#War/FemReader

[dani-onearth]

Merciful & Misnamed [2]

Kylo Ren x fem reader

[Part One] - Part Two - [Part Three] - [Part Four] - [Part Five] Summary: Power was supposed to erase you from his mind, but you're still here, looking at him like the boy he used to be. You were supposed to hate him enough that he could live with it, but you whispered his name like you never stopped saying it. And he can't stop hearing it. Warnings: More angst! Strong language. Word Count: 4.37k Authors note: Read part one for context! I think you could read this (or part one) as a standalone fic, but reading them together would make for a much more nuanced story. Thank you to everyone who read my first one, and thank you to everyone who is here now. This has been so much fun. I'm glad I'm writing again!

The metal slab in your cell was starting to create a kink in your neck. You’d been using your jacket as a pillow and you think you would rather have a rock. If only you had appreciated those nights on the Resistance ship when you drew the short straw to sleep in the booth. No one would trade with you, not even for half of a dinner ration. It was lumpy and old, itchy and stained... but what you wouldn’t give for a booth right now.

This slab was too cold. The air was too dry. You were too thirsty. 

Just as you found a comfortable position and your mind was drifting off, the loud buzz from the door had you sit up. There stood a stormtrooper with restraints. He didn’t seem the type to respond well if you asked him for five more minutes. So you dragged your feet over to him and held out your hands. A real model prisoner. 

You didn’t even ask where you were going as you stepped down the same sterile hallway with humming lights. Your breath hitched as you passed the execution hall, even after you’d been taken past it. 

You approach familiar doors. You’d been brought here on your first day for interrogation. They slide open the same way and the room is as sterile as you remember it. Empty, save for the single restraint chair bolted to the middle of the floor and a figure standing just beyond it, cloaked in black.

Kylo Ren doesn’t move when the guards bring you in and seal you into the magnetic cuffs. The guards leave promptly, like they had been warned not to stick around. 

“You’re late.” He spoke, like you had a choice. 

You rolled your eyes. “Traffic.”

He turns, slowly approaching you. His steps echo, but he stays far enough.

“I was told you were uncooperative when they brought you in.”

You can only sneer. “I didn’t realize you were looking for cooperation, I thought this was a kidnapping.”

He takes a couple steps forward. “Your squad was larger than our intel suggested. I’m looking for information.”

You laugh at him, letting it cut a little louder than it really needed to. “Why? Planning to wipe out another outpost so you can sleep better in your giant sad-boy helmet?”

“They’ll die either way. You can spare them unnecessary pain. Or not. It makes no difference to me.”

“I think it does make a difference.” You lean forward as far as the restraints will let you, shoulders tense against the hold. “Because if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here locked up in your little torture recliner. Have you run out of prisoners?”

His helmet shifts. “I requested you.”

“You asked for me personally. That’s cute.” You lay back, looking away from him in indifference, pushing a dry laugh from your throat.

But he steps close. Too controlled. His boots dragged across the floor. “You talk like you know me.” His words slide across your skin.

“I did.”

A pause, and the air flickered. “He’s dead.”

You don’t flinch. You watch his reflection in the steel wall instead of the void where his face should be. “Don’t act like I don’t know what's under all that metal. I think you forgot… I can feel you.”

He stills.

“Not the way people on this ship can. I’m not one of your soldiers who trip over themselves trying to avoid eye contact. I can really feel you. Through whatever’s still tethered between us.” His shoulder ticks and the room gets smaller. He’s quiet. And you look directly at him now. “I know why I’m here, and it’s not because I have intel you don’t already know. I still take up space in your head. I still feel like something you never managed to bury.” He moves again, circling like a predator. “You’re not here for answers, Kylo. You’re trying to shove me in a box to label me as your enemy so you can pretend I was never more than that.”

His gloved hands curl at his side. “You were never more than that.”

The words felt like a slap to the face, but you didnt let it show. You shake your head. “I didn’t think of you as a liar.”

He crosses the last few feet in long, quick, dangerous strides. He loomed over you now and the shadow of him swallowed your chair and most of your breath with it. “Don’t confuse my patience for affection. You are here because I allowed it. You aren’t tethered to me—you’re restrained to a chair. You think you’re clever but I could tear your mind apart with one breath.” He leans down, his voice just a rattling mechanical whisper in your ear. “I’m going to get what I need from you.”

You raised your head up, getting as close to his mask as you could without touching it. “No.”

You could feel his breath through the vents of his mask. "You think you're strong enough to resist me? I’ll take what I want.” A quiet rage in every syllable. 

“You can try.”

His gloved hand raises and he takes a single step back; you brace yourself. It hovered just in front of your temple, the air between you buzzed. The pressure coiled around your mind, starting behind your eyes and scratching at your thoughts like claws. You grit your teeth, jaw clenched against the invasion. 

Flashes, names, your squad, your missions, the maps, the meetings… All of it shoved to the front of your brain against your will and your whole body tensed. But you shoved it back behind a locked door and wrapped barbed wire around them. 

He faltered, stumbled. Then, he grunted, deep and low, and reached even harder as he tried to break the dam. Your head rang as you screamed out, arms shaking in the restraints. 

“Tell me what I want to know.” 

“You think this proves you’re stronger?” You gasped out the words, voice cracking in restraint. “You're not looking for answers. You just want to win.”

His fingers twitched. “I already have.” You locked eyes with him and your anger twisted sharply into grief. “You’re here. In my chains. In my hands.”

You held the line as best you could. Your face contorted. You could feel him digging and pulling at every thread and it was then you decided to let go. 

Just a single thread. One disobedient memory you would allow to unspool.

The large hand that held yours was clammy in this humidity, but you felt the coolness of the lake nearby. You were almost there. Your stifled giggles meshed with his, running across roots and hills, quickly looking behind you in case you two were seen running off like school children. You two slipped through the shadows, feeling electric, barefoot across damp grass. He kept his pace beside you, too tall for stealth, shoulders brushing as you dipped under branches and vaulted over logs.

The lake broke through the trees; the secret spot was entirely still until you got closer. It glowed from beneath. A cool cyan light rippled under the surface. Veins in glass. Thin lily-like flowers floated along the shore. You both stopped, gasping for air, cheeks flushed and skin dewy with sweat.

Ben's hand yanked yours before you could even think about it, running straight for the water.

You weren’t supposed to. It was freezing, but you didn’t care and neither did he. His grin turned boyish as he splashed you, chased you in circles, and you yelped when he pulled you in. You played and let your mind go blank. Jedi didn’t get to be children and you had forgotten how good it felt to be weightless.

You laughed when he dove under, his dark hair plastered to his face when he came back up. You smiled with your whole face and he thought—Stars, I’m done for.

When you both collapsed on the mossy bank, soaked and breathless, your arms touched. Neither of you moved. He listened to your breathing and you pretended not to watch his lips. The moonlight caught the curve of his jaw and slivered across his cheek. His soaked tunic clung to his chest. His rapid pulse was visible in his neck. This wasn’t in the training. Not meditation or sparring or study… you weren't supposed to feel this. You weren’t supposed to crave the closeness of somebody... but he was so warm and all you could think about was how his hands pulled at your waist underwater.

Ben made you dizzy.

He shifted first. Just a few inches, but your heart tried not to leap out of your chest. The Force had always hummed softly between you two, but now it was swelling. It was thick and charged and it pulled at you. It was tangling, feeding off the proximity. It was changing. Even the brush of his fingers against yours felt like static. He watched your eyes, your mouth, the rise and fall of your chest. You made him nervous.

You, of all people. Someone who had always looked at him like he was just a person—not Solo’s kid, not a Skywalker, not a name in someone else's brooding shadow.

And over the rustle of trees, the chirps of the forest, the rhythm of the water reaching the shore, there was a low whisper. His voice barely audible, like he was telling you a secret.

“I’m in love.”

You didn’t ask with who.

You didn’t have to.

The moss beneath your back turned to cold metal. The warmth faded and the night vanished. The stars. The glow. His voice. You blinked at the tall ceilings of the enclosed room, the memory still clinging to your skin so much you would swear your clothes were still damp.

But Kylo Ren was standing much further away then you remember—rigid and silent, like a statue carved to represent fury. So you didn’t look at him. It would make it harder to pretend like showing him that didn’t gut you.

Then, something in the air snapped. He moved so fast that the force shuddered around him. The chair behind him rattled and sparks flew from wires in the wall. “You think that was funny?”

You didn’t answer.

“I should kill you for that.” He said, keeping more of a distance than before. A more intimidating stance took over his posture.

Your voice faltered, but your eyes were sharp, even if they were lined with tears. “But you won't.”

The room pulsed with power. For a moment, you thought he’d crush the walls in on you both. 

“GUARDS.” The word cracked like thunder and the doors opened quickly, boots stomped in but he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Get her out of my sight.”

They unclipped your restraints and dragged you toward the door, but you caught a final glimpse at him—shoulders back, shaking, and something ugly that was burning his posture—and then the door shut. Behind it; a crash. Metal tearing. Something shattering.

Kylo Ren shattering.

The moment the cell door closes, all that's left with you is the dim hum of the ship and a hollow ache in your ribs. You sink down on the metal slab and don’t even think about the stiffness of it. The cold doesn’t faze you. You barely notice it right now. 

The restraints had left a ring around your wrists—raw and pink. An open wound hand formed by the knuckle of your wrists, right where the bone juts out beneath the skin. The angry gash has blood already crusted under the torn seam of your sleeve, and you peel the fabric back just enough to look at it.

Hours drag by in silence, each one stretching longer than the last. Your nightly ration clatters through the slot, breaking the monotony with the hollow wrinkle of the wrapping. You stare at it, untouched, for what could be another hour, maybe more. 

You’re hungry, you just don't want to move. You’re tired, but you refuse to close your eyes. Not if it means seeing him behind your eyelids. Ben… the boy who once told you he was in love while his fingers tangled with yours. 

So what if you're feeling sorry for yourself? You’ve got nothing but time. 

The lights above you hum, and somewhere far off, you know it's him. He’s getting closer to you. Confirmed when the cell door slides open and he walks in like he owns the place.

No helmet. 

Ben Solo stands in your cell, shoulders tense and assertive. He was here to prove a point. 

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice is low and poisonous. “You had no right showing me that.” 

He looked down on you as you still lay flat on the slab. “You should've stayed out of my head, then.”

He steps closer, now standing above you, nostrils flaring. “That night wasn’t yours to use against me.”

“That night was ours.”

He turns away, pacing a sharp line. His hands curled so sharply the leather moaned. “You think I wanted to see that again? You think I wanted to remember something that never should've happened?”

“No, but I think you needed to.” You sat up quickly, watching him unravel as the heat rolled off of him in waves of anger. Maybe it was confusion. Either way, he was boiling under this memory, footsteps tracking tension in his march.

“Don’t pretend this was for me.”

“You were the one who came into my head looking for something.” You tutted forward, antagonizing him.

“You weaponized it. You used it. Something real—something I—” But he doesn't finish the sentence. His eyes just flash, his jaw tightens, his pacing stops and his stance faces you. “Ben is dead.”

“Yeah.” You murmur. “You mentioned that.”

His breath shifts like the air around you and you feel a spark of that barely-contained Force power again. It was humming in your sternum like a second heartbeat; you felt the instinct clawing up his throat. 

“Stop acting like you know what I am,” he snaps. “You have no idea anymore. I didn't mean it. I never meant it"

"You can't just say that and make it true."

"Stop telling me how to feel." He almost screamed.

“I can't make you feel anything.” You say quieter, taking one step toward him. “That part’s on you, Ben.” You spit the name out, like you didn't want it to go to waste. 

He moves fast. Too fast for a regular man, until he lands right in front of you. Instinctively, you stumble back a step or two, but hold your ground nonetheless. With his breath on your face, eyes looming down into yours, you feel the rage shake through him, pulsing under all that armor. You don’t know what he wants to say, it’s caught in his throat. And the silence stretches. Your pulse thuds in your ears.

And when he finally speaks, it sounds too bare, too sudden, slipping out of a whisper he couldn’t hold back. “I hate what you do to me.”

Your breath catches and you watch his eyes lighten for a second. The force between you is a wire now—taut, soaked in heat and resistance, pulling you in ways you don’t understand anymore. You can feel his regret. His shame. How hard he’s fighting not to shut it all off.

But if nothing else, Ben is stubborn. So he steps back, leaving you to realize how cold the room feels again. His eyes flickered down and he sees your wrist. The broken skin split open and beginning to scab

“What is that?” His voice cut through the silent tension. “From earlier? You didn’t say anything.”

You look away. “Didn’t realize you were offering prisoners medical courtesy.”

He was still staring at it and his brows furrowed. His anger doesn’t vanish, but instead mutates into sourness. You expect him to turn away, storm off with his cape treading behind him with the slam of the cell door—but he takes a step back, looking at you like you had hit him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, suddenly exhausted.

He doesn't answer, but you feel it. The part of him that he swears is dead, and he’s terrified that he was wrong. It made you want to cry.

Your mouth opens, but you didn’t even know what you were about to say. Something cruel, something soft… which side of you is even winning anymore? Your throat tightens before anything comes out and he turns away.

Without a word, without a final threat, he’s gone. Silence and a sharp closing door, leaving you with just the sound of your own breathing. But something of him remains locked in there with you as you stare at the spot where he stood moments ago, still braced for the next blow, the next sharp word, the next crack in his voice that makes you question who you’re really fighting. 

You sink back slowly down the cold wall, but not because you’re tired—though you are— but you are just so unsteady. Everything inside you is making you feel claustrophobic, like you need to tear the skin right off your body. You press the palms of your hands to the cool floor to ground yourself, but your bleeding hand trembles. It stings, and you close your eyes and tip your head back, swallowing the sound rising in your chest. It stings that you saw him. Ben. The furious boy you once knew to place a flower behind your ear. You mourned him and hated that you wished he was mourning you too.

You don’t even know what you were trying to accomplish when you spoke to him the way you did. To hurt him? Reach him? Prove you could still get under his skin? It felt like yours had been peeled back and exposed in front of him. Maybe it was all of it at once, mixed up in a muddy concoction. You’re unsure of where your defiance ends and where your grief begins and your knees curl in, the motion attempting to protect you against everything that’s happened.

Then the doors open. It’s not him.

It’s a medic, eyes glued to their tablet and the fresh blood on your wrist. They help you stand and you follow without a word, body aching with exhaustion. You’re led to the medbay in silence.

It smelled sterile, but there are sheets on this cot. Cushioned under a fluorescent light, and you were allowed to lie down on it. They fix your wrist, take your vitals, and offer you water. You drink and even thank them. Before they are finished with you, your eyes had gotten heavy.

The bandage is snug around your wrist. The medic says something, maybe about your vitals, or dosage, but it just swims past your ears and you sink into the cots padding. The hum of the medbay is steady, like breathing. The brightness of the lights behind your lids are replaced by something softer... moonlight. You can almost hear it. The bubbles of laughter in your head bleeds into an echo of another sound. Water lapping against your torso.

In the cold corridor, just outside, polished boots slow to a stop. He doesn't ask for a report. The medic steps out and see’s him already standing there, still in all black, no mask. 

“Her wound has been taken care of.” The medic says. “We will return her to her cell immediately, sir.”

“No,” he says calmly, maybe even softly before he fixes his tone. “She needs to be well rested before further interrogation.”

