#SO NOW THAT THERE IS HOPE I AM STICKING TO MY GUNS

[lambtotheslaughterr]

Rise : Chapter Eighteen

A Rafe Cameron Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4.9k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | MASTERLIST | FINALE

all AI images are created from prompts i wrote. they are not real images.

IMPORTANT NOTE*: final warning to those on my taglist. if you do not interact with this post within 24 hours after not interacting with the hella fuckin' Rafe Cameron oneshots i posted last week, you will be removed. i do not like being strict but i am not asking for a lot. if you've been interacting then this message is not for you. but if you haven't been... i'm sorry. you will be removed.

            You didn’t stop running until it started to get dark. You headed south, like you & Bear planned, but wasn’t stupid enough to think you had pulled one over on Rafe. Micah was a damn good tracker, they would see that you took off in the opposite direction you led them in. You knew you couldn’t outrun them forever, especially with the physical pain you were in, but you would be damned if you didn’t try your hardest. You were convinced that if you could get far enough, that it’d be just out of reach of Rafe’s clutches & then you’d be free.

            More importantly, you hoped to run into Bear. The forest you were running through was never-ending though. For miles in either direction you’d only find more forestry. That worked in your favor though. The furthest away you were from civilization the better. Rafe would anticipate you looking for shelter. But you had a backpack full of survival goods. There was no tent or sleeping bag but you’d make do. You’d learn how to survive on your own in the woods, at least until you found Bear.

            By the time you stopped running, the sky above the trees was turning into a dark blue. The trees were growing denser with darkness. Traveling any further would be a risk but you couldn’t risk being found. However, you had to at least slow down. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t stop moving until you crossed the border into South Carolina, exhaustion be damned.

            But your body had other plans. Your back was aching, the wounds having opened up in your attack against Adrianna. Your feet were sore as well from running for so long. You could feel yourself growing weaker as you walked, your limbs carrying you slowly. Whether you wanted to or not, you’d have to stop & get some rest.

            You peered into the darkness until you found some thick foliage that would make do for some cover. You fell to your knees & crawled into the brush. You ignored your minor fears of snakes & spiders, as there were bigger, scarier things to fear now. You tucked your feet in so they wouldn’t be exposed & shoved your backpack into a small crevasse where you could lay your head. After you felt you would get as comfortable & as safe as possible, you kept your knife & gun right beside you.

            The sounds of the forest sung around you. Cicadas, a light breeze rustling the treetops, a nearby creek with trickling water. You allowed your eyes to flutter clothes as you laid on your stomach, desperate to fall asleep & perhaps wake to a better world.

            Something kicked your foot & you shot your eyes open. Having forgotten you were sleeping within foliage, your head became covered in leaves, sticks, & who knows what else. Another kick & you gasped. Peering through the leaves of where you hid, you could see someone standing outside your hiding spot, your ankle exposed for all to see.

            It was daytime. You scrambled to grab your gun & knife but they were nowhere near you.

            “Out.” A man’s voice sounded, “Hands first then the rest o’ya.”

            Gulping you strained to see as much as the stranger as you could but your hiding spot had done too good a job of shielding other from your point of view.

            “Out!” The voice yelled, “Or I start shooting.”

            “Okay!” You finally responded, “Okay, don’t shoot, I’m coming out.”

            Getting to your knees, & wincing at the stinging stiffness of your back, you pushed your hands through the foliage so the stranger could see them. You slowly crawled forward until you were completely out of the brush & on your knees before the stranger.

            Your eyes squinted at the change in brightness. You shielded your eyes from the sun so you could glance up at the man before you.

            He was gruff looking, like a nomad. His clothes were layered & blended well with the forest around you. He had a full beard that was thick with many gray hairs & a wool cap on his head. His brows were in a frown as he glared down at you warily. And it was only then that you noticed he was pointing a bow & arrow at you. You gulped, your eyes staring wide-eyed at the nomad’s weapon.

            “Whose blood is that?” He questioned, aiming his bow at your chest.

            You followed his line of sight. Your white top was caked in Adrianna’s blood, along with earthen residue from your sleepover in the foliage.

            You eyes met his again, fearful of what he would do to you.

            “I won’t ask again, young lady.”

            “It’s…” Your voice was hoarse & you frowned, clearing it, “Someone who was trying to kill me.”

            “Did they have good reason to?”

            That made you shake. What kind of question was that?

            “No.” You ultimately responded.

            “Why were they trying to kill you?”

            “Because…” You pressed your lips together in thought, sure that any answer you’d give would only prolong your inevitable death. “Because I was trying to escape.”

            The man eyed you from being his bow & arrow, “Where you escape from?”

            “A hell-hole.” You returned, shaking your head in disbelief.

            Running from Rafe was the best thing you could do for yourself, but you only ran into more trouble. Perhaps, into someone worse, though you didn’t think anyone could be worse than Rafe.

            A branch snapped from behind you & you whipped your head around, panic gripping your heart. But your heart slowed as you took in the appearance of a young woman, maybe high school age, appear from behind a tree.

            “Goddamnit!” The man hissed from behind you, “I told you to stay hidden until I got to the bottom of this.”

            Your eyes flickered between the two & you watched in curiosity as the young girl began signing to the man with her hands. She pointed at you, a frown on her face as she spoke without words.

            The man grunted & sighed, stealing your attention once more.

            “You hurt?” He questioned, gesturing to something behind you. But when you glanced back you were confused at what he was gesturing to you.

            “Your back.”

            “Oh.” You blindly reached towards your back but the man raised his bow higher.

            “Don’t!”

            “I—I don’t have anything on me, I swear. I did—a gun & knife—but I don’t know where they are.”

            “I have them.” He admitted, “Now, are you hurt?”

            “Yes.” You breathed out.

            The man’s eyes flicked to the young girl behind you, nodding.

            “My daughter.” He told you as you heard & felt the young girl approach, “She can take a look for you.”

            You nodded shakily.

            “But don’t think of trying anything. I’ll end your life in a second.”

            “I know.” You breathed out, “I won’t.”

            Glancing over your shoulder, you watched as the young girl approached slowly. Your eyes met & you could see the sadness there as she peered at you before getting close enough to touch. Then she kneeled down behind you & reached for the hem of your crop top.

            A hiss passed between your teeth as the fabric of your top peeled away from your back. The wounds Micah left having split open & caked blood stuck to your shirt.

            The young girl shuddered & covered her mouth, her eyes watering. Then she looked up at her father, signing yet again.

            You watched as the man understood what she told him.

            “Someone do that to you?” His eyes met yours once again.

            You gulped, “Lots of someone’s.”

            “You kill them?”

            “No.” Your voice shook, “Only one…but there’s more.”

            “They after you?”

            If you admitted that they were, the man & young girl would leave you, but if you lied & said they weren’t, you’d risk their lives.

            “Yes.”

            The man inhaled sharply, nodding at his daughter to move away.

            “You dangerous?”

            The question made you falter.

            No.

            But you had killed Adrianna. You were capable of taking another life.

            “I don’t know.” You admitted, “I’m just trying to survive.”

            You felt your eyes fluttering closed. He would either kill you or leave you defenseless. Neither was desirable. But you had no choice in the matter.

            A shuffle forced your eyes open & you watched in mild surprise as the man swung the bow onto his back. He stepped forward, offering his hand, “You can come with us. But only for today & tonight. Then you’re on your own. I got a daughter to protect & you look to be trouble.”

            “I understand.” You breathed out a sigh of relief, giving him your hand, “Thank you.”

            “C’mon then. Get your things. We got a bit of a hike to our campsite.”

            Their campsite was incredible. You had never seen anything like it before. It made you recall all those post-apocalyptic films that are set in the woods & you were truly living in one now.

            The man put his gear away along the cavern wall as his daughter led you to the edge of the small body of water.

            She signed at you & you watched as your hands & fingers attempted to speak to you. But you frowned, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

            “You need to take your shirt off. So she can clean your wounds.”

            You frowned at that. The young girl looked to her father then back to you, nodding.

            “I—” Your eyes fell to the man whose back was to you, “I don’t—”

            “Don’t worry.” The man grumbled, “I’m going back out to check the traps. You two can be alone.”

            With that, the man disappeared the way you all came & you breathed a sigh of relief. The young girl beside you chuckled lightly at that. Your eyes met hers & you smiled weakly.

            “Sorry. I just don’t trust people. Especially men.”

            She nodded at that before reaching for your shirt. You raised your arms so she could remove the bloodied & dirtied shirt from your body.

            The young girl worked on your back for some time. It was almost soothing, despite the pain. You had your toes slid into the water & your knees to your chest as she cleaned & disinfected your wounds before dressing them. Afterwards, you felt far better off than you had when Adrianna’s dressed them.

            When she finally stood up, gesturing for you to do the same, you smiled at her, “Thank you.”

            She signed back.

            But as you approached your backpack near the center of the campsite, it was only then that you realized you didn’t have any other clothes to wear. Rafe hadn’t packed that far ahead. You supposed you could wear your bloodied shirt again, but before you could manage to do that, the young girl appeared from within the tent, a pile of folded clothes in her hands.

            “For me?” You asked. She confirmed by handing them to you.

            “How do you say, ‘thank you’ in sign language?” You asked, accepting the pile of clothes.

            The young girl brought her hand to her chin, touching it, before moving it away & towards you.

            You mimicked the movement. She nodded.

            In the tent, you quickly got dressed, save for the thick jacket. Though it was beginning to become autumn outside, it was still much too warm during the day to wear it. But it would come in handy during the night.

            The man returned & he carried a wire string of fish hanging from his first, “Whose hungry?”

            It was shortly after sun fell when you sat by a dimly lit fire in the cavern. The man purposefully kept it low, informing you that the bigger the fire the stronger the smell. He gave you a few lessons in survival & taught you tips to aid you in outrunning Rafe.

            He was a doomsday prepper, telling you he had known this day would be coming for a long time. You had heard of people like him, but you were surprised to see him out in the world rather than in a bunker.

            “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the funds to build a bunker, but I sure tried.” He told you, his voice deep & rough as he watched the fire burn.

            “But we heard on a radio transmission about a commune up north. Survivors. Apparently, the virus hasn’t affected the area.”

            You recalled having heard something similar back at the military compound. It felt like ages ago that that ever happened. Back when all of your friends were alive & on the same team.

            “It’s probably bullshit.” You commented mindlessly.

            The man chuckled at that but nodded, “Probably. But I gotta think about my daughter. If she has a better chance of survival there then I gotta get her there.”

            His daughter was asleep in the tent at that point. The opening to the tent was zipped halfway, but you could make out her forehead just inside there.

            “Was she born deaf?” You questioned.

            The man grunted & shifted in his seat before nodding towards the tent, “She ain’t deaf.”

            What?

            Before you could ask further, the man continued.

            “But her mama was.” He revealed.

            “Oh.” You frowned at that, “Where’s she?”

            He sighed heavily, peering into the embers, “She dead.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            The man eyed you but nodded.

            “Was it the virus?”

            “No.” He shook his head, “Thank Christ. Cancer. She died a couple years ago.”

            Cancer, just another death sentence.

            “Ever since then…she hasn’t spoken.” He said, referring to his daughter, “Docs said it was a trauma response so I let it go thinking she would outgrow it but…she has yet to.”

            “She’s lucky to have you.” You told him. His eyes met yours.

            “Where are your folks?”

            You shrugged, not having thought about them in a long time, “Dead. Probably.”

            He grunted at that, “Sorry to hear it.”

            “I think what kills me the most about it is that my mom probably died alone. In her bed, in our big empty house. I have no clue where my dad was. He was a pilot, always traveling, always gone.”

            The man nodded along as you spoke.

            “I try not to think about it.” You admitted.

            “I understand that.”

            “Where are you two from?” You asked.

            The man took a swig from his water bottle before answering, “A little farm outside Chesterfield. You?”

            “Tampa.” You replied, “But I was going to school in Gainesville when the virus hit.”

            The man whistled knowingly, “That’s a long ways away. You traveled that far with your group, huh?”

            “Kind of.” You muttered, recalling all the events leading up to that moment, “Before everything fell apart, before sides were taken & trust was broken.”

            “This kid that’s after you… think he’ll give up?’

            You frowned. Rafe was never the kind to give up.

            “No.” Your voice was barely audible.

            The man sighed at that. Then he moved, reaching into a bag near his feet. You watched as he pulled out your gun & knife.

            “I was gonna wait to give these back to you till mornin’.” He admitted but then handed them to you, “But I trust you need them more for protection than to cause harm.”

            “Thank you.” You breathed out, accepting them back.

            “I’m sorry you can’t come with us.” He said but you shook your head in response, “Don’t be. It’s better off this way. I wouldn’t want him hurting either of you.”

            “You gonna keep heading south?”

            “Mmm.” You nodded, tucking your knife & gun away, “A friend of mine was supposed to come this way.”

            It was then that you discussed with him Bear. His appearance, his personality, his protectiveness over you. Unfortunately, the man had never seen him. So, he would be unable to tell you if you were heading in the right direction.

            Afterwards, the man stomped out the fire before cracking his back, “I oughta get some shut-eye now. I laid out a sleeping back in the corner there for ya.”

            “Thank you.”

            “S’no problem.” He grunted before making way towards the tent. He did not go inside but zipped it up before lying on the ground outside of it.

            You followed suit & crawled into the sleeping bag he laid out for you. Much like the night before, you listened to the sounds of your environment. The waterfall was like a lullaby as you eventually succumbed to sleep.

            Morning came & before you knew it you were facing the man & his daughter as you prepared to split off from them.

            “Remember what I taught you.” The man started as he eyed you.

            “I know.” You raised your feet to show the socks of your boots. He said it would help not only cover your tracks but also silence your steps. “Thank you for everything.”

            The young girl mustered a smile as she watched you.

            “If you change your mind, we’ll be heading towards Worcester. I left a map circled with where you can find our campsite near there if you want to follow inside your backpack.”

            You smiled at that, but you would not be able to follow them, not for as long as you knew Rafe was still out there.

            “Please be careful. Rafe, he’s…dangerous. He won’t hesitate to kill you, either of you.”

            It terrified you, imagining Rafe putting a bullet into the man & his young daughter’s skulls.

            The man grunted but nodded.

            “Oh, &, if you do see my friend, Bear, will you tell him I’ll be where he lost his last game of beer pong.”

            “Sorry?” The man asked.

            “He’ll know what you mean.”

            “If I see him, I’ll pass along your message.”

            “Thank you.” You voiced before eyeing the girl. You thanked her in sign language. She signed back.

            “Be safe, now.” The man said once more with finality.

            “You, too.”

153 days since the world ended

            It took nearly two weeks before you reached your destination. Thanks to the man & his daughter, you were well-equipped for the lengthy travel. You only had the one set of clothes that the young girl gave you but you stopped every three days to wash them thoroughly. They had also given you plenty of food & taught you how to trap fish on days when you needed to rest & eat.

            The first couple days you had been reasonably paranoid. Though the man & his daughter were a surreal break from the reality of being hunted down, you were back to being on alert all the time. However, as the days continued & you moved further south, you grew confident that Rafe was far in your rearview mirror. You decided to yourself that you would stay at the house for only a couple days, leaving a hidden note somewhere for Bear to find should he come looking for you, before you would move on. One thing you knew about being hunted was that you couldn’t stop moving.

            It was bittersweet seeing the city limit sign for Gainesville. You had stuck to the woods, wide fields, & abandoned roads in your two week trek back to your college town. You had contemplated moving towards Tampa, but Bear did not know where you lived with you family there. So, you would leave a note in his room telling him where to find you if he didn’t show up after a couple days.

            Gainesville had changed little in the five months you had been gone. It was clear the town was abandoned. Cars were covered in dust & rusting under the previous summer sun. Business establishments & homes were cleared out, doors hanging off their hinges & windows broken to reveal the havoc within. You did well to stay hidden as you walked the streets, pausing often to listen for any potential signs of life. But none ever came.

            It wasn’t long before you turned onto Greek row & approached the abandoned fraternity house. You stood on the sidewalk for some time, staring up at it. The last time you had been there was when you all returned from camping. Now, you were alone. The lawn was overgrown & there was a few broken windows, but otherwise, the house was in good condition. You approached hesitantly.

            Once on the porch, you pushed the door open & it creaked with your arrival. You stood outside for a moment longer & listened intently. It was peacefully quiet. You produced your gun from your waistband & entered the house. You did a thorough walk-through of the whole house, second floor & basement included, before you felt confident that there was no life.

            You returned to the main floor & locked the door, pushing a heavy piece of furniture in front of it. You knew it wasn’t the only entrance to the house but most people would try to come through the front door.

            In the kitchen, you glanced around. It looked as if time had stopped. Evidence of the ‘We Wear Pink on Wednesday’s’ end of school celebration party was still there. Red solo cups littered the floor & counter tops. Pink streamers hung wryly from doorframes. A plethora amount of liquor bottles were piled in the sink. You stood there for some time, remembering how not so long ago, you had been in that very kitchen watching your friends battle against one another in a game of beer pong as you & Rafe took shots on the sidelines.

            Rafe. The memory dulled your senses. Who knew this was the world ending would lead to?

            In the fridge, you were not surprised to find anything. The boys rarely had food anyway & what little you did find was rotten & moldy. You slammed the door shut before heading for the stairs. You walked down the lengthy corridor that houses many of the frat brother’s private rooms. On the wall was pictures of members, past & present. You paused when you spotted the face of your boyfriend smiling proudly in one.

            Your heart shattered as you looked at Sayyed’s friendly face. He was in the middle of Rafe & Bear, the three of them in good spirits at what looked to be a pep rally. You remembered that day well. But then your eyes cast over to the man on Sayyed’s left. Rafe. He was never a friend, no matter how much he looked like one in photos.

            Leaving the picture, you trailed the rest of the hallway until you reached a door near the end. Sayyed’s.

            Inhaling sharply, you steeled yourself & pushed the door open.

            It looked almost like how he left it. His drawers & clothes were scattered on the floor, his bed unmade. His closet doors were open & hangers stuck out from him having gathered clothes in a haste. You felt your muscles relax as you took in his room. You had spent many nights there, cuddling with him in bed as the two of you watched reruns of Spongebob. He was your home away from home.

            Walking around to the other side of his bed, you sat down, glancing at his nightstand. In a picture frame was a photo collage of his friends & family. Nuha was in a lot of them, looking glamourous as always. Behind that picture was another. You fingered it & picked it up.

            “Hey, you.” You whispered as your finger traced over his face.

            It was the two of you. Both smiling as you stood one of the many beaches in Tampa. That was taken the first time you brought him home to meet your parents. He spent half the summer with you. You grinned openly as you remembered him chasing you into the ocean as you two wrestled to throw the other under the small waves. Both of you looked so happy to be alive, to be there together.

            Your vision blurred as tears threatened to fall.

            How did it feel like all the time in the world had passed? How did it feel like he never existed? How had it only been five months yet it felt like five hundred years?

            You sniffled, bringing the picture frame to your chest as you lied down on your back. In the two weeks it took you two arrive there, your back had healed greatly. It was stiff often but the pain had disappeared over time. There were still a few scabs, & you could still feel the ridges of the wounds as they scarred over, but they were mostly gone for the most part. As for your fingers, they too had healed. Adrianna had set them before your escape & since you had little opportunity to really strain them, you were able to use them. Kind of. You didn’t push hard, relying on your left hand as much as you could, but you were relieved that your body was healing. All that was left to mend was your mind.

            It was dark when you opened your eyes. You groaned softly, not having meant to fall asleep in Sayyed’s bed. You pushed yourself up, the picture falling into your lap as you did. You eyed it once more before returning it to the nightstand. Your mouth was dry. You needed to drink water.

            Reprimanding yourself, you remembered then that you left your backpack downstairs in the kitchen. You knew better than to part with your survival goods. Leaving Sayyed’s room, you began walking down the hall when you stopped abruptly. The door to the room next to Sayyed’s was open. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered you, as you didn’t specifically note which doors in that hallway were open or closed, but it bothered you greatly because it was the door that led to Rafe’s old room.

            Staring at it, you felt your heart quicken. Could he be on the other side?

