things have been busy since then and luckily you have been able to avoid conversation with your mother too. Coriolanus and you had no time to talk about your game plan and what would've happened next as the games started. Every day you were at the Citadel, ensuring things ran smoothly. He was there too, doing his own work, but the amount you had to do kept you from each other. It wasn’t until after the games ended that the two of you got a moment alone. Of course, you had been to several events together but you couldn't talk about things there. So when the last person left the production room, you were finally alone with him.

“Did you mean what you said that night on the balcony, that it was hard pretending that you loved me?”

The two of you were in his private lab. You were sitting on the edge of his desk instead of a chair, something he noticed you liked to do. After the cameras had been turned off you had taken your hair down from the pinned updo made of a braid, letting the braid hang loose. The heels you were wearing off your feet and lost in the room. Coriolianus’ head was in your lap as your fingers brushed through his hair. The slight stubble he’d grown over the last two days catching on your tights.

His voice was muffled by your thigh. “No.”

“No you didn't mean it or no it isn’t hard pretending that you love me?” Your fingers were putting him to sleep. It had been so long since he had been touched like this. He only had one strong memory of his mother. They had been sitting before the fire, her belly full with his younger sister, her finger running through his, much like your own, singing a song he couldn’t remember now, the melody lost with time.

“No,” he finally replied, groggy. “It’s not hard pretending that I love you”

There was a flicker of hope within you when he first confessed to you that night on the balcony. You had convinced yourself that he was being vulnerable with you then, letting you in. Was this him adding kindling to that fire or dousing it?

“Is it easy then?” Each word was laced with intrigue and tinged with trepidation. The question wormed itself into the conversation, hanging in the air like the hum of the machinery. He tensed under you like he had been unprepared for this conversation, a betrayal of how he normally was.

Coriolanus’ response was slow, deliberate and weighted, with every individual syllable chosen carefully. “No, it’s not easy either.” The threading of your fingers felt so good against his scalp, it was criminal. “It’s neither easy nor hard, it’s necessary.” He shrugged with that statement, drowsy from the long day and your actions.

It was strange seeing him like this, his head in your lap as he was half asleep. The Coriolanus you knew was a man of fronts, never betraying his persona of unwavering composure and unyielding strength. He was smart and capable, bringing the Snow family back from the brink of destruction. But now there was no front present. He was relaxed and open, the tension in his shoulders finally released as he rested on your thighs. You could see every pore of skin, every hair out of place. There was a faint scar above his lip, so blended with his skin that you had never seen it before. It had access to the same medical and cosmetic treatments as you did meaning that he had left this one there on purpose. A reminder of something that had happened to him.

You chewed on his words as you watched him. It was neither easy nor hard pretending that he loved you, it was necessary. It was a non-answer, a refusal to tell you his feelings on the matter, that itself a revealing statement. He was used to his words working on others, his honied lips spinning the sweetest lies. But you had watched him, seen him change over the years. Coriolanus was a man burdened with his own demons that sat at the table with him. There was an understanding in that. You had your own demons that sat in the corner of your room every night, watching you sleep and whispering dangerous things. Neither of you were innocent good-hearted people, both of you violent and deadly.

But his cracks were showing, and that night under the stars with too much to drink, he had let you see just how much they were cracking. You were willing to pick up the pieces and help him put them back together. Your own feelings were the same as his, you were just better at hiding it.

“My father wants us to have an engagement party.”

“When?”

“In two weeks at my family estate,” knowing your father, it was going to be a spectacle. He doted on you. “But he wants to have a private dinner before that, just your family and mine.” His only family was Grandma’am and Tigris. If you wanted to, you could count the Plinths as family, even though he hated the thought of having any relationship with them.

“That’s fine. I’m sure Grandma’am will be excited, she’s been pestering me about marrying you while she’s still alive to see it.”

“She wants you to marry me?”

He murmured some form of agreement, still out of it. “She says you make me smile like I haven’t since I was a boy. It’s annoying actually, she keeps demanding that I bring you around for lunch.” This was news. Your interactions with Grandma’am had always been under the pretence of public events, you never thought much of them, but apparently she had. More than that, she thought more of your effect on her grandson.

“You should be kinder to her, you don’t know how long she’s got left.”

Coriolanus’ head lifted from your lap, rubbing his eyes as he propped his head up on a hand. “I know,” it wasn’t nice to have to think about the fact his Grandma’am was up there in age, that she maybe had another 15 years left. If that. “I’ll tell her we’ll do lunch then.”

Your smile was irresistible. “Good. The least you can do for her is let her think that you’ve found someone you genuinely love, and who loves you just as much. She’ll never know that it's just an act either. It’ll let her rest easy knowing you’re taken care of.”

His heart sank, and his stomach dropped out and onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s a good act too.”

______________________________________

Coriolanus paced in the foyer, stopping every so often his fingers fidgeting with the knot of his tie, loosening and tightening it. His outfit was simple and smart today. His father's button-up with a red tie, a grey pinstripe waistcoat and matching trousers. The black leather of his oxfords had been polished earlier in the morning. He felt antsy, just wanting to get this luncheon over with. He shouldn’t have told you that Grandma’am wanted this, he must have been out of his mind when he did.

“Coriolanus my boy,” Grandma’am had snuck up behind him, making him jump as she put her hands on his shoulders. “You look as handsome as always, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

His smile was weak in the mirror, not reaching his eyes. “Thank you Grandma’am.” She fiddled with the shoulder of his shirt, lining it up properly as it had been moved from his walking around.

“You must really love her if it’s got you like this.”

“I do.” The words were heavy. This was the first time he had acknowledged his feelings for you to another person. The vulnerability threatened to consume him.

“I’m glad,” her eyes became teary as she spoke. “Your mother loved your father so much. I remember their wedding day. She was so nervous, running around like a rabbit. You remind me of her sometimes.” she threw her hands up like the statement was outlandish. “But of course, you’re more like your father than anything else. Strong Coriolanus Snow.”

They rarely talked about his parents, or Tigris’ parents, like this. It was easier for them all to let the dead stay dead. A bittersweet ache spread through him.

“I’m glad.” He reached out and took Grandma's hand, offering her some comfort. Talking about her dead children always set her off. They stood in silence for a beat, hand in hand, each processing their own feelings before he shattered the quiet.

“It’s easier to let the dead stay dead.”

Grandma’am nodded, her handkerchief to her eye to clean up the tears she had spilt. “Sometimes,” she acknowledges, “the past is too painful to revisit. But it’s important to remember Coriolanus. To remember the love, the laughter, the life that was lived. To honour those who came before you.”

But he didn’t want to remember the past. The past made everything worse.

The ring of the elevator cut the conversation short. You were here, and he was nervous. This was no different than a public event, you both knew the parts to play, but it was so different at the same time. You were in his family home, eating with him and his Grandma’am, and doing it purely because you thought she deserved to think someone loved him. Doing it because you cared for her. It was here that his history echoed, ghosts of the past hanging on every wall. Remnants of the boy he once was tucked away in boxes, now dusty with age.

As the elevator doors opened, revealing you standing there, those boxes came out of storage and were placed on the table for you to sort through.

“Oh! Miss Gaul! Please come in.” Grandma’am rushed towards you, excited to have you over.

“Grandma’am,” you chided, pulling her into a hug. She had shrunk in her old age and your heels didn’t help the equation, making you bend down to do so. “I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Y/N. Plus soon enough I’ll Mrs. Snow.”

“I know, I know, I just forget sometimes. Perhaps I should just call you Mrs. Snow!”

“Now I think that’s a wonderful idea!” You took a second to greet Coriolanus with a kiss and then went back to chatting with Grandma’am taking her hands in your own.

You were so delicate with her, it pained him to watch you be so kind to her. You nodded along diligently to whatever she said and were actively engaging in the conversation. He could tell that you weren’t pretending to care and that you actually wanted to speak with his grandmother. She was so animated with you like years had been removed from her. He had spent so long trying to protect her from all that had happened, and all that he had done. His actions had severed parts of their relationship, and with Tigris not living in the apartment anymore, she must have grown lonely. But you brought her back, the vibrant woman who could connect with the world.

Coriolanus sidled up to you, arm wrapping around your waist. “I hate to interrupt your conversation ladies, but I do believe Y/N came here for lunch.” It felt so right to have you like this.

“Yes, yes, Coriolanus,” Grandma’am started, “I’ll go make sure the cook has prepared everything. Why don't you show Y/N into the dining room.”

“Of course, Grandma’am.”

Alone, he nipped at your ear, his breath making your heart skip a beat. His hands were warm, one placed on your stomach the the other on your arm. You could smell the mint on his breath when he uttered a whisper in your ear, his voice low and husky. “You look stunning today.”

You were wearing all black today, something that went against the average Capitol woman. It was a high neck mini dress, stopping a few inches above your knee. The sleeves were long, longer than your hands and instead of normal holes, the fabric was spliced up to your elbow. Your heels were lower than they normally were from press events, no doubt more comfortable. The splash of colour came from your earrings. They were red, with a velvety coating on them, and shaped like rose petals separated and hung on a chain. You had remembered Grandma’am’s love of roses.

“It’s not for you, you know.” you took every opportunity to tease him. “But thank you.”

You had no idea what you did to him. “If it were for me it’d be on the floor by now.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing this is for Grandma’am and not you.” You patted his cheek. “Now are you going to show me to the dining room Coriolanus?” When you said his name you mirrored the way his Grandma’am said it.

A crooked grin rose on his face with a small laugh. “With pleasure, my dear,” he replied biting your ear again before leading you through the grand hallways of the apartment. His hand never left your back until you were sat down. You were on Coriolanus’ right, with his chair being at the head of the table.

The table was smaller than the average dining room table in the Capitol, unsurprising given the number of Snow family members there were left. It looked to seat about 10 people maximum. It was a dark-stained wood, a style that was popular in the prewar days. The walls were a pale blue, covered in a patterned wallpaper. The signature tile flooring of the apartment was carried into the dining room, laid in a geometric style with the table in the centre. It was all a testament to the family’s long history and enduring presence in the Capitol, a microcosm of the Capitol itself.

“Have you told her about the dinner?”

“No I haven’t had a chance yet-”

“What dinner?” Grandma’am sauntered into the room, waiting for Coriolanus to pull out her seat so she could sit. “The cook prepared quite a lunch today,” she listed out the menu after she sat down, Coriolanus returning to his own seat, arms resting on the table.

“That all sounds wonderful Grandma’am. Corio’s told me how wonderful your chef is.”

“Yes, I do agree. It took me ages to find one that I liked, so many of them are lacklustre these days.”

“Well I hope my family’s chef won't disappoint you then.” you grabbed his hand on the table. “My father wanted me to invite you to a family dinner on Friday evening. It’s just a small get-together to introduce everyone to each other properly. After all, we’ll be one family soon.

