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bri-sonat · 4 months

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Bloodied Waters

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood and slight violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, non-sexual nudity and intimacy. Slight canon deviation.

Synopsis: When Brienne returns covered in traces of battle, you give her comfort and safety - and a nice bath.

A/N: This has been sitting finished since July but I haven't wanted to post it for many reasons. For some reason I don't hate this fic anymore so I am taking the opportunity now so I can't revert back to my original state, lol. As per usual, English isn't my first language and all that.

Thank you to @daydream-cement for being the most supportive and encouraging friend I could ask for, and for reading this and giving me your opinion months ago.

Two months.

It had been two months since you had seen her last. Since she rode off to fight Gods knows what battle. In this time of uncertainty, you couldn’t be sure where she was sent off to anymore.

The imminent threat of the Night King and his army breaching The Wall weighed heavily on the land and it resulted in Brienne being away more than usual – but she had never been away this long.

You couldn’t be blamed when you began to wonder if she was still alive after the six-week mark and she hadn’t returned or been heard from. No one had from the company she had departed with. And when it hit eight weeks, your worries didn't get any better.

So, they were all either dead or still fighting for their lives. Those were the only reasons your stress-ridden brain could come up with.

If she had been removed from this mortal realm, she would have died alone. Alone somewhere. Probably in immense pain.

Even if it hurt you to even entertain the thought, you hoped her possible death had been fast. That way, she didn’t have to suffer.

Your heartbreaking thoughts were cut short by the sound of a horn, signaling that the group had returned and to open the gate. From your window, you could see a band of people on horses, three of them unmanned, which made you feel uneasy.

It was usually easy to spot Brienne in a crowd of people, but her straw-blonde hair was nowhere to be seen. The pit in your stomach that had been growing over the past weeks seemed to drop when you couldn’t find her.

Maybe the chance of her losing in battle was more probable than you had been willing to accept.

But until someone explicitly told you that she had perished in battle, you would have hope for her survival.

You witnessed as the gate was opened and the warriors rode in - the people and horses disappearing from view before the gate was once again closed.

Staring out the window and waiting for a knock on your door was only going to drive you mad, so you decided to pass the time in some other way.

Scurrying about your room, you tried finding something to do but restlessness got the better of you, and you soon found yourself waiting for that knock on the door that could either be the face of your love, or the worst possible news.

After fifteen minutes of silence, you started to land in the fact that she may not have returned, and the person who knew about your relationship was slowly making their way to your room to deliver the bad news.

You couldn’t take the agonizing pain so you left your room to venture for some hot water – hoping a nice hot bath might allow your tense body to relax. If even in the smallest bit.

When you returned to your room, hot water acquired, you were surprised to discover that there was no one waiting outside your door, nor had you met someone on your walk to or from. It was strangely silent.

The bath basin sitting in the adjacent room to yours looked more and more inviting by the second and you sprang into action before the water in your hands turned cold.

Pouring the large water cans with hot water into the vessel, you pondered how it would be to bathe with Brienne. How it would be to have such calm intimacy with the person you loved more than anything in this world.

The thought made you the tiniest bit sad and even if you wanted to keep the image in your head for as long as you could, you knew it was better to think about something else for now until you knew that the fantasy was a possibility.

You filled the rest up with the cold water from the large bucket next to the basin so it would even out to a nice lukewarm temperature.

Just as you were about to take your clothes off, a knock on the door disrupted your actions and you nearly ran to the door to open it – desperate for any piece of information regarding Brienne.

When you opened the door, you were met by a face you knew all too well, only this time, it was covered in dried blood, grime, and dirt. “Brienne, oh, Gods.”

You reacted quickly by ushering her inside your room and closing the door after her. She didn’t say a single word and her eyes were empty – apathetic and void of any emotion.

You didn’t know if the blood was hers or not but there was only one way to find out.

Carefully, you sat her down on your bed and undid her sword belt and fur cape before you began removing each piece of her dark armor, sneaking eventual glances at her emotionless face, your heart breaking each time she did not even make a move to look at you. She just stared dead ahead.

Never had you seen her like this before.

When all her armor was discarded, you were hit with the stench of iron, sweat, and mud – the smell of what you assumed to be battle. You moved your attention to her gambeson and gloves, working fast to get everything off to assess her condition – if she had been injured or not.

You remained quiet throughout your entire undressing of your girlfriend, if Brienne wanted to talk – she would. You assumed she needed some silence to process everything and just enjoy being back in a safe location.

The moment her gambeson and the rest of her clothing had been removed - you took hold of her dirty hands to guide her up to a standing position. You raked your eyes over her body and found nothing except for more blood, most likely having run down her neck and invaded the skin protected by the armor.

“The blood is not mine,” Brienne croaked out. The sudden noise made you jolt, your eyes snapping up to meet her desolate ones.

“Right...,” you responded, her statement confirming that she was not wounded in a way that would warrant blood. With your worries settled, you guided her to the other room. You had poured the bath for yourself, but she needed it more.

Slowly, she stepped in, her hand in a steadfast grip in yours as she descended into a sitting position until her entire body was underneath the surface – releasing a sigh once the water enveloped her.

You let go of her hand and grabbed a bar of soap sitting on the table next to the basin and she let the hand you had previously been holding fall under the water as well.

Brienne sat in the basin, staring into nothingness – her breathing slow. You rolled up your sleeves, kneeled next to the tub, and submerged the bar in the warm water before you began gently cleaning her skin from the stench and the mud and blood that tainted her soft skin.

Starting with her face and neck, you used your hands to gently apply the soap and you observed the suds turning a brownish red as it mixed with the blood and dirt on her skin.

As your eyes scanned her face, you noticed that her disheveled blonde hair had also been soiled by blood spatter and dried mud.

“Close your eyes.” It was a gentle command, and Brienne complied – closing her eyes without question.

Using a cloth, you dunked it in the water and allowed it to soak before wringing it out – bringing it to Brienne’s face to wipe away the lather. You dipped it in the water again to rinse it, but you caught a glimpse of it before you did – the color of the froth alien on the white fabric.

With her face now clean, you moved on to her hair.

Normally you’d utilize your own mixed hair wash for this, but you didn't wish to leave Brienne in her current state to go and collect it. Soap would have to do.

Your movements were slow and calculated as you pressed gently on the bottom of her chin, signaling for her to lean her head back. Brienne complied and tilted her head back and you maneuvered yourself so you could have the perfect view needed to wash her dirtied hair.

Utilizing one of the jugs you had carried the water with, you dipped it in the water to fill it up and used it to wet Brienne’s straw blonde hair, going over it once or twice before you were confident that all the strands were permeated.

You grabbed the bar of soap once again and dragged it against the palm of your hand – getting a decent amount on it before placing the bar to the side and rubbing your hands together. Tenderly, you started massaging the soaping into her blonde curls and scalp, making sure that all the dirt and blood loosened from her locks.

Brienne hummed as your hands mildly rubbed her head – adoring the alleviating feeling it gave her. The feeling of comfort and security. Her eyes were still closed, and she could feel the corners of her lips twitch the tiniest bit as you pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving to fill the jug with water to rinse the soap out of her hair.

You worked softly and slowly when you combed your fingers through her locks – pouring the water over her hair as you did, making sure that all the lather was washed away.

With her hair, face, and neck clean – it was time to wash the rest of her body.

You moved away from the head of the basin and switched to sit at the side of it again, kneeling next to it. You grabbed the bar of soap and immersed your hand into the water that was starting to turn red at this point and started to cautiously drag the bar across Brienne’s chest – removing all the dried blood and dirt.

Whilst one of your hands was in the water, the other one rested on the rim of the basin, right next to Brienne’s ear, and before you knew it, you felt her leaning her head against it. A small smile started playing on your lips at the intimate position you had found yourselves in.

You had never experienced this type of closeness with your knight before – it was incredibly heart-warming and you wouldn’t complain if you found yourself in this position again; without the blood and dirt, of course.

Brienne’s head rested against the back of your hand at the same time as yours worked on washing her arms, hands, chest, stomach – anywhere you had seen dried signs of battle.

You enjoyed every single second of the casual intimacy. The fact that there were still new ways to be so deeply close even after so many months made you incredibly giddy inside even when the situation you discovered it in was somber.

Like it had the entire time, the only thing filling the silence in the room was the splashing of the water as it hit the sides with your hand continuing to move as it scrubbed Brienne’s skin. It remained like that for a very long time until the blonde woman opened her mouth to speak for the second time since she had come home. Your hand that was scrubbing her sides halted briefly before continuing - her voice surprising you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You couldn’t help but inquire as to why she was thanking you. What you were doing right now only seemed like the most obvious choice. You took care of each other in any way the other person needed, and you were more than happy to offer her this small service.

She was quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again – her voice low, almost like a whisper. “For this... and for giving me a reason to keep fighting. It... It didn’t look very promising for a few moments, and I was... I was harboring the idea that I would never return to you again.”

You leaned forward to press a kiss to Brienne’s forehead as you continued scrubbing her skin beneath the surface of the water. “This is the least I can do for you... you take care of and for me every day. I wanted to return the favor. Thank you for coming back to me. And you’re welcome. I’m glad to provide you with a reason to keep fighting if it’ll bring you back to me each time.”

Brienne hummed and whined slightly when you removed your lips from her skin. To have someone care for her in the way you did made her feel so gleeful and she was so grateful for you and all you did for her. “Still... Thank you.”

“Anything for my knight.” You smiled as you washed her and finished your response – already knowing the next words coming out of her mouth.

The blonde woman chuckled slightly and silently, having had this exact interaction with you many times before. By now, she knew you did it as a way of making her smile and it worked; every single time. “I’m not a knight.”

“To me you are. You’re my knight.” You saw the smile that crept up on Brienne’s lips at hearing your words, even if she had heard them many times before at this point. “Besides, if you were a man, we both know you’d be a knight by now. You have the traits of a knight, so in my eyes, you are a knight. Even if you don’t have the title.”

Brienne adjusted her head to press a kiss to the back of your hand before returning to rest her cheek on it again. “You’re too nice to me. Thank you.”

“I only treat you in the way you deserve to be treated. Not my fault you’re such an incredible person.” You said this in a way that made Brienne smile and blush – something that you did with ease many times over the two years you had known the adorable knight. It only got worse once you began your relationship because it made you able to be more frank with your compliments.

The blonde didn’t offer a response to your words – silence filling the room once again. The way Brienne spoke about the battle, it seemed to have gone bad, so much so that she thought she wouldn’t make it. You knew she would talk to you about it if she needed to and you had no reason to ask but a part of you wondered what happened that caused her to see no hope.

The rest of the bath went by in tranquility, the occasional kiss on Brienne’s forehead and the planting of lips on your hand mixed with the comforting sounds of water making the second part of the experience a very pleasant one.

After helping Brienne out of the now red-stained water and planting her before the burning fire in the other room to dry with a fur wrapped around her, you told her to stay put before running as fast as you could to her room to collect her comb, and dry and clean clothes for her.

You didn't wish to leave her but the clothes she arrived in were bloody and dirty, and you knew Brienne would appreciate the gesture.

When you returned, she sat with her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms wound around them on the fur you had put on her.

You slowly approached her and sat down next to her – her folded clothes placed on your bed, the comb resting on the pile. “Hi.”

Her skin was dry now. Her hair was still a bit damp but you knew it wouldn’t be long until it was fully dried as well.

Brienne sighed and leaned her head against your shoulder. She stared into the crackling fire – the flames dancing in her beautiful blue eyes. “...Hi.”

“How are you feeling?” You wrapped an arm around her naked form and pulled her close to you. You had missed her so much and you were not ready to let go anytime soon except to get undressed to join her in bed.

“Better now... A little tired.” Brienne hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and she was exhausted at this point. The adrenaline had finally worn off completely and she felt the fatigue creep up on her like she had expected it to once she was back in your safe company.

“It’s getting late... Do you want to go to sleep? I will deal with the water tomorrow.” The sun had started setting as you were washing Brienne and it had been well below the horizon for a while now. You pressed a kiss to the top of the knight’s head and awaited her answer.

“Yes, please.” Brienne sat snuggly in front of the warm hearth, but she knew that it was much nicer to be in your embrace. It was warm, cozy, and oh-so-comfortable.

“Okay... Let’s get you covered and tucked in.” You stood up and began removing the things scattered about the bed. Brienne’s discarded armor, her dirty clothes, her cape, and her sword were swept off the mattress and placed on a round table close to the hearth. Her clean clothes and comb remained on the bed, and you squatted down next to her to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to get dressed?”

Brienne leaned her head against your hand and closed her eyes. “No. I want to feel you pressed against me entirely. I don’t want clothing to restrict me from sensing all of you.”

You almost melted from her sweet words. You rubbed your thumb against her skin, the pad of it grazing against the tip of one of her scars. “Alright, my sweet Brienne.”

The knight lifted her head from your hand and you slid it down her arm – leaving it to rest on her bicep. You gently rubbed it up and down as she opened her eyes and stood up.

You swiftly removed the pile that was on the bed and placed them on the table as well. You would have to comb her hair tomorrow instead.

With the bed empty, Brienne could pull off the furs and crawl in under them – covering her bare body and providing her with warmth and comfort for the first time in weeks.

She laid on her back as she watched you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on top of your trunk.

You finally crawled into bed and cuddled up next to Brienne, her skin incredibly soft. She hummed as you slung one arm and leg over her torso, bare skin against bare skin, and rested a hand on your thigh.

Her other arm went around your shoulders and pulled you closer – your head resting on her chest.

Her rhythmic heartbeat was a consistent reminder that she was indeed alive and still with you. After two months of being apart, the whole situation felt imaginary, but her steady heartbeat let you know that it was real – that she was indeed with you. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Brienne’s hand on your thigh rested securely and her thumb drew soft lines across your skin. She smiled at your words as she kept her eyes closed to invite slumber. “It’s beating because and for you.”

Her words caused you to pull yourself even closer to her, which was impossible to do at this point. A smile and a blush crept up on your face, she always said the most adorable things and you had no idea what you did to deserve her love, but you were so thankful for her. “You’re sweet. I love you so much.”

Brienne chuckled quietly and you could tell she was close to falling asleep by her voice. “You bring out that side in me... what can I say? I love you, too. Thank you for being here when I returned.”

“I will always be here when you return,” you whispered. You were starting to feel the weeks of worried sleep catch up to you by now and you were more than ready to finally fall asleep in her embrace once again.

The only response Brienne gave was a hum and it fell silent after that.

You heard the knight’s breathing even out after a few minutes, and it signaled that she had fallen into a slumber that you hoped was a deep and restful one. You could only imagine the conditions she has been having to sleep in, and you couldn’t see them being comfortable.

You listened to her breathing and heartbeat for a few more seconds before sleep claimed you as well. Now back with a safe Brienne, you knew that you’d sleep incredibly well. You always did with her.

When you awoke the next morning, Brienne would kiss you all over to make up for two months of being away from one another. But that was up to you in the future to find out. Until then, you were more than happy to finally be with her again, and you remained clinging to your knight all night long.

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taglist: @na-shoba, @pastanest, @the-fuck-do-i-know, @christies-fleur, @idontlikepexple, @lord6-6fandom, @sapphicmitski (can't tag you for some reason)

#gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth x reader

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no-droids · 1 year

Text

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

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

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

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

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

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

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

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

They’re… awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

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

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

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

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

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

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

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

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

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make the decision immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

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

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

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

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

Din needs to go.

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

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

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He also spoke of a girl.”

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

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

“A girl?”

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

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

Except, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

You’re right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A star destroyer.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

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

“No,” you eventually whisper.

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

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Mandalorian.

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

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

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that covers everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

@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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twistedchatterbox · 1 year

Text

New voicemail

summary: sappy boys being mushy over the phone for you. ft.Riddle, Cater, Vil, Idia tags. Female reader, No Spoilers, Fluff, Cheesy Sappy Lovey Dovey Romance, Slice of life, Spice of life, Smitten Vil, Lovesick Riddle, Cater sings for you, anniversary date with idia, copious use of petnames, no beta we overblot like men.