            But you shook your head. It had been over two weeks since you escaped Rafe. If he was still chasing after you, he wouldn’t have beaten you here. And even if he had…did he know you well-enough to think you’d come there? If anything, you’d’ve gone to your apartment with Millie. It’s why you ultimately chose the frat house. It wouldn’t be expected.

            Steeling yourself, you kicked in the door to Rafe’s room. It was dark & the only light came from the moon outside that cast it’s light through the sole window. You kept your hand on your gun, finger over the trigger, as you took a step inside. It was quiet, barren, lifeless.

            You breathed out a sigh of relief.

            Perhaps you’d leave sooner than later. Even if coming to frat house was unexpected, you still couldn’t put it past Rafe to check every single place he knew you knew about. Your plan to stay there for a couple days would be cut short. You’d get some water, go back to sleep, & in the morning you’d take what you could from the house, leave a note for Bear in his room, then leave. You had to keep moving.

            Back downstairs, you entered the kitchen, spotting your backpack on the table that was commonly used for beer pong. You began approaching it when you stopped again, though this time for a more terrifying reason.

            In the darkness, against the backdrop of the window on the other side of the table, was a silhouette.

            Your heart raced.

            No. It was your imagination. A trick of the light. Your paranoia.

            But then the silhouette moved, leaning forward against the table. And as it did, you finally caught the glint of something evil in the eyes that met your own.

            “You should’ve kept running, _____.” Rafe’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard as you reeled backwards. But you didn’t get far when you felt yourself crash against a solid figure.

            Spinning around you were horrified to find Micah standing behind you.

            Immediately, you yanked out your gun, prepared to fire blindly but Micah swung a closed fist towards your face & you fell to the ground, your gun skidding into the darkness.

            A shrill scream erupted from you as you desperately crawled backwards.

            “No!” You cried out—angry, scared.

            Your back met a wall of cabinets & you thrashed away from Micah’s outstretched hand as he attempted to catch your ankle. But your fight was quickly snuffed out as Micah dragged you back to the center of the kitchen. He straddled your hips with one hand on your sternum holding you down, & the other gathering a fistful of your hair at the back of your head.

            Rafe appeared above you then, the darkness only adding to their insidious intentions. He cocked his head, feigning a frown.

            “How?” You winced, glaring up at him.

            Rafe shook his head, “I know you better than you do.”

            Then you watched in horror as he glanced at Micah. Nodding.

            “No!” You screamed once more, but your scream died on your lips as Micah brought another fist to your face. And another. And another. Until you collapsed against the linoleum of the kitchen, blood seeping from your nose & mouth.

            Your vision swayed & blackened as you heard the mean speak above you, but their words were muffled & faded.

            Subconsciousness came for you & this time, you hoped it would swallow you whole.

after a brief break to complete the celebration requests, i am back with the second to last chapter of Rise! the next chapter will be the finale & trust me when i say...it'll be a doozy.

as always, please share your thoughts/feelings w me via commenting, reblogging w reviews, or dropping an ask. i love to hear it, especially with the end so close!

thank you for reading

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[atlasshrugd]

the dots are connected

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[dearreader]

k so i made this poll awhile ago to answer my question on if people would rather spend a date with a swiftie or an anti-swiftie (someone who hates her and devotes their life to hating on her). i mentioned i didn’t have the spoons to handle it being longer than a day and know it was going to be biased as it would start in my circle and would work it’s way out, so i wanted to do a longer poll when i had the energy to handle a week long poll like that. (i’m assuming when i post this, as i’m pre making it, i’ll be in recovery from my nose surgery since i’ll be stuck at home a week so i’ll have more time to monitor and look at the tags)

so nows the time, but i’m going to addendum the question a bit:

*some extra things that came up on the original poll i didn’t elaborate on fully that i want to make clear:

- you don’t get a say in what type of swiftie you get. assume that you’re going to be spending the evening with someone who massively loves her and her music and wants to discuss it. they’ll talk about songs, their favorite lines and meanings, symbolism behind the reputation album, etc.

- YOU MUST TALK ABOUT TAYLOR SWIFT. even if it’s the anti-swiftie you must talk about her. i understand the sentiment people made on her not coming up, and that’s valid, but that’s not the question i’m asking. YOU HAVE TO SPEND THE EVENING WITH SOMEONE WHOS GOING TO TALK ABOUT TAYLOR SWIFT NONSTOP, WILL IT BE THE LOVER OR HATER?

- im just trying to gather a general consensus on this and want to get data from a lot of people which means this is going to end up on people’s blogs who probably hate swifties and are annoyed by them. that’s okay as that’s the point of my question. but if you’re going to go off in the tags about how much you hate her or hate swifties and be an asshole about it im blocking you. you can just simple say “i hate her/i hate swifties” and don’t need to elaborate. you don’t need to sit in the tags going off on how much you hate her and trying to “defend” yourself from swifties. i just want an answer to the question.

- ALSO, this is not an open poll to go harass anyone in general. if you are a swiftie and see an hater in the tags and wanna fight DON’T FUCKING DO IT. just block and go read/watch your favorite media and think of blorbos kissing or whatever, but DO NOT SEND HATE OR HARASS ANYONE.

the hypothesis im trying to prove is that people in general would much rather spend an evening with someone that is going to talk about something they love all night vs someone who will spend the evening talking about something they hate. i want to gather as much data as possible to get a good consensus and if you go and be an asshole to someone because of their tags on this poll, either side of the swiftie to anti-swiftie spectrum, your disproving the point. if you see tags you don’t like just simply block and carry on. understand? k good.

- in general this is not meant to be a very serious or heavy question. it’s meant to just let me pick people’s brains and see what they’d want to do. i just want to get my results and go. just vote, drop your opinion in the tags, and go.

- also, this last part is silly and not at all related to my data, but since i’m forcing you on a dinner date i’ll at least let you pick the restaurant and food you have. so if you could also say what restaurant/food choice you’d want and what you’d want to order i’d love to hear it. sky’s the limit here. go nutz or even very specific on what you’d want to eat. i am trying to learn to cook and don’t know a lot of recipes or different food types, so i’m hoping this will give me a bigger idea of what food is out there to make. (this question is not meant to be a way to stick it to anyone or for you to go “i’ll go to a shitty ass restaurant and take a swiftie/anti-swiftie and make them eat garbage 🤪”, it’s just a fun question to give people something positive to add to the poll if they want. AGAIN IF YOUR GOING TO BE AN ASSHOLE ILL BLOCK YOU.)

- i’m going to be annoying and ask that you reblog for a wider sample size and such, if you don’t want to that’s fine, but i’m going to be polite and ask you nicely.

that should be everything, thank you for reading my long ass list and voting in this poll. i hope you have a good day and such.

[callsign-peach]

the beanery

summary: jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why

pairing: established hangman x female!reader

a/n: the title? has almost nothing to do w the plot, but it’s the name of the coffee shop!!

--- Javy was the first to notice, but it was only because he had gone with Jake to your coffee shop a couple of weeks ago. He had been talking to his best friend about some plans for the newest aviators, and didn’t realize Jake had an end location in mind.

“What’s that?” Bradley asked, eyes honing in on the white take-out cup that Jake was sipping from.

“Hm?” The blonde asked, pocketing his phone and looking at his wingman. “Oh, just some coffee from that new place.”

Javy took a swig of his own Thermos to hide his smirk.

“Oh? The one near the Hard Deck? Penny said the owner’s been in a few times to ask about some tax shit.”

Jake nodded absentmindedly, he already knew this information. “Yeah, they’ve got some good stuff.”

He met Javy’s knowing eye and sent him a look, and Javy was thankful looks couldn’t kill.

Before anyone else could get a word in, Pete entered the room alongside a dozen newly-adorned Top Gun students, raring to go up in the air.

--- You heard the belle chime on the door, calling out to the patron that you’d be a moment. 

Slicing the now-empty cardboard box, you slid it between the wall and the trashcan, hoping you’d remember to take it out to the dumpster before trash day. 

Walking out into the bar, you smiled when you saw your boyfriend leaning along one of the columns in the seating area. “Hey, J. How was your day?”

“Good, you?” Jake asked, thanking you as you handed him a toasted bagel with strawberry cream cheese. You almost keeled over when you found out your boyfriend’s go-to pastry at the cafe was a plain bagel, losing it when he spread pink cream cheese over it.

“I can’t believe you go for those bagels over my croissants!” You laughed, taking a sip from the iced coffee you made yourself about half an hour ago.

“Oh, what’s that? New syrup? Sauce? Lemme try.” Jake reached over for the clear plastic cup, puckering his lips over the straw. “Oh, babe, I don’t know about that one.”

Laughing, you nodded over to the dainty chalkboard wall with the featured drink. “Raspberry vanilla iced latte. You don’t like raspberries.” 

Jake hummed, face falling when his phone chirped from his pocket. “Damn, duty calls.”

Duty referred to drinks at the Hard Deck, a weekly tradition the dagger squad kept up once they were stationed at Miramar for good.

“Don’t know why you don’t just offer to have drinks here sometime. I can make espresso martinis or whatever shit Javy’s trying to make at our place.” 

Jake chewed the thought over, pulling his lip between his teeth. “Soon, I just like having my little secret barista girlfriend.” 

Scoffing, you playfully slapped your boyfriend’s chest. “Barista? I’m a full-fledged business owner, Seresin! Get it right!”

Jake laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple with a promise to be home before midnight. --- Stopping the timer on her watch, Natasha stepped into the cool air of the newest cafe in MIramar after her morning run, thankful for the air conditioning. 

“Good morning! Welcome to The Beanery, can I get anything started for you?”

Looking at the woman behind the counter, Natasha felt like she’d seen the woman somewhere before. “Oh, um, sure. Iced coffee, no creamer.”

“Any flavors?” You asked, scooping ice into the branded cup.

“Caramel?” Natasha smiled, and you laughed and pumped some caramel syrup into her cup.

“Oh, this is so much better than the base coffee!” Natasha smiled, depositing her change into the tips jar. 

“Base? You’re in the Navy?” You asked, setting some mugs out on the counter. 

Sure am. Naval aviator, originally was only here for a quick mission a couple years ago, but I guess they thought we were good enough to stick around.”

You smiled, setting the drying towel on the counter as the bell chimed for another customer coming in. “My boyfriend’s in the Navy, I’ll have to ask if he knows you.”

“Who knows! Thanks again for the coffee!” Natasha smiled as she left, taking her time walking back to her apartment and changing into her khakis.  --- “You, too?! Man, everyone’s getting coffee at the new place!” Mickey spoke as Natasha finished off her iced coffee.

Jake looked up from where he was texting you about the chocolate pastries you were experimenting with selling. 

He saw the plastic cup he had helped unpack the weekend prior, curious if his colleague had met you or one of your employees. 

“Yeah, it’s really good, and the food looked so good! I might go after work again to grab another drink.”

“Oh, I’m coming with. I need to try this coffee if you and Bagman say it’s good!” Bradley added, tossing a ball of paper at the blond man’s head.

Soon enough, the entire dagger squad was planning a short jaunt over to your coffee shop, Jake included. --- The bell chimed and took you from your thoughts, thankful for the distraction from the pastries you were trying to laminate.

“Welcome to the Bean- oh. Back so soon?” You asked, smiling as you saw Natasha walk back in, flanked by some other Navy men. “And you brought friends? Man, my confidence is sky-high right now.” 

Natasha laughed, though she missed the teasing look you gave your boyfriend as he walked in. “Sorry, I just can’t enjoy anything. These rats always have to tag along.” 

You snorted, starting on Jake’s drink absentmindedly. “What can I get you guys?”

The aviators all ordered, but when it was Jake’s turn to speak up, you smirked. “What can I get for you, Lieutenant Seresin?” 

Jake smiled, wanting nothing more than to swipe the flour off of your cheek. “Iced macchiato, extra caramel.”

“You know what a macchiato is, right? You bitch about me pouring any milk in my coffee, they’re like 90% milk!” 

You laughed as Bradley pointed to the cup, exasperated.

“Shut up, Birdbrain.”

Silently setting all the drinks at the end of the bar, you slid Javy one of the oatmeal cookies you made earlier. “Since I was out of them last week.”

“Thanks, but you know I was just going to grab some next time I was at your and Jake’s place.”

Shrugging, you watched as Bob seemed to put the dots together, silently sipping his Americano with a knowing look.

“Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but do you know anyone on base? I swear I’ve seen you before!” Natasha said, curiosity getting the best of her. 

You smiled, twinkle in your eyes. “My boyfriend’s an aviator, maybe you’ve seen me around with him? I don’t know, though. I just moved out here recently.”

Javy coughed into his coffee, trying to disguise his laugh. 

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Rueben asked, curious.

Smile growing wider, you simply nodded towards Jake. “Jake.”

“What the fuck?” Bradley asked, jaw falling open. 

Natasha and the rest of the aviator, sans Bob and Javy, all stared at the two, heads swiveling to look at the couple. “In your locker! There’s a photo of her in there, that’s where I’ve seen you before!” 

“You keep a photo of me in your locker? Cute.” You teased, coming out from behind the bar to stand with your boyfriend’s friends.

Jake blushed, offering you a sip of his coffee. “All right, all right, yes, everyone meet my girlfriend.”

You smiled, officially introducing yourself, promising to catch up more with the aviators after you heard the alarm going off for the croissants in the back oven.

“Damn, Hangman, you did good.” Rueben clapped his friend on the back. 

“Yeah, I did.” --- a/n: i like this couple idea a lot but i cannot write it i have too many thoughts going through my head so def expect more !!!!!! send requests, chat to me about this trope at literally any time !!!

[atlabeth]

come on back to me - nikolai lantsov

summary: five times you save nikolai and one time he saves you.

a/n: if you've seen my thoughts as i read through siege and storm and ruin and rising then you know that i am deeply in love with nikolai lantsov and since ive finally finished the trilogy i finally feel qualified to write about him lmao. i actually don’t think i’ve written a 5+1 which is crazy so here you go. i wrote this in like 2 days in a spurt of inspiration and im absolutely in love with it, so i hope you all are too!!

title from you’re the one by greta van fleet

wc: 7.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, canon typical violence, siege and storm & ruin and rising book spoilers (i have not watched the show), medical inaccuracies, nikolai's volcra era, hurt/comfort and a happy ending (as usual)

Os Alta

It all happened rather quickly. 

One moment, you were in the infirmary mending a poor soldier’s broken arm. The next, screams were erupting everywhere. 

You and the soldier locked eyes, and you did a final bit of healing on his arm before you nodded at each other and darted off. 

The soldier grabbed his gun and went further into the palace, no doubt to find the royal family, and you adjusted the collar of your kefta before you ran out into the fray. 

Nichevo’ya had surrounded everything, attacking anyone they could find, and their shadowy bodies were like a void’s blight on the land. You knew the sight would be forever burned into your mind.

You knew the Darkling was going to march on Os Alta, that he would have to do it directly to use his shadow soldiers, but this was so much earlier, so much worse than you’d expected. Enforcements were meant to come from Poliznaya. You guessed that was off the table. 

You were fine at fighting—alright with a pistol and better with a dagger—but you were a Healer. You spent more time dealing with the aftermaths of battles, more skilled at setting broken bones and mending bullet wounds than inflicting them. 

Times like these were the ones when you normally questioned your decision to not hone your abilities into a Heartrender, but now you would at least be a dead man either way. Nichevo’ya didn’t exactly have hearts to stop and organs to manipulate. 

You had to get to the other Grisha. You had to make sure the Sun Summoner made it through this attack, even if it meant you wouldn’t. 

You broke into a sprint, trying your best to ignore the crippled and broken bodies in the carnage. Your instincts tugged against you, but you knew there was nothing to be done. If you stopped to help a dead man, you would soon join them. 

You nearly battered into a group of people from your speed and lack of attention, and you reeled to the side seconds before a head-on collision. When you looked up, drawing in ragged breaths in the one second of rest you’d gotten, your eyes widened. 

You were face to face with the royal family. The King, the Queen, and Nikolai Lantsov. The absence was glaring. 

“Grisha,” Nikolai breathed, and he grabbed onto your shoulders like a madman as his fingers ran over the embroidery. He might as well have been one, the way wildfire flickered in his eyes. “You’re a Healer? One of Alina’s?”  

You nodded rapidly. “Are you—” 

“I’m getting them to safety on the Kingfisher,” he cut off, “and she wants me to get that old woman as well.”

“Baghra—?”

“You’re a Healer?” the King interrupted harshly. Your heart stuttered—you’d never been directly addressed by the King, but you supposed circumstances like these called for different standards. 

“Yes,” you nodded. “Are you hurt?” 

“My wife,” he said, and your attention turned to the Queen. Genya’s absence had taken a toll on her, and the shards of glass sticking out of her side weren’t doing her pallid frame any favors. 

“Madraya,” Nikolai whispered, his eyes wide, “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Alexander—” her voice was ragged, her entire appearance pallid— “we’ve much bigger concerns.” 

“Nonsense.” The King’s gaze bore into you. “We have time. Heal her.” 

You screwed your eyes shut, your hands closing into fists for a moment before both opened and you nodded. “Keep an eye out, moi tsarevich,” you huffed, and you moved to the Queen’s side. Nikolai’s head perked up for a moment at your words, but it disappeared just as quickly as he adjusted his grip on his pistol. 

“Of course,” he said wryly. “Not that I don’t trust your work, and not that I don’t trust my abilities, but it would be grand if you could do this quickly.” 

“Working as fast as I can,” you muttered, ignoring the noises the Queen made as you pulled the shards of glass out with little care. Your mentors would be rolling in their graves if they could see you. 

“Vasily is dead, by the way,” Nikolai said, attention focused on the nichevo’ya all around. Thankfully, you’d run into each other in a spot relatively hidden from view. Hopefully it extended to shadow creatures. “I know you were wondering.” 

Your hands faltered for a moment, but it was hardly noticeable as you continued to work. He wasn’t wrong. “I’m so sorry.” 

The Queen choked back a sob, and the King’s face betrayed the slightest bit of emotion. 

“An awful way to go,” Nikolai muttered, more to himself than anything. “But fitting that he brought about his own end.” 

His parents said nothing to your surprise, but you stood up from your knees and nodded at the King and Queen. “She’s healed enough. No internal bleeding, at least.” 

“Healed enough?” the King repeated. “That is not—” 

“It’s the best we can hope for,” Nikolai interrupted sharply. “We’ve already wasted too much time out here.” 

He then nodded, grasping your hands with fierce desperation. “The crown thanks you, darling.” You’d never seen him like this—you’d never seen him fear anything. The Darkling and his creations were a good start. “I thank you, truly.” 

“Just doing my duty,” you assured, and you pulled a small container out of the pocket of your kefta, leftover from your work in the infirmary before it all went to hell, and pressed it into his hand. “She should be alright, but I’ve been slightly rushed. Rub this salve on her wounds when you’re out of danger just to be sure.” 

Nikolai nodded again, slipping it into his own pocket. “Keep our Sun Summoner safe,” he said. “Or else this’ll have all been for nothing.” 

You nodded. “With my life.” 

Nikolai’s eyes met yours, and something unsaid passed between you. Then his hands slipped off of yours, and he continued to herd his parents away from the chaos. You muttered a quick prayer to any Saints that would listen for their safety, and then you head off on your own way. 

2. The Pelican 

You thought either the bones in your hands or the wood was going to crack with how tight you were holding onto the side of the ship. Your heart was still hammering away in your chest—the adrenaline from the battle and Nikolai Lantsov’s sudden appearance and being shot at a thousand different times by a thousand different militiamen still had you quite shaken. 

You knew the sort of chaos you were in for when you made the decision to travel with Alina Starkov rather than stay in the White Cathedral, but you think you hated being in the air like this even more than you hated being trapped underground with those zealots. 

Someone called your name, and you turned to see Adrik a while away with wide eyes. You huffed a sigh as you reluctantly let go and hastened your pace to catch up with him. If he was sent to fetch you, then someone needed healing, and you couldn’t exactly hold off on the one thing you were good at. 

Adrik led you over to a corner of the Pelican where a large portion of your group of Grisha were gathered. Tamar was kneeling next to whoever was injured, one hand splayed above their chest, and you took a deep breath as you forced calmness to wash over your mind. 

“What are we dealing with?” you asked Tamar, but it was clear enough when he spoke up. 

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Just a flesh wound.” 