That didn't make sense and he knew it. What kind of prisoner gets treated in the enemies clinic for a cut? Allowed a pillow and time to sleep on it?

“Of course, sir.” The medic excuses themselves anyway, leaving Kylo with the steady pulse of the machinery next to the slow rhythm of your resting breath. 

He’s just inside, far, but just far enough that he can see your face clearly. Your brows relaxed in your sleep, lashes places against your cheeks. The cot is too small and the light was too harsh and the bandage was too fresh. 

He should leave. 

There’s no logic in staying.

But his feet won’t move.

You shift slightly, his eyes following each flicker of movement—studying the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your hand, the bruise along your collarbone where the restraints had caught you too roughly. He had put those there.

She’s a liability. A threat to his power. A living part of his past he has to silence.

But standing there, unmasked, silent, and lonely, the truth scrapes at his bones. Because… you're not a threat—he is. 

The echo of the memory sat on his chest. He can still see you in that lake, feel the ghost of your laughter in his ribs. Your fingers in his. Your voice when you whispered to him.

And his jaw clenches, he looks down at his gloved hands like they don’t belong to him. He’s killed for far less than what he’s feeling now. But he still doesn’t leave.

His eyes scan you again, more carefully this time. Your fingertips twitch in your sleep and your lips part slightly. Your chest rises and falls in a human rhythm.

You were never more than that, he said to you, bitterly. But of course you were. More.

He takes a step closer, stopping before it becomes betrayal toward himself. 

Your mouth stirs with a sound… his name, broken and quiet. He almost reaches for your hand. He almost brushes a strand of hair back from your cheek. He almost forgets who he has become. 

He can only watch you for one more breath, maybe two, maybe three, four, until it hurts to stay. Until it hurts to leave. But he turns, silently and carefully, just slipping out into the hallway. One more shadow in a ship that’s full of them.

He stepped inside his quarters—the tomb he built for himself. Barren and silent. He stripped himself of his cloak, letting it fall, forgotten on the floor. Each movement was automatic as he shed the diseased items. But the real armor was stitched into his skin now, and he had to sleep in it. 

He sat on the edge of his bed that was too wide for just one person. His heart was dull, thick, aching. He wished you had just screamed at him, fought him, spit at him in a way he could ignore and prove himself mighty. He wished he could have let you die. Years ago. Yesterday. Today. He wished could just follow his prerogative and cut ties with all this worldly emotion. 

He was a killer. He was a monster.

If Ben is dead, then who is he when she’s living in his mind? 

Of all things, you showed him that. That night, still impossibly carved in his head in some distant corner he shoved away. A warm feeling he thought he had obliterated. A version of their hands laced together, you looking at him like the galaxy wasn’t trying to kill you both. 

He leaned back, spine pressed against the thick blanket until he was staring at the windowed ceiling. The stars reminded him of the lake that night and his hand twitched at his side, remembering the phantom of your own hand resting there once. 

“I’m in love,” he had said. Soft and boyish. Exposed in how it sounded.

And you smiled at him. “Me too.”

He swore the world bent in your direction in that moment and his mind empties at just the way you were hangin on his every movement. His mind went quiet, maybe for the first time in his life, all the noise just stopped. Everything went away and it felt like wet clothes and a warm shoulder so close to his body he shuddered.

The wind slowed even the glowing water seemed to dim and still itself, kneeling to you and him, opening its rippling mouth to say 'look at her... she's yours... take her...'

The pull in his chest was so deep it almost hurt. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever had, and he was sure nothing else ever would. He was just Ben, and he felt special under your gaze.

You reached out, fingers brushing inside his wrist, a soft entanglement. He felt the touch like a torch, a promise of something too good to deserve. His cheek pressed to the moss, nose almost brushing yours. His heart slammed against his body, loud in the quiet hum between you. The Force was no longer just connecting you, it wanted you together. It was begging him to close the distance.

How could he not love someone like you? Soft, bright, kind, dangerous in the way you made him feel selfish things. Made him crave this sort of collision against everything the Jedi warned against. Maybe with you, there was a life where he didn't have to apologize for who he was.

And right now, with your eyes half lidded and your lips jarring slightly, you weren't pushing him away. If anything, you were pulling him closer with patience and comfort. And he wanted nothing else but you.

His hand shifted ever the moss, not realizing it until his fingers touched your jaw. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone.

And you leaned in.

And he leaned in, too.

He could feel your breath, warm and steady.

Closer now, enough to make his lips part.

Enough to make his eyes slip shut. 

And then—

Nothing.

Just his eyes opening to the glass ceiling of his quarters. Empty. Solemn. Years later.

The lake was gone.

You weren't there.

He stayed still, staring blankly. His body still buzzing from the memory of his back against the moss, his hand wrapped in yours. Slowly, he raised his fingers to his mouth, just to see if there was warmth there that had lingered from all those years ago. Just to see if he could remember.

But it was gone. 

You were gone. 

Ben is dead.

That’s the only thing he had to try and remember. 

[Part Three] Note: Yeah, so what I love a slow burn? So what I love angst? Thanks for those who read my first part of this, I'm enjoying myself so much. Writing is so personal and relaxing, I'm glad I'm making time for it again. Thanks for reading!

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Does the End Justify the Means?

CX-2 (Clone Assassin) x Reader

Summary- CX-2 never planned on forming a relationship, but once he did he had to protect it. Even if it meant killing hundreds to keep you away from Hemlock.

A/N- SPOILERS FOR THE BAD BATCH FINALE. I feel like people forget that deep down, CX-2 is still a clone being forced to serve the Empire. Maybe I'm delusional though!!! MENTIONS OF BURNS AND TORTURE!!

Word Count- 5,253

"You know, CX-2. There was once a time where I considered scrapping you. The very cloning program that made you..." Hemlock started. "You were hard to control. My methods had little effect on you. Considering you had little to live for, well that didn't help."

CX-2 stood, arms crossed behind his back. He listened intently, staring at the grey border of the wall.

"You were too, hmm. Rebellious should I say?" He walked slow circles around CX-2, studying him. "That was until I found your little secret out." Hemlock laughed at his own wit. "Who knew a medic trainee would have an Assassin Clone falling so hard!" He seemed to think the situation was hilarious.

Silent, CX-2 contemplated killing Hemlock where he stood. It wasn't possible though, he was smarter than that. He probably had a weapon on his beloved as they spoke. Perhaps Scorch was with her now...

He didn't want to think about it, so he didn't. Opting to stare back at the wall again.

"Truly, I created you better than that. The problem with you clones is your loyalty. It would typically disgust me. Though, unlucky for you, this all plays out in my favor." CX-2 swallowed hard at his words.

There were not many things that scared CX-2, but the thought of Hemlock hurting you consumed him. Striking him with a never ending fear.

"You will bring me Omega. Unless, you want an accident to happen. That would be tragic, wouldn't it?" The man asked, taunting the clone. All while fiddling with his gloved hand.

For the first time in many minutes, CX-2 spoke. "I will retrieve the girl."

"Good, I do not doubt your abilities." Hemlock stepped closer, right in The Assassins face. "Dire consequences are at stake..."

CX-2 made sure his next stop was Pabu.

CX-2 had no intentions of forming any friendships, especially not a relationship. You, however, came natural to him. In one of Hemlock's attempts to have complete control over CX-2, a burn was implemented on his waist. He remembers the day vividly, as it was the first time he'd met you.

You were only on Tantiss because of your mother. She worked for the Empire as a medic, a famous doctor of some sort. While you never had the knack for the medical field, you enjoyed helping people. It was in your blood after all.

CX-2 was taken to a special room for clones of high status. You were there by sheer accident. A mishap guided you to his side.

"Uhm, hello sir." You introduced yourself. "I'll be your medic today. What's your name?" You asked, a little nervous to be assessing a clone by yourself. He wore black armor, head still covered. You'd never seen that style before, maybe he was new?

CX-2 just stared up at you, a hard gaze. Out of fear, you started to breathe a little heavier. He could have killed you there and no one would have batted an eye.

"Sir, is something the matter?" You pressed on, trying to mask yourself with professionalism.

He continued to stare, eventually pointing at the chart In your hands.

"Of course, uh. CT-4340?"

CX-2 didn't say a word, just tilted his head. You looked at him with doe eyes. "Are you CT-4340?" you hesitated.

"My code is CX-2." He commanded out, a modulated voice appearing.

You almost jumped at the sound. "I uh, seem to have the wrong chart. I am so sorry, I should get a higher official-"

Under his helmet, CX-2 resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His shoulder dropped, annoyed. This caused his side to jolt. The pain of the burn on him was strong, but he withheld any reaction.

You, on the other hand, seemed to notice the very small twitch his waist gave out. "Where are you hurt?" You asked, the words now flowing with a motive in mind.

CX-2 instinctively started unbuckling his chest piece. You flushed slightly, ashamed you couldn't be more serious in the situation. "Do you need help?" His head rose quickly, falling after looking at you for a second. He didn't respond, just continued to take his upper armor off.

Guess not...

The second you saw his skin, you suppressed a gasp. It looked gruesome, like something had repeatedly been burning him. With a deep breath, you shoved down any lasting fear.

Getting to work, you prepared bacta and bandages.

He was still, almost too still. You'd seen plenty of procedures and medics fixing up clones. There had been wincing, complaining, and fidgeting on lesser injuries. You would have expected tears and need of an anesthetic for any other man. But he was still...

You prayed you didn't hurt him more than he already was. You knew your hands were clumsy with inexperience. If you did, he made no effort to tell you nor pull away.

From then on you saw each other more and more. While your mother made sure you got plenty of experience working on clones, you were extremely busy. Never getting a second to actually talk to CX-2. A particular encounter with a clone in the hangar would change this.

You were helping a trooper with a broken arm- Simply wrapping it to prevent further injury. You crouched down, examining the break.

CX-2 was just passing by, heading to see what his next mission was. He barely took note that a soldier under his command broke an arm. Why would he? Clones die everyday, including ones under CX-2.

He did however take note of you. He recognized you immediately. He surprised himself, why would he care about some medic? He'd never remembered the ones that had worked on him in the past.

At this, he stared at you. He took in your silhouette, something deep down told him to bask in your every feature. So, he did.

Of course you felt the beaming eyes of CX-2. It made you nervous. Was there something on your face? Did you make him mad? It distracted you.

"Ow!" The clone exclaimed in pain, face screwing. He yanked his arm up. It was an accident, you were sure. A response to the pain you caused unintentionally. CX-2 didn't seem to think this when he saw the clone raise his arm to hit you.

It all happened so fast, you didn't have time to lean back or even register what was happening. The next thing you knew was that the unidentified clone was on his back. CX-2 stood over him, a vibroblade at his neck and foot on his chest.

Falling onto your butt, you gasped and regained some sense. "CX-2...."

He slowly turned around to face you. The two of you looked at each other. His hand still expertly rested centimeters from killing the clone.

Adrenaline pumping, you spoke. "it's okay. It was an accident."

He pushed the clone back with his foot, hand raising. With the vibroblade still wielded, he stormed to you. Your heart pumped viciously, though not in fear. If he was going to really hurt you, he would have let the clone hit you.

No, your heart thumped in your ears in anticipation.

He grabbed you by the forearm with his free hand, careful of the blade. He yanked you up, off of your position on the cold floor.

You briefly noticed eyes around the hangar now in your direction. You grew nervous, only at their judgmental looks.

The quickness of it all made your head spin. You stepped out, trying not to fall. His hand still gripped your arm, he stood unmoving. He let you catch your balance, just watching you.

"Excuse me, what is going on here?" A vice admiral questioned, appearing from your left.

CX-2's modulated voice said your name. It was harsh and cold, but you somehow knew it wasn't directed at you. "She is my medic."

"And? What gives you the right to attack a clone for no reason?" The admiral demanded.

CX-2 didn't like being questioned. Before you could get a single word in, CX-2 pulled you with him as he turned to leave the hangar.

"Wha-" You decided not to protest, the man was on some kind of mission. One he had made for himself the second he saw a threat to you.

He guided you two through the complex halls and levels of the lab. You were beyond lost, but he seemed to know where he was going. After a few minutes of paced walking, you stopped him.

"CX-2, where are we going? I don't want to risk getting reprimanded by the admiral." You were cautious, the smallest of complaints could get you reassigned. Tantiss was not for the faint of heart.

"You won't." He would make sure of that. He continued to walk, this time a little slower.

Finally, you found some familiarity in the halls. You noticed he was leading you to the very room you met in. The examining room for special operatives.

He pulled you into the room, making sure the door shut behind him.

"Examine me." He demanded.

You were dumbfounded, "Excuse me?"

CX-2 actually rolled his eyes this time, even when you couldn't see them. In response to your confusion, he removed his left arm's armor.

A gash that went from the top of his shoulder to before his elbow was present. "CX-2..." Your sadden voice spoke.

You didn't actually have clearance to be in that room, nor the supplies. But you worked nevertheless.

"Please, sit." You asked. He followed your instructions immediately, sitting up on the exam bed.

Just as the day you met, you retrieved bacta and med patches. You coated the wound in extra bacta, then prepared the gauze wrap.

"So," You held his arm up gently, starting to wrap it. "How did you get this? Was it your latest mission?" Your hands carefully worked, moving under his arm.

"No." Was all you heard.

"Oh, how did it happen?" You asked, trying to make conversation.

His skin twitched as a subconscious response when you smoothed over it.

"Better if you don't know." He kept his eyes on the wall ahead of him. "Sorry I asked..." You really were. He said nothing.

After a few more moments, you made sure the wrap was steady in place. "I think you're done!" You smiled at him. He dropped his arm at his side.

After, he promptly nodded, but gave little indication on what to do next.

You looked around, feeling a little awkward.

"So... What division are you from?" You tried to ease the tension.

"Project Assassin." He said, being short.

"I haven't heard of that, wha-" He inturpted you. "Tell me about you."

You blinked. You'd only seen this man a dozen times, many of those in passing. Even so, a shot of nerves flowed in you each time. There was something special about him. It was like your heart knew something your brain didn't. You weren't a child though, you knew 'love' was something of fairy tales. That there must be a perfectly rational reason you were feeling this way around him.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Though, if that were true, why did you sit up next to him and tell him everything?

From that day on, the only medic he allowed to work on him was you. The number of visits varied, depending on how evil Hemlock was feeling. CX-2 tried to hide the backstories from you as much as possible, sometimes even ignoring your questions.

Though, late at night, when he'd sneak into your room, he'd tell you the truth. At first he would listen. Anything you'd tell him, you had his full attention. Then, right before you fell asleep, he'd whisper his secrets.

He'd whisper them to the only person he ever trusted, you. Then, it was your turn to listen.

You cried for him, the pains he had went through. He was the perfect clone in your eyes. The only problem was how stubborn he was, no matter how hard Hemlock tried- you were still the only one who could persuade him.

Despite his grunts of protest, you'd just hold CX-2 some nights. Using your fingers to rake through his hair, cradling his head. You tried you best to give him the comfort he had never experienced before.

Everything was going so well. You would continue your training, he would continue his missions, and at night, you would talk and he would listen. You would spoil him with affections under the nights bask.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

The day Hemlock found out about you was the worst day of CX-2's life.

CX-2 was called in for a meeting about his next mission, something he was used to. He only received orders from the highest of officials, so seeing Hemlock or Scorch was common.

"I have... a special mission of some sort. One I cannot risk incompletion of." Hemlock began.