Wordcount; 1520+ | Masterlist & Taglist

Riddle has cleared his throat thrice, drank water and mentally rehearsed what he wanted to say for this voicemail; however once he hit record, none of that really mattered. "Hi," he whispered, the nearly overwhelming happiness in was audible, it nearly spoke for him. Thinking about the silliness of it, the dormwarden laughed, giggly at the mishap, it really was unavoidable anyway. Riddle took a breather, sighing in a relieved and relaxed manner, "Hi" he whispered with a wide grin, one you would hear vividly, openly adoring, "I missed you." "I missed you so, so much; I want to spend time with you- If you'd have me, we could study together once the exam subjects are announced, if you want to." Riddle murmured, twirling one of the longer locks of hair framing his face with his idle hand; eyes closed, envisioning it. "And then, we could go on a date." He hummed, would you like a cafe date? Karaoke? The aquariu- Well, maybe not the aquarium. Maybe he could take you out on a walk to the district nearby of the internships he picked out, but that sounded too serious. So, a cafe would suffice for now. He would check Cater's magicam page, namely his older posts to see some of the calmer, more relaxing places he could take you to. "What do you think? Let me know once you see- or i suppose hear- this, my lovely." "bye-bye, I love you." And suddenly, time couldn't pass fast enough. ...He supposes he could write his own written permit to stay over, it's not as if anyone could stop him; you had always been ecstatic to see him use the loopholes of rules to be a good boyfriend, after all.

Cater leap onto his bed, giddy and giggly, rolling back and forth while occasionally kicking his feet like a schoolgirl. Lightly smushing and slapping his face with both of his own hands to calm down, he sighs, hugging one of his pillows, looking idly around his room. A love song. He had been giddy and sappy because he heard a love song, it sounded so much like the essence of you. He has already begun memorizing the lyrics, so that he could sing it, maybe he'd learn to play it too. it made him so happy. You made him so happy. He loves you- and he sighs, you really ought to start paying rent someday for living in his head all the time, and his heart too. And then he thought, what if he.. sung, for you? Well that suddenly made him anxious, but ecstatic, he was such a nerve wreck. but it was good. and overwhelming. Cater curses the lack of logistics in him. He thinks back to the comment lingering in the back of his mind, he knows why he's even thought of this- "I love it when you sing" you said, cuddling up to his neck, leaning on him, on his bed, sitting on his lap while he sung a simple tune of a song as he was practicing on his guitar. It was his favourite, his sisters hated it. and you loved it. And Cater soaked it up like a sponge, like a golden retriever, if you will; fetching his phone fast, so that he could do this before his dumb insecurities could catch up to him. Sweater weather. "All I am is a man I want the world in my hands I hate the beach But I stand in California with my toes in the sand Use the sleeves of my sweater Let's have an adventure Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered Touch my neck and I'll touch yours You in those little high waisted shorts, oh-" Cater felt the song and your hands crawl up his body like phantom touch as he sung. it was ticklish, making him end the song halfway with a breathless chuckle and a dumb smile, he knew you could hear it in his tone, but he didn't mind at all. He hoped one day, you'd get to grasp how precious you are to him; he loves you, and he loves everything you love too, somehow inlove with the way you do too. The word doesn't make sense anymore, but it really does too. He feels a lot like love with you, yeah, Cater laughed; it really shouldn't make sense, but he's so thankful it does. Looking back at his phone, he records his final piece. "I love you, princess." Sent. ...And maybe, he grinned- "Meet me in my room for the full piece, maybe? I could pick you up~" Sent.

Vil laid down in bed, normally he wouldn't do so until it was time to sleep, yet he knew he'd cave into something far more off-schedule if he didn't. He laughed, it truly was bizarre; Vil Schoenheit, the renowned actor was missing his girlfriend. That, it was the entire reason. The cause of his simple complicated mood. Well, he knew that if he called you it could get you in trouble; perhaps you were in class, or working on something, he couldn't interrupt you without being a hypocrite. But. Vil eyed his phone on the night stand, maybe he could do something. A playful grin rose on his gorgeous features, mischief, rarely shown in a not overly elegant manner. Vil couldn't give a damn. He reached out and swiped his phone, opening it swiftly and admiring your contacts information. "The love of my life." it made him smile, he was so indecisive about what kind of nickname would fit; he did not want to jinx this by being overly cliche and being soft or off-character, until you so naturally, casually reminded him that for as long as he's off stage, then he's supposed to be off-character. No one besides himself, and you, that's all he really needs. He sighed dreamily, hitting record. "Hi, my beauty, my muse, my dove," Vil chuckled to himself, "My, my my, haa.. I missed your presence so much, if only you knew." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, closing his eyes, "Lets remedy this once you are available, okay? We could have a spa day, or, if you can, I can ask my management to pick you up so that you can accompany me for the entire day..." "It's been a while since we got to spend the entire day together, side by side" That was a goddamn lie. "Maybe you can make up to me by joining me on a day-long date and night time spa?" You slept in his room and woke up side by side every day already.

"Let me know when you're free, my dove; " He blew a kiss, a soft click of his lips, "I love you."

Idia sighed, drinking down the cup of water, staring at the mirror reflection of himself on the screen of his phone. "The things I do for you" he thought with a softened, pleased smile. Calming, it was accurate to describe the affect you had on him when he thought of you. Sure he flared up into life from the power of anxiety, love, nerves and his traitorous color changing flame hair the second you stepped foot into 6ft of his physical area of existance, but he had come around to relax so much more as your relationship developed. This will be just another milestone, he said, time will pass either way, he told himself, better do it now than miss a limited edition chance. Idia averted his gaze as he pressed the record button, "uh- Hey, hi, " he fake-coughed into his hoodies sleeves, tugging on the strings of said hoodie with his idle hand. "I missed you, so" He shrugged, mentally smacking himself upside down the head for doing something you had no chance to hear. "So i decided to leave a voice message- Come visit me once you can, okay? I'll order your favourites too, if you want. Or we could cook together, I dunno'," Idia glanced back, looking momenterily at your contact picture, it was one he took while you two were out on a date. Outside for your half-year anniversary, a year ago now. That gave him an idea, making him grin. "I know instant noodles aren't always your thing so I'll treat us to something nice," He 'hummed', pretending to ponder. "..I could take us to that ramen place, maybe? I..I-I think it was nice last year." Idia said, stuttering at the last bit, yet carrying on. "Let me know what you think." "I love you." He said, it was only natural, as everything lovely seemed to be when it came to you. Idia fist bumped the air, letting out a happy victory sound; that actually went perfectly?!- He couldn't help but laugh, loudly and absolutely thrilled, ecstatic. He jumps into his bed and screams into his pillow; Idia sighs, relaxing as if he just ran a marathon (his heart sure did, to be fair.) and a closed eye-d smile made its way to his face without any resistance "I love her so much.." You always make him so happy.

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scoopsahoy · 2 months

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birthday boy

ぺ word count ⋰ 1.2k

✰ tw ⋰ none :)

❍ cw ⋰ swearing, sex + fingering

៚ a/n ⋰ yes i came back from the trenches to post a fic about steve for joe's birthday. and what about it

✐ masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

April 24th. The 115th day of the year had many celebrations including National Pigs in a Blanket Day, but the most important one to you was the birthday of your boyfriend, Steve. The two of you hadn't been together long, just about a year. But you knew him pretty well at this point.

You knew what he liked and what he disliked, and you knew how he liked to celebrate important events, like birthdays.

So you invited all of his friends, including Robin, Dustin, and the rest of The Party. You baked him a regular chocolate cake at his request. You rented Back to the Future, as he didn't really get to see it properly the first time. All in all, he had one of the most fun birthdays he'd had in a long time.

But his real gift didn't start until after the guests left.

You stared in the bathroom mirror at yourself, all dolled up in a new lingerie set that you bought specifically for tonight. It was a deep purple, black lace lining the edges of both the bra and underwear. The bra was just a normal bra, but the underwear tied on both sides like bikini bottoms for easy removal.

You hadn't had the opportunity for intimacy for a few weeks, as you'd been incredibly busy with work trying to save up extra money. But tonight it was just the two of you in his empty house.

When you walked to his room, he was sitting in his bed propped up against the headboard, rereading the card you got him with a small smile on his face. You leaned against the doorframe, trying to be as sexy as possible.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, looking up as he began his next sentence. "It was really-"

When he finally did look at you, his eyes grew so large you swore they were going to pop out of his head like a cartoon. You'd never worn lingerie before, as it wasn't really your thing.

But seeing the look on his face made you realize that this will probably become a recurring thing.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sitting up a bit.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought, since it's your birthday, I'd... do a little something extra."

You stepped into the room and closed the door, locking it behind you just in case. You slowly strutted over to the bed, his hand instinctively raising to meet your hip.

"You like?" you asked in an innocent voice.

"Hate it. Take it off," he joked. You couldn't hold in your chuckle as you swung your leg over his lap and positioned yourself on top of him.

Now both of his hands were on your waist, wrapping around you firmly.

"It's your birthday, you have to open the gift."

He looked at you with his brows raised. You weren't usually the perpetrator of dirty talk, so this came as a bit of a surprise to him. But he didn't hesitate to reach up and unhook your bra, freeing you from the constricting material.

His lips were on your chest and your bodies were connected before the garment even hit the floor, a satisfied sigh escaping your mouth as your hands found his shoulders.

As he reached down to your left hip to untie one of the sides of your underwear, you stopped him.

"Now you know you don't get to take those off until you've taken something off yourself."

You could have sworn that his shirt was off in less than a second. You knew he was eager to finally fuck you again, and so were you. Every fiber of your being wanted one thing — him inside of you.

His hands untied both sides of your underwear at once, throwing it to the floor on top of the rest of the discarded clothes.

Part of you wanted to make this as slow and sexy as possible, but a bigger part of you just wanted to get to it as fast as you could.

He wrapped one arm all the way around you and flipped you onto your back, his hips settling between your thighs.

"Steve," you breathed. "Take your pants off."

With zero hesitation he did what you commanded. Within less than twenty seconds, both of you were fully naked, aside from a condom.

His right hand reached down and his fingers began circling your clit, a low hum filling the room. It was the first time you'd had any stimulation there in forever, so you knew it wasn't going to take you long to cum.

"I missed you," he said into your neck. "I feel like we haven't seen each other in forever."

"I know. I missed you, too."

Without another word, you felt him slip into you, and you both gasped. You pulled his lips to yours and kissed him deeply as he picked up a steady rhythm.

"You feel so good," he said into your mouth, being met with an 'mhm'.

You raised your legs a bit and pressed them into his sides, allowing him to go deeper than a moment ago. And, noticing this, he snaked his arms behind your knees and pushed your legs higher, almost to your shoulders.

This was new for you — being this bent. But it felt amazing. And you couldn't hold back the moans that immediately got significantly louder.

"Fuck, Steve."

"Is that okay?"

You nodded frantically. "So good."

With that verbal approval, he sped up again. His lips once again attached themselves to your neck, sucking on that oh-so-tender spot that he knew you loved.

As he fucked you, the sounds that came out of you only got louder and more guttural, as this position brought a whole host of new sensations. You were convinced that your g-spot was nonfunctional up until this point, but this angle made you realize how wrong you were.

Every single thrust brushed across it in the exact way that you needed to feel something from it, and you could have sworn you grew it overnight.

Your hands gripped his biceps tightly and your eyes widened as he made eye contact with you.

"Steve, I'm not gonna last much longer."

The couple of weeks of no intimacy really did make a difference, more so than either of you expected.

"Good, me either."

It was less than thirty seconds later that you were probably able to be heard from outside as you came, his fingers on your clit not helping you keep your volume down in the slightest.

Neither of you moved for a good ten seconds. Your legs were back down at their normal position. His face was buried where your neck and shoulder meet and you kissed the side of his head, rubbing your hands up and down his sides.

"Happy birthday," you whispered. He lifted his head and looked at you with a dorky tired smile and kissed you.

"Best birthday ever. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"So... I think you should take me with you next time you go lingerie shopping."

"Well, now, that would ruin the surprise of it, wouldn't it?"

#fanfic #fanfiction #smut #imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harringtong fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington x reader fanfiction #steve harrington x reader imagine #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut

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joeys-babe · 6 months

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Joey B Imagines: Don’t Give up on Me

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Summary: When being the girlfriend of an NFL heartthrob starts to feel suffocating, and you feel like running, Joe tries to convince you to stay with him.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

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*no specific date for this fic!*

You couldn't take it anymore. It was just that simple.

Getting together with Joe back in September of 2022 felt like a fever dream. He gave you everything you could want or need in a boyfriend and you seriously loved him.

At one point you might've even said he was the one.

Joe himself hadn't done anything to change that idea, it was the fans and the attention that came with him.

After dating for a year, Joe finally proposed the idea of going public. You guys weren't necessarily hiding your relationship since you went to games and such, but it hadn't been openly proclaimed.

You were excited and giddy, sitting on the couch next to Joe as you both curated Instagram posts of pictures of you two. After tagging one another and hitting the post button, you and Joe turned your phones off and spent the evening just with each other.

Joe was ecstatic that his relationship with you was out in the open, everyone finally knew he was taken and he was taken by the girl he thought he was going to marry.

Later that night when Joe was fast asleep next to you in bed, you turned your phone back on and went through the comments.

“Not cute…”

“He could totally do better…”

“Sad that he's choosing to settle.”

“She has to be fire in bed or smt 💀.”

“She doesn't even have a body.”

“Obviously he went for personality.”

“He def cheats on her every day.”

“Gold Digger!”

“Using him for status Fs.”

“He could have a model but chose that?”

It seemed like the comments had turned into an endless stream of hate, all against you.

The words made you start to think things that you never would have thought before tonight. You felt secure in your relationship with Joe, but now? Now it felt like at any moment he was able to walk out on you and find someone better.

Sitting in bed staring at your phone as a waterfall-like flow of tears streaming down your face, it suddenly felt like you couldn't breathe.

You jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. Hearing Joe yelling behind you, you kept running. You ran till you were down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out of the back door.

Everything was a blur from how hard you were crying but you could barely make out the porch swing and fell into it.

Sobbing into your hands, you had never felt so small, useless, ugly, and so much more.

“y/n? Are you okay? What happened?” - Joe

Flinching when you felt a hand on the top of your head, you pulled away from your own hands to look up at Joe.

He stood there looking scared for what you were going to say, fearing the worst.

“The fans, Joe… they hate me.” - you

Joe almost felt his own heart shatter when he heard those words leave your lips. You were the woman he was in love with and this was all because of the people who call themselves his fans?

“Baby… don't pay attention to what they say. Any person who says negative things about you is no fan of mine. Look at me.” - Joe

Looking up at Joe, he cupped your jaw with his hand and rubbed over your cheek with his thumb.

“Don't read those comments and if you do, don't listen to what they say. They don't know you, they don’t know me, and they don't know us. I love you with every fiber of my being, please don't feel wary because of something someone else said...” - Joe

At that moment a little bit of security came back, but you still felt like total shit that was unworthy of how good of a man Joe was.

Joe had made a statement during a press conference the following day, addressing the hate and how much he detested it and resented anyone who spoke such words to be a fan of his.

He had promised you that things would change in a week, but a week later they hadn't. In fact, it got worse.

That's why you made the hardest decision of your life and decided to part ways from him.

It was the best for you and your well-being, as much as you loved Joe. You pondered and pondered this decision but knew it was the right one. There didn't seem to be a life that you could picture without Joe in it, but for now, you needed to be away.

Joe was at practice when you started packing your things up. You planned to be gone by the time he was home because you knew saying goodbye to him face-to-face would just make things harder.

That's why you froze in place when you heard the garage door open.

How was he home an hour before practice was supposed to even end?

You were finishing the goodbye letter when Joe walked into the kitchen through the door from the garage.

“Hey baby, the practice was so good that Zac cut it short.” - Joe

It broke your heart when you looked up to see his smiling face, knowing it was probably the last time you would see it.

“Hey…” - you moved your suitcases from out behind the kitchen counter

Joe’s smile dropped and he looked at you confused. His heart rate was getting increasingly fast and he was internally freaking out.

“What's that for?” - Joe

You couldn't choke out an answer and Joe asked another question.