“He was shot,” Tamar said dryly, “and he refuses to accept its severity.” 

“So we meet again,” you said placidly. 

Nikolai seemed to perk up when he saw you, any prior frustration absent from his face as he grinned at you and said your name. “If you’re the Healer here, then I guess I’m not so fine.” 

“Am I ever going to be around you when you’re doing important princely things,” you said as you crouched on the other side of him, Tamar continuing to keep his heart rate steady, “or only when you’re injured?” 

“This is a very important princely thing,” Nikolai said. “I’m showing my soon to be subjects that I’m just like them.” 

“You were shot and you thought you were fine?” You let out a loose sigh and shook your head—it wasn’t worth getting into it. “Keep it steady, Tamar.” 

She nodded, and you reached out to begin unbuttoning his outer coat. He wouldn’t stop shifting around, and it made it infinitely harder. 

“Will you sit still?” you snapped. 

“I am,” Nikolai said. 

“You are not,” you asserted, and you undid the final button on his coat after a struggle, “and you are making this much more difficult.” 

“My apologies,” he said. “Usually women that are taking off my clothes aren’t this angry with me.” 

You scowled, only making his smile grow. 

“You do it yourself if you want to be like that,” you said, letting your hands fall back to your side. “I’m sure the rest of your soldiers will listen to a Healer.” 

“Ah, but none of them bravely threw themselves into danger for you,” Nikolai remarked. “I’m sure that earns me a few points.” 

“Points that you’ve immediately lost by being this difficult with me.” You crossed your arms. “And you did not throw yourself into danger for me—you were in the battle and you got shot.” 

“We came to save you all, and you are a part of it,” Nikolai said. “I’d say I definitely threw myself into danger for you.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Will you not even allow a dying man some honor?”

“You are not dying,” you said, “but you will be if you continue talking. Now take off your clothes and stop being so difficult so I can fix this up before you do die.” 

He tutted as he shed his jacket and worked on the rest of his clothing. Princes were apparently fond of multiple layers. “For a Healer, your bedside manner is remarkably poor.”

“Don’t worry,” Nadia piped in, “she’s always been like this.” 

“I have very fond memories of you healing my broken ribs,” Alina said dryly. 

“All of you are still alive,” you said tartly with a glance back at your fellow Grisha, “aren’t you?” 

“I think you made me wish I wasn’t,” Harshaw mused. 

You scowled again and Nikolai laughed. “That bodes very well for me, considering how much I seem to irritate you.” 

“You’re going to be fine,” you grumbled. When you turned back to him, he’d gotten down to his undershirt and unbuttoned it. Blood had spread across the white fabric, but apart from being shot, the wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It’d had the chance to fester for a bit, but with Tamar’s aid it hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.  

You took a deep breath as you placed your hands on his chest—lucky as always, you could sense the bullet missed all his major organs—but Nikolai grimaced before you could even do anything. 

“Are you alright?”

“Your hands are very cold,” he said and you just shook your head. 

“How no one has wrung you by the neck is beyond me.” 

“Many have tried.” He flashed that smile again. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add your name to the list.” 

You ignored him, taking another deep breath before you closed your eyes. You felt your power within you, the tug you’d grown accustomed to over the years, and you focused it into a single point. 

You slowly worked on healing Nikolai, making sure you went from the inside out to stop any internal bleeding before you carefully wedged the bullet out with your knife. Surprisingly, he managed to keep his mouth shut for the most part. He watched you the entire time though, wholly unyielding, and it was unnerving. 

Nikolai covered up his pain remarkably well, but you still caught the slightest grimace when you practically stuck a dagger inside him.

“Do you always try to injure your patients more when you’re healing them?” he asked innocently. 

“You typically don’t make fun of the person fixing you up,” you said, and you held up the knife, “or the one holding the blade.”

“Surely you could’ve used David to get it out,” Zoya offered lazily. “Better than practically stabbing the King of Ravka.”

“I’m not the king,” Nikolai said. “Not yet, at least.” 

“And I’m not stabbing him.” You held up the bullet with your other hand, then let it fall to the floor. “I just didn’t feel like digging around inside him.” 

Nikolai picked up the bullet, and you frowned in question. He just shrugged. “To hold onto the fond memories of this battle and the kindest, prettiest Healer I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Someone snickered behind you, and you turned to see all of them just standing around—Zoya, Harshaw with Oncat perched on his shoulder, Adrik ignoring his sister to watch, even Alina and Mal were still there. At least Tamar had enough sense to stay quiet while she helped you. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snapped. “It’s hard to focus with you all watching me.”

Alina blinked, seeming to come back to her senses. You almost didn’t blame her—she had so much on her shoulders, it made sense to just want to stand and stare for a minute.

“Right,” she nodded, and she gestured at Zoya and the Squaller siblings as she started walking across the ship, “Adrik, Nadia, I need you all over…”

Alina's words trailed off as she got farther away, and the small crowd dissipated to find duties to carry out without their Sun Summoner to indulge their whims. 

“Thank you for your help, Tamar,” you mumbled. “I can take it from here.” 

She nodded and went off to join the others—the controlled state Nikolai had been in dissolved as she let go of the hold she had on his heart, and the slight daze in his eye went away. 

“Are you always this mean?” Nikolai asked. You turned back to find him with that same unshakable confidence, same lazy smile even in the face of it all. It was no wonder noble and commoner girls alike tripped over themselves when he returned to Ravka. 

It was no wonder Alina fell for his charms despite the tracker by her side—he always knew the right thing to say to make you feel like everything would be okay, and in the midst of Ravka’s endless war, that was a valuable quality indeed.

“I save it for irritating princes,” you remarked. With a final flourish, his wound was sewed up, and Nikolai raised his eyebrows as he touched the newly healed skin.

There was another slight wince, but he still smiled up at you. “Excellent job.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Grisha handiwork,” Nikolai said as he pulled himself up from the side of the ship. “Especially the healing kind.”

“It would do you good not to get used to it,” you said. “You may not be king yet, but Zoya is right. I’d appreciate it if you tried to stay out of my infirmary.”

“Do you not enjoy my company?” he asked. 

“I don’t enjoy bringing Ravka’s only heir back from the brink after every battle,” you corrected. “You’ve got a lot more weight on your shoulders now, moi tsarevich.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your Ravkan. “Say that again.”

You frowned, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. Nikolai continued staring at you, so you sighed. “Moi tsarevich?”

He laughed, and that only soured your mood further. “What are you laughing about?” 

“I recognized it back during the attack but I didn’t fully think about it,” he said. “It comes out the most with your R’s. You’re not Ravkan, are you?”

You paused at his sudden subject change. “You were focusing on my accent when everyone was dying around us?” 

“Answer the question.” 

Your frown deepened. “I am in most senses of the word.”

Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Kerch.”

Your lips twitched. “Yes, but I don’t—”

“You still haven’t lost the accent somehow,” he continued. “At least, in how you speak certain Ravkan words. Is it Ketterdam?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than quiz your Healer on her childhood?”

“Perhaps,” Nikolai said, eyes twinkling, “but if you’re really my Healer, as you said yourself, I’m surely allowed to ask as many questions as my heart desires.”

“Your heart desires no more,” you said wryly. “I have other injured to attend to. Call if you find yourself actively dying.”

To his credit, he didn’t try to fight it. Just offered that same smile that weakened knees from the Kaelish to the Shu. “I’ll be sure to ring before I’m dead and buried.”

“Put your clothes back on before you do,” you said.

“Ah, but isn’t this your reward for putting up with the irritating prince?” Nikolai asked with a slight gesture at his chest. “I’d imagine you’d want to keep an eye on your handiwork.”

That sparked a rare smile of your own, and you bowed your head. “Moi tsarevich,” you said before you walked off.

You felt Nikolai’s eyes on you even as you approached an injured First Army soldier, and after the first few preliminary questions you couldn’t help but look back. 

When you did, he was gone. 

3. Monastery of Sankt Demyan

You sat on the Spinning Wheel, off to the corner so you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, staring at your hands as you tried to ignore the thousands of things bumping around in your mind. You’d been on the run with the Sun Summoner and a smattering of other Grisha for longer than you would have liked, but you had to accept that this was what life would be like until the Darkling was either defeated or destroyed you all. 

It was a damning sort of fate, knowing what awaited you unless the impossible was done. At least it would be quick if the nichevo’ya tore you apart. 

You grimaced. That was one thought that would do you no good—if you’d made it this far, from Os Alta under the Darkling’s control to Os Alta under Lantsov control to the White Cathedral and now to Fjerda of all places, what was one more piece of the puzzle? 

A very big piece of the puzzle, of course, and there was still the intrinsic distrust that some soldiers—and even Alina at moments, flickers of it you could see in her eyes against her will—had towards you. You, like the rest of the Grisha here that hailed from the Second Army, served the Darkling until you’d switched sides. You wanted nothing more than to see the Darkling to his grave, for Ravka to be restored and for all of this to be over. 

But you had switched sides in the first place, and you knew enough from the looks of those soldiers—they still believed that if you could betray the Darkling, you could always still betray the Sun Summoner if given enough cause. 

You didn’t try to dissuade their views through words; it wouldn’t do any good. You just hoped the long hours you spent holed up in the infirmary healing the injured would. You missed Maxim if only so you wouldn’t have to do it all alone. 

“Vlachka for your thoughts?” 

You looked up, surprised to see Nikolai Lantsov of all people. You hadn’t held a true conversation with him since you healed him after his bullet wound. He’d been busy with princely things like banishing his parents and saving Genya’s livelihood. 

You were thankful for that, at least. She’d suffered too much at the hands of the Darkling and the King. 

“You’d need a lot more than that,” you said. 

He smiled. “I’ve got quite a bit. Have you seen this place?” 

You chuckled and shrugged. “Just thinking. About our next move, about the Darkling, about what will be after this.” 

“You certainly aren’t the only one,” Nikolai said. “Lately it seems to be all anyone can think about.”

“I’m sure you’d much rather have them thinking of you,” you said wryly. 

“Oh, there’s plenty of that going on as well.” Nikolai smiled. “An even balance, I’d say.”

You chuckled again. “What brings you here, Nikolai?” 

He shrugged. “I wanted to get to know my Healer.” 

You huffed a sigh and looked away. “Why do you call me that?” 

He was awfully good at feigning innocence. “Call you what?” 

“My Healer,” you repeated. “Your Healer. I don’t understand it.” 

“I like the sound of it,” he said. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” 

You felt your cheeks heat and you felt his eyes on you. “It’s not that. It’s just—” 

“Because I can,” he continued. “Would you prefer lapushka? Milaya? Perhaps babya.”

You scowled as you turned back to him, and you hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You should stick to the seas and the throne, moi tsarevich. Comedy is not your strong suit.” 

“I like it when you call me that,” he mused. “I like your accent, your voice.” He sat down next to you, mildly unexpected, and you hoped you did better at hiding your surprise than it felt. “There’s something soothing about it.” 

“I am from Ketterdam,” you said after a moment. “You guessed right. Born and raised. When my abilities started showing, my parents put me on a ship to Ravka with a map, some vlachki, and the clothes on my back. I made my way to the Little Palace, pleaded my case to the Darkling, and I haven’t seen them since.”

Nikolai was silent, and you fully turned to look at him. “You wanted to know more about me. That’s who I am. A girl from Ketterdam in over her head.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Nikolai said. “You’re a woman from Ketterdam in over your head.” 

You huffed a laugh, and Nikolai’s expression softened a bit. “Why did they send you away? If that’s alright to ask, of course.” 

You shrugged. “Being a young girl in the Barrel is bad enough. If anyone figured out I was Grisha, I would either be dead in the streets, indentured before I could blink, or worse.”  

“They thought it would be safer in Ravka,” he guessed. “In the Second Army.” 

You nodded. “They couldn’t have known any of this would happen,” you said dryly. 

“Do you miss your parents?” he asked. 

“Every day,” you said quietly. “We sent letters when we could, but it was never enough. And those stopped after Alina left the Little Palace, obviously.” 

You didn’t need to recount the months of the Darkling’s madness as he searched for his Sun Summoner. Nikolai might have been Sturmhond at the time, but you didn’t doubt that he had contacts in the Little Palace. You didn’t exactly want to remember it either. 

“How about this?” Nikolai adjusted his position so he could look right at you, those smart hazel eyes enough to get lost in. You forced yourself not to. “On the slim chance that we make it through these next few weeks, when the dust has settled and I’m officially King, I’ll charter a ship for you back to Ketterdam.” 

Your head whirled back to look at him, eyes widening. There was no sign in his eyes of a false promise, only that soft smile, charming as ever. You had the sudden, misplaced urge to wind your fingers into those blonde curls and kiss him. 

“You’d do that for me?” 

He nodded. “Of course. Only the best for my Healer, right?” 

That got a laugh out of you, but the heat rose to your cheeks all the same. “That would be incredible, Nikolai. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

He looked—gazed— at you for a touch longer than usual before he spoke again. 

“There’s going to be a meteor shower later tonight,” Nikolai said. “One of my crew figured it out—he’s very fond of the sky, and he told me it would be… quite the sight.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. Was he—

“I’d like to watch it with you,” Nikolai continued. “Of course, I have to put on a display with Alina, but after that,” he looked over at you, hazel eyes gleaming, “I’d like to spend the night with you.” 

It took a moment for your brain to fully process his words. “Moi tsarevich, are… you asking me on a— a date?” 

“Just Nikolai, please,” he said with a grin. “And yes, I am.” 

It seemed so trivial in the scheme of things. You were leading an impossible battle against the Darkling, and as a traitor to his throne, you would end up dead or worse if he caught you. The near entirety of the Second Army was dead, friends you’d grown up and honed your power alongside with ripped apart by nichevo’ya. Your chances for victory relied on the firebird, and no one knew a damn thing about it. 

It was trivial. It was frankly ridiculous, for the prince— the King of Ravka—to be asking you on a date, especially when it was imperative for him to present a certain image with Alina. 

But for all the triviality and ridiculousness and idiocy, you found that you’d never wanted to accept something so badly. 

So you did. You nodded, smiled, brighter than usual. Nikolai seemed to have that effect on you. 

“I’d love to.” 

“Wonderful.” Somehow, impossibly, his grin grew bigger. Nikolai took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to it before he stood back up—you’d never been so thankful for his confidence, because you found yourself at a loss for words. “I’ll see you tonight, darling. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.” 

You nodded again, and you knew you looked like a dazed idiot. The better half of a decade spent training as a Grisha and all it took was a kiss to your hand for your brain to stop working. You really had been at war for far too long. 

Nikolai could tell every thought—or lack thereof—in your head by the overly pleased expression he wore as he walked away, and your entire face burned as you bit back your smile. 

He knew exactly what he did to you. 

4. The Bittern 

Sergei sold you out. 

That son of bitch had betrayed you all to the Darkling the first chance he got, and he’d been rewarded with a quicker death than any of you would get. 

You’d been left fighting for your lives against the Darkling’s oprichniki, Grisha, and nichevo’ya alike, and as usual, you were hopelessly outnumbered. You knelt over Adrik as Zoya, Nadia, Harshaw, and David kept the crowd of enemies back, doing your damnedest to keep him from bleeding out from his nichevo’ya bite. 

His arm hung at a bizarre angle, and you didn’t know how you would tell him and his sister you didn’t think you could save it. You were sure Genya’s whispered words were the only thing keeping him even slightly calm.

By the time the Bittern was in the air, precarious but afloat, you were about ready to collapse. It had all been too damn much, with the Darkling and Baghra and Nevsky, and now the poor schoolboy lying beneath you with an arm you couldn’t save. 

“He’ll be okay,” you murmured to nobody but yourself, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead as you laid against the side of the ship. As okay as any boy who lost his arm to a shadow monster and went through what he just did. 

Thank the Saints for Tolya keeping both Adrik’s and your heart steady during that ordeal, because you were sure your panic would have won over. 

Everyone in your motley crew was injured in some way or another, and you were the only Healer. Soon you were back on your feet, pushing the horrors of the night out of your mind as you mended lacerations and fixed up bullet wounds. 

Every so often, your eyes would drift over to Adrik. You’d healed him the best you could, but it wasn’t enough. 

And then your mind went to Nikolai. 

Nikolai. 

In the chaos of the battle and the subsequent healing haze, you hadn’t even realized he wasn’t with your group. The Pelican had taken off before you all got to the Bittern, but Nikolai wouldn’t have left Alina on her own after all he’d done to ensure her safety. 

You were almost too scared to ask, but you did anyway. 

“Alina,” you asked, slightly surprised at the sound of your voice in the silence of the night, “where’s Nikolai?” 

Her eyes were unfocused, arms crossed around her midsection for warmth despite the light that glowed beneath her skin. “The Darkling,” she murmured. 

“Wh— what did he do to him?” you continued. “What in the Saints’ name happened to him, Alina?” 

“He ruined him,” she whispered. “He turned him into a monster.” The look on Alina’s face broke you into even smaller pieces. “He turned him into a monster all because Nikolai dared to stand against him. He’s gone.” 

Your grip tightened on the side of the ship as she explained what she had to watch, and your knees threatened to buckle. 

Maybe it was stupid, but you hadn’t even realized you cared this much about the prince. The king, you had to keep reminding yourself. But the thought of him hurt—a hurt that you couldn’t heal—it tore your heart to shreds. 

Only last night you were laying on a blanket next to him, staring up at the meteor shower through the glass dome. He’d never looked more beautiful than he did then, with the streaks of light illuminating his handsome features and those hazel eyes you’d grown to appreciate. 

Few words had passed between the two of you, but once Nikolai had taken your hand in his, neither of you let go for the remainder of the night. That urge to kiss him came back in spades, but you never acted on it. 

Saints, you wished you had. 

“Do you think you can heal him?” Your voice sounded oddly foreign, but you didn’t even feel like you were in your body. Like you were watching it all happen from above, because this couldn’t have been happening. Not to Nikolai— to your Nikolai. 

You were his Healer, and he was your Nikolai. That was how it was supposed to be. 

“I don’t know,” Alina admitted, her tone strained. “My light might be able to help, but… but whenever I’ve used it against the nichevo’ya, against the volcra, I— it kills them.” 

Her voice broke on the last few words, and you wanted to hug her. Alina didn’t love him, you knew that much, but anyone could tell she’d grown close to Nikolai over the months. She was hurting just as much as you. 

You didn’t. You found that you couldn’t do much but stare into the night sky.

He was all alone. Forced into a monster, and now he was all alone. 

It felt like ages before the Bittern finally landed, everyone’s teeth stained rust-orange and bones run deep with exhaustion. Everyone was still alive when you woke up the next morning, and after another check-up on Adrik, you went off into the woods under the guise of searching for kindling. 

Really, you needed some time to yourself. After what had happened—Sergei’s betrayal, losing even more Grisha when you had little to start with, Baghra’s sacrifice, Adrik and his arm, and— and Nikolai—

It was too much. It was just too damn much. 

You’d never gotten close like this to anyone before, never moved further than some useless flirtations and a few stolen kisses with various Grisha when you were bored back at the Little Palace, and when you finally did, with the damned future King of Ravka, this is what happened. 

Guilt tore away at you as you plodded through the woods, and you let the tears you’d been holding back all night fall. You wished you’d been there for him. You wished you’d kissed him. You wished you were strong enough to take the Darkling down on your own for what he’d done. 

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck, and you heard the rustling of branches. You whirled around to the source of the sound, taking a few steps to peer through the trees, and that was when you saw it. 

Your eyes widened and your heart cracked all at once. 

“Nikolai,” you whispered. 

You’d have recognized him anywhere. Despite the shadowy veins splintering across his chest, the wings furled behind his back, claws and fangs in place of fingers and teeth—he was still your Nikolai. His blonde curls remained, his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, even his clever eyes—even if they were black instead of hazel. 

The smear of blood around his mouth was a sharp contrast to it all. You wondered what—or who—had become his unlucky victim when he could no longer control his hunger. 

Nikolai didn’t move as you stepped closer. His dark gaze was unreadable and you wanted to sob for what the Darkling had done to him. 

“It’s me.” You continued to speak softly as you moved closer, saying your name in hopes of even a spark of recognition. “Your Healer.” 

His eyes followed your movements, his gaze falling down to your hands. He pointed at them with a clawed talon.