“Oh, that is a wonderful idea! I’ve always had such admiration for your father’s interior design work.” Grandma’am's voice faded out for Coriolanus as she spoke. Rambling about how your father had ‘brought back the elegance of the Capitol’ through his job. Coriolanus was focused on one thing.

You were wearing the ring. He had gone in between rings for what felt like a millennium till settling on a custom made. It was reminiscent of the one he remembered his mother wearing, covered in diamonds and made of gold. Your was made of platinum, far more durable than gold and less like the be damaged by your time in the labs and only plated in gold. The centre stone was large, 1.5 carats, an emerald cut diamond. The style of the ring was similar to an ornate mirror. There were 22 stones in total, each one glittering from the chandelier's light. He hadn't stopped with just the one ring either, he needed to decorate you in the finest jewels he could buy with the Plinth family fortune. That's why your index finger had a stack of thinner, geometric, stack complimenting the engagement ring.

It thrilled him. Wedding rings were no more than a shackle connecting you to him. A show of his authority over you. Marrying you wasn’t about companionship, it was to own you. To change your last name to his own and let everyone know that he would never leave you alone. Maybe he’d let you hyphenate your last name, and you’d like that, it went against the norm.

His thumb rubbed against his own engagement ring. His was simpler, he didn’t enjoy the over-the-top couture and showmanship of the Capitol, a think gold plated platinum band with a matching kite cut diamond flush set into it. The kite shape echoed by etchings around the placement. You had picked the ring out for him after seeing your own, saying that you wanted it to match with yours. It was ironic that you chose a kite shape. They flew high in the sky, a symbol of freedom and soaring ambition.

The luncheon was nice, you had to admit. You didn’t have a living grandmother and it was nice to talk with Grandma’am as you ate. She kept telling stories of Coriolanus’ youth, much to his chagrin. The stories, and how he treated her, were different than what you had expected. He was cold towards Tigris, but he had so much warmth towards Grandma’am. What had happened between the two that caused a rift? Grandma’am spoke as if the two had been thick as thieves growing up.

When the plates were cleared, you joined Grandma’am in the kitchen as she made coffee for the two of you, Coriolanus somewhere in the apartment answering a message on his communicuff. You had offered to do it but she insisted on doing it herself, telling you that the machine was too complicated for a guest to use. But you know exactly how to use it, but that was a secret.

When she sat across from you, both your mugs steaming, her eyes were sombre. “Can you be honest with a foolish old woman?”

“I don’t see any old women here, but I can be honest.” her chuckle was wethered and dry, telling of someone who had lived through too much.

“I know my Coriolanus is a difficult man,” she always insisted on using his full name. “He’s much like his father in that regard, and I would know having raised them both. But you’re good for him. When I see him with you it's like all the horrible things he had to live through are forgotten, and that he’s that smiling boy running around the apartment with his mother chasing after him again.” Grandma’am’s voice broke as the spoke, teetering on the edge of crying.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She loved him so much.

“I love him Grandma’am, I really do.” candour in every word you spoke. “With him, I feel like I can do anything, be anything. Sometimes I think it’s all too good to be true and that one day I’ll wake up and this was all a dream that I had. Every day I pinch myself to make sure it's still real.”

“Will you always?”

“There’s no future in which I don’t love him. He’s my now and always. And even if one day we weren’t together anymore, I’d still love him and I’d still support him. Just like he’d do the same for me.”

As you spoke Grandma’am’s tears flowed freely, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of gratitude. She saw in you that she didn’t have to worry anymore, that someone other than her would love him unconditionally. Be a sanctuary to his troubled heart.

“Thank you.” as the older woman bawled you got up to hug her, rubbing her back as she sobbed.

Coriolanus had heard the whole thing but he couldn’t tell if you had said it for her or it was a confession of your true feelings. You were always perfect at playing your part.

taglist: @serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad

#tdoaa #the death of an actor #uzuri writes #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas #the hunger games imagine #hunger games imagine #hunger games smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg fanfiction #smut #coriolanus snow x reader smut

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daddyricsdoll · 2 months

Note

Congrats on 1k, love!!

Could I request “Don’t make me pull over or I’ll fuck you till you can’t speak.” With Nando please 🖤

1k ✭ Celebration

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★🏍️★°‧𖦹｡⋆☆

The perks of Fernando riding a motorcycle meant my hands were always on him while he drove. Sliding up and down his chest, thighs and if I was close enough, my fingers would hold his throat.

And his helmet only made me crazier, the way he looked when it was on him, even better when he pulled it off but it reminded me of the times when he’d fuck me in his drivers room wearing everything he needed for a race. Or run to me after one, with the helmet over his head as his gloved hands grasped my ass.

Ever since the off season started I’ve missed it. Having to see Fernando wear his helmet everyday but not lay his hands on me.

So that became my encouragement, my aim for this short ride. Just to get his hands on me the way it was after a bad race, and especially the good ones.

I held his waist tightly, making it certain I’d never fall. Until I slid my hands lower, holding his thighs. Teasing him with touches that would stroke his inner thigh and let him know exactly what I was doing. But a reaction from the Spaniard never came.

Leaving me to such a needy act. Letting my hands go up his inner thigh and touch his cock. Not making my act subtle at all as he groaned. One of his hands gripping mine as we stop at a red light.

“Don’t make me pull over or I’ll fuck you till you can’t speak.” Fernando's words were severe, but each of his hits felt like a kiss. So his words morphed into such sweet sounds. Like he had just said he’d cuddle me for eternity and keep me warm till the stars fall from the sky.

Only encouraging me to carry on. My contact made him grip the handlebars even tighter.

Now ignoring me and taking a wrong turn. Driving harshly as if he’s on track and I’m not with him. Another spark of arousal exploding in me.

“Fernando! Where are we going?” I try to shout over the loud motorcycle, failing as I get no response. Looking around as the people and buildings start gradually disappearing. My fear mixes with lust and you could call me a psychopath for just imagining the things he’d do to me with no one else around. All secluded with his helmet on, masking his face and taking away a piece of his identity. Usually it would scare people, but I’ve never wanted it more.

Fernando pulls into an abandoned car park, empty from vehicles and life other than us. Lights still scattered up and down the lot, lighting it up for the very few people that dare to come here.

He parks right in the middle of everything, making us the stars of this limited movie. Fernando gets off the bike first, helping me off right after. Pulling my helmet off and placing it on my seat before he leans me against the motorcycle.

“Puta, you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His hand holds my chin, making me stare into my own reflection through his helmet. “I know what you want. And you’re not gonna want it again after I finish.”

“Well then let me prove you wrong.”

(Sorry for edging you with this one. I've got some Nando smut coming)

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stairain · 11 months

Text

Wrong Move You're Dead.

Spencer was never shy about his obsession for you, but you don't know just how far he'd go to prove you belong to him.

Warnings: Switch Spencer, Possessive/Obsessive Spencer, mild mommy kink, knife play (only running against skin and tearing clothing), praise, scent kink, female oral, handcuffs, leg grinding, crying, he cums too quick.

WC: 3.5K

Your chest rose and fell as the cold metal of the chair sent a shiver up your spine. The skin of your wrists were being rubbed raw as the cuffs Spencer had placed on you tightly bound you to the arms of the chair.

Just as you try to escape once more, he walks in. His expression is stoic, and in his hands he holds a knife. The blade glistens in the faint light as he circles you, like a shark to its prey.

He was always one to get possessive whenever anyone talked to you, so it was no surprise that the second he had seen you talking to another man, he dragged you back home and made sure it wouldn’t happen again.

As he walks closer to you, you look up at him with pleading eyes.

"Spencer, baby.. Please let me go."

Your lover shakes his head, almost apologetically. His grip on the knife only tightened as he shook slightly, as if trying to control himself. As he speaks, his voice is shaky and gravelly.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I never would want to hurt you.. but you don't understand. I need to protect you because I care about you. I love you too much to let things get messed up. It's the same reason I can't let you have other friends.”

Spencer turns his back to you and for a short moment you lean your head back against the chair and silently curse.

“If I don't get you to myself.. that could lead to some serious problems. And I’m sure neither of us want that. You understand, right? Right?”

You swallow as he trudges closer to you, he lifts the knife and runs his fingers over the dull edge, as if to frighten you. His voice sounds desperate, almost like he was trying to appeal to that soft spot you have for him.

"Baby I'm serious. Let me go, and put down the knife."

He seems to ignore your words, just slowly walking closer and closer to you. “I will never hurt you. But I will never let you leave me. I would do anything for you, because I love you. I can't live without you. You mean everything to me. You are my life.

He gets a soft look in his eyes and his voice wavers as he speaks, his emotions getting the better of him as tears start to spring in his eyes.

“I would kill for you. If that's not true love, then I don't know what is.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shake your head. It wasn't often he got like this, despite fitting into the role so well. Your breaths come out in shallow huffs as you try to reason with him.

"I won't leave you, Spence. Just–please, let me go and we can talk about this, alright?"

An evil smile spreads across his face and it makes you all the more nervous.

“Oh, trust me. I know you won’t ever leave me. I’ll make sure of it.”

He abruptly points the knife at you, and you shrink into yourself away from the blade. Your fear seems to only drive him on.

“But I need you to swear that you will never be with any other man, ever, as long as you live.”

You feel the tip of the knife press against your jaw, and there's a slight tremble in your skin. You can feel his heaving breathing against your face, and you try your best to look up at him. His curly hair falling in front of his face, the heavy huffs from his mouth making the locks sway between the two of you.

"I–I promise.”

Despite your confession, he doesn't move away from you, in fact, he begins to drag the knife lightly down your jaw, a sadistic smile plastered on his face. The shake in his hands allows for the blade to stagger against your skin. He pushed it gently to the side, so the flat side was flush with your sweaty skin. .

“You understand how important this is, right? If you make one mistake with this, it could ruin everything.”

His grip on the knife tightens, and he’s breathing so heavily that the metal of the knife is starting to fog up.

“You must promise to never, ever, ever think of any other man than me. You may never go out with a male friend. You shouldn’t even have male friends. You may never interact with a male in a way outside of business. I must always come first. Do you understand?”

Turning your head to the side so as to not get cut, he trails the blade against your skin. He's not pressing nearly hard enough to hurt you, but the cold metal against your face has you shuddering under his touch.

"You're my priority always, Spence. You know that." You try your hardest to say your words with a confident tone, but the break in your voice gives away just how terrified you are.

“Say it again. Say it again, baby, please.”

Spencer seems to be enjoying himself, making you feel so much fear. His tone is serious, and he doesn't seem like he'll stop until you tell him what he wants to hear.

“Tell me I'm the only important thing to you, and that I come first no matter what.”

As he speaks, he's slowly running the point of the knife to your chin. His grip on the handle only tightens as he watches with a wicked grin at the way you're trembling.