“Going on a surprise trip?” - Joe nervously laughed

“No uhm… I'm going home.” - you

“Home? What do you mean? You are home.” - Joe

“I’m moving back in with my friend in Columbus. I can't take it anymore Joe. The backlash is too much… and I hate myself because of what they say.” - you

He stared blankly as he felt his stomach drop. This couldn't be happening.

“You're leav- leaving m-me?” - Joe

“I’m so sorry Joe. It wasn't you at all, you showed me what it was like to truly be loved. I just can't find myself staying in a relationship where I get constantly hated on just because I like a boy. Don't take it personally.” - you

“y/n… please don't leave. I love you. I love you more than anyone else that has ever been in my life. You mean more to me than anything in this world… I- I can't go on without you.” - Joe

By this point, you guys were both crying your eyes out.

“You have to learn how to Joe.” - you cried

“I don't want to learn! I want you!” - Joe

“Maybe there's a life where we work out… but it's not this one.” - you

Joe walked towards you, he thought you were going to reject him but you opened your arms. He cried into your neck and held you so tight, like if he let go you were going to disappear. Which in a way, was true.

“Don’t go. Please don't go. I can't live without you. I’m so sorry that being with me hurt you so much, but as much as I try to I can't control it.” - Joe

He was hiccuping and so close to hyperventilating that it scared you. You knew the breakup would hurt but you didn't think it would affect him this much.

“Breath, Joe. You're gonna hyperventilate.” - you

You held him and rubbed his back until his breathing slowed down, but his crying hadn't. Something about what he said resonated with you. He couldn't control what they said, as much as he tried to prevent it. It wasn't his fault. You knew that, but did you know it? Was leaving him really the best option?

Joe pulled away from my neck and looked at me with red puffy eyes.

“y/n… please don't give up on me.” - Joe

His eyes looked pleading. He was begging you.

“I’ll do anything. Tell me something and I’ll do it… please. Tell me something.” - Joe

“You don’t have to do anything.” - you

“Wh-what?” - Joe

“I change my mind. Leaving you isn't the best option. I can't run away from my problems, I have to face them.” - you

“And I'll face them with you. I'll always be right by your side y/n. You're it for me.” - Joe

“You’re it for me.” - you

He hugged me tight again before pulling away and taking hold of my suitcases.

“Fuck I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. I thought I was going to pass out.” - Joe

“Sorry.” - you

“No, it's okay. But can you make it clear that you're staying because you want to, not just for my sake?” - Joe

“I’m staying because I want to. With you is where I want to be. I'm sorry I almost threw everything away over some stupid hate comments.” - you

“Baby they aren't stupid. Your feelings are important and I’m proud of you for putting your well-being first.” - Joe

You didn't know what to say so you just nodded.

Joe led you upstairs and put your suitcases back in the bedroom.

“Let's just take a warm bath and relax, sound okay?” - Joe

“Mhm.” - you

5 minutes later you both were submerged in warm water, you were sitting between Joe’s legs with your back to his chest as you laid your head on his shoulder.

Joe spread soft kisses on your shoulder blades, collarbones, and neck. This moment felt more intimate than it normally would since it felt like Joe was proving to you he was worth it.

“You are the strongest, loyal, beautiful, smart, humble, courageous, amazing woman. I'm so lucky to be your boyfriend.” - Joe

You hummed and nuzzled yourself into his neck.

“I love you, Joe.” - you

Joe was like a screwdriver. Unscrewing and uninstalling every negative word that had been drilled into your mind within the past week, one at a time. You were so lucky to have him in your tool belt.

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Authors note: first angsty imagine and I loved writing it! Shout out to the anons coming in clutch with the fun requests!!!

Request for this fic;

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

scorch marks | ch 3

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: Wednesday has been careful to keep what you two have behind closed doors and far away from labels; but when someone starts to take it — take you — away from her, she realizes how much she cares.

A/N: I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with how this turned out, but that's my life nowadays. And I wanted to post this for you guys before I leave for my little trip for new years, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I think I ended up writing this one exclusively from Wednesday's pov lol. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 2 here

Human emotions were a strange, bothersome thing. Love could make you kill just as much as anger; ambition could make you get down on one knee to pledge your devotion to someone just as much as love.

They can get in the way of a clear mind, making you say or do something that would come back to torture you later.

That was probably their most devious power. And they lead to feelings; that are messy and unstable.

Wednesday prided herself on having control over them, not the other way around. Or at least she did. Because recently she has been victim to so many, that she didn't have the stomach to keep count.

She remembers the coldness of the rain against her skin as she walked away from Weathervane — away from you — it was pleasant and comforting; a safe blanket as the droplets trickled down her forehead all the way to her chin and hid the few stray tears that escaped her.

Her steps had been fast in desperation to get away. Her throat closed so tightly that she thought having someone choking her would be more bearable. Her heart beating so painfully, that maybe a bullet would've been more merciful.

She walked, and walked, and walked; her feet carrying her to school without realizing it. She was soaked when she stepped into her dorm, making puddles of water with each step she took. She remembers Enid talking, but the words were blurred.

Wednesday had made a beeline to the shower, turning it on with a temperature colder than the rain she had just escaped from.

Some say the second time around is more bearable. This certainly wasn't the case for her.

It was the day Wednesday put an end to whatever was happening between you and her. The day where she hated the most that she was forced to feel her own emotions.

The week that followed wasn't an improvement either.

Your words kept replaying in Wednesday's mind like a broken record; this is not a date, and please can we talk?

What would you have said, had she cared to listen?

Wednesday sat in front of her typewriter every day, staring at the blank paper and being unable to fill it. She'd hit a stump, because maybe she'd never know what you would have said.

You passed by each other in Nevermore's hallways as if you were just two strangers in the street, never to cross paths again. When you stood on one side of the bee keeper's shed, Wednesday stayed in the far opposite one, and if she so much as tried coming closer, you'd drop whatever it was you were doing and walk away. Even if Enid asked, you didn't come to her dorm anymore, prompting the werewolf to ask questions even though she could guess the answer.

Wednesday didn't know it was possible to miss someone this much. She caught herself tracing the lines of her own palm in a motion that was yours to make, brushing the corner of her lips in the place that was yours to kiss. And as much as she hated this feeling with all her might, hated you for forcing it into her, she couldn't chase it away.

It was so sadistically ironic that Wednesday kept you at arm's length in order to avoid attachment and loss, and that's exactly what she got. Maybe this is what Goody was trying to warn her about, that no matter the road she takes, the end will always be the same.

—

Today was a friday, ten days and four hours since the last time Wednesday spoke with you, since she replicated a damn drama cliche with her pitiful walk in the rain. Not that she was keeping count.

She sat at one of the tables on the quad, Enid at her side talking about something she wasn't listening to. The day was gray, morbidly so as the clouds loomed above, dark and cold in a way that Wednesday would've loved if it wasn't for you.

You who sat at the other end of the quad, putting as many tables and obnoxiously loud students between you and Wednesday as you could. You who looked so undeniably beautiful under the shadows. You who was smiling, happy as you laughed with your friends and spared no glances into the crowd to look for anyone.

Were you happier without her?

Wednesday sucked in a sharp breath at the mere thought of it, her lower lip quivering slightly as she exhaled, before she averted her eyes from you with a blink.

She turned to Enid only to find the girl's bright eyes already on her, a knowing smirk on her pink lips; "I won't even ask if you were listening."

"I got bored after the word shopping," Wednesday stated, raising an eyebrow that got Enid rolling her eyes.

"And because you were stalking our resident pretty girl," Enid teased, bumping Wednesday's shoulder with hers.

It was a truth that Wednesday countered with a lie; "I only stalk people who are hiding something or who have something I want, she doesn't fit on any of those."

Enid slumped on her seat, resting her head on her hands as she looked at Wednesday, "you can't keep doing this, Wednesday."

"Doing what?"

"Pretending like you don't care," Enid says then, with the frustration of someone who's just seen their favorite couple from a tv show hit another almost.

"Why would you assume the opposite?" Wednesday asks irritatedly.

Enid gives her best friend a look that could only be read as seriously? before she sits up straighter; "you two went from hanging out in the dorm for hours and sneaking out when you think no one's watching, to staying on different sides of the school and avoiding each other like the plague. Even you have to feel that change."

But I don't want to; Wednesday thinks to herself. Her only response is to look away.

With a sigh, Enid softens; "why won't you just tell her the truth?" She asks gently. The werewolf doesn't know the full story, and when her roommate ignores her questions and neither you nor Yoko will talk, gossip can only do so much; but even a blind person can see that whatever happened, hurt both of you.

Wednesday frowns; "what truth?"

"That you have feelings for her, silly. Like, genuinely more than friends feelings." There's an excited smile on Enid's lips as she says it, eyes glinting with the prospect of a love story.

"That's a horrible idea," Wednesday's face does something complicated, as if she's sorting on how to feel about this — or tasted something sour. "Besides, you know what happened the last time I did something remotely close to that."

And just like that, the muddy waters start to clear, the fog starts to dissipate and Enid understands what is happening — if just a little better.

The blonde reaches out a hand to Wednesday's forearm, squeezing softly; "Wednesday, this is Y/N we're talking about, she's not gonna turn into a murderous monster and break your heart."

Wednesday visibly gulps, her jaw painfully clenched as she felt uncharacteristically small under Enid's gaze.

"Plus I thought you'd be into the whole potential heartbreak thing." Enid teases, fighting back a grin, to which Wednesday can only mumble back;

"Not nearly as fun as I thought it'd be."

Switching her gaze between you and the raven-haired girl by her side, Enid hums; "want my advice?"

"No."

"I'd take my chances if I were you, because I know she genuinely cares about you. A lot."

There was something about the way Wednesday dropped her shoulders slightly, about the way she stole another glance at you as if you had just bought a one-way ticket to another country. It was that bittersweet feeling of a good thing that came to its end way too early.

Enid felt like crying.

"I'm afraid I'm too late, Enid."

—

It wasn't until dinner time — and after much, much insistence from Enid — that Wednesday decided to try and mend her mistake.

The cafeteria was already filled with students when she arrived, in true Nevermore fashion, the place was big and ancient; a meticulously decorated stone-walled room with tables and a kitchen area. Werewolves, Enid's brothers probably, were making a scene near the kitchen; there were gorgons and sirens playing a card game on one of the tables; and you sat with the vampires, with Yoko by your side no less.

Wednesday felt curious eyes on her, undoubtedly her peers wondering why she'd been staring unmoving for so long. A deep breath passed through her lips as she begrudgingly swallowed her pride and took the first step, her boots thudding against the stone floor.

With each of her steps, she repeated the words in her head; can we talk? Do you still wish to talk? Or would it be better, I need to talk with you?

Wednesday decides that fighting a murderous monster would be infinitely easier.

Your eyes locked in on her figure before she even reached you, and Wednesday smiled, a tiny tilt of lips that only you would notice; but you looked away from her before it happened.

Did people care about each other only because they enjoyed the pain that comes with it?

Something akin to panic fluttered inside Wednesday's stomach when you got up from your seat, reaching for your backpack and muttering a few goodbyes to your friends as you walked between the tables. The Addams girl quickened her steps, almost bumping into Bianca and not bothering to turn around when the siren called her out on it.

Wednesday just about managed to stop in front of you before you left for the doors.

Is this what you felt on that day?

Your eyes closed with a sigh, your hands were buried deep in your pockets and there was a rigidness to your shoulders. You were nervous, and even if it wasn't the right time, Wednesday was proud of herself for knowing it.

But having you this close again after so long — not really, ten days aren't that long, yet Wednesday hates that it felt like ages — has its downsides.

Wednesday couldn't speak. The only thing she needed to do, and her words are stuck. Feelings are a pain in the ass to deal with.

Yoko stood by your side, arms crossed over her chest; "do you have anything to say or what?"

She's protective, Wednesday doesn't blame her for it anymore.

Yes, she should say. There's a glint of hope in your eyes when you look at her; Wednesday finds herself wanting to reach out, but she's not sure she's allowed to anymore. She wonders if you missed her as much as she misses you.

"No," is what she says, and it's quite painful.

—

It's well into the night when Wednesday makes her way back to her dorm, the stairs creaking under her boots, a half-moon shining high on the sky being the only source of light.

her insides are twisting with a mix of rage, frustration, self-pity, and something else that's just heavy.

She pushed open the door to her dorm only to find it empty. Enid's bed is unmade and Wednesday's typewriter still has a blank page on it.

Enid had texted Wednesday earlier, something about going out with Ajax and not coming back too soon. The solitude was well appreciated, it gave the Addams girl some much-needed peace to work on her novel. The only problem is that her mind was nowhere near peaceful.

The first thing that caught Wednesday's attention after she walked in was the potted cactus by her window, it looked a little sad, its soil all dry and the color not as green as it should be. Wednesday didn't think twice as she walked to her bathroom, filling a cup with water and gently emptying it into the plant's pot. At least of that part of you, she'd take good care of.

She took off her hoodie next, throwing it on top of her bed. It was pathetic that the simple action got her thinking of you too, of when you'd lounge on there talking nonsense with Thing while she wrote.

How could one person hold so much power over another was beyond Wednesday, especially because she didn't allow it; it just happened. It happened that she kissed you out of impulse, just because she couldn't die without knowing what your lips felt like; or that she kept calling on you more and more after that, feeling a hole in her chest whenever you were away for too long.

It just happened that she fell for you, and maybe it was inevitable, maybe you'd be her doom. But it was her choice to push you away, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't the one thing she regretted the most.

There was a knock on Wednesday's door that snapped her mind back to reality. She turned around, frowning as she stared at the dark wooden thing, wondering who would seek her out this late in the night.

Honestly? Wednesday should've seen it coming as soon as Enid suggested she should talk with you. She should've known.

She swung open the door only to reveal you on the other side, in plaid pajama pants and a white shirt, hugging yourself because of the coldness of the empty hallways.

Your posture went rigid as soon as your eyes found Wednesday's, it got her wondering if you forgot this was her dorm, if you knocked on the wrong door by accident.

"Hello," Wednesday said as she looked at you, features impassive, her hand tightening around the door handle until her knuckles turned white.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before you spoke; "Enid texted me, said you needed help with something. That it was an emergency," you gulped, diving into over-explanation, "and that she wasn't here, so she asked if I could…" You trailed off, your fingers nervously tapping your arm.

Oh. Maybe her roommate wasn't too far off when she said you cared. It was rare the times where anyone would be able to easily read Wednesday's emotions. This was one of them and it wasn't a surprise that you were the cause.

There was a glint to Wednesday's eyes that belonged to you, her features softened in a blink — no more creases to her eyebrows and lips parting in vain when her words got tangled on her tongue — it was the calmness after a raging storm.

Wednesday used to mock the people who spoke about soulmates, about the invisible red string that few ones were lucky enough to find the other end of. But could there ever be any other explanation for the way you set her at ease?

She nodded once, stepping aside so you could walk in.

You were hesitant in the way you did so, as if you didn't belong, and Wednesday hated it — because you did belong, right here by her side. You stood in the middle of her dorm, right between the division of colors to blankness on the round window.

The air felt electric around you. Wednesday chanced a step closer, her gaze casting over every twitch of your expressions; "I do," she started, and a beat passed as she refused to take the last chance to back down and let you go, "I do have something to say."

You scoffed, "that doesn't sound like an emergency," but there was no bite to your tone, almost as if you wanted her to object.

"It is," Wednesday told you, allowing the affection she held for you to drip from every syllable. One more chance, that's all she needed, and maybe she’d tell you just what it is that you do to her.

"Okay."

You had a kindness to you that she was underserving of, Wednesday thought. But maybe she could work her way to it. She raised her chin, striving to keep her heartbeat in check; "I wasn't completely fair last time we spoke, I'll measure my words better if you're willing to talk to me again."

Wednesday said the words as if they were the particularities of a contract, and not an apology to someone who held her cold heart in their hands. She realized it was the wrong thing to say as soon as your features fell.