You held them up. “My hands?” 

You realized the blood around his mouth wasn’t the only bit of it on his body as your eyes trailed across his bare chest. There were cuts all across his arms and chest, most small but some deeper. He pointed at a thin scar near his abdomen, the only sign of the bullet wound you’d stitched up. 

He wanted you to heal him. He knew who you were. 

This time, a small sob escaped you, and your hand flew up almost on instinct to cover it. You brushed the tears brimming in your eyes as you moved closer to him, and you gently placed your hand on his arm. You felt his limb stiffen for a moment before they relaxed, and you couldn’t help your small smile. Your Nikolai was still there. 

The thin cut vanished as you healed it, and you continued to do the same for the myriad of other injuries on his body. You felt his gaze on you the entire time, and some part of it was comforting. Nikolai was still there—his humanity was still there. This was the least you could do to make him feel the part. 

Once you’d healed up the last of his wounds, you felt the glow of Grisha power inside of you. Nikolai grabbed onto your hand the moment you’d finished, and you looked up into his dark eyes as your fingers clasped around his talons.

“We’ll figure this out, Nikolai,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, the barest sign of the old smile you’d grown to love.

And then he let go of your hand, and he shot up into the air. It took only seconds for him to disappear, but your gaze remained stuck in place. 

All you could think of was Nikolai’s dark eyes and the shattered shadows beneath his skin, the feel of his taloned hand in yours.  

You would find a way to bring him back. You knew that much. 

5. The Shadow Fold 

“For Saint’s sake— catch him, Zoya!” 

“You screeching at me isn’t helping,” she snarled, her hands held out above her as she summoned wind to break Nikolai’s fall. 

It was almost laughable, how Alina ended it all with a bit of stabbing. First Mal, then the Darkling—now Soldat Sol and oprichniki alike were glowing like human lamps around the Fold. The nichevo’ya dissolved with the Darkling’s power, the same thing that created Nikolai’s monster—you screamed in general when you first saw him falling, and then you screamed at Zoya. It was a credit to her growth that she didn’t slap you first. 

Thankfully, the updraft did its job, and he only landed in the sand at concerning speeds rather than very concerning. 

You ran for him without thinking, not even feeling the jolt in your ankles as you lept from the skiff onto the sands. You no longer had to fear the Fold—the various Sun Soldiers that had gotten Alina’s powers had done away with the remainder in no time—and even if you did, you would brave a thousand volcra for Nikolai. 

He looked so small, so vulnerable laying there in the sand, only clad in torn pants and a myriad of bruises. The last of the shadows receded when you finally reached him, and you didn’t try to stop the tears as they flowed freely down your cheeks. 

“Nikolai,” you whispered, falling to your knees in the sand next to him, “Nikolai, can you hear me?” 

You cradled his head in your hands, tears splattering in the sand around you, and then his eyes opened. 

His beautiful hazel eyes opened and looked right at you, his lips tugging into a smirk as he said your name. 

“Would you say this is an important princely thing?” His voice was husky, damaged from whatever dark thing that had taken a hold of him, but the usual lilt was there. “Or just another injury?” 

You broke into full on sobs, unabashedly and unashamed as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug. You felt his arms around you as well, and he rubbed circles on your back. 

“I had time to think,” Nikolai murmured, “and I think I’ll settle on lapushka.” 

Darling. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, and you moved away from him just so you could look at him, gaze at him, never forget his beautiful features. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

“I knew I would be,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I had you looking out for me.” 

“Stop,” you said, your voice watery. “I can’t keep crying in front of you.” 

“I think you’ve more than earned it, lapushka.” 

You laughed again as you shook your head. “How do you feel? Can you still move all your limbs?” 

Nikolai took his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with yours. His gaze didn’t move from you. “Limbs are fine.” 

You let your smile shine unabashed as you squeezed his hand, thankful for the lack of talons. “Can you sit up?” 

Nikolai visibly winced at the effort, but he managed with your help. “My chest hurts quite a bit.” 

“You’ve definitely broken some ribs,” you murmured, “but it’s nothing I can’t fix up.” 

“There’s nothing you can’t fix,” Nikolai said. 

“Careful with all the praise. I might get used to it.” 

“Good.” 

You glanced over to see Tolya and Zoya moving across the sand towards you and you looked back at Nikolai. 

“We’re going to get you back on the skiff, Nikolai,” you said. “I’ll get you healed up and then we’ll get you some clothes. Alright?” 

“I told you,” Nikolai said, “this is your reward for putting up with the irritating prince.” 

“That was for the prince,” you said, running a hand through his blonde curls to untangle them. “My reward for putting up with irritating kings is to make sure they’re clothed and healed.” 

His smile shone brighter than anything Alina could conjure up. 

The Darkling’s Skiff 

You ended up below deck with Nikolai, Tolya, an unconscious Alina and Mal, and the Darkling’s body. It normally wouldn’t have been a cheery atmosphere, but you were just thankful to be alive after all you’d done. Thankful that Nikolai was alive and himself and that the Darkling was dead. 

A First Army uniform was folded next to Nikolai’s makeshift cot where you sat next to him, and Tolya’s companionable silence was appreciated as he stayed by Alina and Mal to ensure they stayed alive. 

“You broke a few ribs in your fall,” you murmured, your hands placed on his chest, “but overall, I’d say you made out pretty well.” 

“Yes,” Nikolai said wryly, looking at his hands. Faint black lines ran across each of his fingers, where claws had torn through his skin. Though the other shadowy marks had faded, these appeared to be permanent. “Pretty well.” 

“You know what I mean, Nikolai.” You moved your hand over his ribs and focused your power—by the slight grimace on his face, the itch that came along with Grisha healing, you knew they were mending back together. “You’re still alive. You’re you again. That means everything.” 

“And your hands are still freakishly cold,” he mused. You smiled. 

A moment passed before he spoke again. 

“You know,” Nikolai said, and you felt his eyes on you again, “I remember everything. Everything that I did when I was that… that thing.” 

Your throat bobbed, but you nodded, encouraging him on. 

“I went to you,” he said, “and… you helped me. You weren’t afraid—you understood what I meant, and you healed me.” 

“Of course I did,” you said softly. A smile tugged at your lips. “I am your Healer, after all.” 

Nikolai placed his hand over one of yours, and your power wavered for a moment as your heart stuttered. 

“One of your ribs is still broken, Nikolai,” you said. “I have to—” 

“I love you,” he interrupted. Your eyes snapped to him, and you thought you misheard him. 

“What?” 

“I love you,” he repeated, as if it came as easily to him as breathing. “Forgive me for the lack of ballads and sonnets on how to express it—I plan to remedy that as soon as we’re back in Os Alta. But I love you, and it’s the one thing I’m sure of at this moment.” 

You continued to stare at him, as if you’d suddenly forgotten how to speak. Nikolai was no Corporalnik, but you were sure he could hear how loudly your heart was beating. 

“It’s alright if you don’t feel the same,” Nikolai said, “or if you’re not ready. I’m a very patient man.” 

It was like your limbs had suddenly regained the ability to move, because something clicked in your mind. You took his face in your hands and you kissed him with a brazen fierceness you didn’t even know you had. 

For a man with two bruised ribs and one broken one, he kissed you back with the same intensity, if not more. You poured all your fear, all your anxiety, all your worries about him into the kiss, reveling in the warmth of his lips and his hands and—

Tolya cleared his throat. “We’re nearly out of the Fold.” 

You pulled away as quickly as it had started, Nikolai looking very pleased with himself as you fixed the collar of your kefta and looked over at him with eyes that were surely more pupil than iris. 

“Thank you, Tolya,” you said, and you cleared your throat as well. Good of him to ignore the two of you. Embarrassing of you to nearly forget about your surroundings when you looked at Nikolai. 

“Yes,” Nikolai said, mirth in his voice, “thank you, Tolya.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned back to him, your lips still burning from his kiss, and you settled your hands back on Nikolai’s chest. 

“No more interruptions,” you said. “I’ve got to get you healed and dressed before we’re off the sand.” 

His eyes twinkled. “Whatever you say, lapushka.” 

You had no idea what was next. The Sun Summoner died on the Fold, the Darkling’s reign of terror was finally over, and Nikolai was to be King. You didn’t know where you would fit in, though you were sure he would find a place. 

But you loved Nikolai, and by the Saints, Nikolai loved you. 

And for now, that was more than enough. 

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XVI

summary: you can finally go home.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.4k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do.). implications and mentions of abuse and some non-graphic violence, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation.

a/n: i can't believe this is it :') the final part (excluding the epilogue which is coming v soon). thank you all so so so much for all the love on this fic! it means so much to me that you guys enjoyed it! but don't get too sad (like me) bc i am not ready to let them go so i'll probably do like blurbs and stuff ab this series so stick around for those!

series masterlist // playlist

"Y/N/N. Do you have your clothes from home?" Coryo asks, pulling the boat back up onto the shore. The guns were gone. He's free to go home if he wants.

"Yes." You nod. "I couldn't get rid of them if I wanted." You chuckle, looking up into the woods behind the cabin, hoping Sejanus is long gone by now.

"Okay. You're gonna stay here, just for a few days, and then I'll come get you before the train leaves. I'll take you to Two with me, just wear those. You'll fit in better."

"Okay..." You nod, nervous about being out here all alone for so long.

"I'll come bring you food as much as I can." He knew it would be a long hike each way to come see you, but he would have to carve out the time. He looks up at you quickly from digging through his own bag when he hears you sniffle. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I- uhm..." You clear your throat, fanning your eyes to keep any tears from falling. "I'm just scared." You try and laugh it off, shaking your head slightly.

"Don't be scared." Coryo shakes his head, dropping the bag to grab your shoulders. "Hey, you're gonna be okay, Darling, but we don't have another choice. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I know, I know that..." You sniff, looking up at him. "Is she dead?"

"Yes." He answers quickly. "I buried her. She can't hurt you." He promises. Was that true? No, definitely not. There was no trace of her after the shot besides her earring on the ground,  but he had hit her. He was sure of it. There was no reason to tell you that, though, just to scare you more. You couldn't go back to town, there was nowhere for you to hide while peacekeepers searched every inch of the populated part of the District for days while he waited for his train.

"Okay." You whisper, taking a deep, shakey breath as you look around at the suddenly scary forested area around you. The rain had started to clear up, which helped with the sun peeking through the clouds to brighten up the lake. If Lucy Gray hadn't ruined everything, you would probably be getting ready to keep moving.

"Just, try to relax out here. Okay? Go for a swim, just enjoy the fresh air." He smiles softly, brushing some hair back out of your face as he tries to make you feel better.

"I've had enough of the woods for the rest of my life." You scoff, shaking your head under his hold.

"I know, Y/N/N, I'm sorry. It's only a few days. Like I said, I'll come back for you whenever I'm free." Even if he could only stay for five minutes before he had to turn around and make the trip back to town, he would do it. "Then we'll figure everything out. I'll handle it."

"I... I just want to go home, but I can't." You cry, letting him wipe your tears as your chest flushes with the emotion.

Coryo winces at your tears. He hates seeing you cry, and he has seen it far more times than he would have liked to in the last few months. "I'm going to figure it out. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again. I promise." He says softly, trying to get you to look at him.

You lean into his palm, closing your eyes as you try desperately to pull it together. You were exhausted, but this was the last thing Coryo needed right now. "I'm sorry. I'm just having a moment."

"I know. You're okay." He chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead and pulling you into a hug, rocking your body gently back and forth. "You know, I think the last time you said that to me was the day I realized I was in love with you." He hums, squeezing your shoulders gently.

You laugh, which makes him smile. It's what he wanted. "I feel like that's a bit dramatic."

"No, it's true." He grins, craning his neck to look down at you. "You defended me, and you listened to me, and you looked just so pretty doing it..."

You bury your face in his shirt to hide your blush.

"You're always on my team, and I appreciate that. I really do." He explains, satisfied that he's made you feel at least a little better. "I hope you know I'm always on your side, too."

You nod slightly, smiling through your tears as you look up at him. "I know."

"Good." Coryo whispers, kissing your nose. "I love you."

"Really?" You whisper, eyes lighting up as you wring your hands together against his chest in front of you. "You're not just saying that because I'm crying on you?" You laugh slightly.

"No, I do." He nods in confirmation, grinning down at you in admiration. "There's no one else in this world I can trust as much as I can trust you."

"Then why'd you give her your scarf?" You ask, tilting your head. "It looked... valuable."

"It was. It belonged to my mother..." He says solemnly. He suddenly shakes his head, mocking your expression as he changes the tone. "You really were dead to the world, huh? I was holding it, and she just asked if she could see it. Then she didn't give it back." Coryo explains, raising an eyebrow at you. "Why, are you jealous of the dead girl?"

You roll your eyes with a smile on your face, attempting to shove him away.

"Hey, I'm kidding." He laughs, pulling you close again by your wrists. "Don't you trust me?"

"Okay, yes, I trust you." You giggle as he drops your wrists, sliding his hands over your waist.

"And you love me?" Coryo asks, urging you on.

"And I love you." You grin, nodding slightly.

"That's my girl..." He hums, running a hand lower down your side, thumb running over your midsection as he leans in to kiss you. He had you right where he wanted you, he'd wanted to say that for ages. Only since he even clued into the fact that the buzz he gets under his skin when he catches you smiling, anyway. Realistically, you were something he had always wanted. Picturing his future over the last few years when he was dragging himself out of bed every morning desperate to arrive to class on time even on an empty stomach, his daydreams of his success always included your own, as well.

Now, it was only the two of you. He was so right about you, you were perfect in every way. Smart, obedient to him and only to him, but you fought for what you wanted. You knew struggle, pressure, and soul crushing expectations in the same way he did. Through all of it, you were there for him. You were beautiful- and he was the only one smart enough to see past your occasional outbursts. No one knew how to navigate you like he did, and he was lucky that few people ever bothered to try.

The most beautiful girl in all of the Capitol, and you were his. He meant it when he said that he would never let anyone hurt you. He couldn't let anyone take you from him.

"Do you know where we're going? Where Tigris and your Grandma'am are living?" You whisper, curled up next to Coryo on the train as it pulls into the Capitol station. You're holding the orange silk scarf in your hands, using it as a small blanket in the cold train car. You had spent most of your time out by the lake trying to clean it- but dirt was a stubborn stain. You'd have to be more thorough once you had access to cleaning supplies again. You couldn't let such a lovely piece of clothing go to waste, especially when it was so valuable to him.

"I don't..." Coryo mumbles in response, staring out the window as you lean your head against his shoulder, knees tucked up to your chest. "They shouldn't be hard to find, though."

The wheels screech to a slow stop in the familiar city, and you can't help but smile at the endless sea of grey architecture. It wasn't anything like the forest in Twelve, and you loved it. The door slides open and some peacekeepers enter, drawing both of your attention as you sit up away from him.

"Dr. Gaul is expecting you both in her lab immediately." One of them informs you, and you nod a little bit, looking nervously over at your boyfriend.

You hung off his arm for the entire car ride and all the way to the lab as you're escorted by the men in the matching uniform to his own. Your clothes were dirty, despite how many times you cleaned them back in District Twelve. You had cleaned them obsessively throughout the last couple of months, but the water was never quite clear enough to be helpful. It was vile. Surely you smell unpleasant due to this, and you were hoping you would have a shower before confronting anyone from your previous life, but clearly, you weren't so lucky.

"Do I stink?" You whisper, trying to avoid the echo of the large room as your heels click across the linoleum flooring.

"Not any more than I do." Coryo answers, a small smile pulling on his lips as he glances down at you.

You giggle, gently slapping his chest as he removes his hat.

"Congratulations, Mister Snow, Miss Y/L/N. You've passed all my tests." You look up at Dr. Gaul for the first time as she speaks to you, tossing something into a pool on her floor. "I've asked President Ravenstill to grant you both a full pardon, effective immediately."

You don't say anything as you both stop in front of the tank in the ground, staring into it as Coryo revels in the shock. "I also told him that you are too promising to be wasted in the Districts. So you will be studying under me at the Capitol University."

While she speaks, you pull Tigris's coat tighter around yourself at the slimy, vicious look of whatever creatures are splashing around inside that tank that she is continuously feeding.

"We can't afford university." Coryo answers on your behalf, forcing you to look up at the woman across from you. While you were incredibly grateful, you were scared. Things were complicated back at your parents' home, and even with a legal form of forgiveness, it's not likely your father will see it the same way. You couldn't go back, and he wasn't likely to give you a dime or let you go free. Within the week, you'd probably die from an "unknown illness" contracted in the Districts if he found out you were home.

"A certain Mister Strabo Plinth has offered to pay for everything you need while you're there. All for being such good friends to his Sejanus." Dr. Gaul explains and your heart drops in your chest. You can't help but wonder if he's even still alive out there, in the North. "He doesn't know quite how good a friend you were, of course. I never mentioned your little recording. Quite impressive, Mister Snow, how you sent your only friend to the grave just to get my attention."

"That's not what I did." Coryo shakes his head at the allegation.

He squeezes your arm in warning, knowing this topic was a fine line to walk. "Are you sure? Because I think that won you the Plinth Prize, after all."

"Sejanus Plinth is not dead." You blurt out without thinking. She tilts her head at you, looking at you intensely, a knowing smile growing on her lips.

"Oh?" She asks, and internally you struggle for a saving grace while Coryo furrows his brow at you. You hadn't seen Sejanus since you sent him away, but you did try looking for him in your days out there alone. You had to believe he was alive, after you gave him his way out.

"Well, I heard that he had escaped in Twelve. As far as I know, they never found a body. He planned on running off anyway. That's likely what he did." You explain, clearing your throat.

"I agree. That is likely, but the odds he would survive out there..." She shakes her head slightly, dropping another treat into the tank as the creatures snap at it. "Anyway, the president has agreed to another year of the games! People watched, and I have you kids to thank for that."

You and Coryo wear matching grins now, posture perfect to match your collective pride.

"But before I take you under my wing, after everything you've seen out there in the real world, let me ask you one final time." Dr. Gaul says, looking pointedly between the two of you. "What are the Hunger Games for?"

You look up at your boyfriend, nodding for him to answer. "I used to think that the Hunger Games were a punishment for the districts. Then, I thought they served as a warning to us here in the capitol, about the threat the districts posed. Now I know the whole world is an arena. And we need the Hunger Games every year to remind us all who we truly are."

"And who are you, do you determine?" Coryo looks down at you as she speaks.

"We are the Victors." You finish with a proud smile, looking at the woman across from you who seems more than pleased with your answer.

"Coriolanus, what are you doing back so soon?" Your mom greets him as she opens the door of your childhood home, smiling sadly, confused as to the condition of his return.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am." He smiles politely, grey uniform cap now clutched to his chest. "I proved to be exceptional in my training. Dr. Gaul saw it was better Y/N and I work under her at the University."

"Y/N?" Your mom gasps, reaching up to cover her mouth with her hand. "She's alive?"

"I assure you, she is safe." Coriolanus nods. "Now, may I speak with your husband? I won't take up much of his time." He brushes past her, entering the home without waiting for permission.

"Well, dear, where is she?" Your mom asks, letting him pass and closing the door quickly. "Why hasn't she come home?"

"I think you know why she hasn't come here." He hums, looking around. "Where is he?"

"His study." Your mom answers quietly, gesturing up the stairs. "I'll walk you."

"No need. I know where I'm going." He gives her a small smile in return, following the familiar path toward your room.

He stops in front of your father's study, knocking before taking a step back. The force of habit leads him to stand at attention while he waits for permission to enter.

"I'm busy, don't bother me." Your father's voice echoes through the ornate lining on the door. Then he realizes, he doesn't need permission. Not anymore.

Coriolanus huffs, opening the door and stepping in.

"I said-" Your father growls, slamming his pen down on the desk before he looks up and takes in the grey of Coriolanus's decorated peacekeeper uniform. "Coriolanus."

"Sir." He nods in response, closing the door quietly behind himself. "May I sit?" He asks coldly, gesturing to the chair across from him.

"Please." Your father nods, brow furrowed as to what the blonde boy could possibly want, or what he is doing back so soon.

"Y/N isn't here, son." Your father sighs. "She-"

"I know that." Coriolanus interrupts, placing his hat on the desk between them.