CX-2 stood upright, ready for instructions.

"Now, despite what we have tried to instill into you- I do not want you to listen to any other orders. I think this particular mission requires your mindset." His words didn't effect CX-2, he'd heard worse.

"One of your fellow operative has been captured. Alive. I will not accept him risking our organization."

"My orders?" CX-2 asked.

"Find and neutralize him." CX-2 nodded at his words.

"You have 48 hours to kill him." Hemlock walked up to CX-2, arms folded behind his back. "If you fail, that...medic... you are so fond of? She will reap the consequences of what you sow."

It was impossible to cover up the way CX-2 breath hitched. If he didn't have a helmet on, Hemlock would see his eyebrows scrunch in anger.

"Yes, that's right. I know about her." Hemlock said, his voice mocking. "Oh, don't fret my little assassin. She will remain unharmed, that is... unless you fail your duty..."

"I trust you will locate him and rid the republic of any information?" Hemlock taunted.

"Yes sir."

How? How did Hemlock find out about you? He was so careful... He immediately headed to your quarters. Damned everyone else, he pushed through crowds and odd stares.

He banged on the door, fist closed. If you hadn't opened in the next 10 seconds, he'd shoot the door down.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." You 'tsked.'

"Oh, CX-2." You breathed out once you opened the door. Unsure if he was there for pleasantries or business.

He shoved his way past you, pressing the button to close the door shut.

"Wha-" He stormed around your rooms, it was quick considering there were only two. A bedroom and bathroom.

He held his blaster up as he checked every crevice of the room. His eyes glanced back at you quickly to make sure you were still there and alive.

"CX-2." You raised your voice. His head shot your way. "What's happened? You're scaring me..."

He paced up to you, removing his helmet as he walked. "He knows about us." Was all he managed out, throwing his helmet to the floor in favor of grabbing your cheeks gently.

Your face dropped, heart pounding in your ears. "How? I don't understand!" You started to breathe heavily.

"I just had to make sure you were safe." His gloved hands felt cool on your hot skin.

Your mind wandered, what would they do?

"I have to leave now." He said, dropping his hands. "No, wait. You can't just drop that bomb and leave!" You had so many questions, and you didn't want to be left alone freighted.

"I do not have time, if I don't complete my mission he will kill you." Your blood ran cold. "I am so sorry I brought you into this. I should have never stepped between you and that clone." He readied himself to exit the room, turning and putting his helmet back on.

"CX-2!" His shoulders dropped, he stood silent. You walked around to face him.

He let you reach your hands up and lift his helmet off. "I'm not upset at you. I only want more time..."

"I can't."

"I know." At your last words, you pulled him down by the collar of his blacks. Now level, you kiss him. Scared it would be your last.

The few seconds your lips touched felt like an eternity. All the time you needed with him...

Eventually, he pulled away. "I-"

"I know... please be safe..." You asked only one thing of him.

He nodded, placing his helmet back on snug. He then walked out your door, your thoughts consumed with wishes of his safety.

CX-2 would fulfill his mission, killing the compromised Operative. Though, that was only the first time he'd have to leave your grasp to keep you alive...

CX-2 reminded himself why he was currently headed to Pabu. 'Dire consequences are at stake' echoed in his mind.

He would capture Omega. He had no care for the innocent people he might have to kill. In his eyes, all of his actions were justified in the name of your well-being.

He never told you of his endeavors, now being sent on more gruesome missions than ever. He knew you'd be disappointed in him, but he also knew he had to always protect you. No matter the cost.

While expertly leading a fleet of soldiers, the only thing that let CX-2 think straight was you. He filled his mind with memories of your laughter. Of the times you begged him to choose a real name, even when he protested. When you first touched, when you first kissed.

He worried for you until the second he had Omega tied up on his ship.

Even after, he was anticipating his reunion with you. He had the girl, he had what Hemlock wanted. He could see you again.

And he did... Hemlock was consumed with his experiments and testing on Omega. So much he that didn't bother CX-2 for a few days. Oh, it was bliss.

The time you shared reminded you of before anyone knew you were together. You both still had your duties as clone and medic, but spent any free time with each other.

You laid in your bed, a glance at the clock scolded you for being up so late. You paid little mind to it, just enjoying the feeling of CX-2's arms around you.

With your head now buried in his chest, you let your hands wander. Slipping under the top portion of his blacks. He used to shiver reluctantly when you felt his skin, now it seemed like second nature.

You loved tracing his scars, the texture consuming you. While they were painful memories, they were treated with love and tenderness. He looked at his scars and thought of you, how you took care of him so nicely and delicately. Not Hemlock.

A light flickered from his panel brace. The one that rested on your nightstand. It lit up the room, and CX-2 immediately reached for it. he pulled away from you, but was careful to keep a connection with his leg still feeling you.

"I have to go." He said, standing to put his arm and chest armor back on.

While he was always quick and determined when hearing from Hemlock or Scorch, he was frantic here.

"Did something happen?"

"Nothing, do not stress. I love you." He gave you a quick kiss on the lips, and an affectionate rub of your thigh before putting his helmet on and leaving.

You sighed and leaned back when the door closed again. This was slowly becoming the new normal for you. You still savored every spare second you had together...

Just as you rolled over to fall asleep, the door opened. "Did you forg-" You jumped up, almost hitting your head on the baseboard of the bed. It was Scorch.

"Come with me. Now." He grabbed your arm and pulled you rough out of bed.

"Excu-"

"You are under arrest until further assessment." He forcefully put you in handcuffs.

You tried to resist, but put up no real fight in comparison to the trained clone. He grew tired of you and stunned you with his blaster.

You fell unconscious.

"You activated me?" CX-2 asked over Comms, like he would in any other situation.

"It seems we have another problem with our favorite girl." Hemlock said.

Omega...

"You see, she has managed to escape with the other children. Did I mention she also freed the zillo beast?"

CX-2 listened intently, not moving a muscle.

"You have been the only operative capable of capturing Omega thus far. I will see that you will find her again. Before she finds some way to leave the planet." CX-2 could hear the frustration in Hemlocks voice. It made him flicker a smile.

"Affirmative."

"Oh, and as a little motivater, I think it would serve you well to know your medic is currently held up in a cell." Hemlock went radio silent, leaving CX-2 to head to the exposed section of the base. The hole the Zillo beast left, and the way Force 99 was headed.

Your head throbbed, vision a little blurry. Raising your head from the cold of the floor, you noticed you were in a cell.

The room spun around before you sat up. Your whole body ached. Not to mention the confusion you were feeling.

Looking around, you saw other prisoners lining the walls. You knew exactly where you were. The hall where all the traitors and experimental clones were kept.

Were they going to experiment on you too? Was CX-2 okay? Did something happen to him that made Hemlock finally get you?

The building shook with a loud boom, it did nothing to help your nerves. It sounded like some kind of cannon went off.

"You okay?" A clone asked in the cell across from you.

"I don't know..."

With the effort and passion of a man whose entire reason for living was at risk, CX-2 and the other Clone Assasins were able to capture the rouge clones.

With his blaster barred in his hands, CX-2 guarded the three prisoners. He was occupied with the thought of what The Empire was doing to you.

You must have been so scared in a cell... He knew you didn't like small spaces. With his new fury, he closed his fist, doing yet another round of the platform they were on.

Boredom was unable to strike you, anxieties kept you busy. Your mind ran wild with the possibilities of CX-2. For a moment you questioned if he had just abandoned you as a whole, but quickly shunned yourself for bringing it up.

CX-2 loved you, and wouldn't dare leave you to rot.

"Look!" A clone yelled out, just as you saw a small girl and a storm trooper running by.

What were they doing?

They crept around the corner, swiftly blasting and taking out 2 storm troopers in the process. The girl got to work on the main computer that operated the cells.

"Hey kid, whats going on?" Someone asked.

"We're breaking you out."

Seconds later, your cell door opened. You slowly walked out, unsure what to do. What would CX-2 do in a situation like this? He'd probably tell you to keep your head down and blend in. Stay out of trouble, 'for his sake.'

You did just that, creeping out of the cell and hiding within the groups of clones.

Apparently, the 'storm trooper' was a clone, so was the girl. They were on a mission to free their three brothers, recruiting clones as they did so.

Was this the big mission CX-2 was called to? To capture the people they were here to rescue?

"We've checked all the cells, they aren't here."

You knew where they probably were... The training room. The very room that tortured and left your beloved marked. You didn't dare say a word. As much as you hated Hemlock and his 'methods,' worse things would happen if CX-2 failed his mission...

"Well... they could be in the training room." Damn, another clone had though the same as you.

They decided to head there, a few turning for an easier escape.

What should you do? Warn CX-2? You weren't raised as a soldier, you had no training. No fighting experience. You knew how to save and help, not attack and kill.

A small hand was rested on your arm, the girl from earlier. "Hi, I'm Omega."

You looked down to her. "I know it's kind of scary, but we have to fight for what's right.." If only she knew your true intentions...

"You're right... i'll come with you..." All you wanted was to find CX-2.

So, you did. Following them to the training room, they planned an attack from the lower circle.. You, however, had a new idea. To come in through the main balcony. The one that led directly to Force 99.

You managed to sneak away and climb the steps that brought you to the main doors.

"Hey, you! Are you supposed to be here?" A trooper stopped you.

"Yes sir," You gave him your chain code, "I am a medic. Hemlock has requested my services in the Training room." You lied, faking a confidence you never had.

"I never heard about Hemlock ever needing a medic in the training room..."

"Well if you want to ask him, while the Zillo beast is one the loose, he has new prisoners, and while his top experiment is lost- Be my guest. I just don't think he'd be very happy with you questioning his methods." You crossed your arms behind your back, something you'd seen CX-2 do many times.

"Fine." He moved out of your way, letting you head to your destination.

You walked to the door, ready to put your mother's clearance codes in. With a steam they opened, leaving you to witness a terrible sight.

The 3 captured clones were out, fighting. You got there in time to see the big clone burst out of the glass, tackling a special operative.

With the sound of the door, the man with a bandana looked your way. Along with CX-2, who rose swiftly upon seeing you. You distracted him long enough for the clone without a hand to blast him in his side.

You gasped as you watched CX-2 fall in your direction.

With an electrospear in his hand, the bandana man stepped to him. He only managed to zap him once before you ran in.

"No!" Your scream pierced out, you threw yourself onto CX-2. Using your body to cover his.

You didn't care if you died then and there, at least you'd die in CX-2's arms. You'd at least die together...

"No, don't!" You squeezed your eyes shut, prepared for a shock that never came. You felt a weak hand raise from under you to grip your clothes.

Tears streamed down your face violently. Pattering on CX-2's armor.

"You do realize the crimes he has committed..." The man panted out, he was also wounded.

"Please, it was for me... It was all for me..." You sobbed out. "Hemlock threatened my life..." You buried your head in his neck, holding him tightly.

"Hunter, no. We should kill them both now." The handless man spoke.

The man you assumed to be Hunter didn't have time to respond.

"I swear we wont follow you... Hemlock is probably on his way to his private ship... I swear..." Your words were muffled but they understood well enough.

"We are wasting time, lets go." Hunter commanded, the two of them left.

You gave out a whimper, "CX-2... Please... Stay with me." You pried his helmet off. He was in a rough state.

His eyes struggled to focus on one thing, but he still tried to find your face. "It'll be okay, just let me grab a med pack." You went to pull away, but he gripped you tighter.

"Let me.. hold," He coughed, "You.."

"You are not going to die on me. You wouldn't do that to me, would you?" You tried to joke. He shook his head, 'no.'

"Then let me do my job, and help you." He still held you tightly. "Please... you deserve to live..." He let you go.

It was only half a minute, you grabbed a medics kit that was nearby and began patching him up.

Making quick work of taking his armor and blacks off. It reminded you of the first time you'd done this to him. A very similar wound on his waist.

You forced him a pill, and squeezed out as much bacta as you could from its packet.

"Can you roll over for me, baby?" You asked, helping him get on his side.

He complied as much as he could, and you were able to patch up his other side.

"Okay, this will hold you over. I know the closest procedure room, a droid can give you a proper examination." You helped him stand, an arm under his own to keep his balance.

"You'll be okay, we'll be okay..." You whispered praises and words of affirmation to him. The walk was extremely painful for him, you could tell he was hiding most of it from you.

Lucky for both of you, a droid was able to identify where the blast was and give him a proper cleaning of the wound.

He was still woozy, but forced himself to stand. "We have to go. Tarkin is on his way.." CX-2 strained out. He was stubborn and refused any medication that would cloud his mind.

"W-where? Your ship?" You were scared, not just for CX-2, but your futures as well.

He pressed a few buttons on his panel brace as you picked up his helmet.

"Turn left." He instructed you all the way to his ship, even with the pain starting to blur his vision.

The two of you somehow managed to make it to his ship, you opened the door with his panel brace and sat him in the co-pilot's seat.

You clicked away, starting the ship up. Though, you did need some guidance from him.

You had never flown a ship before, but knew you had to take the risk to save CX-2. It was wobbly, but you raised the ship and let Auto-Pilot blast you into hyperspace. It had a set of coordinates in, ones you didn't know the location of.

A groan made you turn to your lovers direction, you were at his side immediately. Crouching down you spoke, "Hey, its okay... We're far away. You can take the pain medication, its just us two."

He peaked open an eye to look at you, his face barred disappointment in himself. Almost like he was a lesser man if he took the meds.

"Take them. If not for yourself, for me." You pulled them from your pocket. He did take them, minutes later he felt the relief.

You took another look at his wound, it was stable for now. You figured that he would need a cleaning and new bandages in a few hours. Hopefully his medkit was fully equipped on his ship. If it was, you'd be able to last many days without needing to land.

You stood, pulling his head to your breast. "Shhh, rest now. We are both safe."

He truly did feel safe in your arms, like he didn't have to always be on guard. A huge change from his normal. One he'd hoped he could live out with you for the rest of his life...

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I got a little carried away with this one... I just had to get this idea written down!!!

Tags-(lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss @dangraccoon

[zoeykallus]

Hello there! I hope you’re having a wonderful day or evening, depending on when you see this :)

I was wondering if you’d do a HC of how the batch reacts to being called the fem!readers husband! Whether for an undercover mission or they’re actually married is totally up to you! So sorry if you’ve already done this one and I just didn’t see it!

Lots of love

~💜

Aloha! No, I have not done this before. At least not that I can remember... 🤔🤔

I think, I smell some fun...

The Bad Batch x fem!reader HCs - The Husband

Fluff/Comfort/Slightly Suggestive/Tech's Part Is Angsty

__________

Initial situation:

You two are not yet a couple, but you have feelings for each other. Sometimes you flirt and generally enjoy spending time together. While running errands together on a market, you are approached by a vendor.

"Hello, such a pretty couple! Can I perhaps interest you and your husband in some of my goods? We have exquisite exotic fruits with aphrodisiac effects."

Hunter

You hear a nervous little giggle from Hunter. You smile yourself, feeling your cheeks get hot. The way you keep smiling at each other, and the way you interact with each other, it was only a matter of time before someone mistook you for a couple.

Hunter clears his throat sheepishly and says, "Um, we're not married."

"But a couple for sure," the merchant says with conviction.

You shake your head, "No, not a couple either."

The merchant blinks.

"But you'd like to be one!" he insists.