You took on the glow of the moon effortlessly as it came through the window, it framed the lines of your jaw and cheekbone, all delicate and pretty. You ducked your head, allowing your hair to partially cover your eyes as you nodded a few times. "Great," you mumbled, before taking a few quick steps with intent to go around Wednesday and back to the lonely hallways.

She didn't let you, her cold hand closed around your own as you made to walk past her, keeping you in place in a gesture that surprised both of you.

Having your skin against hers again made Wednesday feel like coming home after a long journey. It's strange that that's what you became to her.

The hold she had on you wasn't strong, you could easily pull your hand away and leave. But you didn't.

"It was unfair of me," Wednesday started, each word tighter than the next as she forced them out. More than anything, Wednesday despised talking about her feelings, but words are all she has now, "the mistake was mine and I will accept the consequences for it. But you should have all cards on the table when making your judgment."

If there was a heaven, you already had your place on it — you turned back around to face Wednesday properly, and without letting go of her hand, you adjusted your hold so that your fingers could intertwine; your thumb tracing random patterns on her skin in a motion that you knew calmed her down. Because you knew how hard this was for her — Wednesday was sure you were an angel in your past life.

The dorm room had never felt this detached from the outside world, as it does now, holding this one moment for you and Wednesday alone.

For a split second, where she allowed herself the luxury of only existing in your presence, Wednesday wondered if this is what real love felt like. She took in a deep breath, feeling your perfume as she did so before focusing her gaze on your joined hands; they fit well together.

"I used to ask myself why I was the one who kissed you first that day." Wednesday hesitated, nagging on the inside of her cheek with her teeth, "and I realized that it's because you make me feel something I never- hardly ever feel when around other people."

Her eyes glanced up at you in a lazy motion, only to find that your eyes never left her once. There was a soft smile on your lips, overflowing adoration. Wednesday was sometimes envious of the way you wore your heart on your sleeve so effortlessly.

"It's an annoying feeling really," the raven-haired girl admitted, raising an eyebrow at you, "I wanted to rip it away from me the first time it happened." Her lips hovered open as she heard her own heartbeat, thunderous as ever, "but the one that came in your absence was much worse."

The passage of time felt equally too slow and too fast. You weren't doing anything. Did she do something wrong?

Wednesday tensed when, carefully, you raised a hand to her face. You were tender in the way that you pushed the black strands of hair behind Wednesday's ear, your fingertips lingering and tracing her cheek before you dropped your hand. As if you'd missed touching her too.

And oh you did, if Wednesday knew just how much, she'd probably be all over you already. "I feel it too," you whispered, a secret confession only for her to hear.

"I know we never talked about what we were, and I'm not asking you to," you spoke calmly, "but you really hurt me, Wednesday, at the very least I thought we were friends."

What if I'd like us to be more? What would you say, is that something you'd ever want too?

Before Wednesday could ask any of the questions she was dying to know the answer to, you asked yours first;

"Did you mean that? What you said?"

And the Addams girl figured that this was a more pressing matter anyway.

Wednesday shook her head with urgency, her hand squeezing yours to keep you in place, "it could never be true." She took a step closer, her boots bumping your sneakers, "hurting you, it's the last thing I'd ever want to do, and I apologize that it happened."

The raw honesty of Wednesday's tone was all you needed to hear to let go of her hand in order to cup her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss that spoke more than any of you ever could.

Wednesday grasped onto your waist almost desperately, her hands bunching up your shirt as she glued your body to hers in a nearly bruising grip, dying to feel the most of you that she could manage. She pressed herself into you, her nose brushing your cheek as her soft lips molded with yours; telling you she'd never miss anyone as much as she misses you, that she'd never feel so strongly for someone as she does for you; that she'd have you until death's cold embrace took her.

Your hands traveled from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers mingling with the wisps of hair there. You pressed your lips to each corner of her mouth, bumping your noses as you did so, leaving testimonies of your affection each time your upper lip grazed hers; letting her know that she'd ruined anyone else to you, that you'd never feel for someone else, what you feel for her.

Wednesday pulled back just enough to be able to breathe, her forehead brushing yours as you felt more than heard the shape of her words; "let me make it up to you… Please."

You chuckled, tracing the outline of her lower lip with your thumb. It was reddish and just a little swollen, warm to the touch and it was your fault.

It got you smiling, because you could also feel her own smile under your digit; "gladly."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova

@justyourwritter69 @natashaxwife @fieldofsecretss @faunusrubyrose @darkblueeyedperson @jujuu23 @part-timetraveller @athenablack1959 @loki-is-loved @daddy-jareau @lordsisi08 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @simonsbluee @lovemesomemaura @whatawonderfulunsername @r4td0lll @red-havana @rob1nbuckl3ys @incrediblygay37 @panicattheeverywherekid @sometandomstuff333 @panicattheeverywherekid @sometandomstuff333 @wayvjinsol @saintnookling @awolfcsworld @georgi-salva @unforgettwble-sumii @youralphawolf72 @machinesanaloginterface @raiden88 @tani725

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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nicksnosering · 5 months

Text

I Hate Myself For Loving You

~Toxic Chris Sturniolo One Shot~

TW: toxic! chris, marijuana, no aftercare, chris is a dick

This is my first story I've ever posted on tumblr, so pls be nice!

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

me: hey, you coming over tonight?

read at 9:06pm

It’s been 4 hours since I sent that text, and almost 2 since it was marked as ‘read’. I bit my lip, sighing as the internal debate on whether I should double text or not was practically eating me alive. Grabbing my phone that I’d been trying too hard to ignore off of my nightstand, I swiped it open and decided fuck it.

me: christopher. stop ignoring me.

The response came through almost immediately.

DO NOT ANSWER: why?

I rolled my eyes, pushing aside my pride as I sent my next message.

me: just come over.

DO NOT ANSWER: i’m busy.

me: doing what, fucking ur other bitches?

DO NOT ANSWER: yeppppp

me: ok 👌🏼

I groan out of frustration, throwing my phone back onto my nightstand. God, he’s infuriating. We’ve been fucking for close to five months now, and every time it seemed like there was any sort of breakthrough, like maybe he actually liked me or cared about me, we went right back to where we started. I press play on the remote, but my mind is spinning far too fast for me to actually focus on the TV.

I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. If he’s going to treat me like an option instead of a priority, he can go fuck himself. I grab my phone off of my nightstand again, hovering over his name before shaking my head and pressing ‘Block Contact’. Just like that, five months down the drain.

I ignore the aching feeling in my chest, like I’m about to be ripped open from the inside, snuggling further in my sheets and letting the warmth envelop me before slowly drifting off to sleep.

The peacefulness of being unconscious didn’t last long.

I woke to the sound of my front door being pounded on so hard, the hinges sounded like they were about to fly off. I turn and check the time on my phone blearily, the screen reading 2:13am. I pull the covers off and pad over to the door, rubbing my eye as I unlock it. The door immediately opens, and I look up to find Chris staring at me, eyes slightly red and hair messy. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are narrowed, briefly looking me up and down before brushing past me and walking straight into my living room.

“Get out, Chris,” I say tiredly, vaguely gesturing toward the open door I’m still holding.

“Nah, I’m good,” he responds, falling back onto my couch and kicking his feet up, resting them on the coffee table. His hands go into his hoodie pocket, and I watch as he pulls out a preroll and a lighter.

“I’m serious. Get the fuck out,” I say, slightly more aggressively, ignoring the way my heart squeezes in my chest. I watch as he flicks the lighter and the end of the preroll turns a bright red. He takes a hit, inhaling deeply and looking back up at me.

“So am I,” he breathes out. “You’re not going to block me and expect me not to fucking show up expecting an explanation.”

I shut the door and sit down next to him on the couch, turning to him. His hand immediately goes to wrap around my waist, and I hate myself for the way I want to curl into it. Even with me being as mad as I am, he still looks insanely hot, his sleepy eyes tracing over my figure in my pajamas. He knows I love when he wears that stupid fucking black hoodie.

I push his hand off of me, scooting a little further away and wrapping my arms around myself.

“You’re such a dick, you know that?” I ask.

He smirks, throwing an arm around the back of the couch before shrugging. “You love it.”

“No, I fucking don’t,” I growl, watching as he takes another hit. “And open a window or something, Jesus.” He knows how much I hate it when he smokes in my apartment. The smell lingers for a few days and all it does is remind me of him, of how much I can’t stand myself when he leaves after letting him in, again and again.

He leans forward, placing his hand on my thigh and rubbing it softly before blowing the smoke directly in my face. I stare at him, unimpressed, and he chuckles. “Come on, ma. Don’t be upset. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Do you really expect me to forgive you for being an asshole just because you’re here now? At 2 in the fucking morning?” I glare at him. Goosebumps emerge on my thigh as his fingers continue to rub small circles into it, and I shiver.

His lips curl upwards as he takes another hit. “Your body sure seems to,” he says cockily, putting out the preroll and wrapping his arms around my waist. My body does betray me this time, and I lean into him as his fingers trace my hipbone. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you tonight,” he whispers lowly.

“Yeah, I’m sure I was the first thing on your mind when you were balls deep in another girl,” I huff.

He laughs. “Okay, she was first. But you were second.” His hand comes up to my jaw, cupping it softly and forcing me to look at him. “Stop acting like you hate me. We both know how this night is going to end,” he says, leaning in and capturing my lips with his own.

I whine as I try to pull back, but his hand on my jaw stays firm, holding my mouth against his. His other hand slowly slides up my thigh until he finds the waistband of my thong, and his finger hooks underneath before letting it go, resulting in it slapping harshly against my hip. I yelp and pull back, and he chuckles as his fingers rub the red mark softly.

“God, you know how hard it gets me when your cheeks are all flushed like that,” he mumbles, dipping his head down and beginning to suck on the skin directly above my collar bone. I let a small moan slip, and grit my teeth at how little willpower I have when it comes to this man.

“Chris, stop,” I whisper, but it sounds too breathy for my own liking. He pulls off of my neck, admiring the mark his teeth made briefly, before looking back into my eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, grabbing my hips to pull me onto his waist. My thighs rest on either side of his and he grinds up into me, his hard erection rubbing against me through my paper-thin pajama shorts. I groan, letting my head fall onto his shoulder, and his fingers dig in, grinding me against him roughly. A small whimper leaves my mouth, slicing through the silence in the room. I wince, stilling my hips, trying to regain the last semblance of composure I have.

My heart squeezes in my chest as I look down at him beneath me, my brain flooding with every toxic memory of us together. The time he kicked me out of his car, leaving me stranded on the side of the road after an intense screaming match. The time he called me a fucking bitch in front of his friends, laughing in my face. The time he swore he didn’t go and fuck that girl I hated in my biology class, promising he wouldn’t do that to me.

That one hurt the most, considering I had to find out from my own sister 2 grades below me.

But with the bad came the good, such as the mind-blowing orgasms and the way his mouth fit against mine and the way his fingers fit into me just right, crooking and teasing and pumping exactly the way he knew I liked. Like he knew my body better than I did.

With my jaw set, I place my hands on his chest, steam practically blowing from my nostrils. I hated myself for this, and he knew that, and I knew he knew that. Any attempts I have at stopping this now are futile. My body needs him.

“Fuck you,” I breathe heavily, rolling my hips against his. My mouth trails to his jaw, his neck, down his chest, and a low moan escapes him as his fingers find their way to the waistband of my shorts, slipping down the front and past my thong to gently rub at my entrance, before plunging two fingers deep inside without any warning. My hips jolt forward, meeting his fingers where they connect to his hand before he starts curling them inward, and… my last shred of self control has completely dissipated.

I feel his chest rumble with laughter as a few small moans leave my lips. “If you insist,” he whispers, thumb finding my clit and giving it a few lazy circles. My head falls forward onto his chest and I can’t stop myself from biting into his shoulder to quiet my moans.

His other hand tangles its way into my hair, yanking my head back and forcing our gazes to lock.

“You can cum if you want to, but you know I’m getting inside that cunt one way or another.” His thumb speeds up across my clit and I can feel my body shaking, getting close to plummeting over the edge.

My eyes flutter shut, and I’m quickly rewarded with another sharp tug on my scalp. “Look at me,” he commands. And when my eyes meet his, I feel the waves washing over me, convulsing as he speeds up his fingers, mercilessly working me through my orgasm.

I slump forward into his chest, and he pulls his fingers out quickly, leaving me empty in more ways than one. He wraps his arms around my waist and stands up, carrying me to my bedroom and tossing me onto the bed carelessly.

He pulls his hoodie over his head, tossing it into the corner of my room, and strides back over to the edge of the bed. His stature towers over me, and my mind is swimming with a thousand thoughts, not a single one of them protesting this any longer.

I’ve accepted what this is.

More than that, I’ve given up.

I’m irrevocably in love with him, regardless of his feelings toward me, and I can’t bring myself to care about the hurt it’ll bring. The hurt it has brought. All I can think about in this moment is getting him inside of me, and I try to disregard the niggling feelings in the back of my mind about how I’ll feel after.

There is no after. There’s only now.

My hand shakes slightly with anticipation as I reach up, tugging at his belt buckle and popping it open. I slide his pants and boxers down in one motion, and my legs spread on their own accord as he leans over me, lining himself up.

“I love you.”

It’s nothing I haven’t said before, but each time I do, I hope for a different outcome. Something other than the eye roll he always gives me, huffing and silencing me with a palm over my lips. Each time, I hope the sting is lessened, that he cracks and shows me the soft side of him I know has to be in there.

And if that’s the definition of insanity, then I should’ve been locked up months ago.

He scoffs, pushing inside of me to the hilt in one quick thrust. “I know,” he responds, hand coming up to wrap around my throat and prevent any further confessions from coming out.

My moans are unstoppable as he pounds into me with brutal thrust after thrust, only caring about working towards his own orgasm. I thrust back against him, rolling my hips to meet his each time he’s fully inside, thinking that maybe… maybe if I’m good, maybe if I’m better than that other bitch he fucked tonight, he won’t run off like he always does.

Maybe he’ll want a round two. Maybe he’ll stick around for another joint. Maybe he’ll cuddle me after.

Maybe he’ll stay.

I push the thoughts aside, trying instead to focus on the intense amount of pleasure coursing through my veins and lighting up every nerve ending in my body.

His chain rocks back and forth, slapping his chest in time with his thrusts, and I watch as his tongue darts out to lick away a stray bead of sweat trailing down his face.

His grunts are filling the room, mixing with my own to create a beautiful melody I want to record and play on a loop forever. His curls are falling in his eyes and his stomach tenses with each snap forward of his hips, and he consumes all of my senses as my body shakes and writhes beneath him, pleading for him to slow down and begging for more in the same breath.

I whine when he pulls out to just the tip, and his eyes stay glued to mine as he slams back in, causing me to let out a loud gasp. A smirk settles on his lips as he repeats his actions, and I feel my body coming completely undone, succumbing wholly to him.

“Such a good little slut for Daddy, aren’t you?” he muses, panting heavily. He releases his hold on my throat, gripping the back of my calf instead and wrapping it around his waist, moaning at the pleasure the new angle brings. “So needy and wet every time. Like you were made for me.”

And I was. There is no one else.

It’s just him.

I can feel his thrusts getting sloppier, and I watch his eyelids droop as he continues his conquest over me, every muscle tensing before I feel his release inside of me, hot and heavy, marking me as his. Claiming me.

He groans loudly as he works his way through it, not sparing a single drop. I wrap my other leg around him and pull him as close as I can, not wanting to to let him go and be forced to accept it’s over.

When he’s finished, he drops down onto me for a moment, and I take my opportunity to brush my fingers through his hair, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. We lay like that for a while, but it’s far too short for my liking when he peels himself away and stands up.

My eyes follow as he goes over to where he threw his hoodie, pulling it back over his head before grabbing his boxers and doing the same.

All I can do is watch helplessly, begging with my eyes for him to stay. To get back into bed and hold me, kiss my shoulder and whisper that it’s always been me too.

He chuckles as he buckles his belt, situating it on his hips before looking back at me. “That was probably one of our best ones yet.”

“Yeah,” I respond emptily. I sit up and wrap the blanket around myself, feeling far too exposed now, both physically and emotionally.

“Alright, ma. See you later,” he says, messing with his hair absentmindedly before deciding its okay, and I watch as he grips the handle of my bedroom door, swinging it open.