"Y-You come first no matter what, baby."

But despite the sincerity in your voice, his expression doesn't soften at all. He bites his lip for a moment before moving the tip of the knife to the bottom of your chin and lifting it a bit, so you're forced to look at him.

"I don't believe you." He says, his soft voice dripping with a cold and malicious tone as the look in his eyes darkens. Your heart pounds impossibly faster as he mutters these words to you, and it takes everything in you to not try and break free once more.

“Tell me, again. Tell me I'm more important than everything. No matter what it is, I come first. Nothing and no one will ever take priority over me.”

"You always come first, Spence. No one is as important as you are."

Your voice is uneasy, but he ignores your words. He’s moving the blade down your throat, the slight scratch has your breath hitching. As soon as he reaches the collar of your shirt, he gives you one last look before he's cutting through the fabric, beginning to tear the clothing that covers you. You gasp, and try to move away from him.

"Spence–stop it."

He lets out a slight laugh and drags the edge further down your top, the crude noise of cotton tearing filling your ears.

“It's too late to stop it, my love. It's already been done. Your collar’s already cut up, I can just take it all off and make you sit here with every inch of you exposed. How about that? Does that sound fun to you?”

His voice is borderline primal at this point, shaking with the primitive instinct to mark you as his forever and ever, and to never let you go again. You were completely and utterly his, and he planned on making sure you’d never forget.

You shake your head, but the arousal rushing through your body betrays you. As he drags the knife down your chest, ripping through your shirt inch by inch, you can't help the feeling of how turned on you were.

“Oh, baby.. Looks like I cut your shirt too much, you’re all exposed for me.. How could that be? I'm very, very upset.”

His tone makes it clear that he's being sarcastic. As the remnants of your top fall to the ground, absolutely shredded and torn to pieces from his actions, your skin raises with goosebumps as you're only left in your bra and pants. You look up at him and swallow, knowing better than to reply to him.

“You look so cold. I mean, you might as well not be wearing anything at all at this point. Why don't I just take this off too?”

His tone is taunting as he scrapes the blade against the lacy material of your bra. The both of you can see just how labored your breathing is, meeting the knife halfway in the air with each greedy breath of air you took.

"Spence, please."

Even though your words sound pleading for him to just let you go, you don't tell him to stop. You don't want him to. You rub your thighs together in arousal as he traces the wire of your bra with the knife.

There’s a shameful amount of slick pooling in your panties right now, and you just hoped he’d stop now to spare you from embarrassment when he sees just how much you’ve soaked through your underwear.

Spencer cuts the strap and watches you as it falls to the floor. His eyes never leave you as his hands skillfully make work of stripping your upper half, and your skin runs hot as his gaze doesn’t break, even for a moment. He knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly how to work you.

“God, look at you. This all for me?”

The cocky tone in his voice just spurs you on further, and you shake your head slightly. You had no other choice but to let him do whatever he wanted to you, just the way you liked it.

Once your breasts were left exposed to him, and you were surrounded by shreds of fabric, he backs away from you and drops to his knees. Your eyes follow him, and you subtly press your thighs together in attempt for the littlest bit of friction.

“You know, baby, you're very beautiful. I wouldn't have ever imagined when I met you that I would get someone this beautiful. And not only are you pretty, but you're kind. You're so sweet and caring, and you've helped me through so much.”

Spencer leans forward and presses his cheek into your clothed thigh, taking a deep breath. And as if a shark were to smell fresh blood, his pupils dilated almost immediately upon smelling your arousal and slick through your pants. His mouth parts in a silent moan and a burning hot blush washes over your face at the noise.

“Which is why I love you.. No matter what happens, I will never be able to replace you. I could never replace my dear, sweet girl.”

He takes another deep inhale and you can hear just how much he was filling his lungs with you. His eyes involuntarily roll back into his head and he sighs.

“You smell so fucking good..”

The otherwise forgotten knife lifts in his fist, and he takes the handle between his lips as his now free hands move to unbutton and unzip your pants. You lift your ass a bit to help him pull them off of you, and soon enough the moment you were dreading is face to face with you.

Through the mouthful of the knife, you watch as a cocky smile appears on his face. His eyes flash up to you for a short moment as he pulls your jeans down your calves and discards them. Taking the blade out of his mouth, he licks his lips once before he’s firmly grasping the weapon again.

The sharp tip presses against your hip, just barely above where the dainty straps of your panties laid. Spencer absentmindedly traces your hip bones with the knife.

“You know, maybe I should just keep you here forever.. All spread out for me, have your scent fill the room and make sure no one else gets to see you but me. How’s that sound?”

He gives you those dreaded puppy dog eyes as he desperately waits for your answer. You swallow and shake your head.

“No, baby.”

Spencer’s face falls almost immediately and he drags the knife down the strap, effectively slicing through it without a problem. Your eyes squeeze shut at the abrupt action, and he goes to do the same on the other side of your hip.

“Why?”

Your panties fall off your body with ease, exposing the soaked surface where your drenched cunt sat. You can hear the loud clatter of the blade hitting the ground, and you almost scream in relief.

His cold hands slither up your legs, then spread your thighs open to reveal yourself even more to him. As he parts your legs, the folds of your pussy are coated with slick. Stringy arousal connecting from your cunt and thighs that has him dizzy.

“I’m all you need. I’m all you’ll ever need. You don’t think the same?”

The man leans forward and nudges his nose directly on your clit, making your thighs clench and mouth drop in a soft moan. He breathes in your raw scent and lets out a guttural groan.

He presses a small kiss to your dripping hole before licking his lips and sitting back on his calves. He looks up at you needily, head slightly tilted to the side in confusion.

Your eyes quickly flitter to the discarded knife and you just pray he’ll keep his hands in his lap as they are now. He’s sporting a painful looking bulge. It’s straining against the fabric of his dress pants, begging to be freed and drained.

“Don’t you love me?”

His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes wide and waiting. You sigh and extend your leg out so it’s nudging against his erection. His breath hitches at the stimulation, and he can’t help the way his hips hump against you.

“I do love you, baby. But you can’t keep me here forever, you know that.”

Your tone is comforting and warm, trying your best not to upset him now. He doesn’t protest, too engrossed in what little pleasure you’re granting him. He moves his body closer to you once again, your leg still slotted between his thighs as he comes face to face with your cunt.

“Love? Do you think you can let me out of these cuffs?”

Now that he had seemingly calmed down a bit, it was worth a shot to ask. He cranes his neck up a bit to look at you, and looks to the side for a moment as if to contemplate it. With a sigh, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.

He’s quick to free you from your binds, hands trembling as he pulls them off of you. His voice is quiet when he decides he wants to speak.

“I’m sorry, mommy..”

You twist your wrists to get the blood flowing back through them, and you shake them out for a quick moment before you reach out to run a hand through his messy hair. You card your fingers through his locks as he looks up at you in apology.

“It’s alright, baby. Just–please listen to me next time, alright?”

The calf he’s nestled upon presses closer to him, and his lips drop in a gentle whimper. Spencer nods and starts to grind himself against you as he leans forward and licks a broad stripe up your cunt.

His hands snake around your thighs to spread them open and hold you down as he begins to licks and suck at your folds and clit. Loud moans soar from you as he tastes everything you have to offer him. He’s letting out small whines, not only from the taste and smell of you, but also from the way he’s getting off by humping at your leg like some pathetic dog.

With each thrust of his hips, he’s rubbing the weeping head of his cock against the rough fabric of his pants that’s stationed right against your leg. He’s already dangerously close, but he wouldn’t stop until he was positive he had drunk up everything you gave him.

His large nose bumps against your sensitive clit, while his long hot tongue slithers into your hole. It scrapes against the insides of your walls, letting you gush on the muscle as it licks over every surface it possibly can.

The hand in his hair twists as your grip tightens, urging him closer to your core, despite being so deep inside of you already. He’s noisily slurping at your sopping cunt, swallowing down each little spurt of slick you offer to him. Incessant moans spill from his mouth, vibrating against your folds as he pushes himself closer and closer over his edge.

“You’re doing such a good job, baby..”

He tries his hardest to hold himself back, but as he relishes in your praise, the push of his hips only speeds up, and the friction is simply too irresistible for him. He lets out a pathetic whimper before his entire body stills for a moment. Shaking his head against your thighs, he whines into your cunt.

“No, no, no.. Fuck–Fuck I-I’m sorry, mommy..”

Spencer’s voice shakes and his eyes involuntarily cross in his skull as his orgasm makes him fill his boxers with his thick warm release. You can feel the warmth of his cum spurting against his garments, and stroke his hair.

“It’s okay baby, It’s okay..”

You try to comfort him in which he just shakes his head. His lower body is twitching unceasingly, and you can feel hot tears spill from his eyes, running down the expanse of your inner thighs.

As he cries into your core, you bite your lip and try to pull him back to comfort him more. But he stays glued to your thighs and cunt as he sniffles and speaks.

“P-Please.. Please let me make it up to you, I’m so sorry.”

You can do nothing but give him a shaky nod, relaxing against the chair as he dives back down and plunges his tongue right back into you. The feeling of him fucking you with his mouth has you keeling over him, hands gripping his thick locks, lifting your ass off the chair to grind against his nose.

His tongue swirls around against your deliciously drenched folds as his lips encompass your pulsing clit. You throw your head back against the top rail of the chair and squeeze your eyes shut. His premature orgasm seemed to only fuel him, wanting to make you cum on his tongue and scream out for him and only him even more than before.

Spencer’s chin is absolutely drenched at this point, you were so wet that it was dripping down his neck and soaking his skin. Through his ministrations to your pussy, you could feel just how desperately he was begging for you to give him what he wanted so badly.

As his tongue pistoned in and out of you like a jackhammer, and with how he relentlessly sucked at your clit, you knew you could only keep your composure for so long. When you look down you almost choke on your moan, he was already staring at you. Wide hazel eyes boring into your figure like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

And you are.

Your gaze never tears from his, your eyes locked in on each other as he shoves you towards your orgasm. Through a broken whimper and slur of praises, you’re bursting in his mouth. Streams of your arousal gush against his tongue, and he’s eager to swallow and drink down everything he can.

Spencer moans and tries his very best to guide you through your release, battling whether or not to gently coax you through your orgasm until you stop shaking, or to greedily suck on your folds until you give him a second helping of your juices.

Thankfully, he doesn’t go for the latter.

Your thighs tremble around where he’s buried between them, and the hand in his hair gripping for dear life slowly loosens as your moans begin to die down. He’s still attached to your clit like a man starved, and after a few minutes of him being latched on, you pull him off of you.

He lets out a small noise of discontentment of being interrupted, and you almost laugh at how positively soaked his face is. His lips glistening and nose shining with your slick, chin almost dripping with your release. Licking over his lips and wiping his mouth, he smiles up at you.