Hunter nervously tugs at his bandana and says, "Well, that may be so"

You look at him in surprise; until now, you've never addressed this tingling tension between you.

Your eyes meet, then you both look shyly in another direction.

The merchant grins, "Ah, I see, shy huh? My fruits can change that."

You chuckle and say braver than you feel, "Okay, what would you recommend to two shy idiots like us who don't dare?"

You feel Hunter staring at you, but he doesn't contradict you, he comes closer and watches curiously as the merchant shows and explains some of the exotic fruits to you. Finally, you look at him and you both grin.

The merchant wraps a few of them for you and as he hands you the bag he says, "Come by as soon as you are a couple, my wife has a wonderful catering service for the wedding party."

Echo

His first reaction is a confused, "Huh?

"I just asked your wife if you two might be interested in my fruit."

Echo looks at you and you at him. You see his ears turn red, but he doesn't contradict the merchant.

He likes to cook, in general he likes to prepare food, it's a kind of hobby, and he's very good at it. Which you also mention to the merchant.

"Oh, a man with class, you are lucky".

You laugh softly and say, "Echo, take a look, maybe you can find some fruit for a stimulating dessert?"

Echo comes closer and says dryly, "Well, um, just the two of us will eat that, won't we?"

"Of course," you say with a soft laugh.

You buy some of the fruit and the merchant calls after you, "Recommend me further if you are satisfied."

After a while you say quietly laughing, "Husband and wife."

Echo murmurs, "Doesn't sound so bad"

"Hmm?"

"Oh nothing"

Wrecker

He laughs heartily, playfully pulls you close to him and squeezes you against his side.

"My little wifey and I are always interested in culinary delicacies," he says happily, playing along with the game.

You are so caught off guard at first that you just smile dumbly and try to process what is happening.

Wrecker is chatting heartily with the merchant, getting advice, picking out some fruit, and smiling at you all the while. He seems so adorably cheerful that you wouldn't even dream of admonishing him or correcting the mix-up.

Again and again, he winks at you mischievously, as if you were both about to play a prank. You're not quite sure what Wrecker thinks about you or you two together. But for now, you're enjoying this little game.

As you both finally walk away from the stand with a bag of fruit, he looks at you, he's grinning, his ears are red, and he says conspiratorially, "Funny, isn't it, that he thought we were a couple? Hey, should we maybe go to that little grove you like so much? The fruits are good for a picnic."

Your heart races.

"Wrecker, you know what aphrodisiac means, right?"

"Um, no, should I?"

You sigh, but you smile at him as you explain.

"It increases libido, sexual readiness, the desire to be intimate."

His eyes get big.

"Oooooh," he says stretched, after a brief pause he asks mischievously, "So, shall we go to the grove?"

Tech

His holopad is hanging on his belt for once, his attention was completely on you today, and you enjoy it to the fullest. It does not surprise you that one believes you for a couple. The way you look at him, and he smiles shyly at you, it is bound to happen sooner or later.

Tech adjusts his goggles and says matter-of-factly, "We're not married."

"But a couple, yes?"

"No, not a couple either," he says.

The dealer looks from one to the other.

"But you two are definitely in love with each other, you can tell from a distance".

You see Tech's ears turn red, the helmet he had tucked under his arm earlier hastily finding its place on his head again as Tech more or less tries to hide under it.

But then he says something that startles you.

"That would be unwise."

You feel yourself getting hot and cold, and your guts tighten. The merchant looks from one to the other, confused.

"Why is that?" he asks the question on your mind.

Tech sighs and says, "I have an unsteady life, a dangerous one at that. I couldn't offer a steady home to a partner or even a wife, no real security. So I guess I will remain single."

The merchant as well as you are speechless. You feel as if he has just kicked you in the pit of your stomach.

As you continue to walk, you are silent and stare ahead. You don't feel like exploring the market anymore. You feel like crying, but you hold back. You were so sure that he liked you too, so sure that sooner or later you would find each other, get together. Now you feel down, a shattered dream.

He stops at a stand with flowers, buys a beautiful bouquet and holds it out to you. When you look at him questioningly, he says, "I feel like I've made you sad."

You tentatively pick up the bouquet, stare at the flowers and bite your tongue, trying not to say anything stupid or start crying.

"Other people," he says after clearing his throat, "Shouldn't know how much I like you."

You blink and look up at him from the bouquet.

"What, I don't understand…"

He shrugs his shoulders uncertainly, pulls you into a quiet corner, and takes off his helmet again. His cheeks and ears are flushed, his hair a bit disheveled by the helmet. He looks so adorable it hurts.

"It's true that my life is uncertain, dangerous. The Empire is after me and my brothers, the occasional bounty hunter now and then. If people know how much I like you, they might try to hurt you to get to me."

Your heart almost leaps into your throat.

"So you do like me then?"

Tech blinks and says, "I thought it was obvious."

"And you don't want to stay single?"

He smirks softly at you.

Crosshair

He cocks an eyebrow at you, then at the vendor. Before you can say anything, Crosshair steps closer and looks at the fruit.

You stand next to him. He throws you a sly smile, then asks the vendor, "Which one has the most intense effect?"

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and ears. You wonder what he's up to.

Crosshair listens to the merchant's advice for quite a while, while you watch speechlessly as he packs an entire bag of the recommended fruit.

You sigh softly. You know that Crosshair is popular with the women, and you know that he has always enjoyed it, even though he hasn't had anymore womanizing for a while now.

You two find a quiet corner and sit down at a pretty fountain.

Quietly, you ask him, "So, which woman gets served these fruits this time?"

He unwraps one, takes his knife and cuts it into pieces as you watch in surprise.

"Well my wife, of course," he says perkily, holding out a piece to you, "Care for a slice, honey?"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

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@misogirl828 @tech-deck

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@starwarsnerd111

[darkacademicvibes]

Hellooo! So I know you haven't posted in ages and you're probably busy or maybe not writing anymore but if you are and your requests are open... can you maybe do something for Theodore nott? If you don't write for him then maybe Barty Jr. Or Regulus or something?

Basically fem!reader is insecure and brings it up and he doesn't understand so she asks is they even love her anymore and they somehow propose right then and there? Like really tearful, and he's so hurt but he's also kind of blank about it idk and she says yes obvs, but he just doesn't know how to feel about what she asked?

Thankyouthankyouuuuu and if you aren't writing anymore that's totally understandable 🩵🩵🩵🩵

AHHHH YESSS I TOTALLY CAN BABES!!!

I'm always gonna write on this blog, lately I've really been trying to figure out my page and stuff and I just got done with exams so I've been busy, I'm sorry!!! I HOPE this lives up to expectations, I've never written an argument/yelling that turned to a proposal lmao <3

Look At Me

tw: cursing, idk I like it, he's very much sweater Theo lmao, nothing really to be honest with you

"-God, Theo, it's like you're never here anymore!" You huff, busying yourself with the dishes of a dinner you ate alone, again. The sound of his name instead of the nickname you'd always called him made him flinch. Theodore Nott had been your boyfriend since the beginning of your seventh year at Hogwarts, and you'd fought together in the war on Harry's side. Or, McGonagalls side, as Theo preferred to call it.

After Hogwarts, you'd moved in together which you'd defended to your parents as convenience. And his, well, his mother got ill quick, and then got better, and then ill again, and she'd eventually found out after he'd invited her over to make sure she was okay, and you'd come home to your boyfriends mother on the couch having tea. You'd easily slipped into comfortable conversation with your loving boyfriend and his (absolutely wonderful) mother and she'd guessed it by morning when you'd made everyone pancakes as you'd been woken up early by Theo on his way to quiddich practice.

Lately, however, he'd been home less. In fact, it began at the beginning of the year, while it is now November. You celebrated your third year anniversary of fully owning the house (thanks to his family money's help) and as that morning when you woke up, he was gone, he came home giddy, and then that night, went to bed nervous. And things hadn't been the same. You'd marked that night on your calander once you realized that was the last afternoon before anything changed.

April 4th.

Since then, he'd barely be at home, which isn't saying a lot seeing as he was a professional player for the Montrose Magpies and sometimes was forced to be away for day practices that led well until you'd gone to bed and weekend games that you always made sure to see.

He'd started getting up earlier, and going to bed either well before, or well after you. When you were wide awake, or fast asleep. Sometimes, he'd sleep in the guest room downstairs, instead.

He'd stopped with the casual kisses everytime he left the room, no longer pressing kisses to your temple, cheek, nose, shoulder, or head, and started passing by in silence, answering requests with hums, grunts, and nods. Your brother had joked he was finally going through the 'I hate my girlfriend' phase, but quickly shut up when you'd choked out a strangled breath that sounded like you'd taken a bludger to the stomach.

The thought hasn't left your mind since.

"I'm here now" Theo presses, standing behind the kitchen island, his hands braced firmly on the edges of the bench, gripping tightly. You scoff, scrubbing the pan harshly. Who invented pans that weren't non-stick? You wanted to hit them with your pan, your pan that now had bits of food and grease stuck to it.

"Theo this is the eighth night in a row I've had to put your dinner in the microwave" you give up on the pan, abandoning it on the bench and moving on to the pot you'd made the potatoes in. It was your day off, and Theo was supposed to be home at four, so you'd made a full dinner for you to eat together. A mistake, you now realized, as you didn't eat until seven when your food had already gone cold, and he hadn't come home until nine, when you'd usually do the dishes. He did them right after dinner for some unexplainable reason you didn't quite understand. Through, you were the one who grew up with supper. So you always made it and did dishes after.

"I told you not to count on me being home on time, bambino" he breathes, and you sniff, wiping your nose on the back of your wrist. He had, yesterday, but not today. "I wrote it down and left it on the kitchen counter-" a soft mew interrupts him, and you listen to the sound of him scooping up the neighbors cat.

"Pie, you shouldn't be here, your mama will be looking for you" you coo, glancing back at the soft, light brown cat. "She can stay" Theodore murmurs, cuddling the cat close. A pang of anger flashed through your stomach. That cat was getting more affection from your boyfriend then you'd gotten for most of the year. "No, she can't" your voice is snappy, and he sighs, kissing the top of Pies head and opening the back door, placing Pie outside and closing the door again before leaning against the wood, watching you.

"I don't understand what I've done to make you so upset, amore" he murmurs, and you snap, tossing the potato pot and the rag into the sink, taking off the ridiculous yellow gloves and tossing them onto the bench.

"You are never here, Theo" you insist. "And you go god knows where, because you weren't at practice tonight" you continue, when Theo opens his mouth to argue, you glare at him. Your voice shakes, and that makes you angrier. "No! You weren't, I called Peter, he was at home with his wife and baby son at four fifteen" you snap, and hurt flashes in his eyes. You want to apologize, but you haven't done anything wrong, not that you're aware of. You have suffered, for months, wondering what you'd done wrong. You didn't understand. You don't understand.

"So where were you? Were you with someone else, someone you can stand? Because it's pretty clear you can't stand me anymore" you toss your hands up, abandoning the gloves as you return to cleaning the dishes as Theo makes his way closer, returning to the island counter as you ramble on.

"If you were then just tell me and be done with it, because this wondering, the guessing, the hoping you aren't, the subconsciously looking for proof that you have been, is killing me" you ramble on.

"It is absolutely tearing me apart to think you don't love me anymore, trying to find reasons that would have you pulling away because surely, if you don't love me then you'd leave me, right? Except, I don't know, I don't know what I did-" you place the pot aside and start working on your plate. His is still in the microwave. "-I can't figure it out. Tell me what I did wrong, because I can't keeping going like this for much longer" you sniffle, and the sound has the guilt already drowning him shove him down deeper.

"I mean, do you even love me anymore? Because it really just seems like you're sticking around for convenience" You manage to mumble, your voice shaking as tears prick harshly at your eyes. You try blinking them back, but you have to harshly wipe your cheek with the back of your arm as the feeling of a few hot tears warm your cheeks.

A soft click sound from behind you and in your confusion, you turn, pausing at the sight. Theo is leaning heavily against the counter, his shoulders tense as the small dark blue velvet box sits open on the table.

A delicate gold ring, with agate as the stone sits undisturbed in the box, and you can feel your breath escape you because it is beautiful.

"I was afraid you would say no" he admits, gazing at you through his dark lashes you'd frequently voiced that you were jealous of. "I was afraid you'd say no, and I pulled myself away from you, and I'm sorry for not noticing how it affected you" he breathes. Almost as breathless as you.

He slowly rounds the island, gently stopping to stand beside you.

His hands land on your waist, delicate. "ragazza dolce, how could you ever doubt my feelings for you?" He murmurs, his thumbs rubbing gently over the skin of your hips. The touch makes you pause and, slowly, you melt against his chest. "You haven't touched me like this since April fourth" you start softly, gaze still on the ring, and he tenses beside you.

Fuck, you'd actually remembered the date he held you last? He knew it had been a while, he had felt horrible about his nerves pulling him away from you, but you'd memorized the fucking date he'd last touched you, and it was so much longer then he'd thought.

"You barely answer me anymore, I start every conversation, and it's either tense, or it falls through so fast i-" you hesitate. "It makes me feel like you don't see the point in talking to me anymore" his heart shattered, he could hear it, feel it- you'd felt so horrible, miserable even, and it was his fault. He'd been so wrapped up in how he felt that he hadn't even noticed you'd been miserable. Lonely.

"I'm sorry, mio caro, I'm so sorry" he murmurs, pained, his lips brushing the crook of your neck gently.

His hands gently guide you to face him, and you allow him to lift your hands, drying them off gently. "C'mon sunshine, I'm sorry, look at me" he murmurs, gently tucking his forefinger under your chin to guide you to meet his eyes. "I have been so nervous that I started pulling away, and I am so sorry you felt this way, sweet girl, I promise I love you" he assures you gently, watercolour eyes gazing into yours deeply.

"There has never been, nor will there ever be, anyone else. You are it for me, you are my Andromeda, I'm your Perseus, remember?" He pleads softly, reminding you of the last time you'd been in Hogwarts.

The astronomy tower would probably crumble if you stood in the wrong spot, still, you (almost) fearlessly ventured closer to the calm figure leaning against the wall of the castle, not for one second, caring that he was sitting in rubble. Gazing at the stars. He smiles at you as you stand beside him, and he offers you his hand, which you take as he helps you to sit beside him safely.

"Feel up to stargazing, my love?" He murmured, and you smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as his hand rests easily on your thigh, rubbing gently despite the dust-covered fabric in the way of your skin. "Always" you hum. He huffs a soft laugh and sighs warmly. "You remember those stars?" He asks softly, pointing out the constellation, and you nod against his shoulder. Andromeda and Perseus, the chained maiden and her lover. Her savior. Her husband, in entirety. They'd been so in love they were placed in the stars so their love would never end.

"Yeah, I remember, it's your favourite myth" he smiles, and he presses a soft kiss to your head, smiling himself. You'd remembered it was his favourite.

"If I was Perseus, you'd be my Andromeda" he murmurs, and you smile softly, melting into him. "If I was Andromeda, you'd be my Perseus" you retort gently, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as shouts of names, and calls of joy fill the night air.

The war is over. All is well.

"My father is dead" Theo hums. The way he says it was almost as if he'd simply noticed the time and pointed it out. He found more empathy for the roadkill the two of you had come across two weeks ago, a rabbit that had been hit by a carriage.

"I saw. Are you okay?" You ask gently.