“Chris?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“Stay.”

He looks taken aback for a moment, but regains his composure quickly as he chuckles and rolls his eyes. “I’m good.”

And with that, he’s gone, and I feel my heart shatter a little bit more as I’m left alone, sticky and sweaty and naked, with nothing but the smell of weed lingering in my apartment to keep me company.

——————————

PT 2

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #toxic chris #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturn #matthew sturnio

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pansy-picnics · 1 month

Note

A vat7k related question.

What do you think is Hugo's gender identity? Cus I want to hear what you think Hugo's gender is and the story behind it.

EHEHEHE personally i think she’s genderfluid and uses he/she/they pronouns…….I think he was kind of an uncracked egg up until the trials though. like, he’s been in survival mode for so long that he’s never had the time or luxury to really think about himself or his identity….i think he’s had a lot of different disguises over his career though, and those personas are either male or female depending on what the situation calls for so he’s not a stranger to dressing femininely either.

but yeah…i think for a long time hugo just identified as male by default cuz like…what else would he be LOL. if he had any doubts at all they weren’t significantly hindering him or anything so he just buried them with all the other of the emotions he doesn’t want to feel. but like the closet is made of GLASS and this becomes especially obvious when she teams up with 3 other teenagers who are also transgender so sometimes she’ll just Say Shit and they all turn around and look at her like “…….🤨”

i have this very vivid scene in my head where varian comes out to the gang as trans and hes clearly really uneasy abt it. and hugo doesn’t know what to say so he just tries to relate by saying the first thing that comes to mind and goes “oh yeah i get it i mean. sometimes i wish i was a girl but like not all the time yk” and nuru and varian both just stop and stare at him

hugo, getting nervous: …Sorry that’s probably not the same thing forget i said anything

nuru: No i think we should talk about this?

anyways yeah….other than her traveling party giving her some weird looks nothing actually really came of these conversations bc hugo would refuse to think about herself even if you put a gun to her head

fast forward to post-trials though, and hugo’s been living in the castle with varian for about six months…it was REALLY messy for both of them while she was adjusting, but at this point shes finally started to let her guard down a little, and all of a sudden she has SO much free time and she has no idea what to do with any of it. she’s stealing collecting things, tinkering with all kinds of useless little gadgets, rapunzel is teaching her tons of little arts and crafts projects. overall shes pretty content despite everything. So anyways then the gender crisis hits them like a fucking freight train

honestly i’m like half joking when i say i think it started bc they just kept forgetting to cut their hair. like one day they looked in the mirror and they’re like “wow my hairs getting so long i kinda look like a girl lol. Wait”

AND AS FUNNY AS IT IS ITS SO. WILDLY UNFAMILIAR TO THEM. like all of a sudden theyre SO insecure for as far as they can tell, NO reason and it drives them CRAZY. i dont even think that hugo dislikes their masculine features after coming out, i think they embrace them if anything but its just like…going from 0 to 100 so fast and suddenly being so hyper aware of themselves in a way that they NEVER were before…having to realize that they’re definitely Not cis. it’s fucking TERRIFYING!!!

not to mention it hits him all at once during a time when he’s still frankly really paranoid about him and varian’s relationship, and he’s kinda walking on eggshells bc deep down he’s convinced that var’s just gonna get tired of him eventually and kick him out. its like he’s just waiting for the final nail in the coffin despite the fact that there is literally no coffin.

All that being said i think it takes him a while to work up the courage to talk to varian about it. and he knows he won’t like. hate him for being trans or anything (I sure hope he wouldn’t, at least, seeing as he is literally also trans) but varian’s already done SO much for him and helped him through literally everything already….he doesn’t want to burden him any more than he already has. he also cant comprehend that someone can just Like him, like, as a person, so he’s convinced himself that varian must see something specific in him right now and he’s afraid that if he changes himself drastically in any way then whatever varian saw in him just. won’t be there anymore. If that makes sense

as for who he actually goes to first- honestly i think it’d have to be lance. at least in my head lance was the first person hugo really started to bond with aside from varian….he didn’t start letting his guard down with rapunzel until quite a while after that. also i think he’s worried that if he tells rapunzel she’d end up accidentally spilling something to varian (which is like. Valid bc she’s a horrible liar) he’d definitely write a letter to nuru, too, but nuru is also in another kingdom, and that message takes a while to get to her, so it’s more something they talk about after the fact

when he finally does get a letter back after dumping this revelation on her it’s just like

“dearest hugo. upon reading your letter i desperately wanted to tell you that i told you so, but i realize that would be in poor taste, seeing as you are clearly struggling right now. Moreover,-“ /j

regardless of who she tells first, they obviously all support her and encourage her to talk to varian as well…And ofc varian hypes her up to no end when she finally does. i wanna say it’s a sweet emotional scene but i feel like varian was also under the assumption that she figured out the gender thing like a year ago /j

hugo: ,,,,so like. i don’t think i’m a guy

varian: . yeah?

hugo:

hugo: TFYM “YEAH”?????!!!!???

varian: D. DID WE NOT ALREADY KNOW THIS?

hugo: ,???? NO???!!???!

jokes aside though as soon as hugo does decide he wants to explore his presentation more varian immediately consults rapunzel who gets WAY too excited about it and it kind of scares hugo a little bit. /j like Do you want to cut your hair? Dye it? Do you want new piercings? TATTOOS????

they eventually just settle on getting her a few new pieces to add to her wardrobe and that works out fine. varian sees his girlfriend in a dress and loses his mind etc etc. All is right in the world

#vat7k #varian and the 7 kingdoms #tangled ask #varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k hugo #varigo #varian #tts headcanons #pansy rambling again #pansy-art #i first answered this like two weeks ago but i lost the entire post and i got so mad that i just didnt bother writing it out again #until now i guess

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athingofvikings · 1 year

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Two More Stalkers

So I'm drafting this post on October 19, 2022, hoping that I won't have to use it, but getting it set up as a contingency. Just in case.

Lots of screenshots under the cut, but TL;DR:

I have two stalkers who feel entitled to my work and writing, and have been stalking me because I didn't write their historical blorbos to their personal satisfaction and because I haven't written queer characters to their exacting specifications (specifically, they want what amount to Gold Star Lesbians with modern-style adopted children). In the course of their stalking, they have made a hate-blog specifically to target me with insults, and when that failed to get a response, escalated to making a new AO3 account specifically to write hatefic of my work and "gift" it to me.

If you see this post having gone live, I ask you to please review it and reblog it, because I am preparing this contingency in case they escalate to the point of trying to publicly defame me, and if I've hit "post", that means they're actively trying to get people to hate me.

So, without further ado...

Here are screenshots of their intro posts (still available on my Discord server if anyone wishes to see the evidence). Essentially, they came because of their interest in the historical King Macbeth and the mid-11th century, which is where and when my story, A Thing Of Vikings, is set. The basic concept of the story is that the first How To Train Your Dragon film is dropped into Real Life history in the 1040s AD in the Scottish islands, and events ripple out from there, changing history as a result.

Some red flags began to wave in regards to these two, as nessie wanted to know what the status of his historical blorbos would be in my writing, and did not take it well that they would either A) be dead, B) be reduced to insignificance by changes in the historical timeline, C) be someplace else, or D) not exist at all, due to changes in the timeline. He ended up quietly leaving after the following discussion:

He then left a few days later on Aug 28th.

Fast forward to October 2nd.

the threat of tortellini starts a discussion as follows:

At the end of this exchange, the threat of tortellini leaves the ATOV Discord server. To sum up the above, they wanted for me to jettison the core conceit of a piece of writing that I have been working on for six years because they wished to see specific developments catering to their personal desires happen in the text. In short, "Screw your writing integrity, I want you to write it for meeeee!" and then stormed off the server when they were told no.

Two hours later, I am followed by @courtlycringe. Now, I vet my followers for personal safety reasons, due to having experienced harassment and stalking in the past, and immediately saw that this new follower was... unique.

For obvious reasons, I promptly blocked the two people in the notes for these posts, as well as the courtlycringe blog itself. The next morning, October 3rd, I remembered nessie's fixation, and promptly pulled on the threads with the intro posts, putting together that @themischiefoftad is the threat of tortellini and that @malcolm--of--scotland is nessie. (Note the dates on the posts, too; Nessie had this hate blog already going before his friend stormed off of the server)

Confirmation came after a few of my friends interacted with them:

(Although it should be noted that I don't believe that courtlycringe is/was run by anyone other than my two stalkers, given the timeline).

I do a little more work, track down their AO3 accounts, and block them. I expected that to be the end of it.

It wasn't.

In short, these two made a new AO3 account, MillieMilkTea, and wrote some extremely nasty hatefic using my characters and targeting my work. The Necessary Components For The Fall Of An Empire is a giant middle finger to me personally, with my male main characters being brutally and graphically murdered by the female characters (especially their personal blorbos) and having everyone cheering for the deaths, and the female characters going off to be good pure lesbians. Nothing more and nothing less.

I declined the "gift", and have reported them to AO3 Abuse as of the writing of this post on Oct 19.

However, given that they have written thirty-three thousand words of targeted hatefic, likely just in the past few weeks (the account itself was created Oct 11), I am sure that they will continue to escalate. I will keep this post updated and ready to post in case they shift from targeted harassment to defamation and libel.

#and I had to pull the trigger on it #sigh

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manticore-fangs · 4 months

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ANXIETY DRIVEN. (GHOAP x Reader) | OLD ASS POST.

—

cw/tw: severe anxiety, angst, mentions of trauma, crying, yelling, punching (not at anyone), anger, degradation?

a/n: this is based off meltdowns and trauma i endured, so excuse me if stuff isn’t correct for you- but this is like.. an self-insert? i think it is. anyways, not proof-read.

—

the day started off normally. simply. you woke up, got dressed did chores and made yourself supper, that was all you did when your boyfriends we’re deployed. of course you stress, worry and fear of many things when their gone. their your comfort, they stabilize you but obviously your mind starts tricking you, saying: “they don’t need you.” “your doing this, having breakdowns and not helping them.” “they don’t care about your emotions” and more nasty words you don’t wanna hear.

your phone was in your hand as you laid on the couch where you had blankets splayed over yourself, keeping yourself warm and cozy. you we’re relaxing before your mother messaged you, it was a rant about: “you don’t watch your siblings enough! if you wanna be a mother soon, then watch your siblings for me when i’m busy!” and aswell saying “their such good kids, your siblings- they don’t embarrass me as much as you did when you we’re younger.”

it absolutely broke you, obviously she seen the “read” there, but what made you the most angry is the fact she never mentions you anymore. doesn’t post you ever. ever since your siblings we’re born, your mother didn’t care about you- she said she loves you but it doesn’t feel like she does. you were and are stuck in a place where you don’t know what to do and how to show your mother that: ‘i can show you, i can do this for you’ just to get her validation.

the last time she posted a picture of you was your birthday, saying how much she loved you. but when your sister’s birthday came along she wrote a whole paragraph on how much your sibling saved her when you were the one that suffered along with her through the tough times. she even abandoned you on your great grandmothers front porch saying: “i cant be a mother, take her” leaving you there on the porch.

you were laying down on the couch, but you gradually sat up. adrenaline coursing through your veins as you looked at your phone, flipping it over. you screamed. loud. your lover’s haven’t came home yet, so you can scream as loud as you want. with the anger that boiled up, you we’re screaming- yelling at the top of your longs saying how much ‘you hate your mother’ or ‘your mother is a psycho’ your hands were genuinely trembling- shaking even.

you wanted to punch something, a wall, the couch- anything and you did but nothing relieved the tension and anger. your hands moved fast, you clenched them- shook them, wiggled your fingers trying to think of what you can do next- you thought about hitting your thigh or a body part but you didn’t- refraining yourself from damaging you. you were sobbing, crying. so so sad and.. anxious? depressed? you don’t know.

you pulled on your hair, having your eyes closed and blurry, a hand grabbed your wrist making you flinch and gasp- eyes opening until you heard johnny’s voice. “hey- bonnie, is alrigh’ your safe wit’ me now, shh.. shh my love.. is alright..” he moved your wrist away and pulled you back onto his chest- you sobbed. sobbed all night, your mother.. your fucking mother.

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unicorn-gallerexy · 3 months

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Howdy, I totally mean to post more and didn't do any of that but then i got stuck with this idea and getting it out so here ya go, i want it out my face. There will be part 2, but i need a break bc this too so long and is longer than i wanted it. Only mildly proofread, rada rada, yknow the drill

Word count: 12.7K (i managed to hit the end of like 3 keep notes, i ain't ever done that)

CW: (technical) Homewrecker!Atsumu x Wife! Reader, smut, (kinda/justified) cheating, manipulation and mild threats (not from Atsumu), open marriage (you weren't vibing with it), trash treatment from husband, Long af, Atsumu being mad bc wtf is up with your husband?

One for Another

When your husband asked his question, excited just after coming home, you thought you couldn't hear. Or maybe it was that you didn't understand?

Either way, you asked him to repeat himself.

"I want to open our relationship. It sounds like a good idea, yeah?" He smiles, like there's nothing wrong with his sudden asking, and the look you give him is blank before it obviously reads upset.

"Why?" You steady your voice a lot easier than you steady your mind. You were hurt, this was so out of the blue. Yes, he had voiced a bit of an issue with your extra few pounds, or how you didn't dress up more often, or how you didn't have as much sex anymore (which was more his fault but he blamed you and the weight you put on) but you were working in it. You started working out in your own home because he was insistent that other people, like his coworkers, could see you let yourself go. You worked on being consistent with skincare and wearing more clothes that flattered you. You were actually looking quite a bit better than you had before. At least you and your friends thought so...

"Because it's a great idea?" He says it so easy as if you should be understanding. Seeing as you don't look pleased, his smile drops and he heaves a sigh so heavy at the thought of explaining himself. "Look you and i haven't... Been on the same page for a while. You and I just aren't matching up right now, so i figured it would be good to open the relationship so we can fill in those gaps."

"What gaps? I've been working on myself for damn near two months now, solely because you asked. What am i not doing for you?"

"Jesus Christ, this isn't about you. It's about us being happy, and im not happy. Im also not just trying to leave you high and dry but im sure you're not happy either." He says the part about you not being happy as if it doesn't matter to him. His emphasis was on him not being happy, and the part of not leaving you sounded more like a chore than a willful choice.

He swept you off your feet and promised a life a comfort. He was working on a promotion, he complimented you regularly and the sex wasn't bad at all. You fell for his charm easy, and he seemingly fell for you just as hard. After a few years, he asked you to marry him and made it known you could depend on him completely. Your job was basically down the drain by the time the wedding happened due to higher positions deciding the right way didn't make them enough money fast enough. He said you could trust him to take care of you, that he'd keep you happy and comfy, that he didn't mind a housewife for a while. You let yourself fall into that role, it wasn't hard. The house he bought was sizeable but not too big, the chore list was never too long and you did indeed live comfortably.

Over time, through his several promotions to an executive seat, you moved into bigger and better, all while he coaxed you into being his lovely little housewife and homemaker. Anytime you talked of going back, he'd mention how the job market wasn't the best, reports of customers abusing staff locally, rumors he "heard" here or there about owners and managers of places you were looking into, and always mentioning how you complained of every job you had. How you hated working, but how you were basically just taking care of yourself and he was taking care of you by working and giving you a card of his he didn't need to keep track of.

This was more temporary than you thought it was.

In the last two promotions, he had been given an assistant that always seemed a little too close for comfort. If you ever brought it up, he'd only mention how he married you and how she worked for him, so he couldn't be cheating on you. He blamed your insecurities and said you were forcing your own self doubt on him, and how that wasn't fair. At first the responses seemed loving, in their own way, before they turned angry. He'd shout about you being insecure, how you were trying to accuse him of things you had no proof of. He'd leave the house and even when he came back, he rarely ever apologized. He'd simply place more money onto the card and talk to you as he normally would. He pretended to care with a kiss on the forehead and half holding you in bed every so often.