You push the fallen sweat covered hair out of his face as you even out your breathing. And he’s just about on the same boat as you, panting and chest heaving as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“Feel like you’ve proved your point?”

You cradle his jaw in your wavering hands, eyes hooded and mouth dry. Spencer lets out a small huff of a laugh and sighs.

“Not quite yet. Your neck is far too empty for my liking..”

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #sub spencer reid #sub!spencer #sub spencer x reader #sub!spencer reid #soft dom spencer reid #switch spencer reid #switch!spencer #dom!spencer #dom spencer reid x reader

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cameronspecial · 9 months

Text

Some People Can Change

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Drugs and Angst

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Rafe really does want to change, but what happens if nobody else believes he can?

A/N: Rafe isn't a murderer and doesn't hide dead bodies in this one-shot, but everything else he does in Canon happens.

Masterlist

Y/N Y/L/N was only supposed to be a one-night stand. Rafe wasn’t planning on interacting with her after she left his bedroom. He was a Kook and she was a Pogue, who worked as a bartender at the club. However, when he woke up the next morning to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of “Dance The Night” accompanied by her dance moves, he knew she wasn’t really going to be leaving his life after today. Plus, her advice was life-saving. “I think I’m going to do something really bad,” he confessed to her, sitting at the kitchen island with coffee in hand. She looked at him in understanding, “Well, you said going to, which implies it has happened yet. And if it hasn’t happened, then you always have a chance to fix it. It’s up to you to own the fact that you recognize it isn’t good and to stop it.” This led to Rafe stopping the murder of his father that he put into action.

———

Ever since that day, Rafe is not often seen without his arm around Y/N, looking at her like she is his world. Because she is. He knows she wouldn’t put up with the shit that he pulls on a normal basis, so he made an effort to stop his vices. He is just grateful she is relatively new to town and hasn’t had the chance yet to hear the gossip about him. This means he has a chance to turn his life around before she finds out. But no one in his life actually believes he can change.

“I told you, Barry. I’m not dealing or using anymore. Not cocaine, not weed. I gotta go cold turkey,” Rafe reiterates, sliding the drugs and gun towards the pogue. “And I certainly don’t need this gun anymore.” Barry shakes his head and pushes the item back toward Rafe, “You really think you are going to last man? You aren’t going to be able to stay away from these just because of her. You can’t change man.” “You’re wrong. Every time I do drugs, I’m making the conscious decision to turn towards them. Y/N is helping me realize that I have other ways of coping with my issues,” he gestures his hand toward his chest to prove himself. “Come on, Country Club. Just take them back.” Rafe grows frustrated with this conversation. Instead of fighting back and yelling at the dealer, he tries to take deep breaths to calm himself. It sort of works, but nobody is perfect. So he storms out of the trailer with the loud clang of the front door closing behind him.

He gets home from Barry’s storming into the living room with his anger clear on his face. “Love, what’s wrong?” Y/N poses, lowering the volume of the TV. Rafe gives her a harsh look, “WHAT THE F-!” He can’t finish his yelling because Y/N is already gently placing her hand on his sternum to guide his breathing. “I know you are angry about something, right now, but that gives you no right to displace that anger towards me. So if you feel the need to release this negative energy, then I would like for you to channel this feeling through working out, please. I’ll come to see you to talk after half an hour.” Rafe knows that she is correct and she probably got these ideas from a psychology book she bought. God, she’s so smart.

Rafe heads up to the punching bag in his room and starts throwing punches at it. As promised, she comes to check on him after some time. “Now that we’ve calmed down, do you want to talk about it?” Y/N inquires, bringing his hands into her smaller ones and giving his bruised knuckles a kiss. He nods at her, “Yeah, I just went to give something back to a… uh… a friend and he insisted that I still needed it. It was frustrating.” His subconscious knew the problem was deeper than that and this caused tears to threaten to spill. Rafe is quick to hide his face behind his palms.

“Somehow I don’t believe that this is the true root of your crying. Do you think you can talk about it?”

“Uhh, no. I don’t think I truly know what I’m feeling. Can we just cuddle and think instead?”

Y/N is happy to oblige, lying down on the bed and opening her arms so he can rest his head on her chest.

———

“No, Rafe. I have to tell Y/N. She deserves to know,” Sarah argues, making her way back into the house from the back patio. Rafe is quick to follow her. At the same time, Y/N is heading towards the same door from the bathroom. “Tell me what?” Sarah turns towards the girl, ready to tell her about Rafe’s faults.

“Rafe is a liar and thief and violent and a drug addict. He isn’t a good person, sweetie!”

“I may not have been a good person and I admit to being everything you’ve said but I’m trying to change. Y/N helped me realize that I need to change.”

“Ooh, like you can change. Honestly, no offense Y/N, but we both know this road to redemption act is all going to go away once you get bored of her.”

Rafe wants to yell that it isn’t true what Sarah is saying, but he remembers the breathing exercises Y/N taught to help calm down and puts those into practice. He knows adding more anger to this argument is just going to lead toward a slippery slope of words he will regret.

“You may believe that, but I don’t. So I’m sorry I stole the cross and melted it down. I know that it can’t bring back the artifact for Pope. But I’ve already given the money I got from it to Pope and made a donation with my own money to the church.”

“Well good for you, doing one good thing to not feel guilty and to tell Y/N you are a good person.”

“I know about all of this already. Thank you for wanting to tell me, Sarah, but I already know everything and I would like to get the rest of the information straight from Rafe, now,” Y/N interrupts the argument before it becomes never-ending. Rafe’s palms are pressed into his eyes and she knows he is trying to hide his tears. She does not allow the conversation to continue; instead, brings him upstairs and moves his hands from his face. She wipes the tears away and presses a kiss to his forehead, “You don’t have to hide your tears away from me.”

“Why can’t anyone believe I can change? What if everyone is right?”

“Don’t say that. I believe that maybe not everyone can change, but some people can change. And you are definitely a part of some people.”

“How can you say that about me with everything you’ve known about all this time?”

“Because the Rafe that I was told about would’ve ended that argument with violence. He was violent, rude, a liar, stole and relied on drugs like it was water. The one before me approached that argument with recognition of his wrongdoing. He is working on his anger, is polite, tells me the truth, always pays for me and attends NA. He is one month sober. That is how I know you have changed.”

“Nobody else believes I can.”

“I know, love. I know it hurts. But right now let’s just focus on who does believe. You and Me. Then we can use this belief to prove everyone else wrong.”

“Okay, I can do that. I love you, Y/N/N.”

“ I love you too, love.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks #outer banks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x you #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #outerbanks

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samkerrworshipper · 6 months

Note

Hi how have you been?💗 Would you maybe consider writing some angst for Alexia/Barcelona x reader where like maps and Ingrid start start to notice reader getting thinner and eating less but Alexia is so wrapped up in media and stuff that she doesn’t notice until reader faints at training. Then Mapi shouts at alexia and there’s some angst but it has a softer ending? ❤️

i remember everything.

alexia putellas x reader

warnings: eating disorders, pain n angst with a softer ending.

“Ale we’re losing her.”

Alexia hated a lot of things, winter, bad drivers, the colour orange, the Spanish federation, France, patchy makeup and cherry flavoured candy. The thing at the very top of her list though, was people telling her what to do. Alexia was the best player in the world, she was a force to be reckoned with, she did not need people telling her what to do with her life or relationships.

“Maria, she’s my fucking fiance, I would know if something was wrong with her, this is none of your business.”

Alexia was typing furiously at her phone, something that she seemed to always be doing lately. If you were lucky enough to catch her time for a few minutes, chances were her attention would end up being caught by replying to some email or text from her agent and manager. It was never ending, and anybody who had been a part of Alexia’s life before and after her had seen just how much her life had changed in the past two years. In this instance, Mapi and Alexia were out for drinks, trying to catch up but it was proving to be impossible with most of Alexia’s attention on whatever it was she was replying to this time.

“This is what I’m talking about, you don’t have enough time to talk face to face with your best friend, how does that prove to me that you have enough time to look out for your girlfriend?”

Alexia’s eyes rose from her phone, her fingers pausing.

“Maps, I know my fiance, I’d know if she had a eating disorder, I’d know if she was struggling, I lie in bed with her every night, I wake up with her every morning, I train with her everyday, I know her.”

Mapi’s eyebrow rose up at her forehead, it was weird for Alexia to meet her gaze, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“When was the last time she was sick? When was the last time she burnt something in your kitchen? When was the last time your dog ran away? You wouldn’t know because every time those things have happened in the last few months she’s called me, because you’ve been out of town. You're busy, we all understand it, not everybody can be La Reina, not everyone is you, but not everybody is your fiance. Her smile that normally lights up the room, it’s not there anymore, nothing about her is the same anymore, and I’ll be damned if she dies on your watch because you are being too insolent to acknowledge it.”

Mapi stood up from her seat at the bar, downing the rest of her dirty martini and giving Alexia a final parting frown.

“Go home to your fiance and actually look at her, eye to eye, lover to lover, and try and tell yourself that she is fine.”

Mapi exited the bar, disgruntled by her failed attempt at an intervention with Alexia, the slightly older woman simply didn’t want to listen to her and what was Mapi supposed to do about that? Alexia was stubborn and bullheaded, but she was like Mapi’s sister, she was Mapi’s blood, more than anybody else. Mapi had no idea where she’d be without Alexia, possibly dead in a ditch somewhere. Alexia had been the fristr person to haul her out of bed on a bad day, drag her out of clubs when she was so drunk she couldn’t see straight, Alexia was tough love, she forced Mapi to live until Mapi herself wanted to live. Mapi was more than grateful, but she also wasn’t going to let the love of Alexia’s life slowly kill herself because Alexia was too consumed with her own career to even realise.

The drive home for Alexia was slow and stressful in a way she’d never experienced. Alexia in her heart wanted to believe Mapi was wrong, because how could she be right? Alexia saw you everyday, she knew you better than anybody else, and she hadn’t noticed any of the things that Mapi had been talking about.

When Alexia does get home it’s to a silent house with no lights on, something thats fairly regular for her, considering the abnormal hours she normally egts home at. She leaves her keys and coat at the front door, reaches down to pet Nala who she must have woken up because the fluff ball has major bedhead. Alexia pours herself a glass of water from the tap before cautiously making her way into your bedroom. When she does finally make it to the door it’s hanging open, you sat on the bed, the lamp being the only source of lighting whilst you read from underneath it. You look so peaceful, so perfect, that Alexia considers leaving, sleeping on the couch. But she’s too angry, too consumed with her feelings, too emotional to take into account how much her actions affect you. She figures that in the last few months she’s probably drifted from you more than she's come close, which is probably concerning considering that the months leading up to a wedding you are supposed to be in premarital bliss.

“You didn’t have to wait up.”

Alexia’s voice is even, she moves into your shared wardrobe, pulling off her slacks and crop top and searching for a pair of her pyjamas.