"Yeah, I'm okay, as long as I have you, I'll always be more than okay" he hums, chuckling softly. "My mother will be okay now, she's safe" he sighs, the tension leaving him slightly.

"She is, Teddy" you smile, and as he wraps his arm around you to pull you impossibly closer, you both gaze at the sky and you do what you do best together.

You talk, and you stargaze.

You nod slowly, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he sighs softly in relief, his thumb swiping the tears away gently.

"I love you, so much. I'm sorry I let myself get in my head, I should've realized I was hurting you" he murmurs, his lips pressed against your hairline as he tucks a few strands behind your ear, his fingers trailing down your neck, then your shoulder, all the way to your hand, where he links your fingers together.

"Teddy, are you asking me to marry you?" You murmur softly, eyes gazing softly at the ring again. He hums, "will you say yes?" He murmurs softly, his thumb brushing against yours.

"I can't imagine a world where I'd consider saying no" you breathe, and you can feel his lips tug into a giddy smile against your temple. He pulls away, only enough to reach the ring, and gently hums.

"Look at me, bellissimo"

Your eyes meet his and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, the familiar softness of it almost making you swoon.

"Will you, the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on, make me the absolute happiest man alive, and do me the honor of making me your husband?" He asks quietly, his lips brushing yours gently.

You smile, and nod softly, "that's a yes from me" you hum, "a big, fat, yes" you laugh, and he chuckles along with you, gazing softly at you as he slowly slips the ring onto your finger. "Good, now give me a big, fat, kiss" he demands playfully "I miss kissing my fiancé" he murmurs, and it sets off fireworks in your stomach.

You lean up and press a big, fat, kiss to his lips, just like he asked.

You giggle as he wraps his arms around you happily, tugging you closer and tapping your hip in the all too familiar signal to jump. You wrap your legs around him and he kisses you harder, his hands under your thighs.

"I have a lot to make up for" he mumbles, making his way into the living room and dropping you gently onto the couch, pulling a giggle from you.

"Remind me to tell Draco not to sit on this couch next time he comes over" you tease, and he laughs, loud, and happy, and the sound has you melting.

You have your Theo back, and he's not your boyfriend anymore, he's more, and you couldn't be happier.

[court-jesterr]

May I please request [WET] with Rex or Gregor or Howzer or Hunter? 🤣🙈 thank you, you wonderfully talented thing you! 💕

Hello, dear friend 😅

I'd like to formally apologize for disappearing on this ask/request for so long. I feel horrible 😓...BUT, I refused to allow that to prevent me from finishing it! SO! Almost a year later, here if your request!

Honestly, I struggled so much with picking between Howzer and Gregor haha I haven't written for any of your boys you suggested before so I felt the most comfortable with Howzer. Though, if you have any more requests, I'd be more than happy to make those about the other two 😏 Also, I started this far before season 3 came out haha sooooo, I just went with what I had mostly written.

Anyway! Here you are, friend!

The Downpour

Pairing: Captain Howzer x fem!reader

Warnings: none really? A little risqué but nothing NSFW- still not entirely my forte just yet haha, but some good kissing.

Summary: Howzer is hiding himself away, on a planet that should keep him safe until Rex and Gregor can come back for him with a few other Clone Rebels. Until then, he is at the mercy of a woman Rex had contact with to keep the clone Captain fed. But Howzer is struggling with rising feelings he never knew a military man like himself could feel.

Word Count: 3k

Though on a different planet, hiding was still a top priority to Howzer, especially now that he not only had to protect himself but you, as well. It hadn’t been long since Rex and Gregor, along with a few other rebellious clones, found a secluded place for the rogue to settle. Rex had a few connections to people in the neighboring town so Howzer had someone to help supply food or whatever he may need and that was how he stumbled upon you- the one who helped far more than he could’ve ever asked. You not only supplied food but comfort when he would have sudden bouts of panic and flashbacks of seeing his brothers die in battle. Not just comfort, but encouragement, kindness, understanding…compassion. For a clone. For someone expendable. Replaceable. However, you’d told him multiple times he wasn’t, there was no way he could understand how you’d believed that. You were so unique, so breathtakingly exotic to him, and yet…the only thing that made him any different than his brothers was the scars on his face from the battles he’d seen. Nevertheless, no matter how he’d felt about what you may have seen in him, he promised to protect you with every possible effort he could muster. You made the little shack he took shelter in a home and as reckless as the thought was, Howzer fully believed that he would prefer death before he’d let the Empire take that feeling from him. But of course, you were oblivious to all of the overwhelming affection that he scarcely kept from boiling over every time you’d show up at his door with that smile that he spent nights dreaming about.

Today was only a little different…

It was a cloudy, overcast day and Howzer assumed rain would be expected at some point in the day but being new to the region he was still growing accustomed to the exotic weather patterns. So, going about his day as he normally would, while waiting for you, he busied himself with straightening up the small shack for your arrival. There was hardly room to make a mess, though that didn’t stop the clone from feeling as if he needed to make the place as perfect for you as he could, every single time. Howzer could feel his fingers fidgeting nervously, adjusting the vase of native flora in the center of the table back and forth a few times to keep his hands busy. He’d found a bush of wild flowers a day or two ago, during his daily trek of the surrounding woods, and decided that he wanted to surprise you with them during one of your regular stop-ins. The feeling you gave him was an entirely new experience for the clone, he’d only ever known war and militia- cold nights and dangerous encounters. But you gave him gentle touches and warm smiles that brought a whole new perspective to his life- a softer perspective and he craved it.

Blinking, Howzer realized he’d been daydreaming of you once again, brought back to reality by the grounding sound of heavy rain hammering the roof above his head. Glancing out the window to see if the sound matched the actual amount of rain outside, Howzer glimpsed your silhouette amongst the trees. “She’s lost her mind!” He panicked to himself as he grabbed for his raincoat by the door, rushing out into the torrent to meet you halfway. The rogue clone shouted your name over the loud rain, bounding up to you. “Howzer!” You simply greeted him with a grin that nearly toppled him. The hand over your forehead, protecting your face from the rough battering of rain, moved to wave innocently at the man approaching you.

Once in front of one another, Howzer’s breath ragged from his sprint to you, he realized that the coat was useless, noticing how soaked through you’d become despite his efforts. Taking in your drenched figure, heat rose to warm his cheeks from the cold air when he observed how the wet fabric folded over your curves. “Seems a little silly for us both to be soaked, don’t you think, Captain?” You laughed playfully as you wiped at the water in your eyes. “I mean, look at you,” You motioned to his t-shirt that was now clinging to his well-muscled torso, taking a secret moment to admire it for yourself.

“I-uh,” he fought with his thoughts, the sight of your figure distracting him from the words he knew he needed to say to explain why he���d run out to meet you. Squeezing his eyes shut to think, he chuckled out a breath at his internal struggle. “You make me a fool, cyare. That’s my only defense.” He finally muttered against the rain, meeting your eyes with a charming smile.

Perplexed by seeing his lips move but not processing what he was saying because of the loud pattering of the rain, you blinked a few times. “Sorry, Captain” you teased his title again, “I’m afraid the rain is drowning out your voice.” Leaning to look past the larger man, you then glanced up at his face to see he was fixated on your eyes. “Maybe we should head inside, then you can tell me what you wanted to say.”

-

Once inside the humble shack, you shuffled out of the soaked jacket you had tossed on before leaving. Glancing over your shoulder at Howzer, noting that he was placing his usual paranoid locks in place, you queried, “So what was it that you said out there, Howzer?”

“Oh! Uh-“ Howzer stumbled over his words momentarily, remembering exactly what he’d unintentionally let slip, and silently praised the rain for being loud enough to cover his mistaken confession. “I-I was saying that you are incredibly insane for walking all the way here in that mess of rain.” His chuckle warmed your chilled bones as he took a seat on one of the wooden chairs at the small round table you, yourself were standing near. His honey eyes glimmered against his wet hair, which was currently plastered against his forehead, “Though, I’ve come to find that your unpredictable nature is endearing.” and the boyish grin that followed after made you surprisingly bashful.

A light blush touched your cheeks as you swatted him away, “I didn’t choose to walk through the deluge out there haphazardly, ya know! It just started pouring on my way over here”, your laugh trailing off as you pulled out the rations you were supposed to be delivering. “Halfway here I realized the rations were probably ruined as well…Sorry, Howzer.” The drenched packages that slopped onto the counter from your bag gave away the condition of the contents. A pout fell over your face and Howzer could hardly keep his heart steady as he saw the precious upturn of your brows.

The captain could hear the remorse and guilt weaving through your normally bubbly voice, so he waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it, we can figure something else out, mesh’la. Besides, you should know by now, the rations are nice,” he chuckled, “but the company is far more valuable to me.” You had only met a handful of clones throughout your life, many of the Clone Wars had affected the planet around you, but never yours so that left the planet more for the stationing of the clones- but very rarely. The ones you had met had seemed far more rough around the edges, more militant than Howzer was, at least around you. He was always so gentle and notably affectionate. Certainly not that you were complaining, the way he treated you was special enough to swoon you from early on. A handsome military man with a compassionate heart was hardly something anyone could deny for too long.

Especially one with such an adorable smile such as his.

“I uh-” Howzer clearing his throat brought you back as he tapped his fingers against the table, “I saw these while I was on one of my walks the other day.” A subtle gesture toward the mason jar of wildflowers brought your attention to them, “they reminded me of you so I thought I’d bring them back and, uh, see how you liked them.” His eyes flickered between your reaction and the flora between the two of you. It wasn’t the first time the clone captain had been unsure of exactly what to say around you, not by a long shot, but the current situation felt more difficult than others.

“For…me?” The sweet innocence in your voice betrayed the devastatingly sinful way the wet clothes accentuated your figure for his trained eye, so in an attempt to compose himself, Howzer fiddled with pushing his wet hair back and out of his face.

“Yeah, for you, mesh’la” he cleared his throat again to steady his growing anticipation. Watching as your beautiful eyes widened in realization, picking the jar up to inspect it closer, Howzer felt his left leg begin to bounce against the wood floor. The silence felt suffocating as you continued to run your finger delicately through the flowers, not glancing even once over at the anxious captain. It gave enough pause for Howzer to overthink his words, maybe he should’ve explained more the reason why he picked them? Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything? Had he said too much? Or worse…were these flowers that he thought were pretty just seen as weeds on your planet and now you thought he was insulting you?

Oh, stars…what if you thought he was insulting you!

“They’re so beautiful, Howzer,” your voice was soft and wistful enough to halt every worrying thought swirling inside of him. “I can’t believe you gathered them just for me. I really appreciate that.” You held the jar close to your chest and he was met with another one of your devastating smiles that made his heart stop in its thundering rhythm. The sparkle in your eyes hypnotized him, reeling him into what felt like a world where just your smile existed. There was no Republic, no Empire, no war, no Order 66, no hiding for safety…just the dream that was so perfectly…you. In this world, there were no repercussions for how he felt. He could love you freely as his heart desired, finally know the way you’d feel wrapped up in him, he wouldn’t have to worry about you being hurt by anyone because of him.

You could properly be his, the way he wanted to be yours.

“You are breathtaking, mesh’la…”

The words caught you off guard, your eyes having traveled back down at some point to look over the floral arrangement in your hands now snapped back over to see the clone captain gazing at you lovingly, as if he were looking upon a rare star. “H-Howzer…?”

It seemed as if he were enchanted by something as he stood up from his chair, being drawn in by the longing to touch you, “forgive me, I know this is sudden,” Howzer began in a low tone, his fingers caressing your hand as he approached, removing the jar gently and placing it aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” the way he breathed your name elicited goosebumps across your arms, his rough fingertips chasing them up to carefully cup your neck. Brown eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort from his sudden display but he could find nothing of the such, surprise, elation, and confusion perhaps, but not an ounce of displeasure. Your wet cheeks felt warmer and warmer by the second, the restriction of the clothes that clung to your body becoming alarmingly apparent. “I could’ve chosen a better time to do this, I guess.” Chuckling as he wiped away a stray drop of rain that cascaded down your jaw to your neck where his warm hand was still settled.

“No,” your voice startled you, speaking before you even realized, “please…don’t stop. I-I…you’re very warm this close.”

“I could warm you up a little more,” the shift in his eyes was alluring as one of his hands slid back to cradle the back of your head, gently tangling his fingers through your wet hair, tilting your face up a little more to glance between your eyes and lips, “that is, if you’d allowed me, cyra’ika?” His grin melted any resolve you had to deny him for the sake of Rex and any other clones that might need their brother in top shape…not distracted by a romantic entanglement.

Your heart fluttered wildly against your chest, curiosity overwhelming you, “warm me up more?” and at his simple nod, you continued, “h-how?” Your hands finally came up to slide over his wet shirt, settling at his chest as he stepped even further into your space.

“I could tell you,” Howzer began, “or I could show you how beautiful I think you are.” he finished softer, the same fire behind his eyes. Thousands of possibilities ran wild through your mind at the offer, but before you could choose just one, hearing his gruff voice whisper your name to catch your immediate attention. “It would be an honor of mine to kiss you…please.”

Without answering, you surged upward to crash against him in a desperate attempt to quell some of the burning in your chest for the man before you. Howzer grunted at the sensation of feeling you against him finally, tasting your lips for the first time nearly bringing him to his knees. One of his hands stayed firmly at the back of your head, the other sliding down to press your lower back, pushing you further into him- craving the sensation of you everywhere. The way your lips slid against his in a fervent kiss made his head spin and the surprise of this even being reality instead of one of his many dreams caused him to pull away only a fraction to allow a whisper of your name to echo between the two of you. “Yes, Captain?” Your response was just as quiet as his, the title more of a pet name when spoken from your lips, “Don’t tell me you’re going to retreat from me now.” You always had such a sweet, innocent sparkle to your eye, and the way you gazed up at him currently with the same glimmer but this time with a haze of lust and hooded eyes made the clone captain even more resolute in his sudden decision.

“I’d be a kriffing fool, mesh’la,” Howzer pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding dominantly into your mouth, claiming the treasure that was your moan. “A kriffing fool…” he repeated, almost breathlessly before he dove back in to devour you once more. The heated exchange was nearly dizzying, as he kissed you repeatedly, pulling away for only moments long enough to breathe. You’d always experienced his passion when he spoke of his brothers, the Clone Wars, Ryloth, and even Hera- the little Twi’lek girl he watched over often. But experiencing his passion in such an intimate way felt surreal and with his lips now trailing down your jaw to leave warm kisses against your neck you muttered his name through heavy breaths. “Yes, cyar’ika?” The gravel in his voice vibrated through your body.

“Wh-What do those words-” you were interrupted by a sudden gasp as he pulled aside the wet shoulder of your shirt to kiss your wet skin, “those words mean…the names you call me.”

Howzer hummed in pleasure at your question, kissing back along to your collarbone, “my Mando’a pet names for you,” he began, only stopping to speak against your cold skin, “Mesh’la,” he kissed your clavicle, “means beautiful. Which you are, to me.” Lips leaving kisses across to the other shoulder, “Cyar’ika” a warm open-mouthed kiss to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, “means darling, or sweetheart- interchangeably. And you are both of those things, my darling and my sweetheart.” His whispers only heightened the sensation of his kisses against your skin. “Cyare”, this one he paused for a moment, considering if he should give the truth of the definition to you, or what others could use the word to mean. As his lips kissed up the column of your neck, Howzer felt the way your hands gripped at the cloth of his shirt, fortifying his determination. Leaving a kiss just below your ear he whispered, “Mean beloved.” Your shuttering gasp made him smile against your skin, “which you are. You are my beloved.”