"You know where she is." Your father's tone is unsurprised, but questioning.

"I do." He confirms, back straight in the chair. He had always been afraid of your father, but this was built on an admiration. He reminded him of what little he remembered about his own father. This morphed into anger slowly but surely over the last few years, picking up several hints either in your appearance, demeanor, or choice of words which painted an incredibly unflattering picture of who the man sitting in front of him truly was.

Your dad hums in response, eyes locked on the boy. "How was your summer?"

The question catches Coryo off guard, but he puts all his focus into maintaining his poise. He has the upper hand, here, and he has to keep reminding himself of that. "It was good. Certainly an eye-opening experience, the people out there are very... different."

"Then what brought you back so soon?" His neglect to even ask where you were, if you were okay, if you were even alive makes Coryo's blood boil in his veins.

"Dr. Gaul." Coriolanus states, swallowing before he continues. "She granted your daughter and I a full pardon in exchange for taking an internship under her at the university. After all, that is her dream, is it not?"

Your father's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of your name. "It was." He agrees.

"Is." Coriolanus corrects him, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "Strabo Plinth has offered to pay our way."

"Of course he has." Your dad chuckles, but not an ounce of humour reaches his eyes. "Self righteous bastard..."

"Seeing as you don't care about her as much as you care about your own reputation, he saw it would be a way to repay her for her loyal friendship to his son. She saved his life twice, after all." Coryo ignores your father's comment, watching as the gears turn in his head, trying to remember the second time.

"I know you think you understand my daughter, Coriolanus, but there are some parts of her you will never know. Not truly." Your father responds coolly. "So, I'm not sure what she has told you, but-"

"But nothing." Coryo cuts him off, leaning back in his seat. "Here is what is going to happen. You will have nothing to do with her, her life, her mistakes, or her decisions any longer. Since, in your own words, you see her as such a burden, I am willing to free you of that."

Your dad grits his teeth together, and it's his turn to lean forward. "Coriolanus Snow, you will not speak to me that way in my own home. Y/N is my daughter, and I shall be involved as I please and I shall do with her what I deem appropriate to consequent her actions."

"No." Coryo replies sternly, standing up abruptly, unabashed by the sound of the chair scraping across the wooden floor as he slams his fist on the desk. "She is eighteen. I  take responsibility for her now, and unless you want to lose everything you and Highbottom have built, you will cut me in on every dime you make. Do you understand?"

Your dad laughs again. "And who will believe you, Coryo? You're just kids. You don't know what you're talking about. Whatever she told you is untrue. Simple as that."

"Would you like a list?" Coryo threatens. "Is that a risk you're willing to take, Y/D/N?"

He sighs, standing up to look eye to eye with him, clearly seething with the disrespectful use of his first name. "She's more trouble for you than it's worth, Son."

"That is my decision to make." Coryo says through gritted teeth.

"Suit yourself." Your dad raises his hands in defeat, careful to not show any fear. Coriolanus could see through it, though. He's won, and he knows it; it was a great deal, if your father was smart enough to see it that way. "How much do you want? Money is nothing to me."

"More than Highbottom gets." Coriolanus requests plainly, grabbing his hat and placing it back over his head. "And you'll pay for our wedding." He adds casually, pushing the discarded chair back into its place. "You'll pay for as many dresses and parties as she wants, every drink, every slice of cake, and every last flower she wishes for exactly how she wishes for it. No compromises, and no surprise appearances from you. Are. We. Clear?" He speaks clearly, intentionally enunciating every word with a trace of venom.

"Crystal." Your father scoffs, taking a drink from the whiskey glass on his desk.

Coriolanus nods, giving him a small smile. "Good. I'll be expecting the money orders every other week." He grins smugly, giving your father a quick bow before heading for the door, stopping as his hand brushes over the handle. "All due respect, Sir, which I deem to be very little, but what you have done to your daughter over all these years is what has made her into the woman you hate. Don't think I was the only one who noticed, and you would deserve every bit of harm we could do to your name. If you ever so much as speak to her again, I will kill you myself."

Coryo glances back at your father's expression only briefly before leaving. He couldn't resist the satisfying look of loathing and anger on the man's face.

The small smile sticks as he walks down the stairs, hearing the crystal glass shatter as it's thrown against the door behind him.

Finally, you were totally even.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

taglist is closed for coryo unfortunately, but my requests for him are open!! so send me all your suggestions!! requests here!!

[infamous-if]

Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

[voxsmistress]

Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo - Part 12

Well my gorgeous little lemon-chops we are finally getting there! My brain was absolutely scrambled trying to think how to write this chapter! I hope you like it? please lemme know <3

Our little Y/n is about to make a deal that will change her entire undead life!

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen

Stepping outside the hotel you spy a black car pull up. Hurrying down the steps you are surprised when a sinner gets out the driver’s seat and opens the back door for you with a small bow in your direction. Okay. That’s new. Thanking them you slide in and relax in the lush leather seating. Perhaps having them a little bit wrapped round your finger is a good thing?

Being directed to Vox’s office you admire all the decoration on the way, distracting yourself from the fact you were going to have a meeting with two very powerful Overlords who may – or may not – try and hook you into another deal. Knocking on the oak door you let yourself in when you hear his voice. Okay Y/n you’ve gotta stick to your guns! No offering anything unless you get a better offer. And do NOT get distracted by their flirting! You got this!

Peeking your head round the door you smile at Vox who was sat behind his desk, looking up when you entered, a lazy smile spreads across his face. “Ah my lovely little songbird, finally you made it” he motions to the seat opposite him. You close the door behind you. As you walk over to the chair trying your best not to roll your eyes you huff.

“Vox it was barely half an hour since you texted me to meet you, you’re lucky I didn’t have any better plans” teasing him as you take your seat, he chuckles.

“Better plans than seeing me?” Biting your bottom lip, you let your gaze flicker down his usual suit, admiring how even sat down he commanded power. Catching his darkening expression, you smirk at him.

“Perhaps”.

“Princessa, you wouldn’t be teasing our Voxxie now, would you?” Your undead heart nearly leapt out of your chest, twisting quickly you give an amused Valentino the stink eye. Not funny.

“Bloody Hell Val, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Having them both snigger at you made the scowl on your face deepen. Where was Velvette when you needed her? She kept them both in line. Most of the time.

“My apologies Y/n, I didn’t mean to scare you so…” one of his hands tilted your chin up so you were looking at him, he himself was leaning down so your faces weren’t so far from each other. The sweet smell of the cigarette smoke that clung to him tickled your nose. “Forgive me?”

Hmm. Flirt. “I suppose so”, laughing when he taps your nose with a smile of his own. Standing back up he walks around the table to perch on the end next to Vox, purposefully shoving documents out of the way annoying the other Demon. Now, having two powerful Demon’s staring at you was just a bit nerve-wracking. Having two powerful Demons staring at you when you know they want something from you was just … a bit scary.

As no one was breaking the silence you decided to: “any who, how did you know where I was?”

“Darling, I always know where you are”, Vox rests his head on his linked hands, studying you. Those clever eyes taking in every detail. If you had less control of yourself, you’d fidget and blush under that gaze. Instead, you squirmed internally while externally smiling.

“Uh huh … you’ve been tracking my phone to show you where my location is, right?” It had been the main question you’d been asking yourself the entire car journey over. Of course he had tagged your phone. Those cameras of his only show so much of Pentagram City and from what Alastor told you, there weren’t any (or any that he knew about) in the Hazbin Hotel. At his lack of answer, you smirk at them. “You do know there is an easier way to find out where I am?”

“How is that?” They ask, Valentino sparking up another cigarette filling the room with that sweet, red smoke. Holding your finger up in a wait motion, you reach into your jacket pocket and pull out your phone. Typing in a number, you hold it up to your ear while crossing your legs as you stare at them both. After a moment a shrill ringing started from the top of the table, Vox looked at it confused for a moment before answering it. “Hello?”

“Hey handsome, so just in case you’re wondering where I am. I am currently sat in your office with two very hot Overlords discussing how they can just ring my mobile and find me like a normal person instead of tracking me like a piece of game. Okay gorgeous – gotta go important things to discuss. Mwah. Kisses”, you tease before hanging up the phone and slipping it back into your pocket. An amused snort distracted you from your stare down with Vox. Valentino was quietly laughing to himself as Vox shoved the phone back on the table with a scowl.

“Oh Vox, our Princessa certainly has a funny bone”, he joked while pinching the bottom of Vox’s screen affectionately. If that had been anyone else, they’d have lost their hand. Sometimes when the Vee’s showed you these different sides to them you could almost believe the sweet gestures that they would give to you – but then you remember who they are and that thought disappears. A little bit. Sometimes.

Vox shook Valentino’s hand off his screen, rolling his eyes he huffed a little. You and Val share an amused look. For a powerful Overlord, he really did pout like a baby.  Actually, come to think about it, they all did. What does that make you? The babysitter?

“So … boys, you demanded my presence about an offer you had for me? I’m here and all ears. What is it that you would like to talk about?”

“Yes. Me and Valentino have discussed about offering you a deal to sing at Valentino’s clubs. After seeing the …uh … opposition the other night well - someone who is associated with us needs to be working in the more upper-class joints than you are now.” Surprised by their offer you tilt your head in confusion, this is not what you were expecting.

“You want me to work at Val’s clubs?” You confirm with them.

“Yes.”

“As well as the other clubs I’m currently working for?”

“No”. Vox flicked through his phone. Blinking in shock you look up at the smoking Valentino, a wink was the only answer you got off him.

“Instead of?”

“Yes Songbird. We are willing to offer you more money than the rest of the clubs are offering you combined. Of course, you will get certain benefits and you are welcome to an apartment here in the Tower for security reasons and ease of getting to work, etc”. Ah there it is. The ol’ ball and chain.

“And what are you wanting in return for this rather generous offer?” You lean your elbows on your knees as you focus on the two Overlords.

“Your happiness…?” BUZZZZ Please try again. How stupid do they think you are?

“Uh huh. Wanna give that another go big boy?” Narrowing your eyes at them, you receive amused looks in return.

“Okay. We get your exclusivity to just us. It’s a brand deal; demons and sinners that work for us only work for us,” Val explains through a haze of smoke.

“A brand deal? I hope you aren’t planning on branding my ass with that” you jokingly ask - semi-serious.

“Don’t be so silly, we wouldn’t brand you”, Vox rolls his eyes as Val chuckles.

“Course if you wanted that Princessa, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement”, shaking your head at Valentino you focus back on Vox.

“But it you work for me, Val and Velvette – it’s a complete deal. You help showcase and sell the clothing line and Socials with Velvette, you work in the clubs for Val, and I need a little bit of you here and there for the VoxTek products to promote them. In return you get publicity, a place to live, more money than you’ll know what to do with and power”.  Was this sounding a little bit too good to be true to anyone else?

Biting your lip nervously, you lean back in your chair as you eyeball them both: “All in return for?”

Sighing, Vox gets up from his chair and makes his way in front of you. He leans against the table and looks down at you, Valentino was smirking over his shoulder.  

“You.” He wafts his hand at you.

Me? What on Hell? You uncross your arms and glare at him while stating: “Me? Thought we went through this; you aren’t having my soul”. Standing from your chair you go to walk away, this was a complete waste of time if that’s all they were after. Sharp fingers gripped your wrist yanking you back the few steps you had made towards the door. With one hand on your wrist, Vox’s other grips your chin gently and lifted it up so you were looking him dead in the eyes. Two other hands grip your waist, the sweet smell of smoke wafted around you as Valentino loomed over your back.

Tutting, Vox smirked, “It’s not your soul we are after sweetheart. We want you”. Confused you try to shake his grip off but he tightened it.

“Me for what?” What on earth could you give them that they didn’t already have?

“To be ours”. Well that stopped you in your tracks.

Possession. Is that what they wanted? “This is new…? Is this like you want me like a new shiny toy that has just come out at the store sorta thing? What when you grow bored of me? I’m just to be tossed aside like the rest of your toys” you bare your fangs in annoyance at them.

“No, we cannot see that happening Princessa, you have three of us to share – trust us, we and you will not be bored. And new? Hardly. We’ve been interested in your ever since we saw you sing one night. You didn’t see us at that club, but we sure saw you, mi amore. Since then we’ve been watching you, waiting and wanting”, breath caught in your throat as Valentino’s fingers stroked up and down your waist. Vox’s caressed your cheek with his thumb while keeping your eyes on his. What was happening?

“So? My little Songbird, what do you say?” He rumbles out, eyes lidded as his gaze flits between your eyes and lips. This has gotta be a dream? Right?

“Can I have a moment to think about this please?” you ask. After they both agree you remove yourself from their arms. Pacing the room, you begin to think through everything without their influence. Contract terms were coming to an end, but not all of them. You needed to complete those deals on your end, or you would end up with less power than you began with. You would not be saddled with a leash because of the Vee’s, you had a way to gain power and you would use it.

Turning to them both, you take a deep breath. Here you go.

“I agree to certain terms. However, I have my own stipulations. I finish out my old contracts while starting the new ones with you. I have deals of my own that I need to complete before starting new ones, you understand that? Also, I can work at other clubs, however they will be vetted by all of us before I take the job. I have a name that I have built up, I do not want to see it go to ruin. With the apartment – I can come and go when and as I please. More so than anything, I am my own person and will always be my own person.” You hold a hand up as they both go to crowd you again. You had to finish this before they managed to influence you again by their presence. Because as much as you could lie to yourself and to others, you were attracted to the Vee’s. If this was a chance to run with a bit of happiness and danger (because undead life was so boring without it) then you were going to sprint with it to the finish line.

“If I am to be yours – then you are just as much mine, and I don’t sleep around. I expect the same. I understand you three have an agreement and I’m happy to be included in that – but that is it”. Lowering your hand, you stand ready to hear what they have to say. The cowardly part of you doesn’t want to look at their faces. But the stubborn bitch in you wanted to make sure they knew you meant every single word you said.  

The gigantic smirks on both their faces made your cheeks redden, even more so when they both moved forwards so quickly that you were surrounded by them again. Hand under your chin once more, you raise your eyebrows at the smug Vox as he leans down so that you could feel his breath on your cheeks. Valentino was bending down from behind you, his hands wrapped around your waist pulling you close to his chest as his breath tickled your hair around your ear.

“Deal”, they both whispered. Well fuck!

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[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley senses you're giving him the cold shoulder. He hates waking up alone, especially on his birthday. But the rec league tryouts and a shopping trip with Everett hopefully puts him one step closer to what he really wants. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley woke up alone in his bed on his birthday. Sure, it was a work day for the two of you, but he couldn't help but feel like you'd become a little distant with him since Sunday evening. 

He wanted to move in with you and Everett, but it wasn't that simple. It was actually complicated as hell. And now he was thinking he shouldn't have been getting Everett's hopes up about it.

Things were moving fast. Probably too fast. Bradley was all in, but he didn't know if you'd even want to take things to the next level with him. Yeah, you wanted him to move in, but he wanted you to be his family. But you'd been married before, and there was no doubt that Danny had probably ruined that entire experience for you.

And not only had Bradley never moved this fast before, he'd also never thought about buying a ring before. He'd barely had girlfriends who lasted longer than a damn month, always bailing as soon as it was clear his feelings were nowhere near as strong as his partner's.

He wasn't sure exactly why you were different, but you were. He wanted to stick around. And he didn't like waking up alone anymore. And now he convinced himself to stop for a little birthday treat, but the Starbucks took so long, he was going to be late for work.

"Damn it," he growled. You had better coffee at your house, but you hadn't invited him to stay over the past few nights. 

Tryouts for the Navy baseball league were being held this evening. Bradley packed the red and white striped Phillies socks you and Everett gave him for his birthday for good luck. When he had asked yesterday if the two of you would be able to come watch, you'd given a vague answer about work and picking Ev up from summer camp.

Bradley drank his hot coffee too fast and had to practically run to the simulation room to get there on time. "Happy birthday," Nat crooned when he walked in out of breath. "Wow, you look like shit today."

"Thanks?" He was already grouchy, and now he had to sit by his best friend who was notoriously annoying when he was in a bad mood. But luckily Admiral Simpson was calling everyone to attention. 

After hours of testing out new simulation software, only stopping for a soggy sandwich for lunch, Bradley's mood hadn't improved. He missed it when you packed his lunch for him. You had sent him a text that said Happy Birthday! which he supposed was a good thing, but he wanted you telling him you couldn't wait to see him later. If you and Ev weren't at the tryout, then what was the point? He really only sent an application because he knew Ev wanted him to play in the first place.

"You ready to pitch?" Bob asked him with a grin in the locker room after they had been dismissed for the day. 

"Yeah," Bradley grunted.

He watched Bob's smile turn to a frown. "If you want to play shortstop instead, I'm sure nobody will care. I thought you were looking forward to this."

"I am," Bradley said, trying to sound reassuring. 

Bob hummed. "I can't wait to see Molly. I've barely seen her since Sunday with her work schedule, but she promised me she would be there."

And now Bradley was scared you wouldn't show.

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

You rushed out of work, your high heels clicking across the tile floor in the lobby. Thirty minutes. You had thirty minutes to pick Everett up and drive across town to get to Bradley's baseball tryout on time. 

As you drove to get Ev, you thought maybe this was why he didn't want to move in with you; everything you did was on the other side of the city from everything he did. Or, you thought, perhaps Bradley just didn't feel comfortable in your house yet. Or maybe he just really didn't want to be around you and your son all day, every day. But it didn't really matter, because your feelings were hurt. And you were finding it hard to be happy for Molly and Bob now. 

When Everett got in the car, the first words out of his mouth were, "Are we going to the tryout? Did you bring my sign?"

You nodded and told him, "Yeah, we can go. Your sign is in the trunk." He had spent an hour last night coloring on some poster board, making a sign so he could cheer for Bradley. 

"It's starting soon!" he whined as you drove as quickly as you could. The tryouts were being held at a beautiful facility near the naval base, and you actually got there with a few minutes to spare. Everett was out of the car and opening your trunk before you even grabbed your sneakers off the passenger side floor. 

"Calm down, Ev. It didn't start yet." You and he walked past Bradley's Bronco, and once you got onto the soft grass, you changed into your other shoes while you walked.

"I'm going to get a spot on the bleachers!" Everett called, running ahead of you. But your eyes caught on Bradley and Bob, standing next to each other and leaning on the chest high chainlink fence. They were facing away from you, looking out over the infield. You had missed Bradley all week, and you knew that you needed to get over the way you felt. He was right; you could revisit that conversation later. Right now, you just wanted him to come home with you and stay all night. You had cupcakes waiting for him just in case.

You were approaching them, ready to surprise him with a huge birthday hug, when you heard Bob ask Bradley, "Think you'll move in with them?"

Bradley took his backwards cap off, and you froze as he ran his hand through his hair. "I think we're holding off for now," he said, turning his cap the other way before leaning on the fence again.

"Why?" Bob asked. "Everett seems to think you'd make a great roommate. He said he wants you to move into their extra bedroom." He chuckled, but Bradley shook his head. Your heart was pounding, and you wanted to walk away, but you just couldn't. So you stood there with your high heels in one hand, feeling like you were going to cry.

"It's not that easy," Bradley said softly. "There's a lot to consider. I know Ev's excited about the idea of it, but the reality would be that his mom's boyfriend would be living there. I just don't know if it's what I should do."

Then Bob asked the question that popped into your mind. "Do you still have reservations? About Everett?"

"Hell no, man!" Bradley said loudly. He sounded angry. "No! I love that kid more than anything. I'd love to be his dad someday. I'd adopt him tomorrow. I just want to do right by both of them. And I'm not exactly sure what that means."

You were dizzy. His words hit you right in the chest. Your mouth was hanging open and you felt out of breath. He was talking about adopting Everett like he'd already made his mind up. 

"That makes sense," Bob said. "Does she know how you feel?"

Bradley was quiet for a few seconds. "She knows I love her. I told her I'm not going anywhere. I'm ready for more commitment."

You ran up behind him, closing the short distance and squeezing him around the waist from behind. 

"Kitten!" He turned, and then you were hugging him with your face smashed to his chest, smiling so hard.

"Happy birthday," you mumbled, kissing him just above the collar of his tee shirt. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he immediately replied, rubbing his big hands along the back of your suit coat and kissing the top of your head. 