“How was your day?”

You sound so hopeful, so curious. This is the only time of day msot weeks that you get to talk to Alexia and when it’s not too late you try your hardest to stay awake, hopeful tat maybe this time Alexia will return your eagerness.

“Fine.”

Alexia finally finds her pyjama shirt and shorts and changes into them quickly before moving back inot the bedroom.

“O-kay, how are you, how was Mapi?”

There’s so much hope in your voice, something that Alexia hates. She lets her eyes roam your body quickly, discreetly, not in a way that would make you think she was trying to start anything. She doesn’t see anything different. She doesn’t notice the fact that you no longer wear short sleeves or cropped shirts anymore. She doesn’t notice that your ribs now jut out from your skin, instead of being covered by a healthy amount of skin and fat, how could she? She doesn’t notice the patches across your scalp that are now missing hair, she doesn’t know that you no longer get your period, she doesn’t notice that your nails are now brittle and crusty, something that you’ve come to hate about yourself, just another dot point on the list of things that you detest about your body.

“Good.”

Alexia’s one word answer hurt your soul, more than Alexia ever had.

“If you don’t want to talk you can just say that.”

Alexia doesn’t slip under the covers like she’d planned to, instead her jaw clenches and hardens, a defence mechanism of hers that you’d never manage to crack.

“What are you talking about, we’re talking, I’m just tired.”

Your face falls at her snap, your eyes falling back to your book and marking your page before dropping it down on your bedside table, a little huff leaving your lips as your eyes drift upwards to meet Alexias.

“Alright, you must be absolutely exhausted every single time we talk then.”

It’s bold, especially considering that Alexia seems to be in a completely rotten mood, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because this is all she does and your becoming sick of it.

“Oh my god, I don’t come home every night just for you to make it seem like I’m a shitty girlfriend.”

It’s so Alexia, so Alexia to always somehow make herself the victim, somehow make it you who is the one in the wrong.

“Are you joking? You didn’t agree to come home to our house?”

Alexia moves herself further away from the bed, to the very edge, her eyes and jaw just as stubborn as each other.

“What do you want me to say? I’m tired, I want to sleep, not listen to you whine about whatever your fucking whining about, I’ve been in interviews all day and all I wanted to do was come home and sleep.”

Alexia was always in interviews, always doing something that was your fault, it wasn’t your responsibility to sort out her calendar, or to make her less of a good football player, it just happened to be the way the cookie crumbled.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I just had a really fucking bad qweek and I wanted to talk to you about it, because your supposed to be the fucking person I can talk to, but it’s fine, we can talk tomorrow, or next week, or next year, whenever your not tired.”

Alexia exhales, Mapi’s voice plays through her head, this is her in, this is her opportunity to not be such a fucking jackass.

“No, tell me about it.”

Anything you wanted to say, you swallow, it’s a hard job, but your suddenly so scared of Alexia, so scared that she’ll see you the same way you do, she’s never around to reassure you that you’re enough for her, and you honestly don’t feel like you are anymore.

“It’s fine, honestly sleep.”

You peel back the covers beside you, but Alexia stays still on the other end of the bed, just looking at you.

“You obviously want me to ask about it or you never would have brought it up.”

Alexia knows that it’s a dickhead move, but she’s at her wits end, she’s tired and your beginning to piss her off.

“Why do you make it seem like talking to me is a chore?”

Alexia has a schedule, and she figures sometimes talking with you is a chore, because Alexia doesn’t have time, some days talking to you is just another box for her to tick.

“How many times do I have to say that I’m fucking tired before you udnerstand?”

Alexia’s tone is so harsh, so angry, a tone she long ago promised herself she’d never use with you, ever. But right now every single rule she has for herself is being broken and when tears spring to the corners of your eyes she can’t help but feel guilty.

“If you’re so tired, go to sleep, I’ve told you that already, you’re starting an argument for no reason.”

Alexia cocks her head, trying to absorb what you’ve just said to her.

“Yeah, okay, whatever, I don’t want you fucking talking to me for the rest of the night though.”

Alexia never used to swear around you, or at you, but the part of her that was once so sweet and gentle with you is now gone, long forgotten under the facade that has become La Reina.

“Okay, I love you.”

It’s Alexia’s last chance, her last opportunity for redemption. You give her a few seconds, and when you get nothing in return your heart shatters.

“Please say it back Ale.”

Alexia’s face is emotionless, absolutely devoid of anything that made Alexia, Alexia. It reminds you as to why you are so scared to let people in, because of the damage they can do and the damage they can find. Alexia no longer seems concerned about any of those things, only concerned about herself.

“Alexia.”

She slips under the covers beside you, but her body and face is stock still, so stubborn, so hurt, so fucked up. It’s the final straw for you.

You pull the sheets away from your body, wrenching yourself up and out of the covers, tears streaming down your face as you rush into your wardrobe, pulling out whatever clothes are within arms reach and stuffing them into a bag.

When you emerge Alexia is looking equal parts concerned and shocked.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

In the moment, all you want is to be loved, feel loved, and it’s clear Alexia isn’t prepared to do any of those things.

“You need rest, I don't think either of us are going to get it whilst the other is in the house, I’m going to stay with Mapi for a few nights. When your ready to love me I’ll be there.”

With that you leave the bedroom, pick up your keys and drive into the darkness of the middle of the night, tears flowing freely down your face as the bleary night lights of Barcelona pass by.

It took every single bit of energy left in you to make it up the stairs of Mapi and Ingrid’s house, your knuckles pounding against their door until it swung open, to reveal Mapi and Ingrid, both looking like they’d just crawled out of bed and equally as shocked as each other.

It was then that you broke down, fat, big tears streaming down your face and sobs falling easily from your lips.

“I love her.”

There’s a silence so loud between the three of us as Mapi pulls you into a hug, Ingrid closing the door behind you and the two of them helping you into their house, pulling you into their bed and bringing you into a big hug. All you can do is focus on your breathing, in out, in out. Your hands tears at the broken skin and nails, you can’t manage to meet either of the womens eyes as you cry in their arms, they don’t seem to mind, they only tighten their grip on you.

“It’s okay hermosa, we’ve got you, we won't let go.”

You can’t do much more than cry, you're grieving your life, grieving your lover, grieving everything that you’d just lost in a matter of minutes. Your hearts torn to shreds, undecided about whether or not to let Alexia hold onto a breaking thread and risk the plummet. She’s given you absolutely nothing, no hope, no faith, no love and yet there she goes. She’s let you go. You're only feeling some of it, you know that there is going to be a day, not far away, where you're going to have to see her at training, laughing and smiling with your teammates, people who she’s loving through everything. You're losing her. You lost a version of her that was once so caring, who gave the warmest hugs. You’ve lost your 2 am conversations and your forever and always. You lost the person you’d promised you’d stay around till the very end with, if she hadn’t pushed you away, if she hadn't just loved you none of it would have happened. Alexia Putellas Segura was never yours to have though it seemed, she was for everyone else, the fans, the club, the country. Alexia Putellas was a thought, not a person.

There was a reason why you didn’t eat anymore, you’d become obsessed with trying to be perfect for Alexia, she hung out with models and super stars on the weekends, and yet you were just you. You were so unworthy of her love and attention that you couldn’t really blame her for falling out of love with you.

“She doesn’t love me, she never has.”

Maria hates it when those words leave your mouth, because it couldn’t be further from the truth, Alexia is just shit at showing you it. She knows that her bestfriend loves you more than anybody else in the world, that she would give up everything to be there for you, she just hasn’t noticed that you’ve needed that.

You sniffle into Ingrid’s chest, your fingers tapping against her thigh and your legs shaking from underneath you. You’ve never felt heartbroken before, Alexia has been your day one, and now it feels like you're just done, like everything the two of you have ever worked for together is just completely done.

“She loves you more than you know hermana, but she doesn’t deserve you if she’s going to continue to hurt you.”

Now that Mapi has you in her arms, she can feel just how much smaller you are, how much you’ve shrunken and how emaciated you are. She internally curses Alexia and her stubbornness, the world is so loud that Alexia Putellas has become deaf to your needs, to your happiness. Sometimes her best friend is one of the most impressive people she’s ever met and sometimes she’s just stupid, stupid for letting the love of her life feel so worthless and stupid for letting you walk out the door, something that could be the stupidest decision of her life.

You're positively exhausted, and it doesn’t take much of Ingrid’s back rubs and comforting Norwegian words that you don’t understand for you to be lulled into a painful sleep.

As soon as the two are certain your asleep the move you into the middle of the bed, Mapi looking over the top of you concernedly at Ingrid.

“She needs helps.”

Ingrid can’t find any part of her brain that disagrees with her other half.

“She needs Alexia to take her foot out of her ass and be present.”

Mapi nods her head, her eyes falling to your own face, even in your sleep you lok disturbed, your eyebrows knitted across your skin and a deep frown on your lips.

“Si, well if Alexia won’t then we have to, she needs to know she’s loved. She’s lost so much weight elksling, she hasn’t been eating or looking after herself.”

Ingrid nods, equally worried as her girlfriend about the health of their bestfriend.

“Get some sleep, we’ll figure it out in the morning.

When the two women wake to find you missing from their bed, it takes a search of their apartment to find you deep asleep in their spare room, neither of them question it. They make you breakfast, you don’t eat it, insisting that you're feeling nauseous. When they try to talk about Alexia you shut them down, you’ve created a mental fortress, one that Alexia and your health and emotions aren’t apart of. They invite you to stay with them for the foreseeable future, and you can’t find any reason to say no.

The following days leading up to the first pre-season training are all the same, you hardly sleep every night, sitting up late out on their porch and waking up at the crack of dawn. Mapi knows that your health is teetering dangerously, you hardly eat, you only leave the house to workout, you are a skeleton of a human being. Mapi doesn’t know what to do, you don’t care about anything anymore, or maybe you care so much that it’s all being numbed out.

It’s the first training session when everything turns to shit. She’d found you balling your eyes out in a change room cubicle beforehand, as soon as you’d spotted Mapi you’d pulled yourself together, terrified of being vulnerable in front of her. It only got worse though when you stepped out of the tunnel and onto the field, to be faced with Alexia, standing casually on the field, chatting with a few of your teammates. Your heart plummeted at the sight of her, the woman that you’d made so tired, so unhappy, laughing and messing about with your teammates. You pushed Mapi away when she tried to comfort you, walking straight to the sideline of the pitch to start your warm up. You made it through half of it, your body hurt though, in a way that it never had before. You only made it through one of your sprints before you were face planting into the turf, your whole body completely done. Your bones sunk into the grass, your body just giving up.

It was Mapi who made it to you first, flipping you over, her eyes searching your unconscious face. She knew this was going to happen, knew it was only so long before your body stopped letting you overwork it.

“Alexia.”