It felt like a dream as you felt him encircle you within his arms, head rising to meet your eyes once more, his damp hair, you noticed, having come to fall back onto his forehead. “You are everything I never even considered and if you’ll continue to let me, I would love to show you just how deeply I care about you, mesh’la.” His eyes spoke more than his words, the way they glimmered eagerly to shower you with his affection.

It felt as if your heart were bound to burst upon all of the sudden emotions, but you merely took a deep breath and matched his growing smile, “I would love that, Howzer. Please, show me how much you care about me, so that I may do the same for you.”

Mischief filled his smile as he caressed your cheek adoringly, “Then if you don’t, let’s get you out of these drenched clothes, what do you say?”

[writeriguess]

A request/idea.

No one really dives into Bakugo's heart injury after the war. What happens when femreader (who he absolutely has a crush on) visits him in the hospital after the war, and he's like, 'oh shit this is gonna be bad for my heart' .

Fragile Heart

The beeping of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic. Annoying as hell.

Bakugo scowled at the ceiling, arms crossed over his bandaged chest. He hated hospitals. Hated the sterile smell, the way everything felt too clean, too controlled. Hated how weak he felt lying in this damn bed when he should be out there, moving, training, doing something.

His heart was still fucked up.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the damage he took during the war wasn’t just a flesh wound. The healers had worked on him for hours, murmuring about how close it had been, how the damage to his heart could have been fatal if they hadn’t acted fast. But he was here. Alive. Stronger than whatever bullshit tried to take him out.

That should’ve been enough.

And then you walked in.

Bakugo felt it before he even saw you—his pulse spiking, the monitor betraying him before his brain could even register why. His head snapped toward the door, and there you were, standing in the doorway like you weren’t about to send his already unstable heart into another cardiac episode.

Oh, fuck.

This was gonna be bad for his heart.

You stepped inside cautiously, eyes scanning over him like you were assessing the damage. Your usual confident demeanor softened just slightly, lips pressing together like you wanted to say something but weren’t sure where to start.

He suddenly felt too exposed, sitting in a hospital gown, bandages peeking out from under the fabric, heart monitor tattling on his every reaction.

"Bakugo," you said softly. "Hey."

His throat went dry.

"Hey," he muttered back, forcing himself to sound normal. Calm. Not like he was freaking the hell out because you were here.

You walked closer, stopping at the edge of his bed. “How’re you feeling?”

He scoffed. “Like shit.”

A breathy laugh escaped you, and he nearly died on the spot. His fingers twitched where they rested on the blanket, resisting the urge to grip the sheets just to ground himself.

“You scared the hell out of us, you know,” you said, voice quieter now. “They weren’t sure if you were gonna make it.”

“Tch. I ain’t that easy to kill.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Still. Don’t do that again.”

And there it was—that thing in your voice, the raw emotion that made something squeeze tight in his chest. Not the injury. Not the pain. Just you.

His heart monitor betrayed him again, beeping a little faster.

You noticed. Of course you did. Your eyes flickered to the machine, then back to him, eyebrows raising slightly. “You good?”

No. Absolutely fucking not.

His jaw clenched. “Yeah. Just—stupid machine’s sensitive.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, like you didn’t quite believe him, but you let it slide. Instead, you reached out, fingers hovering over his wrist before making contact. A soft touch. Warm. Grounding.

His heart slammed against his ribs, and the monitor nearly gave him away again.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still, to not react. But you were touching him, your fingers resting lightly against his skin, and that was infinitely worse than anything the battlefield had thrown at him.

“You’re really okay?” you asked again, quieter this time.

Bakugo wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he turned his palm upward, letting your fingers settle fully against his. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

“I will be.”

You squeezed his hand, just once. A promise.

And somehow, despite the mess he was in—despite the weakness, the pain, the stupid hospital bed—Bakugo realized something.

Maybe, just maybe, his heart wasn’t as broken as he thought.

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[zlut4rina]

I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON BOTTOM GISELLE

This but she's also fucking around with her best friend :P and the bsf is also g!p

Parirings: Giselle x G!p!Femreader

Warnings: Drugs and Alcohol use, unprotected sex, slight oral mention, holy plot 💔, Uh yea 👅

___________________________________________

You and giselle met in uni. You both had mutual friends, and one day, they decided to all group up and hang out. You were quite the shy and reserved person, so speaking to a new group of people was like a death wish. Giselle approached you first, drink in hand, and a big smile on her face. She reeked of alcohol, and was that maybe a hint of weed? Who knows? Honestly, you could hardly remember what happened that night, especially after meeting her. You were too intoxicated to even comprehend what happened the next morning, still hungover. After that night, you both grew closer. You told each other any and everything. Your mutual friend would make silly remakes about how connecting you two was a bad idea.

And to be honest, it was. You guys went everywhere together, you did everything together, and you two were like the ideal friendship everyone wished that they had. Despite her chic and bad girl demeanor and style, she was a completely different person when it came to sex. You two told each other about your sex stories all the time. You didn't have much since you never really liked socializing. But giselle practically had bedtime stories for you every night. At some point, she stopped doing that. She stopped fucking around, it's been a while since you heard one of her outrageous sex stories. Anytime you'd ask her about it, she'd brush you off, saying, "It's just not my style anymore" or how she needs to focus on other things.

Her true reason being was because of you. She couldn't stop herself from having disgusting lewd thoughts about you, especially after she found out about you little 'secret'. The day you told her you had a dick flipped a switch in her brain. That was all she could think about that night. Even though she hooked up with some guy, she could only imagine how yours felt. You were so oblivious to this that it actually turned her on sometimes. The way she would purposely sit in your lap a certain way, just to fulfill a small part of her fantasies. The way she would grind on your lap just a little, masking it as her 'Trying to get comfortable'.

Your stupidity brought her to her breaking point. One night in your doorm, you two were played up cuddling, watching some drama on your laptop. A random surge of boldness ignited in her, her hand that was rested on your chest slowly made its way down under the covers cupping your bulge. You both were only in your underwear. You both established that it was fine to be dressed like that since you're so close.

And you know, one thing led to another. And here she is, back arching for you, face buried deep into the pillow soaked of her tears and the drool from her mouth. You never thought this day would come. Honestly, I mean, you dreamed about it sure, but for it to actually come true was insane. Take this opportunity to fuck her raw without a condom, only cause she asked so nicely. Your fingers digging into the flesh on her hips. Trying to keep as quiet as you could, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other. By the time you both were completely fucked out, you both looked like you survived some sort of war. Both of you bitten and bruised, the sheets drenched in mixed fluids. After that night fucking your best friend become such a normal thing, obviously you couldn't tell anyone about it though. But of course some of your friends got a little suspicious.

"You two always go home so early. It's like your dating or something."

You weren't necessarily dating, nor were you necessarily NOT dating. It was complicated, but in a good way. You didn't mind getting to fuck the pretties girl on campus whenever you wanted. Having her all to yourself was like a dream you never wanted to wake from. Giselle would wear skimpy, slutty outfits when going out just for you to ruin her in.

"So that's why you wore this, huh? Just for my attention?" You were balls deep inside her. A handful of her hair in your grasp, as you pounded her from behind. "You're so dirty, baby." You whispered into her ear, nipping at it. Giselle is a backshot warrior. Like omfg, the first couple of times you twocdid it, she would always want you to bend her over. You loved it too, the sight of her back angled so perfectly for you, ugh to die for. The way she whines into the pillow when you hit 'that spot' repeatedly. Her nails would be scattered all over your bed with how hard she was gripping the sheets. Her makeup stained your pillow once again.

Everyone thinks she's such a badass and takes the lead with everything she does, just not in all casses. The second she's with you behind closed doors, she's like putty. She's immediately on her knees, ready for her instructions on how to please you. Sucking you off with the prettiest hooded eyes. Her lipstick smudged on her lips as mascara ran down her face. She'd stick her tongue out and place it on the bottom on your tip as you shoot loads into her mouth, some of it hitting her nose and teeth. You weren't usually rough with her unless she'd as or she'd done something to rile that up in you. Spitting in her mouth and pulling her head back by her hair, demanding she swallow it. gulp

She absolutely loved it when you're rough with her, too. Making you upset at an outing, and the only way to calm you down is if she's bent over and taking your full length. Crying your name out as you handle her body roughly. Saying she deserves this for being bad and how she wanted this. "Don't tell me you can't handle it, princess." Meanwhile, she's literally struggling to even breathe against the soaked pillow. Her hair is a complete mess, sticking to her face from all the sweat. So, of course, you have to help her out. Taking a handle full of it and pulling her head back. While saying the dirtiest things to each other all night.

That's usually how most of your nights went. Bending her over or having her on her knees, you got whatever you wanted out of her. She's your best friend, that's what best friends do, right? They take care of each other's needs.

___________________________________________

[simp-for-love]

Devil's Advocate

Mattheo Riddle x FemReader

You never expected to need a lawyer — let alone him. Mattheo Riddle is infamous, both for winning impossible cases and for being insufferably arrogant while doing it. You don't trust him, but with your ex tightening his grip, you’re running out of options

Warnings: lawyer!au, psychological manipulation and emotional abuse from ex, swearing, power dynamics, legal drama, sexual tension, kinda slow burn. It's a mix of a modern!au and the wizarding world that is set after Hogwarts, ignoring the war.

Word count ~2,8k

A/N: I'm so excited about this one. Hope you'll like it too! And Enzo's girlies, I'm sorry. He's a bad guy here🤭

You used to think Lorenzo Berkshire was perfect.

Charming, attentive, the kind of man who remembered all the little things — a preference for fresh lilies over traditional red roses, the way you took your coffee, the book you offhandedly mentioned wanting to read. He was sweet, too. Thoughtful. A boyfriend from every girl's dream.

Until he wasn’t.

Until you realized the carefully curated perfection wasn’t for you, it was for his control. And Enzo was very, very good at control.

It took too long to see past the honeyed words and the expensive gifts, the way he made you feel like the most cherished person in the world. It took too long to recognize the patterns. The slight gaslighting, the ever-so-subtle isolation from your friends, the way every ‘coincidence’ seemed to align just right in his favor. By the time you did, you were trapped in a web you didn’t know how to escape. Every your step was controlled, carefully calculated by Enzo's sweet smiles and cold eyes.

And now? Now you were in trouble.

You wanted out. No, you needed out. But Enzo wasn’t the kind of man to just let go of what was his. He had money, charms, connections, and the ability to make things disappear. Every lawyer you approached? Gone before they could even hear your full case. Either bribed or scared off. The ones that weren’t? The ones that actually seemed interested? Well, they quickly lost that interest as soon as the stakes became clear and your ex's name left your lips. Unfortunately for you, Enzo had that effect on people.

All but one.

Mattheo Riddle.

You weren’t even sure why you went to him at first. Maybe desperation. Maybe because his reputation preceded him. Maybe because he was the only one left.

You knew his name since the school, of course. Everyone in the wizarding world did. But now people knew him for a whole different reason. He was the defense attorney who won cases no one else would dare touch, to even look at. The man who had beaten aurors, ministers, and more corrupt officials than you could count. People said he had no fear. That he never lost. That he only defended those he deemed worthy, not caring much about the consequences. That money couldn’t buy his loyalty.

And that last part was crucially important to you.

The sound of your heels echoed through the sleek marble floors of the law office, each step deliberate, controlled. You had to be. Because if you thought too much about the weight of the situation, about how you'd gotten here, you might just turn around and leave.

But you couldn't. And you wouldn't. Not when this was your last chance to break free.

The receptionist, an immaculately dressed woman with piercing eyes and a deep cleavage that could hardly be called decent, barely looked up from her 'Witch Weekly'. Her voice was lazily bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No." You swallowed, straightening your shoulders. "But Mr. Riddle is waiting for me."

Then her appraising gaze darted upward. She elegantly raised her perfect-shaped eyebrow as if reading and analyzing a potential competitor. There was disbelief and a hint of mocking in her gaze that said, 'How could he be waiting for you?'

"What's your name?" she said almost reluctantly.

Usually, you would flip people off for that gaze or tone. But now was not the right time or place to be bitchy. You gave her your name, your voice steadier than you felt, and after a beat, she inclined her head toward the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway behind her. "Go right in."

That was how you ended up here, standing in front of the office door, nerves coiled in your stomach. The brass nameplate on the door gleamed under the bright hallway lights.

Mattheo Riddle, Esq.

You felt your palms getting sweaty because of your nerves. But he was your last hope against Enzo. You couldn't back down now. So you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, knocked softly, and opened the door.

The office was a sharp contrast to the pristine sterility of the lobby. It was warm wood-paneled walls, dark leather furniture, and a faint scent of smoke and something deeper, richer. Like expensive whiskey and old books. A single wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, and in front of them, seated behind a mahogany desk, was the man himself.

In that moment when you stepped into Mattheo Riddle’s office, the thought that you were in the wrong place crossed your mind. Not because you didn’t need help, your current predicament demanded it, but because everything about him, from the smug smirk to the unbuttoned collar of his tailored dress shirt, almost screamed trouble.

He didn't look up immediately, fingers tapping absently against the desk as he skimmed over a file. But then his dark eyes flicked up, locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your breath catch. His gaze flickered with recognition, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled velvety, leaning back in his leather chair, fingers steepled together as he observed you like a cat might be looking at a particularly interesting mouse. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

'Fuck, he'd changed', you thought immediately. His features became more mature, sharper. Broad shoulders were wrapped in an expensive suit, as if his body and the costume were created to attract hungry or jealous glances. Plump lips, now without permanent cuts and wounds like in Hogwarts, were stretched into a familiar smirk that was both charming and mischievous. The only thing that remained unchanged were his eyes. Dark, piercing, captivating, as if they knew all your dirty secrets that you trying to hide.

You exhaled, gathering your thoughts together, and stepped further inside, not letting your nervousness show. "I need your help."

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an expression you couldn't quite read — amused, curious, or something else entirely. Then, with a slow and smug smirk, he gestured to the chair across from him.

You hesitated only a fraction before lowering yourself into the chair opposite him. It was plush, expensive, and did absolutely nothing to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. Mattheo watched you with the kind of patience that wasn’t patience at all. More like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for it to make the first move.

"You need my help," he echoed, that infuriating smirk not leaving his lips. "That’s interesting. Because I don’t usually take clients who walk in off the street without an appointment."

You felt a pang of irritation. 'Off the street? Like you were some kind of a homeless dog,' you scoffed mentally. But you convinced yourself to inhale deeply and regain your composure. You needed his help, and you honestly expected him to act all cocky. He'd always been like this, even as a teenager at Hogwarts.

The deep exhale left your lips as you forced yourself to meet his gaze directly. "I didn't have much of a choice. Every other lawyer turned me away. Or, more accurately, they were turned away for me."

His eyes flickered with a mix of something — amusement, intrigue, calculation. "Hmm, let me guess," he purred lowly with a knowing smirk. "Lorenzo Berkshire?"

You nodded, your fingers tightening into your lap involuntarily. "I assume you already know what he’s capable of."

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly in amusement. "Oh, I do. We go way back, Enzo and I. Hogwarts days, old friends, that sort of thing."