You turned your head and said, "Hi, Bob." But then a loud whistle filled the air and you looked up at Bradley. 

He kissed you hard on the lips before he said, "Time for tryouts, Kitten."

"Will you sleep over later?" you blurted out as he pulled free of your grasp. 

He smiled and kissed the top of your head again. Then he bent and picked up his gear bag. "That would make me so happy." 

As he stepped onto the field with Bob, you called out, "You can do it, Coach!"

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

Bradley was sweating. It was hot, and he was nervous. "It's just for fun," he muttered to himself as he stood on the pitcher's mound. "Just a rec league." Then he threw a slider to the catcher and let out the breath he had been holding. When he glanced to his right, he saw Everett sitting between you and Molly, and he was holding up a sign that made Bradley smile.

GO COACH BRADLEY!

He did not want to let that kid down, so he threw a decent fastball for his second pitch. He could hear you and Everett cheering for him as he threw a changeup. The catcher gave him a thumbs up before throwing the ball back, and Bradley was starting to feel good now. So threw two more sliders, and he just kept getting better. 

When the coach asked him to throw one more pitch, he went with a curveball. And then it was time for batting, and on his very first swing, he hit a home run.

He was a bit stunned, but he could hear Everett freaking out, so he ran the bases for fun while Bob and some of the other guys gave him high fives down the third baseline. 

"Damn, you played in college didn't you?" the coach asked as Bradley picked up his bat once again. 

"Yeah," he said with a laugh.

"That was an impressive hit. You've got a great arm, too."

"I actually used to play shortstop," Bradley told him, adjusting his hat and getting ready to bat again.

"Well if you want to pitch, then you made the team."

Bradley looked over to Everett and then back to the coach. "Seriously? I already made the team?"

"Definitely."

Bradley tried to reel in his smile as he hit a few more balls and then went to sit on the bench while someone else tried their hand at batting. But he just couldn't wait to get up on the bleachers and tell Everett that he made the summer league team.

Bradley waited for the tryouts to officially end, hoping Bob would make the team too. His fellow aviator was fast and always seemed to make the catches in the outfield look like a walk in the park. When Bob joined him in the dugout, they stood next to each other, awaiting the final roster from the coach. 

"First base: Hamilton. Second Base: McPhee. Shortstop: Yang. Third base: Ruiz. Catcher: Hernandez. Pitcher: Bradshaw. Relief pitcher: Matthews."

Bob elbowed Bradley in the side and smiled at him. 

"Right field: Merrick. Left field: Wiley. Centerfield: Floyd. I'll post some bench positions as well. Thanks for trying out." 

Then the coach handed each of the starting players a navy blue and white cap. Once they were dismissed, Bradley had Bob in a tight hug. 

"I didn't know you'd be this excited, Rooster," Bob said with a laugh. "You made pitcher!"

"Oh, man," Bradley said, slapping him on the back before letting go. "I missed playing. You were right. This is going to be so much fun."

"You just want to show off for your girlfriend," Bob told him, slipping the cap on his head.

"You just want to show off for your girlfriend," Bradley replied, rolling his eyes and gathering his glove and bat together. Then he slipped his cap on as well, and they climbed out of the dugout, side by side. 

"I'm so in love with her," Bob mumbled, and Bradley saw Molly standing next to you and Everett, waving to Bob like she couldn't wait to see him. Then he looked at you, and Bradley's heart started pounding. But it was Everett running toward him with the poster board that really made Bradley smile. 

"Did you make the team?" he asked, and Bradley scooped him up in a hug. 

"Well they gave us these hats," Bradley said, putting his on Everett's head. "What do you think?"

"They made the team!" Everett shouted to you and Molly. Bradley carried your son over to you and kissed your lips. 

"We knew you would," you told him as you wrapped your arms around him and Everett. "You were so good, Coach."

"It's your birthday and you made the team!" Everett said, wrapping his arms around Bradley's neck. 

This was exactly how Bradley always wanted to be. He felt comfortable, welcome, safe and loved. He kissed Everett's cheek and nodded. "It's a pretty great day."

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

Everyone followed you back to your house, and you were thankful you had taken the time to get those birthday cupcakes for Bradley. He ended up tossing some hot dogs and burgers on the grill in your backyard, even though you told him you didn't mind cooking his birthday dinner.

"Go relax," Bradley told you, nodding toward your deck where Molly and Bob were blowing bubbles with Everett. "I'll take care of it." He kissed you and sipped his beer before flipping the burgers. 

You patted his butt in his snug baseball pants and whispered, "And later, I'll take care of you." His smirk as you walked away had you giggling. 

When you ate dinner on the deck as the evening sky darkened, you watched Everett where he sat on Bradley's lap eating a burger. "Are you going to get to throw all kinds of pitches? Are you going to start every game?"

Bradley held a napkin so Everett's ketchup wouldn't drip and answered every single question. He never seemed annoyed. He never gave you the impression that your son was irritating him. They seemed like they were cut from the same cloth, and honestly it made your heart skip wildly every single time.

"Yep, I get to work with the catcher about which pitches I should throw," Bradley told him. "And I get to start the games."

Then Bradley turned and smiled at you when Everett started interrogating Bob across the table. 

"I love you." The words came so easily now, you said them without thinking about it much. You'd missed him over the past few days, thinking he just didn't want to move in with you. But he probably just needed more time. You weren't in any hurry anyway. You and Everett could wait for Bradley to want to move in. 

"Love you, too, Kitten," Bradley replied, reaching for your hand. Molly grimaced and pretended to gag on her cupcake which made both of you laugh. 

"Like you're any better?" you asked her, kicking her foot under the table. 

"Never said I was," Molly replied, running her fingers through Bob's hair as he told Everett about the rec league. Bob reached up and took her hand in his, kissing her fingers while Everett asked him another question. 

"This was nice," you said with a nod, smiling at everyone before you stood to clean up the dishes. But Molly and Bob ended up cleaning everything while Bradley took Everett to get ready for bed. 

And a little while later, Bradley was the one one grunting in your ear. "This is nice," he groaned, unclasping your bra. "I love unwrapping my birthday presents." He palmed your breasts with a smile on his face.

"I can't wait to see what you wrap up for my birthday," you moaned as he scooped you up and set you down on your bed. You were completely naked for him except for your paw print necklace. He pressed a kiss to the charm before kissing your lips. 

"You can have anything you want, Kitten," he promised. And you thought about having a million more nights like this one, with family dinners and then Bradley's body pressed to yours. 

His shirt was off, biceps warm beneath your palms. "Well you can have anything you want."

Bradley froze with his lips on your nipple. He ran his nose down the valley between your breasts before kissing your sternum and looking up at you. "I want you to know that I am not going anywhere, Kitten."

You nodded and whispered, "I know that."

"I want to be here for you and Ev," he said, kissing the undersides of your breasts. "I want... I want you to know I'm not hesitating to move in because of me. So if you and Everett really, honestly want me here all the time, I have one condition."

You took a deep breath, getting nervous as your legs rubbed the rough fabric of his baseball pants. "What's your condition?" you asked softly.

"A stronger commitment," he said, nodding once like it was nonnegotiable. 

But you weren't sure what to think. "What does that mean?" 

Bradley's lips returned to your body after he said, "It means you'll be my family someday soon. I hope." 

He reached for your hands as you processed his words. Family. You already felt like he was. "Okay."

Bradley held your hands above your head and kissed you until you were whimpering for him. Then he unzipped his baseball pants and pulled himself free as you spread your legs wider. He ran his fingers along your pussy, head tipped back as he moaned your name. Then he coated himself up with his fingers before pressing inside you. 

"I love you," he whispered, fucking you nice and slow. It was his birthday, but you were the one getting it exactly how you needed it. "Love you so much, Kitten."

You combed your fingers through his hair, thinking about how he wanted even more of a commitment. What more could he give you right now? He made you feel like you had everything. 

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

On Monday, you let Bradley pick your son up from summer camp. Everett came bounding toward him, surprised and excited that Bradley was there.

"Are we going to practice baseball stuff today?" Everett asked after he hugged Bradley.

"Nope," Bradley told him, turning his cap backwards and leading him toward the Bronco. "I've got something important that I need your help with."

Everett gasped. "Like a secret mission?"

"Exactly like that," Bradley replied, opening the back door for Everett to climb in.

He'd given this a lot of thought after spending the weekend at your house, falling even more in love with the two of you. After Saturday morning pancakes and an outing to hunt for baseball cards, Bradley treated everyone to a movie and popcorn. The fact that you and Everett wanted him to sit in the middle because you both wanted to be by him had him grinning. 

"Are we going to be spies?" Everett's eyes were huge as he buckled himself in. "They go on secret missions all the time for stuff."

"Not quite," Bradley replied with a laugh. "I need your help shopping."

Everett groaned as Bradley closed the door and climbed in the front seat. "But I don't like shopping!" he complained, and Bradley was still laughing. 

"I don't really either, kiddo. But this is shopping for something really important to me," he said, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. "Think you can help me out? Just this once? I'll get you a chicken nugget Happy Meal when we're done."

"Yeah," Everett sighed. And a few minutes later, Bradley was scooping him out of the booster seat and taking him inside the jewelry store. 

Once they were in front of the case of diamond rings, Bradley asked, "Do you think your mom would like any of these?" Maybe it was silly to ask a seven year old for help picking out an engagement ring, but Bradley knew you'd like the ring even more if they picked it out together. If you said yes.

Bradley's palms were starting to sweat as Everett scanned everything inside the case. Things were moving fast. There was a solid chance you were going to say no. Or tell him you weren't ready. But Bradley wanted this. He needed to know what was coming next if he moved into your house. He wanted to know he could be with the two of you forever. 

Just as he felt a wave of panic wash over him, Everett pointed at one ring in particular. "That one looks like a baseball," he said, looking up at Bradley and grinning. "I think she would like a baseball ring from you."

"Yeah?" Bradley asked, bending to look at it. When the shop owner came over, he only asked to see that one ring. It was really pretty, and it seemed like something you would wear. Just a solitaire diamond with a platinum band. It was elegant and simple. Not overly frilly, but still something that made you want to stop and look at it. And once Bradley was holding it in his hand, he really thought it was perfect. 

He braced himself to hear the price while he dropped the ring into Everett's hand. Everett tried it on his index finger and laughed at how big it was. The price was manageable, and Bradley briefly considered sending a picture of it to Molly for final approval before deciding against it. 

"You know what?" he asked Everett. "I think we did a good job with this."

"We did," Everett replied with a nod. "She's gonna like it."

Bradley handed the ring across the counter along with his credit card. "I'll take it." He had no idea if it would fit you, but they could deal with that later. Because now he was in a state of shocked anticipation. He wanted to drive right to your place and beg you to marry him. He wanted to show you the ring and hope you'd say yes. 

"She'll like anything you give her. Especially if you say you want to get married!" Everett said with wide eyes. 

"I hope you're right, kiddo," Bradley said, running his hand through his hair. But now Everett's forehead was scrunched with concern. "What's wrong?"

Everett got quieter as he asked, "Does this mean you'll be my dad?"

Bradley swallowed hard and knelt down in front of him. Everett's eyes were so open and sincere, curious to know what this meant for him. "Ev," he started, unsure about how to answer. "If your mom and I are going to get married, then I'll be there all the time. I'll move into your house. We can do your homework together, and eat dinner. And I'll take you outside to play every day. Does that make sense?"

"But will you be my dad?" he asked again, and Bradley pulled him into a tight hug. Because he wanted to be. But he couldn't make a promise without talking to you. Without proposing to you first.

"I hope so, okay?" Bradley's voice was deep and raspy. "I love you."

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

Our favorite coaches made the team! Do we think Ev and Bradley have good taste in rings? Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 25

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

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

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

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

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

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

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

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

They’re… awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

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

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

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

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

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

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

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

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

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make the decision immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

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

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

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

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

Din needs to go.

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

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

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He also spoke of a girl.”

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

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

“A girl?”

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

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

Except, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

You’re right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A star destroyer.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

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

“No,” you eventually whisper.

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

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Mandalorian.

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

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

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that covers everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[lunajay33]

New World🍂Part.4

Summary: Things go wrong when you’re stuck on the highway and Daryl has been acting strange ever since you told him you loved him

Part.3

•Masterlist•

Along the way we had to ditch Daryl’s truck and now he was on his motorcycle leaving you to ride with Shane, but you all had to stop due to the road block and the RV breaking down……again

It’s been a hard few days the drive was tiring, a heard of walkers came threw and now Sophia was missing and people have been out looking for her for a day now, you were now out with Rick, Shane and Carl helping look when you came across a beautiful deer

You held carls hand as you both slowly approached the deer as we got closer he stood infront of you admiring the little magical moment as Shane and Rick watched

Then a bang was heard and you felt a boiling pain in your side, you looked down seeing blood quickly seeping from your shirt

You fell to the ground as Rick and Shane ran over putting pressure on your wound, you were so confused everything was a blur, the shouts your vision, everything

“What’s hap…happening?” Dazed you faintly heard another man approach then everything went dark

Feeling shaken you opened your eyes seeing Shane frantically running with you in his arms

“Ya hold on, we ain’t losing no one else ya hear me?”

You couldn’t answer nothing felt right

~~~~~~~~~

You woke up feeling hot, hair sticking to your face you tried to sit up but screamed out in pain

“You need to stay down dear” an older man said as he gently pushed me back down

“What happened, where am I?”

“You were shot, this is Hershel he’s gonna help you” you looked to your right to see Shane sitting by the bed, maybe Shane wasn’t that bad after all

“I need Daryl, please” you pleaded scared something might happen and you won’t have him in your finally moments

“I’ll find him” a girl in the corner said as she left the room

Then everything felt cold and you passed out again

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl’s pov

We were walking out in the woods lookin for Sophia when we heard a gun shot, there was a feeling in my chest that something happened but she was with Shane and Rick she should be fine and it was only one shot

We kept walking when a girl came riding up on a horse knocking out a walker

“Who’s Daryl?” She asked in a hurry

“Who’s askin?” How the hell did she know my name

“Y/n’s been shot you need to come with me” usually I wouldn’t trust this but she knew her name and I couldn’t risk it, I threw my bow over my shoulder and hoped on the horse

We rode off for a while till we came to an old farm house, rode right up to the front door where Rick and carl came out

I jumped off and tried pushing past to go in but Rick held me back

“What the hell happened?” I asked feeling angry, scared

“We were looking at a deer and Otis was tracking it, bullet went straight threw, grazed my shoulder and went right into her side” Carl explained

“She’s been in and out” Rick said as he led me inside to a room where she was laying, pale as snow, a sheen of sweat covered her skin

I sat my crossbow down and sat on the bed next to her, Shane was in the corner and a man with white hair was coming in

“Will she be okay?” I asked pushing her hair back

“She’s getting weak, her blood pressure is dropping, I’ve gotten a few fragments out but I can’t get some she’s lost too much blood”

“Giver mine, we’re the same, take it” I said ripping my shirt up readying for it

“Are you sure?”

I nodded as he came over and put the needle in, making me think about what’s happened between us lately

She told me she loved me, I didn’t say it back, don’t know why she’d say that, why would she love me she could hold out and wait for anyone, someone good she can’t love me…..no one can, and now I can barely look at her without feeling a tightness in my stomach, my heart clenching when I see her eyes full of worry

When the walkers came through the highway I couldn’t find her, all I heard was a scream and I thought she was gone and she would’ve died thinking I was…..well I don’t know what I feel but I know I can’t lose her

Hershel went on with the surgery now that she had the blood transfusion and stitched her up now I was just waiting for her to wake up….if she’d wake up

~~~~~~~~~

Normal pov

You woke up with a thumping headache and a sharp pain in your side, all the memories of what happened came flooding back, you looked around frantic but still so weak

No one was around so you got up slowly trying to maneuver yourself without ripping open your side, you managed to to get up and walk out to the front door, the fresh air was nice

You sat on the top step of the porch and let the air blow across your face cooling you down as you felt a lump in your throat

It’s been so hard lately, one thing after another keeps happening and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it

Tears slide down your cheeks and dropped onto your thighs, someone must have changed you cause you were in baggy shorts and an oversized shirt

You just felt like a burden to everyone now, you were looking for Sophia and you got injured and maybe she was out there dead now because everyone was too focused on you

You wiped your tears as you saw Daryl come walking towards the house, seeing tents were set up near by everyone must be here now

“The hell are ya doin out of bed?” He asked with a bit of anger to his voice

You didn’t answer, too tired mentally and physically you respond

“Y/n? Are ya okay?” You just shrugged finally looking at him

“Come on ya need to stay in bed” he said picking you up slowly and bringing you back inside to the bed

“I missed ya” he said as he sat next to you

“Why?” After his treatment and avoidance of you lately felt like he didn’t care anymore, he’s never done that to you before

“Why? Cause yer my best friend, yer all I got” he said confused

“Didn’t seem like that the past few days” you groaned as a pain shot from your side

“ ‘m sorry”

It was silent between you both as the tears welled again

“I’m tired Daryl, I’m so tired”

“Told ya, ya need to sleep”

“No, I’m tired, I should have stayed at the CDC with Jacqui, I don’t wanna do this anymore” you whined

“Don’t speak like that, I ain’ lettin ya give up, ya can’t, yer my person peach, please don’t leave me” he whispered as he felt a pain in his chest, seeing you like this for the first time trying to give up made his heart hurt

“I’m sorry D, im just scared, when I got shot all I could think about was you, how if I died you wouldn’t be there, how you were ignoring me and that would be our last memory, I just don’t wanna hurt anymore Daryl, I love you too much for you to ignore me” he wiped you tears away and held your cheek

“I luv ya too, I should’ve said it ‘fore, just never had someone love me like you do” he said as he leaned forward and placed a quick gentle kiss to your lips

It was a small kiss but a big step for him, he pulled back and you were both smiling

“Ya promise to never give up” he asked pleading

“I’ll try Dixon, for you I’ll try”

—///—///—///—///—///—///—

Part.5<-

If you wanna be a part of the taglist lmk in the comments and what you’d like to see more next in the story

Taglist: @thebadbatch2022 @deansapplepie @writer-ann-artist @ghostboneswrites

[wutheringcaterpillar]

An Unfair Loss

Summary: Thomas realizes that his results were switched with yours, and you had developed the curse Ruby had.

-Based off season 6 finale.

-Kinda proofread, kinda didn't. I feel like this was kinda rushed but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mention of suicide

Gun to his temple, he cocked it, ready to fire until he heard an all too familiar voice, his little Ruby.

Looking out into the field of green, he saw his baby girl running toward him with her small legs. He met her halfway pulling her into his warm embrace.

“Did Aunt Polly send you? Oh it feels so wonderful to have you in my arms one last time.” Tommy was panting, and the little girl held him tight so he knew she was really there before she spoke.

“You’re not even sick daddy.”

“But I am my darling. I’m closer to death as we speak.” The child shook her head vigorously, looking in the distance before turning back to her dad.

“No daddy not true, you’ve got to live, for Y/N.” Thomas’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not understanding what she was trying to say.

“What do you mean? Her exams came back clean Ruby. What do you-“ She guided her arm to the side, her hand pointing over at the fire. Thomas followed her gaze.

“It’s in the papers daddy. I’ve got to go.” She hugged her father once more, before vanishing in the distance in the field of grass and scattered flowers. Tommy watched, wishing that he had been faster, and had been a better dad in not putting business first but his family first. He wasn’t sure that he was doing that now, since he rushed off not telling you or anyone else where he was going, but he was sure that everyone assumed what he set off to do.

The corner of the paper flowed in the wind underneath the piles of sticks on top of them. His daughter may have been young, but deep down Thomas knew she was smart, far too brilliant for her age, so who was he to doubt her.

Standing up on his feet, his legs felt like jelly as he made his way over to the pit. He picked up the ripped page, eyeing it conspicuously. He took note of Oswald and his wife, and then looked at the bigger picture, and what he saw he couldn’t believe. His doctor, whom he trusted with his own health, was standing next to them in a photograph.

“Son of a bitch.” He didn’t waste one moment before he began to run on foot to the man’s house.