Mapi screamed at the top of her lungs, desperate to draw anyone's attention, specifically your fiance, or ex fiance. Everyone turned to face the two of you, Mapi knelt down on the turf, rocking your body back and forth as she tried her very hardest to awaken you, a task that was proving to be unsuccessful. The whole team rushed forward, Alexia at the front of the pack, collapsing beside Mapi on the ruf, taking your head in her hands and shaking it furiously.

“Someone get a medic, y/n, come on, wake up for me, get up.”

There was more emotion in Alexia’s voice than Mapi had heard in months. Mapi hated that it took you passing out for Alexia to care, and suddenly her protective older sister instinct kicked in, pushing Alexia away from you, taking her hands and distaching them from your unconscious body.

“Get the fuck away from her? She has to be unconscious for you to give a fuck? This is your fault, you let it get this bad, if you actually loved her you would have realised ages ago, but you don’t do you? You don’t love her like she deserves, you only love her when it’s convenient for you?”

The words bring tears to Alexia’s eyes, Mapi’s words awaken something in her, a realisation that she’s right, Alexia has given a blind eye to you and now you were seriously hurt because of it. She scrambled away from your body, suddenly overly aware of just how much she’d hurt you. She pushed herself out from the group, running away from all of them, running away from you, running away from her problems, running away from her life that she’d fucked up so badly.

One of the girls had called 112, clawing Mapi away from your unresponsive body as the medics tended to you, plastering a oxygen mask on your face that was far too big, sitting wrongly on your bony face. They loaded you up onto a stretcher, your cold body attached to more cords than you had extremities.

Mapi managed to fit herself into the ambulance with you, clutching your hand the whole drive to the hospital, praying to herself to let you be okay, to let everything work itself out.

When you woke up it was painful. Your eyes blinked furiously as they tried to focus on anything besides the infuriating white light that was clouding your vision. It took a few seconds for your senses to kick in, but once they did it only hurt more. The sound of constant beeping, movement and noise pollution crowding you ears. It was then that you spotted Mapi and Ingrid at your bedside, your eyes darting furiously between the two as the blood rushed to your ears to protect you from the overstimulating noise that was crowding your brain.

Mapi stood up, her hand intertwining with yours. She was trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear anything, your ears making you practically deaf. Mapi held your hand and it seemed to be enough, enough to tell you that everything was okay, or as okay as it could be. Slowly your anxiety slipped out from under you, and your hearing came back, allowing you to focus on what Mapi was saying to you.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s all okay, your okay, take some deep breaths for me.”

Your eyes darted to the IV’s and cords that were connected to you, the feeding tube that went through your nose and down your throat, the oxygen cannula that also rested on your nose, the countless IV’s that were connected to your arm, making it far harder to move your arm at all.

“What happened?”

Your words were choken, your throat dry from lack of liquids. Mapi solved this problem, reaching to your bedside and lifting a glass of water to your lips, you took tentative sips, the water soothing your dry throat.

“You passed at training, malnutrition and dehydration. The doctors think that you’ve been struggling with anorexia for a little while, that you haven’t been eating properly.”

Suddenly everything stopped for you, the words leaving Maria’s mouth making you gulp on nothingness. It felt like you were being choked, big imaginary hands wrapping around your throat, preventing you from saying anything in your defence. It felt like your organs were all eating each other up in your stomach, a uneven discomfort spreading across your torso.

“Nobody is judging you, you’ve been through a really tough time, what matters most now is getting you back to being healthy and happy. Barca is in full support of what you want to do, you have lots of options, inpatient, out patient, moving in with Ingrid and I fully.”

You didn’t want any of those things, you wanted Alexia and it hurt for you to admit that.

“I want Ale.”

Maria frowned at your words, she was still furious with Alexia.

“I don’t think that's a good idea, you deserve better then her hermosa.”

It hurt you to hear Mapi regard Alexia so lowly, when a few weeks ago Alexia had been her best friend in the entire world.

“I want to see Alexia, I know she’s here, let me see her.”

Ingrid stood up, walking out the door of your room and out into the waiting room, retrieving a particularly heart broken blonde from the room and dragging her into your room.

The way your face lit up when you saw Alexia made Mapi feel sick, she wasn’t going to let Alexia hurt you again like she had.

Alexia’s cheeks were tearstained, her eyes distant as they met yours. It hurt her in ways she could never explain, seeing you looking so lifeless in a hospital bed, you were conscious, but all life had been drained from your body, you truly looked like a skeleton.

“Mapi, give me and Alexia a minute will you?”

Mapi looked like she was about to argue, but Ingrid’s hand on her wrist, tugging her out of the room was enough of a distraction, the Norwegian woman closing the door behind the two of them.

“I’m so sorry, I was such a bad girlfriend-.”

You stopped Alexia grovelling by lifting your hand.

“You fucked up, you hurt me more than I’ve ever been hurt before. It fucking sucked Alexia, never seeing you and when I did see you, you were always on the phone or tired or not in the mood. I understand that you are very busy, and that you can’t control your schedule, I’m not having a go at you for that, you are allowed to be tired. I’m pissed off because I was struggling, really fucking struggling and all you gave a shit about was yourself, you don’t understand how stressful it is to explain what’s going on in your head when you don’t even understand it yourself. You are supposed to be my person, the person I can ask and tell anything and you didn’t want to be that and I detested you for that. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t spend everyday hating you, because this is what it does to me. I can’t live without you, but I also can’t live beside a version of you that doesn’t love me like I deserve. I want to try us, I want to try again, because if I stand even a chance at keeping myself alive and being happy whilst doing it, it’s going to be in your arms, but I need you to understand that, I need you to understand that you need to be here for me, regardless of what’s going on in your life. You know I’m proud of you, I’m your biggest supporter, so right now I need you to be that for me.”

Alexia nodded like a goldfish at you, more tears flowing freely down her face.

“How bad is it?”

You bit down on your lip, everything that made Alexia, La Reina was gone, all of her barrier broken down, so that the only person standing in front of you was your Ale, the Ale you loved so very much.

“It’s not good, I haven’t been looking after myself in a long while, Anorexia they say. They want me to go into outpatient or inpatient, or move in with Mapi. I don’t want to do any of those things, I just want to be with you, happy with you, with you there to look out for me, I just need you to commit to that for me.”

Alexia nodded quickly, her head shaking furiously as her blonde hair swished back and forth beside her head.

“Please, if you’ll have me. I’ll take time off, whatever you need, I’m here for it all, I’ll spend everyday for the rest of our lives making it up to you, I promise, please just let me love you.”

You patted down on the space beside you on the bed and Alexia hesitantly sat down on the space, hovering on the bed, making sure she wasn’t touching you, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. You were starved though, starved of everything that you’d been missing the last few weeks, you reached out for her, pulling her to sit beside you on the bed, your head coming to rest against her stiff form. It took a few seconds to get her to relax, but when she did she lifted her hands up to your thin hair, carding her fingers gentle through it, trying her hardest not to notice the amount of hair that was falling out as a result of your health problems.

“I love you Ale.”

Alexia was so focused on you, that she didn’t even really hear the words.

“Ale, say it back.”

Your stern tone seemed to awaken her, she pointed her head down to yours, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and murmuring,

“I love you mi amor, more than you will ever know,”

It calmed your soul, a part of your heart that you didn’t know existed finally resting, enough to let you slowly drift off on Alexia’s chest, allowing you to sleep better than you had in months. Alexia found herself following you, the sight of you finally relaxed making her so much more content.

That was how Mapi and Ingrid found the two of you, sound asleep on your hospital bed. Mapi was a little bit annoyed at how easily you’d forgiven Alexia, but she couldn’t find it to be mad at the Catalan for very long, approving of how happy you looked at rest in her arms.

#woso #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #barca femeni x reader #wfc barcelona #barcelona women #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #liga f #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #mapi león #older sister mapi leon #made me cry #love angst

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number1jeonginstan · 4 months

Note

can you write a con-noncon fic where they have 2 safe words (fake, real) and reader says the fake safe word but they ignore it and continue. only if u’re comfortable w it tho!!! it’s totally fine if you don’t want to :) (w jeongin/seungmin)

p.s love ur work <3

pairing: Seungmin x afab!reader and Jeongin x afab!reader

warnings: swearing, kissing, smut, dub-con but not actually because I clear everything up in the end. If you aren't comfortable, that's totally fine! Please don't read it if you are!!! Also, please don't do this in real life without a trusted partner, like seriously

word count: 1k

18+ Minors DNI

A/N: I hope you like this because I did kinda a twist on what you asked! Please send me feedback if you like it or want a part two or something <333

smut warnings: unprotected sex, cumming inside, "Forced sex" (not actually...), "Cheating" (again, not actually)

Your clothed breasts were pressed against the counter as the man behind pounded into you. Your panties and shorts were pulled down to your thighs, and all your attempts at screaming were proved to be futile seeing as the man fucking into you shoved it filled with his fingers.

“Can’t believe you took my cock with no prep, it was like you were begging for it”

“Don’t you just need a big cock to stuff you fill?” he asked, not stopping his pace. You tried to scream a no, but your mouth was still muffled. You rapidly shook your head from side to side.

“I knew you were a whore, prodding around our dorm wearing nothing but Seungmin’s shirt and shorts” He slowly took his fingers out of you, allowing you to speak.

“I’m not a whore” you whined “You can’t do this, you are Minnie’s friend” You began to start crying. The tears slowly ran down your face as his pace didn’t stop.

“Yes you can, now take my cock like the little slut your “Minnie” said you were.”

You hated the way his cock felt in you. It was hitting all the spots that made you clamp yourself on his cock, squeezing him harder even though it wasn’t what you were trying to do. “Fuck babe, such a good whore, squeezing my cock so well”

“Please, please stop he’s going to be home soon” you pleaded while breaking out in a full sob.

“If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t feel so good around me” he moaned pulling his cock out of you. You thought it was over, but you were wrong. He flipped you around so your back was fully pressed against the marble counter.

He rubbed his cock in between your folds, lubing it up. “Fuck babe, for someone who is complaining, your pussy sure is wet”

He pounded into you again, this time it was faster, a hand reaching down to rub your clit causing a small moan to escape your lips. “God, look at you, complaining about my cock, but still moaning around it. Can’t wait to cum inside of you” he groaned, not slowing down his pace.

The only sound you could register was the sound of skin slapping and how wet you were. You felt ashamed, your cheek pressed against the countertop, the bottom of Seungmin’s shirt slowly riding up on you.

You were so out of it, that you didn’t notice or hear the door open or the way Seungmin was looking at the both of you, watching your fucked out face.

“Don’t stop on my account” he called out, causing the both of you to turn your heads.

“Caramel” you screamed, causing them both to look at you, but Jeongin didn’t stop. He started to thrust into you while picking you from the counter slowly. “Come on Min, don’t you want to fuck your girlfriend?”