The words sent a chill down your spine. Fuck, you totally forgot about the fact that they were close. And now that meant he wouldn’t take your case. That meant he—

"But we aren’t friends now," Mattheo continued, his tone shifting, something dangerous and razor-sharp creeping beneath the previous amusement. "Haven’t seen him for three years," a dark and almost maniac flash flicked in his onyx eyes. "Which only makes this more… intriguing."

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to remain steady and not to show your relief too obviously. You didn’t want him to see how desperately you need his help. "He's been bribing and scaring off every lawyer I’ve tried to hire. And I can’t— I won’t stay trapped like this. I need someone he can’t buy," you said carefully.

Mattheo hummed, drumming his fingers against the desk. His lips tugged into a smug grin. "And you came to me. The unshakable, indispensable, and incorruptible Mattheo Riddle."

You arched a brow at his words. That arrogant prick. You wanted to shove his shit-eating smirk deep in his handsome ass. But instead you remained calm. You needed him. "Something like that," you mumbled almost reluctantly.

He grinned even wider, and damn him, even under these circumstances, even through your irritation and annoyance at his attitude, you could see why people were drawn to him. There was some dangerous charm to Mattheo, a confidence that didn’t just border on arrogance — he wore it like a finely tailored suit.

"Tell me everything, sweetheart," he mused finally, his tone playful yet calculated. Like he was amused and intrigued by this situation, but he also already had all the cards in this game. "Leave nothing out."

You swallowed, gathering your thoughts and nodding, and then began to speak.

As you recounted everything, how perfect Enzo had seemed at the very beginning, how he slowly and gradually tightened his grip on your life and choices, how things spiraled until you realized you were caught in something you couldn’t escape — Mattheo listened. Not just passively, but with an intensity that made you feel unease and your skin prickle. His dark eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, absorbing every word, every pause, every unspoken fear woven between your sentences.

When you finally finished, Mattheo leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose and rubbing his lower lip in thought. "He’s meticulous. I’ll give him that. But he made one mistake."

Your breath hitched. But you didn’t want to let your hopes up. He hadn’t said 'Yes' to you yet. So you asked a bit hesitantly and carefully, "What?"

"He underestimated you." Mattheo's smirk returned, sharper this time, like he was a predator who was ready to hunt their prey. "And now, he has to deal with me."

If you weren’t in this dreadful position right now, his dark and hawkish gaze'd probably intimidate you. But you were, so relief crashed through you so fast that you almost felt lightheaded. "So you’ll help me?"

Mattheo tilted his head, considering. "Oh, sweetheart, I was always going to help an old friend of mine. The moment you walked through my door and made this infinitely more interesting for me?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "Enzo just became my newest problem. And I do love a good problem," he said with a playful wink.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. You weren’t sure if you’d just made a deal with salvation — or with the devil himself. But in your desperate situation, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

When you came home to your rented apartment later in the evening, where you were almost shamefully hiding from Enzo's all-seeing grab, you replayed this meeting in your head over and over again. The way Mattheo had grown up, how smug and lazily confident he was, the way his eyes changed color in the room's dimness. You quickly realized that your thoughts were going in some dangerous directions. So you shook your head in annoyance, turned on your side, and tried to sleep.

The next time you saw Mattheo Riddle, it wasn’t in the dimly lit intimacy of his office but in the cold sterility of a high-rise conference room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline behind him, the city sprawling out in golden lights as dusk settled. The room was all glass, steel, and polished surfaces — a battlefield for people who fought with words and knowledge instead of their wands.

You had expected to feel anxious, maybe even regretful about involving him, but watching him now, prowling the space with effortless confidence, you felt something else entirely.

Mattheo was in his element.

Seated at the massive conference table, you were flanked by paralegals and junior associates, people who worked for him, who hung onto his every word. They were efficient, sharp, and ruthless, but none of them commanded the room the way he did. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie slightly loosened, Mattheo carried an air of calculated chaos, as though he could dismantle the entire legal system with nothing but a boyish smirk and a well-placed argument.

You were only halfway listening to the conversation when you realized you were shamelessly staring. Not at his face, exactly, but at the way he moved and held himself. The sharp flex of his fingers against the table as he spoke, the way his lips curled around every word, the smooth confidence in his voice as he tore through the evidence presented before him, the silent but almost palpable respect of his subordinates who listened attentively to his every word. It wasn’t the same smug arrogance from before — this was precision, intellect, power. And it was intoxicating.

You realized almost reluctantly that you were turned on.

By his mind. By the way he held himself. By the way he had the attention of the whole room without even trying. By the way he saw everything ten moves ahead. By the fact that, for all his showmanship, Mattheo Riddle was undeniably, inescapably brilliant.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mattheo murmured, sliding into the chair beside you during a brief break in the discussion. His cologne was expensive and subtle, something dark, woody, and spicy that made your stomach tingle. “Second thoughts?”

You exhaled, hoping he wouldn’t catch the way your pulse jumped and your eyes were glued to him during the discussion. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to stay level. “Just observing.”

He hummed, glancing at you with something amused and knowing in his dark, onyx eyes. “And? What’s your verdict?”

You should have played it safe, should have kept your expression neutral, but instead, your mouth betrayed you, saying the next words against your will. “You’re good.”

His smirk was slow, devastating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured smugly, his voice nothing but a smoke curling under your skin. “You have no idea.”

Your throat felt suddenly dry, making you swallow slightly. “I think,” you said carefully, not wanting to show just how much he affected you, but failing miserably, “that you might actually be worth all the fuss around you.”

Mattheo leaned forward, close enough that you could see the flicker of something dark and knowing in his gaze. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapping around a blade — captivating yet dangerous — making heat pool down in your stomach. “Another praise from you, and I'll think that you might start to like me.”

You weren’t sure if it was the arrogance in his smirk or the glint in his eyes that made your skin heat, but there was something about Mattheo Riddle in his element that was utterly infuriating. And unfortunately, undeniably hot and attractive.

And in this moment, you realized with a sinking feeling that pushing those thoughts aside was going to be impossible. Because watching him like this — ruthless, brilliant, completely in control over the situation, over the room, over you.

It was maddening.

You should have been focusing on the legal strategy, on how he was about to dismantle Enzo's grip on your life. But instead, you were hyperaware of the way Mattheo thrived in this setting, his words sharp as a blade, his presence overpowering.

And worst of all? He knew it too.

Because at one point, as you shifted slightly in your seat, trying to shake off the heat curling low in your stomach and between your thighs, his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second. A knowing, dark, amused glance, like he could sense the shift in your thoughts. Like he could hear them, taste them.

That absolutely insufferable, arrogant bastard.

You cleared your throat, straightened your posture, and forced yourself to focus. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. You were here to win your freedom back, not to get distracted by the handsome man who was helping you achieve it.

But then, as Mattheo turned back to the discussion, his voice a low, smooth, lazy drawl, you had a sinking realization.

This might just be the beginning of an entirely new kind of trouble.

[dani-onearth]

Merciful & Misnamed [3]

Kylo Ren x fem reader

[Part One] - [Part Two] - Part Three - [Part Four] - [Part Five] Summary: Each time he saves you, his mask cracks a little more. And now, you really saw him. And he let you. Maybe the memory of who he was wasn't dead like he had insisted, just buried, needing a gentle hand to help him come back up to the surface. Warnings: More angst! Strong language. Word Count: 6.11k Authors note: Thank's for all the love on the first two! Wookipedia is my best friend now.

Is everything changing?

First, he took you out of the firing squad lineup. Then, he brought you to his quarters for a meal and stripped himself of his mask. Then, he cracked open when you showed him a real memory, and it haunted him. Somewhere in between the rage and the restraint, he looked at you like you still meant something to him. Like maybe Ben wasn’t dead.

Now, you’re back in your cell and it’s like none of it ever happened. 

You’re back in your cell and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop seeing his eyes change when he looked at you. 

You’re back in your cell and you want to blame the slab beneath your body for why you can't seem to fall asleep. Your skin itches and it won't stop crawling.

You laugh at yourself bitterly when you begin to fantasize about the hospital sheets like they’re a luxury. Maybe it wasn’t because they were soft and clean, but they made you feel like a person again instead of a captured thing on a foreign ship. 

The hum of the ship had a rhythm to it. It wasn't soothing, but predictable. You could count it. One cycle of the vent, one whir of the hallway lights… Once an hour, on the hour.

But the sound didn’t loop right tonight. Something rattled, and you opened your eyes, head lifting away from the crumpled jacket. It was a small noise—metallic and distant. Could've been pipes. Could've been nothing. You swallowed and laid back down, but something inside you screamed that you should show more concern. 

The air felt warm, unusually so. Maybe it was just you, finally getting used to the uncomfortable thing you have to call a bed. But there was another sound. Heavier this time, and you sit up. There was shouting down the corridor that made you slide to your feet, moving toward the slot in the door, breath fogging the panel. 

And then you heard, clear as day, “The detention wing’s been bombed!” And your mouth went dry. 

The hum of the vents was gone. The air was stale. The room was getting warmer by the second, a bead of sweat clung to your temple and the metal beneath your bare feet was radiating heat. 

Troopers ran to the exit, right past you, and you weren't a thought in their minds. Something glowed in their helmets as you watched.

Fire.

Smoke.

It rose up from the vents and the air inside of your cell was sealed like a coffin. You began beating against the door with your palms. “Hey! Someone! Please!” You could hear others screaming now, chanting the same sentiment, echoing all at once, cell after cell. 

You covered your mouth with your shirt and lifted a hand toward the door, willing it to move, begging the Force to listen to you like it used to.

All those years of training to be steady and focused and balanced were not living in you now. You were just full of desperation and fear, and the edges of your mind were splintering in the growing heat. 

The door groaned, cracking, just barely. You shoved an arm through it, groping at… nothing. There was nothing. 

Stars, your lungs were burning. 

You slid all the way down to the floor, coughing and trembling. You pressed your head to the ground where the air was thinner, tears streaming from the thick smoke that now clouded your vision. They were more than just a sting in your eyes, you were crying. You weren't going to make it out of this one.

You closed your eyes, inhaled ash, felt it fill your lungs and burn your throat. You called onto the Jedi before you, reaching out for help like a final prayer. 

And then, the door caved in violently. The steel clashed open with a shriek and the light poured in like the sun was in the hall. You coughed so hard you choked, hands clawing at the floor before arms wrapped around you.

Opening your eyes through the haze you saw Ben. No helmet. Face slick with sweat and brow pinched with worry. He didn’t say a word, just pulled you up with an arm around your back and ran. 

Your own feet couldn’t keep up and your head was lulling in any direction he pulled. The fire was everywhere and the doors were melting at their hinges, pained screams passing like shadows.

In the cells you saw faces. Hands reaching. Eyes wide.

“Stop—” you jerked his arm with a heavy cough, “Stop… we have to—” Your lungs were giving out, trying to expel everything that had found its way inside of them. 

He kept going.

You couldn’t help them.

He stopped where the smoke cleared, snapped off by a bay door. Ben stumbled through it and dropped to one knee, slowly letting you down, cradling your head so it wouldn't hit the floor. Delicately. His arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders, hand hovering at your waist like he was afraid to let go of you.

You continued to gasp in staggered breaths, eyes fluttering as you rattled a cough. Your hands weakly grasped his arm without thinking, and he didn’t pull away.

He was breathing hard. Shaking as his eyes were locked on your face, watching every wince, every sharp inhale. Your hand trembled against his covered arm, his own reaching up and brushing the soot from your cheek with the back of his fingers, just once, like muscle memory. His fingers twitched like he didn’t mean to do it.

Your breaths were larger now, and watching the rise and fall of your chest, something in him… unclenched. He closed his eyes briefly, lowering his head in some sort of relief. Then, he blinked, jaw tightened, and he stood.

“Medic!” He barked at the trooper that had just rounded the corner, spooking the soldier. “Get her a medic and take her to my quarters.”

The trooper hesitated, “Sir—all medics have been rerouted to the east wing—uh, blast damage, sir—it’s—”

“Get her a medic.” His voice turned slow and venomous. 

The trooper straightened clumsily. “I—I’ll find someone, sir—”

“No, you get her to my quarters now, and you get her there alive.” He stepped closer, towering. “She breathes wrong, you fix it. You get her water, you sit her down, and then you bring her a medic.”

The trooper nodded, stammering, and reached down to get you.

Ben watched your body shift in the trooper's arms and something in his eyes twisted. He didn’t like it. He didn’t trust anyone else to touch you. But he stepped back anyway, slowly, and then he turned. 

“Tell no one of this.”

He pulled his saber from his belt and strode around the corner, into battle. 

The trooper's grip was rougher than Ben’s. Not cruel, but nowhere near as careful. Your ribs ached, your lungs felt as if you were hacking up flames, and your wrist throbbed where the wound had definitely reopened. 

The ship was chaotic. Sirens and orders barked over crackled comms. Troopers marched past with blasters drawn, some dragging others. Blood on the floor. Marks on the wall.

Mercenaries, you had heard someone say. Not the Resistance. Something barbaric.

A body hit the ground behind you, and you didn’t want to look. Your legs were limp, half dragged and half guided through hallways you’d never been through. The trooper grumbled to themselves under their breath. You couldn’t make out any of it.

You were thinking about Ben. About his eyes. Full of concern. Morphing into something you had seen in the past. And his face flickered like it hurt to walk away. Like he wanted to stay beside you instead of running back into battle. The mask hadn’t been there, and he ran straight into the fire without it. 

The trooper stopped in front of a large set of doors. You knew where you were.

They tapped the panel and the door slid open to air that didn't smell like burning wires and rust. The trooper helped you stumble in, and he set you down on a bench with a grunt, legs folding beneath you awkwardly. The trooper stood stiffly nearby, fidgeting, glancing around the room and clearly not knowing if they’re supposed to stick around. 

“I don’t think I need a medic,” you rasped, voice fried from the smoke and dehydration. “I’m fine.”

You couldn’t see their face, but you could feel the blank stare. 

“Uh… Yeah… I’m gonna call one anyway.”

You snorted, which made you cough. Kylo Ren probably put the fear of the Gods in him. 

“Fair.” 

They shuffled on their feet. “So, uh, just… stay put.”

“Not planning a jog.”

With an awkward nod he headed toward the door, but paused like he forgot something. He shuffled over to a wall panel and propped it open; a recessed compartment stocked with large ration packs. He pulled out a clear cup of water with a foil seal stretched over the top. He set it down on the bench next to you.

He stiffly nodded.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

He lingered for a second too long before he turned and stepped out, the door sealing behind him with a quiet hiss.

You stared at the water and peeled back the seal. But when you lifted the cup to your lips, you flinched. Confused, you pulled it back and touched your fingers to the spot. The faintest streak of red painted in your index finger. 

The skin was raw and you hadn’t noticed. Now, it’s like your entire body decided to wake up at once. Your forearm throbbed where your sleeve clung to it, heat rising under the fabric. The pain in your wrist had a dull distracting sting. Your lungs were tight, coated in ash. Your hand was trembling. You could have died.

And not in a dramatic, heroic, noble way. No final words, or rescue mission to save the galaxy. You would have vanished; locked away, choking on your own breath. Just smoke. Fire. Melting. You would have stopped breathing and that would've been it. No one would have known.

But he knew.

He was the only one who knew you were still down there and he came for you.

He saved you.

Again. 

And it felt different this time. The first time was weakness. The second time was a claim. This one didn’t feel like either. 