That didn't stop him from pointing out your mounting flaws over time. It didn't stop him from refusing any sort of advances you made, day off or not. Didn't stop him not inviting you to company events as he had in the past and instead saying he was going with *her instead because "family isn't invited this time around" as if there weren't pictures posted later of his coworkers with their wives who you know don't work for the company at the same event.

You would've left a long time ago, really. But he wasn't wrong in saying you were insecure. Or that he'd leave you high and dry. He managed to manipulate you into not having a job for years, which doesn't look the greatest when applying for new ones, which created your dependency on him for financial reasons but he also had preyed on the parts of yourself you couldn't stand, made you feel like he and he alone loved you, like no one else would or could love you. You defended his words when your friends brought up concern by citing that he was right, as no one had really come up to you to flirt or asked you out prior to him so there wasn't really much competition for you. And, at the time, he at least liked you.

All for it to be thrown back in your face now. The waves of realization hit like you're in a losing boxing match. You feel your eyes burn but refuse to let any tears fall. He, unfortunate as it may be, can still read you at least a little. He comes and wraps his arms around you in a hug that makes you feel slimy, but you don't pull away as there's no where else to go really. "Listen baby, this isn't just a good thing for me. It's a good decision for both of us. I'm not giving you what you want, you aren't giving me what i want, don't you think it's better to find those things in other people and still have each other to come home to? At least give it a shot." He insists. It's obvious to you now, he doesn't care about you finding someone, only about him being allowed to do as he wants without being called a name that fits.

Part of you want to ask, but you figure you won't get answers if you do. You feel backed into a corner with no real way to lash out. So, you give a reluctant and strained yes, giving in to your defeat in hopes it hurts a little less. He kiss the back of your head and quickly slips away from you, grabbing his keys and saying something about being back later before slipping out of the door. You hear it lock, you hear the car start and drive off, and looking at the time on the clock in the stove behind you, it now reads 7:38pm. You could swear he turned his head to look at it when he was behind you.

The weekend comes in shortly after, he says he's going on a trip and you don't bother to ask where to or when he'll be back. You're already distant and its only been a few days, not that he cares at all. He packs and leaves in a hurry, only sending a text of "I love you" about an hour later. You've yet to tell anyone, feeling overwhelmed with shame and stupidity at not seeing any signs earlier on to avoid this. Or maybe because you feel ashamed that you couldn't keep your husband satisfied? That he was seduced by someone you'd consider younger and prettier than you'll ever be. You're not that old, nor are you bad looking but that's not how you see it. Your eyes only seem to find more and more inadequacies each time you look into a mirror. From the bags darkening under your eyes to your hair becoming more tangled with your lack of care, from the flaring breakouts across your face from stress and ditching your routine to the weight you worked off coming back with friends because you wallow on the couch and dropped your workout routine.

What was the point?

You had nothing else to work towards. Sure you barely looked different from before him, and if you got back into all of it, you'd look basically the same as you did then, maybe a bit better, but what would be the point? No one wanted you before he did, he literally had no competition for your affection or attention. The only thing that's changed that you can't undo is the passing of time. Sure, in the grand scheme of things you really weren't that much older than you were then but, if no one wanted you then, who would want you now?

You couldn't give an answer, and thus your brain concluded with: no one.

You eventually wind up inviting friends over about 2 weeks into his trip and, not having heard from you for longer, they jump at the chance to see you. When they arrive, and you answer the door, disheveled in sweats, they can see that you're not holding up well and the sweet smiles and loud hi's drop. Being asked what's wrong sets off the water works, not having cried in or out of his presence made the dam behind your eyes too full, and concerned friendly voices opened the gates. You step aside to let them in and they immediately hug you, telling you to calm down enough to at least tell them what's wrong but the sobs are violent, shaking your body completely and taking the strength from your legs. They guide you to the couch, sit at your sides and tell you to cry it out, seeing as every time you try and speak, it's unintelligible.

When you manage to calm yourself enough in your friends arms, you don't lift your gaze from the floor, explaining why you haven't answered calls or texts and why you just spent a literal hour crying into them. To say their furious is an understatement. They shout question after question, most at how he could do this and feel nothing. You cry into your hands, and that's when they calm down, starting to throw suggestions, the first being divorce. You remind them of how he basically holds all your financials, your place to live, and a solid position in his company. Your friends sigh as they realize that leaving, at least now, isn't a real option. After a moment of quiet thinking, and soft sniffles, your first best friend grabs you by both shoulders with a smile. "Open relationship, right? That means you can also do what you want. We can get you back on track with all your routines and go out, take you with us on singles night!" She's beaming even if you don't look the most into the idea, your other best friend seeming to voice your thoughts for you.

"As if he'll actually let her have another relationship outside of him with no repercussions. Be real, May. He'd flip his shit because he just wanted to go out and fuck anything that breathes without being called a cheater" May pouts, having already thought of that in a more minor capacity.

"I figured that, Kura. We don't have to tell him shit. He's not even being that discreet about it, with the 2 of us helping her out, he'll never know." She leans to speak over your shoulder to Kura before looking back at you with soft, loving, hopeful eyes that you feel you haven't experienced in a while. "Maybe we can actually find you a real man who'll treat you right and wont do this shit. You don't deserve to just wallow here by your self." Her hands cup your face as she awaits an answer and you shake your head in her hands.

"No one wanted me before, May. Who's gonna want me now? I'm older and-"

"Still hot, at least when you're not distressed." Kura says from behind you, smiling with some sort of support for the plan. You shake your head as May keeps hold of you.

"Okay but everything is here, workout equipment and-"

"We'll take you to the gym with us! Kura has been wanting to get in there for a while but she keeps bailing on me. I'll take you two with me and then we're all obligated to go. We'll go on spa days, I'll call you so you don't have to acknowledge him while you do your routine here. Trust me, thought out much more than you think." May beams, Kura chiming in about possibly just moving rooms so you have space if you haven't already. Both paw at you and basically beg, saying it'll at least be good just to get out for a little while every day even if you aren't man hunting. You tear up again, and when asked why, you say you thought they'd me mad at you, tell you i told you so or something because you didn't listen when they spoke up. You're given the warmest embrace you've had in a minute as they tell you it's not your fault, it's his. He preyed on you, just to throw you away for nothing substantial. You cry, and say ok, agreeing to go with them and along with their plan, causing them both so squeal with joy before May goes to bolt upstairs.

"Where are you going?" You sniffle, caught in Kura's arms as you look up the stairs.

"To run you a proper bath. We're having an at home spa night now. You need it." She scrunches her nose in the way that makes you laugh and knowing you still have some happiness makes them happy.

The night goes on as they wish, both helping wash your hair and your face, saying you need a break as they pamper you and do their best to drive away the sadness in your heart, or at least distract from it. They help you move things into another room, opting to watch terrible B and latter alphabet movies, doing your face routines together and eating proper food since you've seen gorging on junk food for a while now. They opt to stay over for a few days when you tell them your husband wont be home for another 3 weeks. Both girls help you clean up, do laundry, and essentially reset your home to brinf back a real sense of normalcy. May sits and picks out a couple gym appropriate outfits, laying them on top of the dresser, before they leave you a couple days before your husband is supposed to be back. They kiss your forehead, hug you tight and tell you the day of a group gym trip so you look forward to it. Kura notes she wont back out if you don't, putting a sense of responsibility on you to ensure you don't bail last minute.

When your husband comes back, he finds you lounging about in the other room, only to ask a question you truly dreaded hearing. "Hey, I can still have the bedroom to myself for a bit right?" Behind the doorway, at his side you can see another shadow in the sunlight that bathes the house and a feminine giggle from behind him. You simply wave him off, a half hearted mumble sending him on his way to the bedroom, girl in tow. You hear the door shut, lock clicking into place as you curl into yourself and text your friends. They send you texts to just forget about it as much as possible, you telling them it's hard when you can hear them through the walls and know he feels no sense of remorse.

That was what killed you most, the fact he was doing it all and seemed to feel nothing for you. No remorse, no guilt or shame, not even the tiniest bit of pity even if it would piss you off. You realized quick he didn't feel anything negative about it, but that didn't mean it didn't suck to have such a blatant display of what you could only feel was disrespect. Then again, you're surprised it didn't happen earlier.

Your affluent living situation meant a very nice, expensive gym wasn't too far away. May and Kura didn't live in the expensive part of the city but they had good jobs and kept up with the monthly payment plan that even you and your more frugal upbringing balked at when you got the sign up paper at the desk. Once paying the overcharged fee and getting your membership card, May lead you and Kura around to show you the facilities the gym had to offer and blabbed about the famous and influential people she's seen in passing from actors to local businessmen to athletes. Kura and you keep up as she taps your arm for your attention. "I'm kinda starting to regret coming with May." She whispered, no malice behind as you nod and hum in agreement.

You feel exposed even if your fully clothed. The sports bra and crop you normally wear to workout at home suddenly feeling to short to be worn outside (even if you've done so a million times) and the yoga shorts holding your ass nicely feeling all too tight to be worn in public. You can't help the shy stance you keep as May guides you past a the sauna, pool, and cryo rooms towards the side of the building, keeping one arm wrapped around yourself and the other down at your side. Kura is dressed in similar pants, but her top is a loose cotton shirt you wish you'd gone for instead. May, being the one used to being here, is in a good sports bra and yoga shorts due to the weather. Once her tour is over, she guides you into the large workout room, complete with just about any and every machine you'd need for every part of your body. You wanna vomit.

You know you left to get away from your currently shitty home life but now you actually kinda regret coming. May turns with a big smile that falls quick when she takes note of yours and Kura's faces. She keeps hopeful, taking you both by the hands over to the treadmills that face out of the window. "We can start here so that you two can get a bit more comfy, yea?" You both nod and hop on, the 3 of you starting at the same pace and making mild small talk.

After you and Kura seem to loosen up, noted by you finally dropping your arm from around yourself, May takes the opportunity to switch it up and get you guys through some stretches. From there, it's basically downhill. May is fit, not annoying about it and it shows. She puts you and Kura to your limits and genuinely encourages you the entire time in such a way that's hard to be mad at. You're at it for hours until the final stretch for your cool down when she beams "And we're done! That was fun, wasn't it?"

"I regret.. My decision." Kura pants.

"Fun isn't what id give it but i mean..." You trail off with a weak wave of your hand on the floor next to Kura as May hops up to drag you both down the hall and to the sauna. When you both express dismay over the sound of sitting in a hot, moist room on a hot day after being worked to near death, May assures you that you'll just both feel so much better after and if you're so inclined, she'll take you to the actual pool for a bit after. You and Kura grimace at the thought of being more openly exposed than you already are at one another as you follow May and say you'll both pass on that part today.

Out of clothes, wrapped in towels, May hands off your clothing to one do the workers before noting to you as they leave that they're gonna wash them. You and Kura share a surprised look at her as she pushes you both into the (thankfully) empty sauna. She does everything to set it up and soon enough the room is hot and steamy, her eyes fixing to continuously check on you two as you close your eyes and drop your head to relax in the warm, wet heat. "So how long can we be expected to be alone in here?" Kura asks, scooting to put just a bit more distance between you two which you're thankful for.

"With how long we've worked out, not too much longer. But we don't have to leave or anything like that. We can basically stay in here for as long as we want, though it is recommended to leave at some point to prevent overheating." She sighs.

"With how much we have to pay for a monthly membership, we better be able to stay in here for as long as we want." You complain, Kura letting out a small laugh as she lays her head against the wall. She and May look at you, your head still down and eyes still closed.

"Black card for your thoughts, lovely?" Kura mutters, you shake your head before answering.

"Just thinking about home, unfortunately. Thinkin about how i let it get here honestly." Kura pushes your arm and you look at your friends, both sets of eyes stern but full of care as they note him and whatever he's doing isn't worth any more of tour head space. Kura throwing the idea to take him for what he's useful for and buy everyone lunch after, naming off pricy places your younger self could only dream of going. You laugh at her, especially as may joins in with the new ultra luxury bakery that just opened up and is known to be pure Instagram fodder and not actually good baked goods. Just as you near snort with laughter at their suggestions, about to cut in with something cheaper and actually good, the door opens and causes you three to scoot a bit closer to one another in a corner and 4 actually fairly familiar faces trail in, shortly followed by a duo that you can tell aren't with the prior 4. Your husband's work and you being his previous arm candy piece at work events let you passionately shake hands with plenty of elites, faces recognizable to you easy. The 4 who are making conversation amongst themselves are athletes, specifically the (debatably) most popular members of the team. Koutarou Bokuto, Shoyo Hinata, Kiyoomi Sakusa, and Atsumu Miya.

The other 2 are businessmen that you've seen at damn near every single even you went to with your husband, higher ups from a company his worked with. They were always hitting you in the worst way so your nose unconsciously crinkles before you turn to Kura and May. You aren't too surprised, May did say plenty of the wealthy who live close by here and even some who don't come to this gym just because of how nice and/or exclusive it is. You hope somewhere inside yourself that the duo doesn't notice you at all, as that would help the first day back to a workout routine all the better.

Of course, you cant ever have what you want. The universe curses you by making one of the idiot duo loudly recognize your left shoulder tattoo of a chubby kitten playing with stars from various franchises, like animal crossing fragments and Rosalina's stars from Mario games. "Oh shit! I remember that dumb little tattoo! Y/n, how have you been babe?" He says. You roll your eyes hard enough to hurt as you feel every pair of eyes in this small room land on you. You force a smile and turn your head, giving a strained hi and fine. He and his friend start to bombard you with questions at your minor acknowledgement. Your husband, what he's been up to and things like that. You answer most, half with lies as Kura leans over your back and tells them to call him if they've got "such a hard on for him" instead of harassing you.

Kura has taken on most of your lost bite while you work to get it back, and you find yourself plenty thankful for it. You don't miss the small snorts of laughter from the other side of sauna and neither do the duo on the other side of you. Not liking to feel any sort of embarrassment, and somehow deciding that the wife of their business colleague is their prime target, the second one opens his mouth with venom. "You know Y/n, i have friends who work with your husband. We haven't seen you at any of the company get togethers anymore, yknow? But we have seen him with this real pretty dame on his arm. You make him get a replacement so you don't have to be there or what?" They way you stiffen is visible and your brain short circuts on what to do next for a half second. Both have this smug smile on their face as everyone looks wide eyed at the two, and they look at you.

You stand, eyes lifting from the ground where you had planted them during talking to them initially. "The fact you two are so mad because you cant even get escorts to sleep with you, much less me when im married so you go around saying shit like that is honestly pathetic." Your hand slaps the one who opened his mouth before you can rethink it, turning on your heels to leave at you hear not just your friends but the other men in the room giving them quite the reprimanding as you float your way to where you can pick up your freshly washed clothes. You must've been in there for longer than you thought, as they're set out with your membership card on top to show ownership. You're quick to change as you hear voices outside looking for you. You step out and toss the towel into the bin they have out for them and your friends rush to your side and try to comfort you but you simply tell them to get dressed so you can go and eat.

They're dressed in a flash and following you out the front door, you never noticing the sets of eyes that manage to trail your form as you storm out with your friends hot on your ass, wiping your eyes. Once in the car, there's a beat of silence as they seem to try and find what would be the rihht thing to say after that. What do they say? Your tears don't wait, a uncontrolled sob escaping you before your hand covers your mouth to hold back the rest of the noise as you cry. He's so brazen about it, of course other people notice but the last thing you wanted was to be confronted with it anywhere else. You're hugged from two directions, hands rubbing your back and arms to soothe you as May says she wont blame you for bailing after that. You shake your head, taking deep breaths to calm yourself and taking the tissue Kura passes you from her bag to wipe your eyes and blow your nose before you close your eyes. Clearing your throat, you croak. "I'm still going to do it... I'm not gonna let this stop me... Even if it sucks..." Kura pats you on the back, saying she'll still be with you and May clapping at you not letting it throw you down without a fight.