Seungmin just followed the two of you to the couch. “Please Minnie, I begged him to stop, I didn’t want this, promise” you whined, causing him to slap you.

“If you didn’t want it, why were you so close to cumming. Don’t give me that bullshit again.”

“Min, I don’t know, please” you whined as Jeongin started thrusting his cock back into you. “Just be a good girl and take his cum for me, you can do that for me, can’t you baby?” you simply nodded, feeling your high close by as Seungmin began to rub your clit.

Jeongin’s thrust were hard and fast, hitting the spongey part inside of you as he shifted you in his lap. It took him only a few more thrusts for you to cum around him. He followed behind, painting your tight walls with his hot cum, causing the both of you to whine.

You fell back into his chest, hugging him, tired from what just happened.

“Baby, who said we were done” Seungmin stared at you, your eyes watering as you looked up at him. “You can’t leave me all by myself” he pulled your hand to feel the bulge in his pants, causing the both of you to moan.

“Wow Minnie, she’s such a whore. She just came on my cock and I can feel her pussy throbbing around it feeling your cock.”

“Yeah, she is such a whore for me, just the way I like it” he laughed, kissing your lips.

He slowly pulled you off of Jeongin’s cock, the both of them watching as his cum slowly dripped out of your cunt and onto your thighs. You were in for a long night.

—

“So you want us to what?” Seungmin asked while you lay in between your boyfriends. Your head was splayed on top of Jeongin, while he was eating a shrimp burger. The three of you were watching a movie.

“I just wanna pretend that I’m cheating on you, but Innie is forcing me” you whined, feeling embarrassed by your thoughts.

“We can do that,” Jeongin said, feeding you a bite of his burger while Seungmin stole a fry.

“Yeah baby, don’t feel ashamed, you put up with us, the most we can do is something that you want to try. If you don’t like it we can make a safeword” Seungmin said, patting your head as you looked at him.

“That was the second part, I wanna pretend that I used my safeword, so can we make two?” you asked, batting your eyelash.

“Of course, anything for our baby” Innie replied, kissing your lips.

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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

---

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

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

They’re… awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

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

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

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

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

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

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

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

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

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make the decision immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

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

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

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

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

Din needs to go.

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

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

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He also spoke of a girl.”

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

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

“A girl?”

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

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

Except, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

You’re right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A star destroyer.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

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

“No,” you eventually whisper.

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

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Mandalorian.

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

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

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that covers everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

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

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aestheticaltcow · 18 days

Text

Healing

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

This one went in a different direction than originally planned ngl. There isn't a lot of smut but I like how I ended it...

The final part of the Six Month universe Part 1 - Six Months Part 2 - The Night When It Went Wrong Part 3 - The Aftermath Part 4 - Two Months

MDNI 18+

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hide the pleasure you felt when Carmy finally erupted inside of you. Carmy’s whimpered moans filled your ear as he nipped at your jaw the way he knew you loved. You sighed as you let your fingers run down Carmy’s toned back.

When Carmy pulled out, you felt his ejaculation ooze out of you, and regret washed over you. You should have just walked down the hall to your room and pretended you never saw him jacking off with your underwear while he watched a video of the two of you hooking up. You watched him lay next to you and catch his breath before rolling on his side to face you. You reluctantly copied the move and stared at him.

Carmy gently pushed your bangs away from your face before planting his hand on your cheek. You bit your lip, trying to hide the soft smile on your face. He grinned and took a shallow breath before admitting, “I’m going to work my ass off every day for the rest of my life to prove how sorry I am.”

You nodded in response and moved closer to him. Carmy’s hand left your face, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. “I love you, baby,” he mumbled into your shoulder as he snuggled you as closely as humanly possible. You nervously swallowed, “Carmy… I don’t think I’m there yet…” you felt his body shift below you. “O-okay.” he stuttered, “Can-n you lay with me a little longer?”

“Of course, Carm.”

“Mia, I need you to eat your breakfast,” you sternly explained as Mia threw pieces of egg on the floor. “Baby girl, come on.” You sighed as you crouched in front of her high chair before taking the fork from her hand. She wiggled, trying to get away from you as you stabbed the sliced banana in front of her. “Mia, let’s have a good morning that starts with a good breakfast.”

“Are you trying to bargain with our ten-month-old?” Carmy laughed as he stood in the kitchen doorway. You rolled your eyes and stood up, “You try. She’s bein’ so fussy this morning.” Carmy shook his head and went up to her. Mia’s hands immediately started grabbing in his direction, “I swear, I carried you for nine months. 22 hours of labor, and a c-section, only for you to love him more than me… you’re lucky you’re cute.” you playfully teased Mia before planting a kiss on her chubby cheek. Her giggles lit up the room as Carmy pulled a chair beside her, “Okay, princess, let’s eat.”

As you ate your breakfast, you watched Carmy feed Mia. Something was different about him. You leaned back against the counter and really looked at him. He wore one of his slightly too-tight T-shirts and a pair of black jeans with the same gold chain he’d worn every day. As you scanned his body, you saw it: He was wearing his wedding ring. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him wear it. Something about it made you feel uneasy.

“Hey, Carmy… when you get home tonight, do you think we can talk about some stuff?” you asked as you adjusted Mia on your hip. Carmy looked at you like a deer in the headlights and hesitantly nodded as he picked up his backpack from the ground. “It’s nothing bad… just about last night and some other stuff,” you explained, hoping to alleviate some of his anxiety. Carmy nodded again and slung his bag over his shoulder. He stepped forward and kissed Mia’s head before playfully punching your arm, “Bye, girls…” he grinned before ducking out of the house for the day.

Carmy drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel of his car as he sat in traffic on his way to work. What did you want to talk about? Last night was everything he wanted. The two of you had sex for the first time in almost a year, the two of you slept in the same bed for the first time in months, and for a minute, Carmy had everything he’d wanted. He should have deleted Selena’s number when he got in the car that day. You were going to leave him; that’s what it had to be.

Throughout the day, Carmy was distracted. He was thinking about the conversation the two of you were having that night. He should prepare a speech. Should he buy you flowers? If he left early, he could stop at your favorite bakery and pick you up a sweet treat. Prep, family, and dinner service were a blur. He heard people talking to him, but none of what they said made sense; it was like he was back in school. Everything was going in one ear and out the other. He just needed to get home.

When Carmy walked into the house that night, he felt his heart rate accelerate. He quietly pushed his jacket off and stepped out of his shoes before walking back to your bedroom. You sat in bed doing something on your computer. Carmy sighed before making his presence known. He saw you sitting in the middle of the bed with your hair wrapped up in a microfiber towel, your face shiny from skin care products, and your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. “Hey baby.” he weakly grinned as he approached the bed. You grinned at him and closed your computer, “Hey Carm.”

“Still wanna talk?” Carmy asked as he shoved his hands into his pant pockets. You patted the mattress beside you and watched as Carmy pulled his hands from his pocket and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Carmy, I want-” You were cut off by Carmy standing up and pacing the space between the bed and closet door. He pushed his hands through his hair, took a deep breath, and looked at you with his fingers still tangled in his hair. “Baby. You can’t leave me. I know I fucked up, but please give me a second chance-”

“Carmy! I wanna go to couple’s counseling.”

“I understand that you didn’t have sex with that grocery store whore, but you went to her house with the intention to. And that’s what I’m hung up on.” you calmly explained as you watched Carmy sit back on the ugly cranberry couch in the therapist's office. The two of you had been going to therapy for a little over a month at this point, and while a dialogue was created, he just didn’t understand why you couldn’t move past it.

“How does that make you feel, Carmen?” the therapist questioned as they fidgetted with a pen.

“I’m confused. You kicked me out for like two months, contemplated divorcing me, and then you let me come home and sleep with me, but you’re still ‘not there’ when I tell you I love you. We’re spending a lot of time together as a family, but when I try to hang out with just you- you get weird. Like last night, I sat next to you on the couch and you got up because you ‘had to check on a rendering video’; then you didn’t come back. You act like nothings wrong around Mia or family, but when we’re alone, it’s like you’re in a different universe. Look, I know I fucked up. I just want to know what I need to do to make it right between us. I get we can’t go back to exactly what we had, but do you even like me anymore?” Carmy looked at you while on the verge of tears.

“Y/N, is there anything you want to say?”

“Carmy, I care about you so much and value our relationship, but right now, I’m just frustrated. I would never cheat on you, and the only reason you didn’t cheat on me was because you ‘couldn’t get hard’... I just- I don’t know what I need from you right now. I really appreciate you agreeing to this, and you’re a wonderful father, but I just don’t know.” you explained as you picked at the hole in your jeans.

Carmy opened the passenger’s door for you, and you quickly slipped into his car. He walked around and slipped in the driver’s seat, “We should start planning Mia’s birthday party.” you brought up as he turned on the car. Carmy nodded in agreement as you grabbed your phone from your purse, “I have a couple of Pinterest boards for party inspo. Since she’s not gonna remember it, we don’t have to go all out, but I like the idea of doing ‘My Berry First’ birthday party since my baby shower was also kinda fruity themed-”

“You don’t like me anymore.” Carmy spat, cutting you off midsentence. “What?” Surprised by his statement, you put your phone down and looked at him. He sighed and pulled over into a 7/11 parking lot. You watched as he tilted his head back and stared at the car's roof before slowly blinking. “Baby. Do you like me? Do you actually want to spend time with me? The only thing we do together anymore is go to couples counseling. You never want to go out to dinner or run errands together- the only time I fuckin’ see you is when we’re doing something with Mia. You say you love me and want to reconcile, but you don’t like me.” Carmy rubbed the back of his neck before glancing in your direction.

You’d turned in your seat, bringing your left leg up to the seat awkwardly sitting on it, “Carmen… I just- I don’t know. I like you, and I love our family, but it’s just hard.” you began to explain. “Listen, Carmen, I don’t want to divorce you. There’s just this tension- I don’t know how to explain it to you. I look at you and see the man I’ve been with for, like, what, seven years? But then I start thinking about you and that fucking whore. I think about how you didn’t tell her you were married. I think about her kissing you and touching you- it makes me wanna fuckin’ puke.”

You took a deep breath before continuing, “Carmy, I like you. I’m just- not there yet….”

“Hey, I’m gonna go to bed,” you said, poking your head into the living room. Carmy nodded without looking up at you, “Night.” he said as he flipped to a different channel on the TV. You stood against the doorway and watched as he stared at the screen lifelessly. With a sigh, you walked into the living room and stood beside Carmy. He was unphased; you needed to up the antics. You stepped closer and swiftly straddled Carmy’s hips, which thankfully got his attention. Carmy swallowed when you put a hand on his collarbone, “Hey.” you halfheartedly grinned.