Alfred turned to get in his car, that was not working. “What the hell, how did-“ When he went to close the door Thomas’s arm was wrapped around his neck while he pointed the gun at the side of his temple. Alfred stumbled in his grip, trying to get out but Tommy was far too strong for him to take on.

“You’ve been my doctor for three years now, didn’t realize how well connected you were Alfred. You made me believe I was going to die soon, and knew that I’d rather off myself. Made me believe my wife was in good health. That’s me assuming that’s who you switched my results with eh?” He tightened his grip around the man’s small, fragile throat, making his voice strained when he responded.

“Ye-Yes.”

Thomas forced him onto the hard ground on his knees, while at a fast pace me moved his gun toward the front of the scared man’s face, resting it upon his forehead and cocking it.

“Wait! Wait! You and your wife are both sick. The amount of people you have killed in cold blood and the both of you just stood by, not explaining yourselves to the grieving families.” Tommy rolled his eyes in response, hardening the gun to the man’s head.

“But- but, I think because of your children and your family, you are a changed man. You’re not going to shoot me Tommy.” A dark chuckle escaped from Tommy’s plush, pale lips.

“You see that’s where you’re wrong I am. I’m a changed man until it involves my fucking wife, and my fucking children, Alfred.” In an instant, the echo of his gun firing swam through the neighborhood. People looked through their windows to see what had happened but immediately escaped their windows once they realized it was Thomas Shelby.

Patting down his suite, he exited the property, and walked back to the home he shared with you.

As he walked in the quaint weather, he couldn’t help but watch kids running around, and notice happy families. Why was it he never got to be happy? Grace was taken away, Lizzie was too much, but you? He had never seen a woman be such an amazing mother to his children or treat him the way you did. He knew it was unfair of him to run off on you, not saying a word but he was trying to protect you in not seeing him wither away. Who knew it would be him having to watch you slowly deteriorate.

-

“Mummy! Mummy! Daddy’s home?” Charlie heard her and came rushing down the stairs to look out the window.

“Milly we’ve talked about this he-“ You were cut off by the sound of the door opening. You stopped putting away the laundry and approached the living room quickly. Maybe someone had news of Thomas’s whereabouts, or worse maybe he was dead.

When you passed through the doorway, you felt like you were looking at a ghost, a panicked ghost at that. There your husband stood, like nothing had happened and everything was okay. He was still dressed in his suit but looked like he was rummaging through his mind conflicted and pained.

“Tommy?”

“Yes, my love.” You couldn’t stop yourself from running to him and jumping in his arms, hugging him. He smelt like he had been drinking combined with a hint of grass on his clothes. Your arms being wrapped around him once again felt surreal, and warm. You felt complete and couldn’t stop the water brimming at your eyelids, it had been weeks since you touched him, or seen him and your whole body couldn’t find the will to let go of him, not again.

He patted your back soothingly as he watched Charlie and Milly over your shoulder, they had looked confused as to why you would be crying but happy. He felt terrible watching their innocent eyes, and knowing what he knows now about your inevitable death that was soon to come, and it scared him of the thought he’d be the only parent they had, once again.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. I’m here now darling, I’m not going anywhere ever again, eh?” You nodded into the crook of his dampened neck; your tears had soaked. Tommy was glad they were joyful tears, but he knew that his news would change everything momentarily.

“Charlie, Milly, can you go upstairs I need to talk to your mum privately. I’ll be up in a moment, alright?” You sunk down from his grip and wiped away your tears, looking up at him with those loving, endearing eyes that always managed to brighten his day.

He guided you to the table, taking a seat next to you and folding his hands. When you looked at him he looked, lost like you’d never seen him before but you waited patiently to talk. His hand grazed across to the wooden table before it rest on top of yours, intertwining his fingers.

“My darling, you’re sick, very sick.” You looked at him confused, not catching onto what he meant.

“Ruby visited me today, I think Pol sent her. I left to kill myself and she stopped me, she stopped me and made realize Alfred’s intentions. I’m unsure of if you’ve been reading the paper but there is a photo of him standing with Mosley. I found him and he admitted to switching our results.” Realization sat in, and you leaned back against the chair in defeat. It explain why you’ve not been feeling well, why you’ve been hearing things, seeing things that had no explanation. A part of you had convinced yourself it was because you were adjusting the the thought of Thomas being dead.

“I- But how did-“ He tightened his grip on your hand, pursing his lips together as he had felt he had failed in being the man he was meant to be for you. If he had just not taken the easy way out and disappearing, if he had paid closer attention to the small details before Ruby had gotten sick this could have been avoided.

Thomas felt as if he was breaking at the seams. How did he not see it, how did he miss all the signs?

His heart was breaking inside as he watched you sitting across the table, head buried in your hands while you cried a river. You didn’t want him to see you like this, so weak, and broken.

“Oh god the kids, they-they’ve seen me like this, they’ve been seeing me like this. I don’t want them to anymore. I -I can’t bear the thought of them finding me-“ You couldn’t find the ability to complete that sentence.

Milly and Charlie meant the world to you, and it was hard enough losing Ruby and Thomas, well Thomas had lost everyone and here you sat being added to the list.

“Darling, you know as well as I do there is no cure for a gypsy curse.” It had taken you quite a while to understand Thomas’s upbringing, but you had always put in the time and effort to ask questions, and take interest. Throughout the years being married to him, you didn’t have a doubt in your mind about there being no cure if Thomas said there wasn’t. You never questioned him after Ruby.

-

Tommy’s pov

-

Tonight was an awful night, and I had never felt more weak than I did now. I watched her as she lay in bed, her skin was pale, lips cracked. She was shivering, and she had lost the ability to remember things. I had asked her just the other day if she knew where she was, she didn’t. Somehow, someway she managed to remember the childrens names, but not that she was Milly’s mum, or that Charlie considered her as a mum. Do you know what that does to a man?

Watching your wife slowly wilt away and lose her sanity. Not being able to do anything about it. It’s gut wrenching and it was a pain I had never felt before. I often found when she needed something I would escort myself out of the room, check on the children, and find a place to shed my tears where no one could see, I wanted to be strong for her, for them.

Y/N, has sacrificed her entire life in watching over them, making sure they were fed, clothed, bathed, and taught the simplicities of life. Yet she still always found the time and the effort for our marriage. She worked wonders, and is very bright, brighter than the moon on a clear, quiet night. The amount of weight she had lost from not eating. My wife looked unrecognizable but still beautiful as always.

The delusions had gotten worse, she began to hallucinate at dinner, and the children saw it.

“Who are you people, where am I?” I watched as fear settled within her wide eyes.

“Y/N darling-“ She stood up from the table frantically, searching for a familiar face, and looking at the people she didn’t recognize. She took the glass of water from the table and threw it at the painted wall, shattering it into a million little pieces, making the kids jump in their seats.

I pushed the chair back rushing over to her before she hurt herself or someone else in this room.

That’s when she turned slowly, almost with what seemed like a dead gaze before her arm slowly extended until it pointed toward the empty hallway. I followed her gaze, freezing in my tracks not wanting to frighten her. There was nothing there.

“He’s here.” I looked back to her with calm eyes, hands out so she knew I wouldn’t do anything to her.

“Honey, there’s nothing there.” She shook her at a vigorous rate, disagreeing with me and she began to back into the wall as I approached her with ease.

“Daddy what’s wrong with mummy?” What was I supposed to say to them? That their mother’s delusional, they had already known she was falling of illness. I glanced over to them quickly while my hands rested on Y/N’s flailing wrists.

“Charlie, Milly go to your rooms.” They hadn’t moved, and Milly began to cry.

She was too young to understand at her ripe age of two years old. I looked at Charlie with expectant eyes. I depended on him and I didn’t mean to put all the weight on his shoulders to look after Milly but what choice did I have when I had to take care of their mother, my wife. A man can only handle so much at one time.

“Charlie! Go with Milly, now!” Charlie jolted up out of his seat, grabbing Milly in his arms before running up the stairs with her. Once I heard the door close my attention averted back to Y/N. I watched as she was struggling for air and still screaming at the top of her lungs, her body shaking. I gripped her wrists as I felt that being calm maybe was not the best decision to get across to her that no monster, no ememy, nothing was in the room. Just me, her husband. It killed me withing  knowing that this was something I had no control over, I couldn’t offer her protection from her own mind.

“Y/N! Look at me!” She stayed frantic and I began to shake her gently.

“Hey! It’s alright! It’s alright! Nothing’ there! Look, please my love!” She shook her head vigorously for a moment more before she opened her eyes once I rested my hands on her warm cheeks. Hesitantly, she peered her frightened eyes open, looking up at me for reassurance that it was safe. I nodded to her, and she must have still had an ounce of trust in me as she cautiously poked her head around my shoulder.

She released a held in breath, and began to cry one more as her body collapsed against my chest.

“I’m tired Tommy. I’m tired, I’m-I’m scared.” She hiccupped, and I began to brush my fingers through her hair as I held the back of her head.

“I just want everything to end, to go away. I can’t do this anymore.” Her back was spasming, and her first was clutched into my shirt, holding on for dear. She was ready to let go, she had given up but the problem was, this curse wasn’t that easy to put to an end. It would take you when it was ready, it didn’t care how broken down she was, this curse was about pain, suffering, breaking down a person to their lowest level. I knew at that moment the end was beginning and it was far nearer than I was ready for.

“I know darling. I know.” I couldn’t tell her to keep fighting, what point would that contain? There was no cure for this curse, and I wish I could find one, because until then I must watch my wife die slowly and cruelly.

I held her in my arms as she shivered and sweated at the same time. “Y/N, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” You didn’t nod or anything showing a response to him. The delusions that began a few weeks ago made you question whether Thomas was even your husband, if you even knew who this man holding you was at times. Fear fulfilled you but you found it best not to move and lay there limp as your body was in indescribable pain.

2 Weeks Later

It was a Wednesday when she had passed in my arms.

A small shimmer of sunlight had peaked between the curtains from the morning sky, settling on her still beautiful face. I combed a strand of hair behind her hair, admiring her perfect face before I had realized.

“Y/N?” She didn’t speak in return, and out of disparity I pulled her body in between my arms, embracing her now lifeless body, unable to hold back tears. They came flooding out, running down my cheeks, soaking the thin shirt she had been wearing, I had never felt more vulnerable and lost in my entire being. This was a loss I wasn’t prepared for. Nobody is truly prepared for death, but I wept. I wept and for once I prayed, I prayed that our children did not hear me.

I wasn’t ready to confront them, how was I supposed to tell Milly her mom was gone, how was I supposed to tell Charlie that now his second mother, was dead. My heart went out to our children, they were well behaved, innocent, and just so young and oblivious to the troubles of being an adult. Bless their heart. They were great kids, but I owe it all to you, my dear Y/N.

I telephoned Ada, settling my breath and trying to regain composure. She had answered right away.

“Thomas.” I sniffled in response, brushing away the snot that coated my skin with my sleeve.

“Ada, she’s gone.” The line was silent, assuming she was trying to think of something to make me feel better or make this process easier. I looked back at my wife once more and tried to tell myself, she was sleeping peacefully, it’s an odd feeling that’s indescribable when faced with your dead spouse, just completely still. It had felt like her soul and her being had already left the room, already making the house feel strange to me.

“I’ll be right over. Tommy, I’m so sorry.” I nodded to myself, once again being lost for words and hung up the phone. Should I lay here with her until Ada gets here? Should I go inform Charlie and Milly now? But if I do that, would they try to break into the room? Would they start crying and screaming to see you? Should they see you? My mind was roaming every which way, how do I know what do? You were always the smart one in our marriage.

The children didn’t understand, and I was grateful that Polly tended to Milly and Charlie while I arranged the funeral exactly how Y/N had wanted it.

The venue was closed casket, she did not want a gypsy funeral and she didn’t want the children to see her in that way. It was a close knit group of friends and family per her request in the backyard of the fortress we had built together.

I had the children at my side, dressed in black, and I had Ada braid Milly’s hair as she complained endlessly about it. That was when I saw my dear friend Alfie

“Thomas she was a wonderful woman, she cared for you and understood you inside and out, in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. Sometimes life has chosen to take people from us, and we can never understand why, eh? I nodded, still holding Charlie and Milly’s hands.

“Just know she’s in a better place mate? Alright?” I nodded in response and escorted the children toward the casket. I couldn’t help but feel my breath hitch in my throat, knowing she was in there, a part of me wanted to look but I wouldn’t as I wanted to respect her wishes.

The funeral began, everyone gathering in a small circle. Alfie spoke nothing but kind words and cracked a few jokes here and there to lighten the moods of not only the adults but the kids. It couldn’t stop the feeling of loss everyone had felt. As each person spoke, I realized it was now my turn. I gave Charlie and Milly a hug before I had spoke.

“Where can I even begin to honor this amazing woman. She gave me life, love, laughs, all the things I didn’t think were possible after I came home from the war. She struck something within me as she did to all of us. Her parenting skills and the patience she carried were beyond belief, and beyond anything I could be capable of. She made me learn that life isn’t about losing or winning, it’s not about money or business deals. It’s about family, being there for each other through a difficult time and I want to thank every one of you who came and-“

“Daddy can I say something?” Charlie spoke up interrupting me and my thoughts. I cued him to go ahead.

“Y/N might not have been my mom, but I loved her, and I hate that she’s gone. Life’s not fair, and I wonder why I can’t ever have a mom, but Y/N taught me that life works in mysterious ways and it’s okay to be sad sometimes, it’s what you do with that sadness that matters.” I felt my tears brimming at the rim but clenched my jaw, holding back my emotions for everyone here. I bent down and hugged Charlie telling him how well he did. Milly was in tears and I picked her up into my arms, cradling her before I excused myself into the house with them as I felt we needed a moment alone to be a family.

Later that night…

Once I tucked the children into bed and everyone had left, I felt lost. The person I shared my life with wasn’t home anymore and would never be again.

I closed the bedroom door and locked it. I can’t understand or find the meaning behind Y/N’s life coming to an end so soon. I weakly, opened the bottle of wine that sat atop the dresser while my mind was beginning to go frantic. I didn’t know the kids schedules like you, I didn't know what they liked to eat and what not or even if they were allergic to anything. What if I hospitalize them, or they get hurt on my watch in the way that Y/N and Ruby both did. What if I can’t protect them? How am I supposed to raise Charlie and Milly on my own when I don’t even know these little things about them because of business.

Cracking open the bottle I spilled the sweet alcohol down my throat, it’s taste quenching my nerves but it wasn’t enough. I needed more, as if it could replace the void in my heart.

I found myself rummaging through the drawers, tears brimming at the sight of her clothes lying next to mine but I stopped when I noticed a piece of paper, hanging out of one of her pockets.

“My dear Thomas,

                Don’t be sad, we knew the day would come sooner or later. It may feel like there is no reason to move forward but there is. Look after Charlie and Milly, they need their father, and they love you very much. Remind them every day that I am with them in their hearts, as I am with you. I wouldn’t trade our story for the world because you, Thomas Shelby, complete me. You’ve grown so much, and improved, you put your family first over business though it took quite some time, but you made that change for us. Don’t lose sight of who we are, who you are and what we’ve built. I know you’re scared but I believe in you Tommy, as I always have since day one. Before everything went wrong and I lost my mind I wrote down everything you could possibly be unsure about of the kids schedules, their meal times, doctors. Etc. You’ve got this my love, I promise you, you guys are going to be okay and I will still be around even if you don’t see me.

                                Love Dearly,

                                                Y/N”

I hung my head in disbelief, I don't know where I'd be or where to begin without Y/N. She seems to always think of everything, and every possible situation. I love her dearly, and I could never imagine re marrying or being with another woman after her.

[saturnnat]

hiii i wanted to to tell you that you seem reaaaal nice and if you wan to you could take my idea so basically it's obvi nat x fem reader and we're teaching nat how to crochet at first she's telling us how boring it is and that it's lame but secretly she loves how we teach her and she likes it so some time later she'll crochet us a dino for birthday or anniversary but it will be a bit non-profesional so she thinks we don't like it since its her first real crochet animal so we assure her that we love it and then she sees us sleeping with it at night💓💓💓💓💓

You’re so sweet! It took me a little while to finish this since I’m very busy with college, but here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Birthday Gift

Pairing | Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 917

Summary | You will always love Natasha's gifts

"Are you crocheting?"

You look up to see it was Natasha who broke your peaceful little bubble of silence.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Isn’t that for like, old people?” the redhead snorts.

“Hey now, don’t be mean! It’s a lot of fun!” you hit her lightly, not appreciating the way she’s making fun of your hobby.

“Really?” she raises one eyebrow. She doesn’t know if she should ask you more about it, or just leave you be. She does think you look cute, sitting cross-legged on the couch, completely focused on the task in front of you.

“Really! I can teach you if you want,” you suggest, “I promise it’s not as difficult as it looks!”

Natasha contemplates your offer. You do look relaxed, and she honestly could use a hobby that doesn’t involve guns or punching a bag.

“Alright. You can teach me.”

“Really?!” your eyes light up, you weren’t expecting that answer.

You rummage in your bag, that you crocheted yourself, and hand your girlfriend a crochet hook and a ball of yarn. For the next 30 minutes, you try to explain the process to the impatient redhead.

“And this is what you call fun?!”

“Come on, Tasha! You just need to practice a little bit,” you smile, “before you know it you can make your own bags and stuffed animals!”

“I’m the Black Widow, I don’t need stuffed animals,” she mumbles.

You roll your eyes at that, but continue helping her nevertheless.

As much as Natasha hates to admit it, she does think crocheting is quite fun. After some practice, she doesn’t have as much trouble anymore, following patterns and other tutorials. And of course, she enjoys every minute of time she can spend with you when you teach her. She would never really admit that either, though.

With your birthday coming up, and her finally being able to follow a bit more difficult patterns, she decides to make you something. Your slight obsession with dinosaurs has never gone unnoticed by Natasha, and she adores you for it. You already have quite some dinosaur stuffed animals, but she decides to crochet one for you anyways. Unfortunately for Natasha, it turns out a bit more difficult than she expected. She spends hours trying to make the stuffed animal look right, and she almost gave up a few times. She decided against it, luckily, telling herself that if you didn’t like her gift, she could always buy you something else.

After a few days, the dinosaur is finally finished. It doesn’t look professional, far from it, but the redhead hopes it will be good enough for you. She makes sure to wrap the thing in dinosaur wrapping paper, she’s sticking to a theme here, and she plans your birthday breakfast. She can’t spend your birthday with you, much to her dismay, so she hopes the dino and breakfast will make up for it.

“Happy birthday, baby!” she beams, when you walk into the kitchen, still waking up a bit.

“Tasha! You didn’t have to do this!” you blush, looking around the kitchen, “it smells delicious, did Wanda help you?”

Your girlfriend shoves you lightly when you make the teasing remark but admits to it anyways, “she might’ve helped me with some stuff, yeah.”

“Well, thank you. It looks, and smells, great,” you smile, and Natasha swears she could die happy right then and there. It is your birthday, however, so she decides against it.

“I got you a gift too,” she admits shyly, showing you the wrapped-up gift.

“Nat! You didn’t have to do that?!” you exclaim, while accepting the gift, “I love the wrapping paper though.”

“I knew you would.”

Natasha watches you nervously, as you carefully unwrap the gift. She doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up when the handmade stuffed dinosaur is revealed to you.

“Did you make this?” you ask, full of disbelief.

“I did. I know it’s not that good, but I tried-” she rambles, suddenly scared that you might actually hate the gift.

“Natasha, shut up, it’s so cute!” you cut her rambling off quickly, “I love it. Thank you so much!”

You walk over to her and press a kiss on her cheek, showing your appreciation for the gift. The rest of the morning is spent eating your breakfast and talking about what you have planned today. All the while your new gift is proudly being shown off at the middle of the dining table. When Natasha leaves for work you hug her goodbye and whisper once again how much you love the little dinosaur she gave you.

It’s late when Natasha gets back from work. She’s carrying a bag of your favorite food in one hand, hoping you haven’t had dinner yet, and a little birthday card in her other hand. It’s from all of her teammates, wishing you a happy birthday.

“малышка, I’m home!” she calls out when you don’t come greeting her right at the door.

She frowns a bit when she doesn’t see you in the living room or kitchen. She leaves the takeout on the table and walks over to your bedroom, hoping to find you there.