You get to pick lunch. A nice sit down hot pot spot that's having a slow day, so they wave the typical time limit they have and sit you three in a cozy booth. You loose track of time, your friends being efficient in distracting your mind from the day's sour turn, laughing and eating to replenish some energy. You three can see the door, and have made a game of betting (without money of course) on if the groups and couples who come in have ever actually been to a hot pot place or if they came in because they think it's "exotic". It's a dumb little game that results in fun banter. Lo and behold, the bell advice the door dings again and in walk... The same 4 athletes who basically saw you getting outted as being cheated on. The MSBY black jackles, with the rest of the team in tow. The owner working the register guides them to the large booth in the opposite corner from you and your friends, who ask if you wanna go after seeing the 4 familiar faces. You shake your head, saying you're having fun and betting that the extra shy, probable assistant, hasn't been to hot pot before as you slip a leafy green veggie in your mouth. You're friends smile and agree with you're bet, and you let your night continue.

The three of you fall easy back into yourselves as the waiter comes to top up your broth for the 3rd time, never noticing the pair of eyes that seem to linger along your form here and there. You don't even notice how the same eyes trail you once again as you leave out with your friends, looking considerably happier than when you left the gym. He knows he shouldn't be looking so hard, but he just cant seem to understand. Why would a man who married you not want you or not want to show you off?

You keep to your word and go back three days later, muscles sore the day after from how hard May worked you both but you return nonetheless to join her again as she says you'll both get used to it and she'll keep the routine the same for a while to help speed up that process. She beams at both of your forlorned faces as she makes you both get down on the floor for your stretches.

She keeps to her word, and you get back into your prior habits as your friends remind you that self care shouldn't be tied to the scumbag you live with as they have now deemed him. Your days with them are your highlights, whether it's just lunch and the gym or if they come over to insult your husband in the guest room you've moved into. Your gym trips are a bit better for your mental health tho, having made a couple of friends through May's bubbly personal skills and being away from your husband's revolving door of women. You tend to avoid anyone who has more consistent contact with your husband or his job to avoid any more incidents like your first day and that seems to do you well, though you've of course run into several big names that have worked with his company or him once or twice. You don't mind those, especially since some are constant faces anytime you go to be whipped into shape by May.

Some of the more consistent faces you see are those of Athletes, specifically coming across the MSBY team again and again. The 4 who initially witnessed your sauna incident either didn't remember it or simply never seemed to show they did, none giving you any odd looks or pitied glances any time your eyes seemed to catch theirs in passing. You were always the first to turn away, never catching on to the way one of them seemed to stare. At least not at first. The more often you came, the more you saw them and vice versa. The more you saw them, the more he could stare. The more he could stare, the more you seemed to catch him and while he would avert his gaze elsewhere or focus of the weight in his hands, he'd still eventually find a way to stare at you again all whilst taking pride in the way you seemed to fluster under his gaze. That man was Atsumu Miya.

Of course, his blatant "eye fucking" as Sakusa would call it didn't go unnoticed by the others, Bokuto and Hinata scolding him for essentially hitting on a married woman. When away from other who knew nothing about the information they had heard in the sauna, Atsumu defends himself. "He's cheatin on 'er anyways and i haven't even said anything. Why can't i look?" The others always reply that it's not the point.

"They might be trying to work it out?" Hinata mutters, making all of them turn their nose and Atsumu respond with a "Fuckin hope not." The boys were raised on better teachings so, even if they were reprimanding their friend for his borderline inappropriate behavior, they still don't like the idea of some poor, pretty girl "working things out" with a man that obviously doesn't care about her. Atsumu's typical defense doesn't hold up for long though. As time passes, the more he sees you, the more he tries to find ways to talk to you. From bringing you and your friends water to engage in small talk under the guise of being kind before he's called back to managing to catch you and your friends as you're about to leave some other amenity after making sure he worked out for just a bit longer, saying it was to not slack close to a game, to be sure he caught you at the tail end of your swim or sauna sit. Atsumu continues to argue that there's nothing wrong with making small talk or incidentally running into someone in a shared public space.

"You don't even know what incidentally means, homewrecker." Sakusa shoots, Atsumu having an aghast expression at the word. Though, with more time and the tiny tidbits of info he learns about you personally, the more the insult seems to not matter. You're a nice convo partner, and he's just being nice, right?

Of course, you have other obligations to attend to aside from the gym. You know he still expects you to clean the house, that damn bedroom you can't find it in yourself to even look at much less sleep in anymore included, and make him (and guests he brings) food. You'd refuse if he didn't opt for the coercive method of throwing the fact you don't have a job right now in your face, guests there or not. You just go with it at this point to avoid talking to him, moving away or giving minimal acknowledgement when he tries to soothe you with empty hugs and worthless words. So the supermarket is your other safe haven. No hard work, no husband or women he's fucking, no real stress aside from not finding something you're craving. Crossing into the refrigerated section causes a shiver, eyes scanning over price tags you've never gotten used to looking at. As you reach out for a pack of chicken with a decent tag, a stronger hand brushes in front of your to cross in the other direction. Looking up reveals a familiar blonde headed athlete who seems to beam at seeing you, as if he didn't see you a couple aisles ago.

"Hey, been a couple days. How ya been?" He asks, taking his hand away and gesturing for you to grab your thing first.

"Been alright, resting up before my May drags us back. You?" Conversation comes easy, he's noticed you're kinda quiet so he takes the lead in asking questions and talking about his own things. He's careful, even subconsciously, about asking certain questions as to not put you in a sour mood. You ask him the occasional question as he seems to follow you around, noting he doesn't have anything else to do except his own personal grocery trip, like about his games and team. He has no issue answering, giving the occasional jab at them and joking with you to make you giggle behind your hand as you both float around the store until you both have to check out. When he realizes that the window is closing on the most in depth conversation he's ever had with you, he spings an invitation as you both exit the store. "Umm... Hey, do you maybe wanna come over to mine later? To keep talking? I think you're actually pretty interesting." He says quickly, trying to make sure you don't think what he feels you are.

You smile, laughing softly. "Your reputation is starting to sound a bit more true. You always invite girls over to 'talk' after you grocery shop with them?" He smiles and shakes his head, free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Nah, just you." He flirts, and liking the feel of the missing male attention, you agree. He comes and tells you where his place is, and upon looking at it typed out, you realize that it's actually not far from where you and him live. Like, just a bit farther, just almost out of sight due to the curve, down the long street that your house sits at. You can walk to his house. When you tell him as much, he laughs. "Small world, huh? I'll leave the door open then." He shoots you a wink before heading on his way to his car ad you do yours.

When you get home, you don't speak to your husband. This is now normal. You simply put away the groceries you bought save for what you cook after. Once you've rushed through making a meal you have no real intentions of eating, you simply shoot him an "I'm heading out." Before slipping out of the door and taking a slow, leisurely stroll down to Atsumu's place. It takes about 20 minutes at that pace, and once in front of the door, you get butterflies. That old familiar flutter in the base of your tummy makes you hesitate to knock but you're a big girl, so you reach your hand up to give a few solid pounds to the heavy door. His place is nice, you've seen every house in the neighborhood at least once but you never really knew who lived in them. You were already housewife status before you moved here so you rarely came outside or interacted with any neighbors except next door and directly across the street.

The door opens with the slightly sticky sound of the seal meant to keep the outside out, and in the way of your view into the luxury home stands a broad chest. Your eyes get stuck for a half second before they trail up to his face, bright smile already splayed across his face. "Well howdy neighbor." You've heard him speak so the accent wasn't low on you but there sure are some words that really bring it out. You bow your head with your greeting and he turns himself to the side to let you in. "What took so long? I was waitin for ya." He asks jokingly, and you smile as you tell him about having to cook before you left because if you didn't do it, who would? He hears how lighthearted you make it sound, and he swallows the frown before it gets to appear on his face. You're keeping your head high to cope and it makes him wanna gag as his eyes trail up you, seeing no real flaw as to why some man wouldn't wanna be with you. He thinks you're real pretty, gorgeous even. You're also smart, funny and pretty quick witted when your head's not in the clouds. He knows it's a little odd to feel so strongly for the situation of a woman you just met, but his mama taught him so much better than that so when confronted with shit like this, it's hard to fathom. Even more so when the subject of it is right in front of him, oh so beautiful with your-

"Atsumu? Earth to pro athlete, need you back down here, big guy. Atsumu?" Shit. He had zoned out looking at you as you spoke so when he shakes his head and politely asks you to repeat the last thing you said, he feels awful. You seen a little too used to it as you shrug it off, which he feels makes it worse, and ask again. "I said: Did you have a plan when you invited me over or were you just gonna go with the flow and see what happens?" You stand with your hands behind your back so to not touch anything, and he struggles with his mind wandering as he motions for you to sit down and quickly jogs into his kitchen.

"I mean, we had a pretty nice time talking at the grocery store so i figured we could just pick up where we left off." He calls before coming to set a glass of lemonade down in front of you on the coffee table. "And if you stay long enough, i wouldn't mind you joining me for dinner?" It comes out like a question, you've been here for all of 2 minutes max and he's already inviting you to stay longer. He's so eager in a way you cant help but giggle and agree. You watch as he sits on the other side of the couch before starting to engage you in some bit of conversation from before. What you pick up on is that he constantly tries to get you to talk more and he pays actual attention to what you say. Anytime you quiet down out of habit, he asks you another question. The conversation hops from life experiences, to vacations, to upbringings. Anything to get you to talk to him more, anything to learn as much as possible about you, anything to make you smile and giggle like he's getting so enamored with.

He can't keep convincing himself that he's just being nice.

Not as he moves just a bit closer every time he sits back down from refilling your drinks. Not as he keeps trailing his eyes up and down your form when you laugh hard enough to close your eyes. Not when he has to fend off the mild shutter that slides up his back at certain words you say. Not as he continues to mentally say you're basically in the right if you were to do something outside of your marriage, and how he'd offer himself up in a heartbeat despite the guilt he'd been raised to have. Maybe if he finds out just a bit more about your garbage life partner, he can get rid of all the guilt he has. So he asks as you sip at the wine he offered up along with dinner, citing he's not as good as his brother in the kitchen but he does know a bit.

"Hey, i understand if it's still kinda touchy and you really don't have to answer if you don't wanna but, im just having a hard time wrapping my head 'round it." He starts, and your stomach turns as you know what he's gonna ask. But you sigh and down the rest of the glass, feeling It's better to get it out there now rather than feel like you're manipulating the situation later. The feeling of being wanted for a bit was nice while it lasted though. You set the glass down next to your empty plate and turn to face him, questioning when he went from the other side of the couch to only a couple inches away, motioning for him to continue. He ponders on how to say it without seeming insensitive before he sighs and just blurts it out. "Why the hell is your husband cheating on you? I genuinely can't understand." He stops himself before he goes on a tangent about how pretty you are or how nice you are or how he'd treat you plenty better.

You feel your eyes burn. You thought you'd be over it by now but maybe you had just pushed the thoughts away, far enough that it was basically outta sight, outta mind. You blink quickly to get rid of the tears and once Astumu catches the glossy look, he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to tell you to forget about him asking but you out your hand up to stop him. He fears you might just up and walk out, looking like a kicked puppy along with you as you take a deep breath to compose yourself. You open your eyes and put your hand down, speaking before he can. "He wanted an open relationship, so he's not actually cheating on me." Saying it feels gross, and if you took your eyes off the floor you'd see Atsumu with a face that agrees. Not because of the open relationship thing, because of how you phrased it.

"So you didn't want the open relationship?" He asks for clarification and though you and Atsumu don't know each other as well as you know your best friends, he's a comfortable presence that feels empathetic to you in a way, despite feeling like he's pitying you too but that's just your mind talking there. You shake your head, dropping it into your hands to rub away the tension that's building your temples.

"He sprung it on me out of no where, said i wasn't making him happy anymore. Saying i had 'let myself go' and whatnot. I was working on it, really. Working out at home, keeping up self care routines, trying to initiate even though that isn't normal for me. He just... Didn't want me anymore." You're quiet as you talk, a small sniffle in the middle of your statement tugs hard at his heart. Well now he can't possibly feel bad. He asks you about the dudes at the sauna the first time he saw you and lets you explain that they work with with your husband under a different company. "They've probably seen him with his pretty little coworker who he's been sleeping with. By the sound of it, they aren't the most discreet about it so it's just embarrassing for me. They're the types to get pissy when turned down. He rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt, feeling like his brain is throbbing in his skull over how dumb it sounds. Your husband, he colleagues, whatever whore he's screwing that most likely knew who you were and that the idiot was married. It gives the most sour ass milk taste to him.

"And what about you? Since he forced it, wouldn't it be good to get out and see someone?" He asks softly, particularly because he's yet to see you truly conversing with another man in the time he's been talking to you. He's also never heard you talk about anyone else, not that it would truly be any of his business but it just intrigues him. You simply shake your head again though.

"He's... He's the only man over ever been with. We met when i was young, got engaged and married pretty quick but i wasn't the prettiest thing in the group so he had no real competition. When that happened i kinda just stayed inside and didn't bother even after starting the working out thing with May again. I mean, if no one wanted me then, why would they now and I've just gotten older?" Your insecurities have shown before but Astumu's about to start asking some real serious questions about how your husband treats you if you think so low of yourself.

"So why not leave? I mean it's obvious he doesn't care 'bout ya, and you don't seem like the type to stick around for shit like this." He admits its a bit assumptive but he can read people pretty well, and he'd bet on this assumption for sure.

"He married me when i was young and kinda took over most things. Pre and post me leaving my job and agreeing to be his fulltime housewife. I kinda can't... At least not right now." You admit. Atsumu has genuinely never wanted the throttle a man so badly. He's basically holding you hostage so he cant look bad but is forcing decisions on you whether you like them or not so he can do as he wants. Yea, he definitely doesn't feel bad anymore.

"I want you." It's a simple statement but it has you whipping your head to look at him and the serious face he has that somehow also looks like he's bored almost.

"What?"

"You asked who'd want you since time has passed and stuff, right? Me. I do." Your eyes widen as he continues. "I think you're fuckin' gorgeous to be honest. Inside and out. You're funny and sweet when you're comfortable, you've got a good heart and 's all bundled up in this lovely, lovely body o' yers." He starts to smile mid way through his declaration as he notices your dace get more and more flustered. His accent seems to get just a bit thicker as he talks faster towards the end, enthusiasm radiating from him as he closes that tiny 2 inch gap between you two on the couch so your thighs touch. You're shocked honestly. It felt like he liked you but your self doubt said it was just pity, but you also felt there was nothing wrong with being a bit delusional and taking what you could get from a nice man giving you attention. You stutter, trying to get something out about how you feel but he hold up his hands and leans back a bit, never scooting away from you though. "If ya don't feel that way about me, i understand even if it hurts a little. But I would love to show you how a proper man should be treating someone as beautiful as you." He's laying it on thick but you feel he's being honest about your ability to back out if you want.

You still can't manage to figure out the words you want to say to him. You don't really think you'd know where to start, being the way he didn't seem judgmental towards you or the fact he apparently had actual, genuine interest in you. So you hug him instead. He's surprised for a moment but quickly hugs you back, finding that you're so much softer, warmer than he expected this close. He nose catches whiffs of your soap and shampoo, you even smell gorgeous. And your husband didn't want this? Fucking idiot. You pull back after a while, just enough to look him in the eyes. "Thank you, but... You don't..." You start how you want, but you cant seem to find the correct way to finish. Atsumu understands from the way you avert your eyes, flustered and shy in a way he finds all too cute on you. He puts his hand under your chin to gently redirect your gaze back to his, confident smirk still splayed across his face. It's a reassuring look really, one that says he really does want to do what he said.

"If you don't want to, that's fine. I understand, but don't think that i don't want to. Because i really fucking do." His voice is low due to his proximity, leaning his forehead against yours as he searches for any sign of you pulling away or rejecting his advances. It's like a little game behind your eyes plays out before you opt to say fuck it and close the small gap between your mouths. He reciprocates immediately, moving his hand from your chin to the back of your head as your hand begin to wind themselves in his soft blonde locks. The kiss goes on for what makes your lungs feel like eternity, but your brain feel like mere seconds. When the burn in your chest is too much, you pull back and take a deep breath, letting the oxygen take your brain through thoughts of this really being a good idea. Your eyes scan Atsumu, from the lidded gaze to the slightly swollen lips to the heaving chest and from what your eyes take in, your brain says it's a great idea. I mean, if he's willing to give you what you're missing, why deny yourself?