Carmy took swallow breaths as he stared up at you. He allowed himself to rest his palms on your hips before fanning his fingers out to grab the fat of your ass, “I’m not really in the mood, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully hit him, “I swear Carmy… I like you. If I didn’t, I woulda never come up to you at that bar. I wouldn’t have agreed to be exclusive. I wouldn’t have moved into that shitty apartment you had. I wouldn’t have given up that job opportunity in California. I wouldn’t have married you or had your baby. I like you as a person, partner, father to my child…. Let’s spend some time together.”

You rubbed your lips together after applying a layer of pink-tinted lip oil. Your hair and makeup were as good as it was going to get. After slipping on a red barely long enough to cover your butt dress and a pair of black platform boots, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You smoothed down the bottom of your dress and grabbed a slightly oversized light-wash denim jacket along with your bag, “Let’s fuckin go.” you said as you walked out of the bedroom.

Carmy was in the kitchen with Mia on his hip. She had a fist full of his tank top in one hand and one of her stuffed animals in the other. When he heard the dryer go off, Carmy gently put her down, “Race ya?” he asked, hoping to tire her out enough for Donna to keep up with her. Mia plopped on the floor and stared up at him, disinterested in doing anything to make his morning easier. Carmy laughed and walked to the laundry room just off the kitchen. He grabbed a short-sleeved button-up shirt and slipped it on before throwing the rest of the clean clothes in a laundry basket. He felt nervous. It was silly, though- it’s not like he’d never had a date with you. He took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen to see Mia playing with Tupperware; he shook his head and swiftly scooped her off the floor. Mia dropped the container on the floor and grabbed at Carmy’s ear.

“You look pretty,” Carmy said as you sat in the passenger’s seat of his car after strapping Mia into her car seat. You smiled and pushed your bangs back, “You noticed…” you teased. Carmy chuckled as started backing out of the driveway. He put his right hand against your seat as he looked over his shoulder. You held your breath when you noticed his jugular bulge from his neck.

You were looking out the window when you felt Carmy reach over to your lap, you glance down to see him intertwine his fingers with yours. A blush came to your cheeks as he squeezed your hand softly, you bit your lip and rubbed your index finger between his knuckles.

Dropping Mia off at Donna’s always made you nervous; she’d changed since Natalie had started having kids, but you were haunted by her drunken rants criticizing Carmy for being with you and how you must have only been after his money. You laughed to yourself as you watched Carmy walk Mia into the house. She grabbed in your direction, her adorable little smile shining past the shield of her pacifier. You waved back before Carmy entered the house.

He came back to the car and pulled his phone out of his pocket to connect to the car’s bluetooth, “Where are we going on our date afternoon?” you asked as you nudged his shoulder. Carmy grinned at his phone as he scrolled through his Spotify playlist looking for a song to play, “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise.” he hit play on his phone and pulled away from the curb.

A couple of donuts and a walk through the park led you and Carmy to a secluded bench by a pond. “Have we brought Mia here?” you asked, unsure of the familiarity of your surroundings. Carmy nodded, “Sorta—you were pregnant with her.”

You smiled and scooted closer to him, snaking an arm around his waist. Carmy smiled and threw an arm over your shoulders. “It’s weird. We have a one-year-old. It feels like I was pregnant with her yesterday.”

“It is. If you could change anything—aside from the obvious—what would you pick?” Carmy asked into your hair as he kissed the top of your head. You thought momentarily, “Well, besides the obvious, I don’t think I’d change anything. We have a pretty cool kid.”

Carmy rubbed your bicep as the two of you watched ducks swim in the pond. Carmy brought his free hand to your chin, pushed it up with his index finger, and brought his lips down to yours. Before the two of you could kiss, he softly whispered, “Can I kiss you, baby?”

Instead of answering, you pressed your lips to his. He kissed back immediately and pulled you closer to him. You cupped his face in your hands as Carmy pulled you onto his lap; your stomach fluttered as Carmy’s grip tightened. As you separated your lips to allow your tongue to slip into Carmy’s mouth, you felt his phone vibrate against your hip. Carmy wanted to ignore the call and risk getting caught for indecent exposure, but when you reluctantly pulled away, he fished his phone out of his pocket and saw Donna’s name flashing across the screen. “Looks like Grandma Donna is at her Mia limit.” he chuckled and answered to have his assumptions confirmed by an overwhelmed Donna and a crying Mia in the background.

You got up from Carmy’s lap and smoothed down the back of your dress. He swallowed when he saw a peak of your butt cheek as you stood up. “We’re on our way, Ma.” he quickly said into the phone, cutting Donna off mid-sentence before hanging up.

“We can pick up where we left off later,” you say, biting your lip. Taking Carmy’s hand in yours, you trek back to the car and retrieve an overstimulated Mia from Grandma Donna’s house. By the time the two of you had gotten her to calm down and eat, the mood was gone, but Carmy had promised to make it up to you the following weekend.

“Dam, I thought the view from behind was good, but it’s even better up here.” some Andrew Tate-looking man greeted you. You internally cringed as you noticed how he looked at you like a piece of meat. You rolled your eyes and waited for the bartender to finish the drinks you’d ordered. “Can’t even get a hello?” the man questioned you, stepping forward. You scoffed, “I don’t owe you shit- maybe my husband’ll say hello to you.”

“I don’t see a husband anywhere. Don’t play so hard to get a sexy girl. Why don’t you come back to my booth?” His slimy offer disgusted you. You shook your head and slipped the bartender a $20 before taking your drinks back to the small window table you and Carmy had been sitting at. Carmy was outside on the phone dealing with some issue down at the restaurant; he shot you an apologetic smile.

While Carmy was wrapping up his phone call, the man from the bar strode up to the table to convince you to go back to his booth. You weren’t having any of it. “Where’s that husband of yours?” he questioned, sitting where Carmy had been moments prior. You gestured outside; Carmy had his back to the window as he listened to Richie’s nonsensical problem.

“That guy? The one on the phone who’s not even looking at you? I don’t believe you, sweetheart.” he purred as he relaxed into the chair opposite of you. You rolled your eyes and held your left hand up, you wiggled your ring finger; “Say that to the ring on my finger.”

“Come on, baby girl. I just bought a bottle of 925 Diamante Ley. Do one shot with me, and then you can decide if you want to come back to your ‘husband’ or not.” as he reached out to touch your bicep, Carmy cleared his throat. You looked up at him, immediately relieved. The guy looked over his shoulder, and Carmy glared at him, “Get a fuckin’ clue asshole. This is my wife and the mother of my child. Fuck off before I need to make you fuck off.”

The man looked Carmy up and down before shifting his attention back to you, “Oh hell fuckin’ no. Don’t need that nasty stretched out-” he was cut off by Carmy shoving the guy out of his chair. “Don’t fuckin’ dare finish that dam sentence. She’s a fuckin’ angel, and you should even be allowed in the same room as her.” Carmy spat as the guy stumbled back to his feet. “Yeah, whatever, man- she’s not even that hot.” he scoffed as he pushed past Carmy. You reached out to grab Carmy’s hand as the man walked out of earshot, “He’s not worth it, Carm.” you spoke softly as you squeezed his hand in yours, “Can we just get out of here?”

Carmy looked back at you, nodded, and pulled you to his side. As the two of you walked out of the bar, you couldn’t help but notice the scuzzball trying to get another table of girls to come back to his booth. You rolled your eyes and wrapped an arm around Carmy’s waist as he directed the two of you back to the car, “Fuck that dude.” Carmy mumbled as he closed your door after you’d gotten into the passenger’s side.

“You know your pussy isn’t ‘stretched out’ or ‘nasty’ right?” Carmy asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you on the drive home. You nodded, “I know Carmy.”

When Carmy parked in the driveway, he turned his head to look at you. He put a hand on your thigh and squeezed gently. You placed your hand on his and sighed softly before asking, “Do you wanna take a shower with me?”

Carmy laughed, “Baby, if I ever say no to that question, have me committed.” You rolled your eyes and opened the car door. As you walked to the front door, Carmy was hot on your heels. Before you could open the door, Carmy wrapped his arms around your waist. You put your head back against his shoulder, “Pay the sitter… I’ll start the shower.”

Carmy nodded and kissed your cheek before dropping his arms, allowing you to open the front door. You quickly walked down the hall, quickly poking your head into Mia’s bedroom before heading back into the master bedroom. Carmy stared at your ass as you walked away. He sucked in a breath and went into the kitchen to see the babysitter sitting at the kitchen island reading out of a beat-up history book, “Hi, Mr.Berzatto. Mia was a little fussy, but I got her down.” she began to explain. Carmy nodded, not really absorbing anything she’d said. He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out to Venmo her for the night. “Thanks, kid- Y/N or I’ll call you next time we need you.”

You stood in the bathroom in your underwear, waiting for the shower to heat up and for Carmy to join you. Carmy locked the front door and grabbed the baby monitor from the kitchen counter before barreling down the hallway. When he got to the door to the master bedroom, he took a breath and slowed down so he wouldn’t come off as overly desperate. Walking into the bedroom, he put the baby monitor on your dresser before kicking his shoes off and stripping to his underwear. As he walked to the askew bathroom door, he ran his tongue over his teeth when he noticed you looking at your reflection in the mirror. He noticed you pulling at the skin on your stomach with a frown. Carmy huffed and softly opened the door more. You looked over at him as he stepped further into the bathroom. His hands found your hips and lifted you onto the counter, “So fuckin’ sexy, baby…” Carmy muttered as his lips crashed onto yours. You were taken by surprise but allowed Carmy to wedge himself between your thighs as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Carm- showers on…” you manage to get out after pushing his chest away from you. Begrudgingly, he stepped away and pulled the shower curtain open. “Oh god, you’re trying to boil us alive.” Carmy laughed as he pulled his hand away from the water. You rolled your eyes before hopping off the counter. After removing your bra and underwear you stepped into the shower. Carmy pushed his boxers down and joined you after turning the heat down.

“Can you sleep in here Carmy?” Carmy’s heart stopped as the words left your mouth. He nodded softly trying his hardest to not come off as desperate. You saw through it immediately and playfully nudged his shoulder as you walked past him into the bedroom. Carmy looked in the mirror and pushed his wet hair back with his hands, a goofy grin was plastered on his face at the realization that he’d managed to get back on your good side.

When Carmy joined you in bed you immediately scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I missed this…” you mumbled into his chest as you snuggled closer to him. Carmy chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

“I missed this more, baby,” he responded as he pulled you onto his hips. “I love you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but hurting you was the worst,” he said as he held you. “I’m never going to hurt you like that again.”

You nodded and pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Staring down at him, you saw the Carmy you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. “You’re not gonna get a third chance, Berzatto. Fuck up again. I’m cutting your dick off.” you threatened, much to his amusement. He shook his head, chuckling, “I won’t need a third chance, baby.”

“Good. I love you, Carmen. Don’t make me look like a fool again.”

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