When she does, her heart flutters and she has to fight back some happy tears. You fell asleep, a thin fleece blanket covering you. In your arms you’re tightly clutching the little dinosaur Natasha gave you. Natasha walks over to you and crouches down to give you a kiss on your forehead.

"Happy birthday, pretty girl."

[mrsjobarnes]

Not the only cowboy 

Summary: Jake had never been the type of guy to fall first, maybe you’ll be the one to change that. 

Jake Seresin x Nurse!reader 

Word count: 1k 

Likes & comments are welcome! 

Please do not steal my work! 

A/N ~ Hey yall! Thank you to @gretagerwigsmuse for helping me with this!! The idea popped into my head while I was listening to “Country Girl” by Luke Bryan. Hope yall enjoy 

Masterlist | Next Chapter

“Penny, who is that gorgeous southern bell that was just at the bar?” Jake asks. He was looking over his shoulder at you. He’ll admit that you are the prettiest girl he has seen at the Hard Deck in a long time. 

“None of your business, Hangman,” Penny said, rolling her eyes. Jake doesn’t give her the response time to resonate before he takes his drink back to the pool table. As the night drags on, Bradley serenades everyone with his rendition of Great Balls of Fire. 

“Y/N you should go ask him to sing a song,” your friend said. After a shot, you decide what’s the worst that could happen and go for it. 

“Hey, that was one hell of a song, how about one more,” you said with a smirk 

“What did you have in mind?” he said flirtatiously. 

“What about Jackson?” you said. After y’all decide on a key to sing in he starts playing away as if his life depended on it. And after the first few notes, Jake knew exactly what song it was. He put his pool stick down and watched you and Bradley sing. He was in a trance as you sang. 

“Might want to stop gawking before she notices,” Phoenix said with a chuckle. 

“I am not gawking, I’m just admiring their taste in music,” Jake said, eventually taking Phoenix’s advice and returning to his game. Bradley proceeds to walk up with you and your friends just moments later. 

“Guys, this is Y/N and her friends,” Bradley said, gathering everyone’s attention. You and your friends go around introducing yourself. A warm feeling grows in your stomach when you lay your eyes on Jake. 

“Is that a southern accent I'm hearing?” he asked, fully knowing the answer. 

You blushed. “Yeah, I'm from Kansas but I went to college in Georgia and lived in Norfolk, Virginia for work. I just relocated” you said. 

Jake nodded along, wanting to know why you were in Norfolk and where you were at the same time. “Norfolk, are you military?” he asked. 

You shook your head and explained that you are a contract nurse practitioner for the Navy. They all nodded, and then someone named Fanboy asked where you were being sent. 

“They have me at Top Gun right now, I'm the main nurse for one of the squads,” you said. 

They all nodded along and moved on to ask your friend what she did. Jake could care less at the moment. All he could think about was whose squad you were stationed with - 

“- What squad are you stationed with?” Jake blurted out, interrupting your friend. His friends gave him a look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, scratching behind his head. He patiently waited while your friend explained what she did. 

“I have no idea who I’m with, all I know is that their commander requested me,” you said. As you and the group found a flow of conversation, Jake couldn’t help but wonder if you’d be with the Dagger Squad. “Alrighty guys, I don’t know about all of you, but I have to be on base at 7:00 I’m so I'm heading out,” you said with a smile. Your friend agreed and you both headed to pay off your tab. 

As you walked away, Jake was met with a smack to the back of his head. He turned around to see the squad glaring at him. “Don’t even think about it,” Phoenix said, while the rest of the group nodded in agreement. He put his hand on his chest and gasped. 

“Think about what, Phoenix? I don’t like these accusations” he said. They all rolled their eyes and laughed. He knew he was a man-whore, but normally they didn’t say anything. 

“Just think about it, dude, if you piss her off the whole team would have to be careful around all of the nurses on base. So, just find a different girl.” Javy said, patting Jake on the shoulder. Pretty soon after that, the team left for the night. 

The next morning when the team showed up for training, they were all asked to go to one of the classrooms. Normally, if they were going to one of those it either meant a mission or someone did something stupid. Once they were seated, they started interrogating each other til Maverick walked in. 

“Hey, Mav, do you know what this is about,” Bradley asked. Mav shook his head no and then joined the gossip circle til Cyclone walked in with you following in tow. 

Cyclone explained that you would be the Dagger Squad’s team nurse and that you’d be doing new medical evaluations today. You quickly explained the schedule of who you needed to see and Cyclone left. You couldn’t slap the smile off of Jake’s face even though he wasn’t getting evaluated til after lunch. 

As the day dragged on the team had done their regular training maneuvers and it was now time for lunch. As the team ate, Jake was planning on ways to ask you out. “Hello!! Earth to Hangman” Bradley said. 

“Huh,” Jake said, realizing that the team was staring at him waiting for a response. “Sorry, what was the question,” he said. 

“We just wanted to know if you wanted to do a beach day this Saturday?” Bradley said. 

BINGO that’s how Jake would ask you out. He’d invite you to the squad hangout. 

“Sure, that sounds fun,” he said as he focused on finishing his lunch. 

“Hey Y/N over here,” Phoenix said, waving you over. You quickly walked over and sat across from him and next to Phoenix. “So, how is your first day at Top Gun,” she asked you. 

As you explained the ins and outs of all the paperwork you had to fill out, Jake noticed how your face lit up. He would do anything to see that again. Once you were done, Phoenix proceeded to invite you to the beach day. 

Well, shit there goes my idea. He couldn’t be too mad though because that meant you’d be there. 

Once y’all had finished lunch you said your goodbyes and called Jake over. “Are you ready to go?” you asked. He nodded and followed you. “I promise it is not going to take long. Hate to keep you out of the sky,” you said while you unlocked your office and examination room. He laughed and you smiled. 

God did you have the prettiest smile he thought. 

“If you don’t mind sitting on the table we can get started,” you said, grabbing your computer and paperwork. “Okay, let’s get started. Do you smoke or vape?” you asked. 

“No, those are cancer sticks, ma’am,” he said. 

“Good answer and no need to call me ma’am, just call me Y/N.” You smiled and asked some more questions while also checking his breathing, heart rate, and blood pressure. “Okay we just need a blood sample and then we are good.” 

As you prepared to take his blood, you remembered you forgot a question to ask him: “Are you sexually active?” you asked, looking up through your eyelashes. 

Jake’s brain damn near melted. “Um yes,” he stumbled, being caught off guard. You nod and finish taking his blood and tell him his blood results will be done soon. All he could think about was you looking at him with those doe eyes asking such an intimate question. Granted you had to for your job, but it had him rocking a semi to the locker room. 

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Not A Coincidence

Bradley Bradshaw x Penny’s niece!reader 3k words

summary: It’s not a coincidence that you turn up at the Hard Deck for a beach day. It’s not a coincidence either that you end up inside the bar all alone with Rooster. And after what happened on Tuesday, well...  

fair warning: allusions to smut. no smut in itself. 

a/n: this is my first bradley oneshot and i am so fucking scared imma fuck up but yknow. we’re vibing. also the jake slander in this is all fun and games. i love him. 

main piece to “Tuesday Night”, “ Rooster At 5, Bradley At Night" and “Take Me On A Joyride”, can be read seperately tho

top gun masterlist

You were early. Too early. Much too early, considering it was currently 10am and your shift began at 5pm. But here you were, sunglasses high on your nose, bikini on under a loose shirt, straw hat on your head, towel and sunscreen in your bag on the passenger seat. 

It wasn’t a concidence that you’d decided on coming early for a beach day. It was far from that, actually. And you hoped, prayed, begged that Penny wouldn’t let it slip, that she wouldn’t rat you out. Because if she did that, you were not sure you’d be able to handle the teasing that would follow. Of course she wouldn’t want anything bad for you - just a little push in the right direction, she’d call it, and smile that smile of hers that had you and Amelia giving each other the side-eye every time.

But you’d have to take that risk. 

Because you sure as hell weren’t missing out on this shit. 

And it was all Penny’s fault in the end anyway. Penny’s fault because she was here on a Thursday morning, Penny’s fault because she was sitting outside, Penny’s fault because she just had to send you a picture, didn’t she? God damn her. God damn her for being your aunt. God damn her for not sending you that picture earlier. 

You grabbed your keys a little too tightly as you turned off the ignition and pushed the door open and close again with a bit too much force. One deep breath. Then another. You needed to calm down. 

You didn’t bother with the front door - if you could save the time it’d take to find the keys in your bag, you absolutely would - instead walked around to the tables at the back. This side of the Hard Deck was hardly ten metres away from the beach, so the second you rounded the corner, you stood, frozen in spot, and watched the picture Penny had sent half an hour ago become reality. 

And reality was much better than the crappy photo in any and all ways imaginable. 

The squad was all shirtless, all greased up, running after two balls, tackling each other, sand sticking to every inch of exposed skin, sunglasses on and drenched in golden light. It was like a scene straight out of some summer rom-com - actually, no, it was pretty much like a scene coming straight out of some soft porn. Unfurling right in front of you. 

Oh, you were in trouble. 

Especially the moment anyone spotted you. And they would. They fucking would if you didn’t move it right about now. 

As quietly as you could - and as invisible as possible, which was harder - you walked up to Penny, keeping your eyes firmly planted on the aviators rolling around in the sand. You were pretty fucking sure nothing would ever top this moment right now. Thirteen of what had to be the most attractive people on the planet tan, sweaty and half-naked? Yeah, there was no way in hell it would ever be any better than this right here.

You only glanced away for a second to sit down next to Penny, to take a look at the blank Sudoku in front of her. You snorted. 

“Looks like I’m not the only one who dropped everything to get here”, you said, eyebrows raised, put your bag down next to you and looked back at the beach where Phoenix was just throwing her arms into the air to celebrate something you guessed was a good thing for her team. Hangman looked livid. 

“What can I say?”, she chuckled. “Even an old woman can enjoy some eye-candy sometimes.” 

“You’re saying ‘old’ like you actually are.” 

“Well-” 

She was going to argue, like she always did (you’d had this conversation a ton of times already), but before she could, Maverick came jogging up from the beach to a little chair he must’ve brought for himself. He waved in your general direction. You knew better than to think it was actually meant for the both of you - you were aware enough of the history of his ‘relationship’ with Penny to not be that arrogant. It always went the same: the two of them stumbling across each other every few years, with the exception of the half decade when she’d been married, they hooked up, they had a great time for some weeks, maybe even some months, then Maverick got himself into some kind of trouble and had to move across the country, leaving behind Penny and her broken heart. 

As he sat down to keep watching the game, you realised that you’d been spotted. Someone had noticed Mav’s wave, had seen not only Penny, but you too, and well, you were fucked now. You were fucked because it was Rooster who’d spotted you. Rooster who had a shit-eating grin on his face as he peeled his sunglasses off and made eye contact with you. Rooster who you knew was smart enough to connect the dots, to figure out that you being here wasn’t some coincidence. Rooster who probably realised you were checking his team out - checking him out - even all the way down the beach and through your sunglasses. 

But who could blame you? 

Hell, he looked gorgeous in his dumb Hawaiian shirts and jeans already, you weren’t particularly shocked that he looked even better without them. 

He waved at you. Waved at you to come over. To come join them. 

Within a few seconds, the rest of the aviators were catching onto his idea, were looking at you sitting there watching them, were following his example and waving at you to come down. You bit the inside of your cheek. 

You’d thought that if you were sneaky, careful enough, that you’d be able to just sit here and stare at them, watch them play, admire them for a while. Maybe pretend to read a book if they were to spot you after all. But, no, of course not. Of course Rooster had to demolish your little plan, crumble it up into nothing. Curse him. 

You sighed, but you knew the squad well enough by now to understand that you had lost. You had no choice but to do what they wanted you to do - they’d find a way to force you anyway if you didn’t do it willingly. 

Penny’s laughter in your ears, you got up and made your way down to the beach, arriving to a chorus of cheers that had you grinning and bowing. You could very well just play this off as some funny coincidence as long as Rooster kept his mouth shut. But with the way he was grinning at you, you were doubting he would for long. 

“I gotta admit I feel a little insulted that I wasn’t invited to your private beach-party”, you said, letting your eyes rake over Rooster with no concern whatsoever for being caught. You had sunglasses on. Nobody could prove you were doing a damn thing. And he was just too attractive for his own good, too attractive to ignore, too attractive not to look.  

“In our defense”, Phoenix said, still a little breathless from the game, and held both her hands up. “We didn’t know we were even having a beach-party.” 

“You didn’t even know?”, you asked. 

“Mav took us by surprise. Only told us this morning.” 

You snorted, interrupted before you could reply by a ball landing at your feet. 

“You playing, Junior?”, Jake shouted, making sure to flex his arms just short of ridiculously. If he weren’t Jake and you weren’t you, you’d probably be super into him, more turned on and less annoyed, but this way you just rolled your eyes and flipped him off. 

“First of all, Texas boy”, you yelled. “Quit calling me that or I’ll cut your fucking dick off. With some elementary school scissors as well because that’s all I’d need. And also, you know I hate sports, the mere fact that you’re suggesting I move any more than necessary is laughable.” 

You heard Phoenix and Rooster snicker as Jake laughed and threw you a sloppy salute. 

“Whatever ya say, Junior.” 

Junior. How you despised that goddamn nickname. Mainly because it didn’t make sense anyway - you weren’t even Penny’s daughter, you were her niece. They’d make more sense calling Amelia Junior. But no, it had caught on, and now you were just short of slapping people every time you heard it.

You turned back to Rooster, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to keep your eyes on his face this time. 

“I’ll get you guys some drinks”, you said, smile tugging at your lips. “If, that is, you’re allowed to drink.” 

“A drink won’t kill us”, Phoenix winked, and then hauled the ball from where it still lay at your feet and charged at Jake. 

You chuckled. There was a heavy silence hanging over you and Rooster even after half a second, your sunglasses protecting you from too much eye contact and him holding it effortlessly anyways.

“You look good”, he muttered, his voice low enough that you knew none of the others heard it. A shiver ran down your spine. Your throat went dry. God, why had you got yourself into this? You should’ve saved the pic, thanked Penny and stayed home. None of this complicated shit. But well, seemed as though you liked it complicated. 

“Do I?”, you asked quietly, barely suppressing a grin. He made an acknowledging sound that almost had you throwing caution into the fucking wind and pulling him in for a kiss just like that. 

“I think I could use a helping hand”, you said instead, voice sounding more breathless than it probably should. “You know, with the drinks.” 

His lip quirked up at that, the indication of a smile that you were much too familiar with already. You swallowed. This man should not have this effect on you. But he did, and well, who were you to argue with god’s gifts? 

“I’ve always got a free hand for you, sweetheart”, he chuckled, his fingertips dancing across your upper arm. You sucked in a breath. 

He’d flirted with you before, yes. But ever since Tuesday, he’d taken it up a notch. You’d have expected something like this from Hangman, surely, but not from Rooster. Sweet Rooster. 

Not so sweet after all. 

“You’re unbelievable”, you muttered, shaking your head and looking down (a mistake, in hindsight, because that meant you were staring right down at his abs) to escape his eyes on yours.

“What, you don’t like these hands?”, he asked with a grin, his finger snaking just below the hem of your sleeve before he pulled back, holding his hands up in front of you and turning them around - palm facing you, back facing you, palm facing you. You could’ve slapped him. 

The thing was that he had really fucking nice hands. And you didn’t usually notice that. But his were big, his fingers long, so goddamn perfect on your waist, your jaw - useful too, you could imagine. 

“I like those hands carrying the drinks out”, you quipped. “Think the guys can make do without you for a few minutes?” 

He didn’t even take a look at the squad before raising his eyebrows. 

“Sure they can.”

You couldn’t help the grin on your lips as you turned and walked up to the Hard Deck, passing by Penny (with that annoying smile that told you She knew, she knew, she knew), only leaning down to tell her you were getting the squad some drinks before you were pushing open the door, stepping behind the bar and getting out a tray. You set it down on the wooden bar top, put a bunch of shot glasses onto it and got out a bottle of vodka, only looking up when you heard Rooster laugh.

“And here I thought I was getting my hands dirty after all.” 

You snorted, resting your palms against the edge of the bar and leaning closer over to him. It was dark, light barely flooding in through the windows with the shades down, especially with your sunglasses on, and you really should have taken them off, but the sweet advantage of Rooster not knowing where you were looking was a bit too sweet to give up just yet. 

He looked good even in this dim light. One arm on the bar top, his face turned to you, his sunglasses still up high in his hair. Usually he’d hook them into his shirt, but - well, he wasn’t wearing one. A layer of sweat was covering his entire torso, droplets dripping down his neck. 

“You” - you pointed a finger at him - “are a cruel, cruel man.” 

He leaned just a bit closer, grin playing on his lips, and your breath caught in your throat as he raised a hand, prying your own sunglasses off of your face. Carefully, slowly, paying close attention to not hurting you. 

“Now is that good or bad?” 

He folded the glasses, put them down next to the tray and caught your gaze. For the first time today, you were actually looking at him. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip all on their own. If he knew about even half of the power he had over you, you were fucked. 

“Well for me”, you grinned, not daring to do anything but stare right back at him. “For me, that could be very good. Depending on what you define as good, Bradshaw.” 

“Would be beneficial if our definitions matched.” 

You let out a laugh and shook your head, finally breaking eye contact to turn around and get out another tray, another few glasses (bigger ones, this time) and a bottle of water. Drinks were well and all but the squad needed actual fluids in their systems that weren’t alcohol and as far as you knew them, they had not brought enough to even last them much more than a few hours.

“You’re a menace, Bradshaw, is what you are. And now help me get these drinks out.” 

You grabbed one tray, grabbed the bottle of vodka and maneuvered everything out from behind the bar, towards the door. Your pulse was a bit too quick, your breathing a bit too shallow, but you were fine considering what had just gone down. Considering you’d been in here alone with Bradley goddamn Bradshaw, the literal finest man on the whole planet, and had managed not to throw yourself at him. Even after what had happened Tuesday. Even after knowing just how heavenly he felt close to you. Even with how horribly obviously he’d been flirting today. 

You had hardly taken two steps away from the bar top when you were tugged back - an arm around your waist, the tray wobbling dangerously. You put the bottle of vodka down on the bar, hard, much too forcefully, to keep everything from clattering to the ground. You were good at your job, yes, but not even you could keep a tray of close to fifteen shot glasses safely on your arm when someone was purposefully tripping you up.

“Shit, you can’t just do that!”, you cursed, carefully steadying the tray and putting it down as well before you looked up at Rooster. He’d let go of you, but he didn’t seem guilty or regretful in the slightest, that grin still on his lips. 

“You really want to leave me here without making use of these hands?”, he muttered, so close to you now that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. You wanted to be mad at him. You so, so badly wanted to be. But he was making it way too hard. 

“With what those hands did already”, you hissed, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t know if I want to find out whether the rest of what they can do is just as destructive.” 

He laughed, his hands back on your waist again suddenly, fingers splayed across your skin (the shirt was really, really thin after all and you felt like you were on fire wherever he touched you), pulling you flush against his front. Your palms came up to his chest to steady yourself and you sucked in a breath - sweaty skin beneath your fingertips, well-defined abs against your stomach. Most definitely god’s gift. Shit. 

“Changed your mind that quickly?”, he hummed, thumb tracing the hem of your bikini bottoms over your shirt. “Think I can recall you being very eager to find out two days ago.” 

“You kept track?”, you asked breathlessly, the question sarcastic but your tone - sadly - outing just how affected you were by all this. By his closeness, his touch, his words. Oh, you were down bad. He chuckled. 

“For such a pretty girl like you? Always.” 

He held you just a little tighter, pulled you just a little closer. You hadn’t thought it was possible. 

“Bradley”, you whispered, and something in his expression changed like a switch had been flicked in his mind. His fingertips dug into your hips. 

“Say that again.” 

You didn’t think your mind had ever been this absolutely blank as you looked at him, rolled his words around in your head, your lips parted and your eyes wide. 

“Bradley”, you repeated - had you ever said his name before? On Tuesday you’d kissed him, sure, but you’d both been tipsy and it had been 1am and you were pretty sure you’d called him ‘Roos’, even with his hands pinning you to his Bronco and your arms crossed behind his neck. “Kiss me again.”