He stands up and holds out his hand to you, letting you take it as you ask about where he's leading you to. "Well i did say i'd be proper bout it, right? Can't take you on the couch first time around, that comes later." You note how confidently he said later, as if he's assured a next time. And while normally you'd say that was a bit presumptuous of a man, you couldn't help but think of the kiss you shared and allow him to have his confidence. He smiles when you don't deny him too. He leads you to a room that's cleaner than what you'd expect from an athlete if you're honest. The room smells of lingering cologne and linen air freshner as he closes his door. He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his face into the crook of your neck to kiss and nip at the skin as you tilt tour head to give him more space. You giggle as he kisses at certain spots, whimpering when he finds that particular spot that has you slightly buckling in his grasp.

His hands play with the hem of your shirt and pants, gently tugging as he sucks and bites at the spot that has you depending on him more to help you stand. "You can still back out now, (y/n). I really don't-" you wind up snaking your hand back into his hair, turning your head to bring his mouth to yours.

"I want to, Atsumu. Please, lemme have this." The way you whine has his eyes rolling in a good way this time, gently pushing you to his bed before he opts for turning you toward him and tossing you on it. His grip firm as he halfheartedly flung you onto the soft sheets as if you weighed nothing and without a single complaint either. He's quick to crawl over you and place his lips back on yours, tongue slipping in before you can fight him on it. You don't fight with him too much for dominance, more so to just be playful. He takes it, sliding his hands higher under your shirt than before to touch your skin as you fingers dig into his shoulder. He takes time to pull away every so often to ask if he can remove some piece of clothing from you, seeming as if he truly couldn't get enough of you. First your shirt, then pants, then his own. He barely detached his body from yours as he stripped you or himself, wanting nothing more than the feel of your soft, pretty skin on his. When he inevitably did have to pull himself up onto his knees to take off your bra, he couldn't help but take in the sight in front of him.

You're underneath him, as he's wanted for a bit now, neck only slightly marked up from before, lips swollen and a little of the mixed saliva from him keeping your mouths together making Its way down your cheek from the corner of your mouth. Your chest is heaving from him giving you minimal time to breathe between kisses, and to top it off you're basically half naked, the pretty body he's seen clad in various workout clothes finally exposed properly for his eyes to drink in. His staring to you on the other hand, has you feeling self conscious. You take a breath and start to move to shield your body from him, crossing your legs and bringing one of your arms over your chest to hide. He quickly stops you, whining at you, gently smacking your hands and thighs to get you to move them. He settles himself properly between your thighs and moves to pin your hands above your head with one hand. "Don't hide, beautiful. 'M only staring cause i think you're pretty." He smiles at the flustered look that comes back across your face and trails his free hand over the too of your bra. "I can take the rest of it off, right?" He asks, eyes still glues to your chest.

You hum and nod, so he wastes no time before reaching under you to unhook the only thing keeping your chest from his mouth. He almost drools at the sight of them when he moves his other hand from your wrists to toss the garment to the floor. There's quiet fuck that slips from him as his eyes catch on your tits the same way yours did earlier, and under such admiration you can't really tell when, if ever, your husband looked at any part of you with such genuine hunger. If feels nice to be looked at like this, so you try not to let your hands fall from where they rest above your head. His hands smooth down your sides, gripping every so often at the soft flush under his fingers til he gets to the hem of your panties, pulling and letting them snap against your hip as you yelp. He's tempted to rip them in all honesty but decides against it, simply sliding them down and off you to the floor as his eyes rake up and down you to figure out where to start.

His hands reach for your chest, kneading your tits and watching how responsive you are to him tweaking and thumbing over your nipples. He takes in every tiny whimper and breathess noise you make before taking your left nipple into his mouth and moaning at the taste of your skin. Your hands come down then, rethreading through his hair and unconsciously pushing him just a bit more into your chest. They're more sensitive than he thought, and you seem to love the way he flicks the hardened bud with his tongue before he takes a teasing bite and pulls it with his teeth just a little. He's not one to show favoritism in the bedroom, so he swaps to lavish the other with the same attention, biting just a bit harder to get you to make more noise for him. It all has him rutting his still clothed cock against your center, the wetness quickly seeping through the thin fabric and driving him to take his open mouthed kisses down your torso, leaving marks here and there to show his pathing until he's kissing the top of your mound. You tug his hair and he lets his drunken gaze float up to yours, mouth still kissing around between your thighs.

"You... Don't have to, if you don't wanna... Just so you don't feel obligated or something..." His brows furrow as his mouth sticks to one spot just above your clit as he takes in what you just said. His foggy brain has a moment of realization when he sees that you aren't just flustered, but embarrassed. He sits up a bit more as you gulp and raises his eyebrow at you.

"Did that fuckwit tell you he didn't like eating pussy?" He asks so bluntly it makes you curl up a bit as you avert your gaze, hands stroking his head still.

"He said it wasn't his favorite part but he did it because it was expected so I'm just- ah!! Fuck!" You're abruptly cut off as Atsumu opts to dive head first to your center, tossing your legs over his shoulders and running his tongue from your hole to your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Atsumu eats pussy for his own enjoyment, for fun. Your husband had you at home all the time and didn't constantly want his face between your lovely thighs? He didn't want the warm soft earmuffs and the, to Atsumu, gentle pressure of you squeezing his head with them? Because to Sumu, this feels like heaven. The muffled squeals as he slides his tongue from lapping at your clit to fucking your slippery hole and nudging his nose against your clit to keep the cute little button stimulated have him rutting into his mattress. You're overwhelming his senses and he's in love with it, it's a contender for being his favorite part of it in competition with how you taste. One taste and he's actively trying to devour you, as if he hadn't eaten dinner maybe an hour or so ago.

His hands grip onto your plush thighs and encourage you to clamp them even harder than you are now around his head as you whine and keen under him. Your fingers tug at his hair as you halfway guide his mouth where you want him, also grinding your cunt against his face and breathlessly moaning everytime he hums in pleasure against you. He opens his eyes when he feels one of your hands leave his head and lets them trail up you see your head tossed into his pillows and the hand you freed from his locks grasping at your chest, kneading your breasts as he did earlier and he can't help the way he basically growls into you. "Atsumu~ mmphf! Fuck, Sumu!" Oh god if he wasn't determined to get you to cum from the dumb shit you told him earlier, he was now.

He keeps his grip on your thighs, sluring and lapping feverishly at your pretty pussy, making sounds you'd truly be embarrassed of if you could find yourself thinking straight. He lets you use his face, lets you tug and pull his hair in a way that would be damn near painful, if he could think straight either to, to let you throw yourself off that cliff. He's only focusing on the moans clawing their way from your throat, getting higher and higher in pitch until you feel like you're about to crush his skull between your thighs. You call his name over and over, louder and louder until you go rigid and squeal as he helps himself to your sweet release, guiding you through wave after wave of pleasure.

Once you begin to paw and push at his head, he pulls himself up to look down at you with a wolfish smile and drunken gaze. His chin and lips shine in the daylight that floods through his bedroom window, the subtle warmth that still enraptures you keeps you from being as embarrassed about the sight. He moves his hand to swipe your juices from his chin before placing those same fingers into his mouth and humming at the taste. "You're husband has absolutely no taste, does he?" You giggle and move to sit up, a hand reaching to trail down his abdomen to the hem of his boxers but are stopped short by him pushing you back down and crawling to blanket you with his body. He kisses you deeply, sharing the taste still on his tongue with you and swallowing the little whimpers you give.

"Are you not gonna let me reciprocate that?" You ask when he finally parts, moving to trail his mouth down your neck and shoulder as he shakes his head.

"Uh uh, at least not this time. Next time." He assures, and you laugh softly in his ear at his confident insistence on this not being a 1 time thing. It makes you giddy, a man desiring you in a way that seemed so fairytale lately even tho you were supposed to be happily married. He nips at your shoulder and hums when you don't respond. "You'll let there be a next time, right darlin'?" He mumbles against your shoulder. You nod, dreamily humming as you turn to kiss his temple. At your agreement, he grinds himself against you, letting your slick completely soak through his underwear as you both moan into each other's skin. You grab hold of his shoulders as he keeps going, his grunts heavy on your neck as he tries to keep from going overboard. He does sit up, chuckling breathlessly as you whine at the loss of his heat.

He quickly slides off his boxers and when your eyes meet again, or rather when he looks at your face, the smile that crosses his face is smug. Your eyes were glued to between his legs, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He was bigger than your husband, longer and thicker though you'd say they were similar heights. Impressive sure was one way to describe it, the tip pink and glossed over with his arousal that began to run down his length. He trails his fingers from his abs to wrap around his dick, giving it slow stokes which catches your attention. You let your eyes follow up from his dick, soaking in the way the muscles under the skin of his tummy ripple and quiver, taking in how his chest rises and falls with his labored breaths. From his chest, you look to his face, catching how his eyes are intently glued to you as he seems to fight the urge to fist himself faster. Your grip on your lip becomes bruising, the wet plaps of his hand around himself causing you to twitch and pant.

He smiles as he stops, bringing his wet hand to your mouth with a slightly raised brow, a tiny gasp escaping him as you eagerly take his hand in yours and run your tongue over his palm and between his fingers. It sets him off, as he's quickly over you again, freshly licked hand guiding his hardness to your weeping center and mouth on yours with the full intent to make it hard to breathe. He lets his cock slide through your folds, swallowing your moans every time his tip rubs your swollen clit. "You ready, sweetheart?" He slurs against your mouth. You nod, clasping your hands together at the back of his neck, desperate mutters of "Please, Sumu..." spurring him on as he slides his way into you. He was happy at how easy it was; despite how tight you were, your pussy was wet enough give give him little resistance. He only pulled away from the heated kiss to watch your eyes roll into the back of head and listen at the drawn out noise you gave him.

When he feels you hike your leg over his hip and push him into you, he almost giggles at your eagerness. He moves his hands to the sides of your head, starting a steady rut into you before both of you whine at the feeling not being enough. "Please, Astumu.. Gimme more~" you ask so sweetly, how can he deny you? His hips begin to snap into yours, drawing out pretty high pitched moans and grunts from both of you. He moves his face to mark your throat and shoulder as he pumps into you, hands moving to grab your hips to prevent you from scooting up the bed as he starts to thrust faster and faster. He keeps his moth on your throat, grunting at the feel of your sounds on his lips and your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrap your other leg around his waist.

"Feel .. s'good baby. Y'er grippin me soooo fuckin tight- shit!" He curses into your neck, mindless babbles being all he receives in return. The smile on his face never seems to leave, even as he sits up to sit back on his haunches and starts using your hips to bring your velvety pussy onto him, your ass propped up just a bit by his thighs underneath. The angle has you keening, arching your back and grasping at his wrists as a way to ground yourself as he pistons into you again and again. The sticky wet squelch between you drags Atsumu's eyes down to where you both connect, rolling and threatening to close as the sight of his pelvis all glossy, pretty white ring encircling his base and shaft completely coated. The feel of your walls convulsing and clentching as your hips buck against his in a futile effort to keep up with his brutal pace is mind numbing, dragging almost whiny moans from his chest as his hands garb onto any bit of you they can and please.

When he does manage to tear his eyes away from your swollen cunt sucking him in, he lets his gaze lick up your body. From your tummy that he can see bulge with every pump in, to your tits that bounce so nicely, to your pretty face and the adorable fucked out expression that's plastered across it. He genuinely thinks you're so pretty, he can't wrap any part of his mushy brain around how someone could have you and not want to worship you all the damn time. You deserve so much. And he's damn sure gonna give it to you. "Y'er- so- fuck-in pretty!" Every syllable is punctuated with a harsh kiss to your cervix, just bordering on painful but still adding to the pleasure that has your eyes glued to the back of your skull. Your whines and moans are broken as they hit his ears, one large hand moving from your hip to your front, letting his thumb rub your clit and his other four fingers press above where his cock hits inside.

You shudder under his hands, twitching as you let out a weak warning of your impending orgasm. Though teary eyes, you see him nod. "C'mon darlin, cum nice an' hard f'me." He grunts, leaning up onto his knees just a bit more for leverage to throw you over.

And he does.

Your eyes clamp shut as you basically scream, his name tumbling out again and again as he fucks you through it. He's honestly a bit disappointed in the fact you didn't squirt, but there's always next time, right? He does fall over the edge after you do, your gorgeous climax having a domino effect on him as he grunts out your name like a mantra until he can't. The after shocks of yours guiding him through his own overwhelming haze of pleasure, and he finds himself drooling slightly by the time he comes back to earth. His body collapses next to yours after he pulls out and watches your cunt twitch and clench, letting his cum seep out and admiring it as it follows the curve of your ass onto his bed. He pulls you to him and you let him, snuggling into his chest.

He lays there for a bit, basking in the afterglow with you before getting up to get a wet towel to clean you up with as a bath runs. "Oh, you don't have to-" The stare he gives cuts you off as he wipes down your lower half, eyes narrowed at what you saying that now implies about how you were treated at home.

"I just fucked your pretty little brains out, sweetheart. I am not only obligated to clean you up and take care of you, but i want to. As any real man should." He emphasizes what shouldn't need to be said as he finishes wiping you down and goes back into his bathroom to finish up your bath. He carries you, despite protest, and sets you in as he says he's going to change his sheets. "Do... Do you maybe wanna stay over?" He's suddenly bashful, and it makes you wonder if the man who just made you cum harder than you have in years just a moment ago and this sweet, shy, country boy who can't seem to find your eyes is the same man. You nod, saying you'd like that. He finds your eyes then, dopey smile out in full as he hops off to clean his room.

He comes back just when you're clean and about to fall asleep, calling for you as he helps you out and dries you off, admiring your sleepy form as he slides a clean tshirt over your head. He guides you out this time, you smacking his hands when he tries to pick you up, his bed now dressed in a pretty deep grey color as he lets you lay down and get comfy. He's about to walk into the bathroom when your phone rings from the floor, you sucking your teeth at the ringtone. He rummages through your pants to find it again and frowns at it being the man neither of you wanna hear from. He does not the lack of guilt he feels about what happened tho. He hands it to your grabby hand and listens from the bathroom as you answer.

"Hello?... What does it matter what im doing?... I'm not at home, your dinner is in the oven. Is that not everything?... What you do in that house, in that bed is none of my business. I don't wanna hear about it either, not like i sleep there..... I have an attitude because you're bothering me... That's not even fair, what for?!... Sure, whatever. Move it i guess.... No, im not. Can i go now?" He hears you sigh and groan, but you seem to be off the phone, so he quickly hops in the shower before coming to cuddle with you in bed. The evening sun has set, the sky it's deep inky black through the window as he flicks on the tv to something neither of you pay attention to. He wraps you tight on his embrace and kisses your head, asking what your legal partner wanted. "He wants to use the guest room I'm staying in to house his little tramp because she's having 'family issues, don't be such a bitch. She's going through a hard time.'" You grown and half flail like you're having a tantrum, pressing your face into his chest. He grips even tighter, his blood boiling. That man has 0 respect and it shows so much.

"You can bring whatever things you don't want him to touch here." He offers, and you turn your sad, puppy like eyes to him. Even in the dark, under the mild light of his tv, he can see how glassy they are. It hurts his heart. "You can come by whenever you want, too. I'll never turn you away." You open your mouth, voice raspy with tears as you tell him of not wanting to intrude or be a burden but he stops you with a kiss. "Im not him. You will never be a burden to me. I mean it. Whatever or whenever, you always have a sizable place here." The tears fall but you smile at his sweetness, sharing kisses and sniffly thank you's with him. He pulls you on top of him, letting your head lay on his chest as he soothes his hands over your back, telling you to get some well deserved sleep. He thankfully doesn't miss your mutters of how much you like him already and how thankful you are before you're out cold. He places another kiss to your head, smiling as his own eyes close from his own exhaustion. Be it from fucking you like that or from being angry at your paper-only lover, he doesn't know or even care right now. He knows he'll have to explain himself to someone at some point, but that's a task for future Astumu.

Besides, he's just doing what his mama taught him was right, right?

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated! Hope you guys enjoyed! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

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