He ran into fire with no helmet, no mask, just him. His own flesh. Hair curled with sweat, jaw clenched, eyes… worried. Scared. 

When he saw you on that floor with smoke swarming around your body, he went still for half a second. You felt the pull in his breath, the relief when you opened your eyes. He wasn’t a commander dragging a prisoner out because they needed intel, he looked like a man who had something to lose. He was frantic and disarmed. He rescued you like he couldn't help himself. 

You turn your head when the doors open. 

The medic that stepped in didn’t look like the others you’d seen before. A dark grey uniform with a slim utility belt and a medical bag. Their boots made clean and clipped steps as they approached you a little hesitantly, glancing around the room.

“You’re just a prisoner?”

You nodded once. It was true, but no one could really figure out what that meant in your case anymore. 

She crouched beside the bench, setting down a compact medical case that clicked open with one press, revealing rows of compartments with neatly arranged supplies, then quickly pulling out a scanner with one hand and typing notes with the other.

“Vitals unstable. Minor burns to the face, mild to the left forearm. Open laceration on the right wrist. Dehydration. Light smoke inhalation.” A neutral and practiced tone that felt uncomfortable. Their eyes flicked up towards the bedroom; to the sealed door. 

What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.

They didn’t say it, but they were thinking it.

They applied some sort of solution to the burn and it sealed the top layer. “It’ll help reduce nerve damage,” she said, “you’ll feel tightness and some heat.” The cool spray was jarring when it hit your arm and you winced. The area was covered with a dermapatch, warm and pulsing as it began regeneration. 

Next, your wrist. She peeled back the bloodied fabric to show that the cut was deeper than you remembered, enough to make the medic click their tongue. Without a word, they injected you with anesthetic, the sharp pinch made you turn away. Then, they applied a second skin. A transparent and flexible band that began to weave new tissue under it.

“This will scar. Try not to use that hand too much.” They packed up their things, leaving a few bandages and sprays with you before she stood. 

She tucked the datapad under her arm. Not leaving, just staring.

You looked up at her. “...Is that it?”

They didn’t answer, at least not right away. They watched you with a sort of calculation that made you shift in place. You felt like she was measuring you with professional unease. Evaluation. 

“Does he plan to keep you here?”

You blinked. “What?”

They didn’t repeat themselves as she slowly made her way towards the door. “I only ask because there are officers aboard who might not consider this kind of… exception rational for the Order.” One final glance and she was gone.

Her words clung to the air… you knew what she meant. You weren’t supposed to be there. Not in his room. Not alive. And the thought barely settled before the door hissed open again. 

It was Ben, no mask, breathless, ripped cloak, sweat-damp hair and a bloody, stark streak beneath his ribs. The adrenaline had worn off and he wasn’t walking cleanly. Slow steps, almost limping.

He stared at you, half curled on the bench. And you stared at the blood. 

“You’re hurt,” you almost stand.

He trudges closer now. 

“Are your burns bad?” His eyes rake over your bandaged body.

“Treated.” You’re focused on his giant wound. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He said, frowning.

You scoff. “And you obviously didn’t pass a mirror on your way here.” He said nothing. “Sit before you fall.”

He gave you a look and hesitated, but dropped down beside you like a bag of rocks, wincing with his whole face. You grabbed the medics leftover cloth and bactaspray from the corner.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I said—”

“I heard you.”

You didn’t back away and he didn’t want to give in. There was a beat of silence before you spoke. 

“Lift it. Or I’ll tear it.” Your own commanding voice surprised you. 

He exhaled through his nose and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up halfway. 

The wound was shallow, but it was angry, leaking onto his exposed skin and staining the black material of his shirt into a darker shade somehow. You dabbed some of it away as best you could, he flinched in a way that told you he wasn’t used to being treated so gently. You pressed the cloth more carefully the second time, cleaning the edges first. Your hand moved with delicate ease, but your chest didn’t. Something about how close you were made your breath feel shallow. He was letting you clean his open wound and you could hear the subtle shift of his breath at every touch. He was holding himself perfectly still. Bleeding, scorched, tired and all… he felt peaceful. 

You caught yourself gazing at the curve of his stomach, the freckles on his ribcage, the sharp line of his waist. 

You weren’t trying to look, but it was impossible not to see him.

“Should I remind you that I’m the enemy?” He asked slowly, like he was testing you.

You blinked hard and focused on the wound. “Yeah? Well, you’re doing a terrible job at it.”

And you caught it. Just barely. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth—the threat of a smile. 

He didn't laugh, but he almost did. 

You didn’t say anything about it, just continued cleaning him up like he was fragile. Of course he wasn’t, he was anything but. You hadn't meant to be so gentle until the silence made it obvious to you. 

“You’ve done this before.” 

You glanced up at his shuttered sentence.

“Yeah…” You shrugged. “Resistance members need to know the basics. We’re not exactly swimming in medics—” 

“No, no, I mean… to me.” He looked down into your eyes, pulling a memory from somewhere in his mind. “Temple courtyard, we were thirteen, maybe.” And he looked away. “I cut my hand open during a drill trying to catch a training saber. Probably trying to show off.” For you. He didn't say it, but a faint scoff escaped him and he got really quiet. You could tell his mind was somewhere else. “You were the only one that didn’t laugh at me.”

You remembered. Only bits and pieces, but you remembered. 

“But, later that night, you looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘If you were trying to impress me, you should have at least bowed.’” And he held back the chuckle a little less than he did the first time. 

And you smiled a little more than you meant to.

“Sounds like me.” You said quietly.

He huffed and looked at you again, just as softly as you pressed the bandage into place, lowering his shirt back over his torso. You didn’t move far, just slid onto the bench next to him, close enough that your knees nearly touched.

His gaze lingered on your profile longer than it should have. 

 “Everyone else saw what they wanted… the future Jedi, the legacy, the danger… but not you.” He said it like he wasn't sure if he meant it as a confession or not. “You always saw right through me. Even back then.” 

You didn’t look away. And you really looked. His voice was different now. More familiar. 

The moment stretched. 

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And yet, somehow, you had gotten closer.

His leg brushed yours, arms touching now as they rested on the bench. No one was reaching, it was just a shift in gravity.

You weren't sure who leaned in first, but for a second you thought he might kiss you. And he thought you might let him. 

But then he blinked. Sharply. Suddenly. Like something yanked him away from the moment. 

“I have to,” his voice faltered, he cleared his throat, “I have to meet with Command. About the mercenaries. The attack.” Like he just remembered there had been an invasion at all.

He stood abruptly and looked down, stepping back without meeting your eyes when he grabbed his cloak. 

“Get comfortable.” He said, pulling his helmet on.

He just walked out. 

And you stayed where you were, your heart still pounding in your throat. You swallowed thickly and wondered how it managed to go as far as it did. 

What would have happened if he hadn’t remembered?

He should have stayed… Ben told himself that three times on his way to the meeting room, wondering what would happen if he just pivoted back and forgot his responsibilities entirely. 

The mask was back on; gloss black, voice filtered, impassive. No one could see the red in his eyes or how hard he was clenching his jaw. 

He was late, generals already seated around the long table with glowing datapads and reports flashing across projection screens.

Eyes flickered toward him as the door shut behind him. He just straightened his posture as he moved to his seat and stared at the blue light bleeding across the table. He tried to remember what they were discussing.

The Gaunt Division… coaxium theft… breached from the portside…

Every word they said strung together into a rumble in his ears because he wasn’t all there. He wasn’t there at all.

He was still back in that room… your knees touching… eyes wide… lashes dropping into a slow-lidded stare…

He felt like an idiot.

For needing to save you and running into a fire like a man possessed.

For wishing he had stayed for one more second. 

He should’ve just—said something. Anything. He should have touched you first. Let himself at least feel your lips before remembering who he’s supposed to be.

“Seems they bombed the detention wing because that's where most of our troopers are assigned. As you’ll see from the security footage—Commander Ren?”

A dozen heads turn. 

“Your evaluation of the breach?”

He paused.

“Yes.” He straightened. “I’ll review the surveillance and submit a revised assessment.” Not really an answer. He didn't care.

None of them mattered.

He was so distracted he didn’t see the gaze of General Hux, curious and calculating. Tracking every twitch of his hand, every moment he stared at nothing at all.

He noticed how Ben stood too fast when the meeting ended, the legs of the chair scraping angrily and impatiently. 

“You seem distracted, Commander.” Hux said, keeping his eyes on the documents in front of him.

Kylo stopped just before the door, everyone else filing out past his statued stance. 

“No doubt the chaos in the detention wing took a toll.” Hux’s voice was dry, almost bored. “So many troopers lost. So many prisoners.” He looks up. “How… unfortunate.”

Ben turned his head just slightly.

“Curious, though, if one were to survive. Well, That’d be a rather unique situation. Wouldn’t it, Commander Ren?”

Ben said nothing, face stiffening under the mask.

Hux gathered his things and stood. “It’s only a hypothetical.” Hux stops before passing him, only glancing at him as he says, “you seem awfully tense.”

The doors to his quarters opened and you looked up quickly. 

Helmet on and shoulders rigid, Ben streaked in. You straightened on the bench, smoothing a blanket over on your lap. You were still dirty, but washing up felt like an invasion somehow. As if you weren’t alone in his quarters. By his request. You’d taken one of his pillows, and that had felt sneaky enough when you slipped it from his bed. It had felt like you were snooping—which you totally could've—but didn’t for some reason. 

“Hey,” you said in a fragile voice. He didn’t answer. Just walked in, stood there, like he didn't know why he came back. “I didn’t take the bed… figured that might be…” You made a face to suggest a word you couldn’t place. An attempt at humor.

Still, nothing. And the silence pressed.

His back was turned, facing somewhere across the room. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He muttered, more to himself than anything, but you heard it scrape your ears like a blade. 

“What?”

“This was a mistake.”

You let out a bitter and incredulous laugh. “Uh, okay.” You stood, letting the blanket fall off your legs. “You spare me, and fight for me, and literally run into a fire to save me, and you look at me—like, like I'm not just some disposable memory from your past—like I matter to you, and now you come in here? Saying that shit?” He didn’t move. “What is wrong with you?”

He still didn't look at you. His mask made him worse. Made him a wall.

“You won’t even say what happened.” He mumbled.

“Fine. Alright.” You crossed your arms, staring at the back of his stupid helmet. “We almost kissed.”

His shoulder ticked, but he still gave you nothing. 

You continued, breath tight. “I wanted to. And you wanted it too, I know you did, so don’t act like I imagined that.”

He finally reached up and removed the helmet, setting it down on a surface next to him. He turned slowly, face pale, ash smeared across his skin, dried blood at his hairline. His eyes, tired and red. 

“I don't know what I’m doing.” He admitted, voice raw and trembling. 

Your expression softened. “You think I do?”

He exhaled, eyes falling shut. “You scare me.”

“Why?” The statement shocked you.

There was a pause. He looked at his shoes and shrugged, a small movement. “I don't know, I… I don't want you to look away.” He said it so sadly.

You stared into his eyes. Into Ben Solo’s eyes. Not the commander or the weapon. He’s just a man. And he looked wrecked and vulnerable and exhausted.

There was a terrible hope in his voice. 

Tears pricked your eyes, emotion got caught in your throat. 

You stepped forward. Close. Feet just a few inches from each other. 

Your fingers reached for his hands—gloved and clenched in a tight, tense fist. You brought your hands to his wrist but he was stiff.

“Let me see you,” you said softly, a slight wobble in your voice. 

He didn’t pull away, just watched your face as you unfastened the edge of the glove. Slowly, and carefully, your thumb brushed along the bone of his wrist, tracing a path all the way down to the end of his fingers as you pulled the leather down.

His hands were scarred and rough with callouses. 

You took the second glove off, and he let you. You pulled it free, discarding both garments on the floor without care or caution. 

You looked down at his bare hands, running your fingertips down the back of his knuckles to his fingernails, flipping them over and tracing something on his palm. 

“Do you even remember what you look like under all this armour?” You whispered.

His eyes were soft, brows knit like he couldn’t believe it. 

You were so close you felt his breath fan your face, to see the flecks of color in his eyes, how they were glossed over and affectionate. 

“You’re not gone.”

His lips parted like he might say something, but he didn’t.

And you leaned in. Centimeters away from him… and stopped… and waited.

Waited to see if he would run. If he’d flinch. If the impenetrable wall would come back up. 

But it didn’t. Because he leaned in too, so carefully. 

Your parted lips breathed into each other’s mouths, testing intentions. It was like your bodies were weighing the options. Just dancing around the moment, dancing around the question of if you should even close the gap. 

But then he kissed you. 

Gentle and searching. He was stiff and soft and weary.

But, his eyes closed, and he let the breath that was sitting on his chest out through his nose. 

And he kissed you. 

Like he needed you.

His hands left yours to touch your face. His bare fingertips grazed your cheek and he didn’t know something so soft could ever come onto a ship so brutal and cold. He didn’t know he could still want this. 

His thumb pressed against your jaw. It wasn’t rushed, it was deep, and personal. It was like he could breathe again.

You pulled away, but not all at once. Just an inch. And his forehead leaned against yours, fingers grasping at the back of your neck, needing the closeness to stay for only a little longer. 

He opened his eyes slowly and he saw yours. Looking into him, like you forgot you were ever apart. 

The memory of the mask flickered through his mind like broken static. The moment couldn’t hold forever.

“We shouldn’t have—”

“We did.” You breathed.

He exhaled shakily, hands roaming down to your waist just to hold you there. He didn’t want to let you go. You grab them and entangle your fingers loosely. You both lingered in the quiet, breath mingling.

The moment had frayed but not broken. You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes scanning the smudges of soot along his jaw. You smear it away with your own dirty thumb. “You should go get cleaned up. You look like you were dragged through a furnace.” A crooked smile found your lips. “You smell like it too.”

He huffed through his nose and then—blink and you’d miss it—a smile. Small and reluctant, but still there. He didn’t even try to hide it. 

You lifted your head slightly, delighted. 

“Go,” you urged, “I’ll still be here.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there like he wanted to remember this. The look on your face, the sound of your voice, the absence of fear. 

“You first.” He said. Quiet, but certain.

You peel away slowly, shyly looking down at your feet before you turn away toward the sealed door. Barefoot, bruised, swallowed in clothes that were ripped and seared.

His mouth twitched, and it stayed that way for a second before his throat worked a swallow. He watched every step. The swivel of your waist. The way your hand opened the door of the refresher. 

You looked back. “Hate to ask, but… do you have anything I could change into?”

He nodded once. “I’ll leave something by the door.”

“Thanks,” and you couldn’t help but tease him, “try not to give me something with a cape.”

Another one. Another glitch in his stoic face. Not quite a smile, but almost one.

You almost close the door, but you’re pulled to ask him for one more favor. “Don’t disappear again.” No wit or humor. Just a request.

“I won’t.”

And you believe him. 

You turn to close the door, but the buzz from the entrance makes you jump. Ben’s head lifts immediately and he notices your worried expression. 

“Stay in there, and don’t come out until I tell you to.” His voice was low and urgent.

You nodded silently and slipped out of view. 

He looked back to make sure you were really hidden before opening the door. 

“General Hux.”

Hux stepped in with hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable beside the faint amusement in his cheeks. 

“Ren.” He said evenly. “I trust you weren’t resting. Not after an attack of this caliber.” His eyes swept the room, lingering on the pillow and the blanket, but didn’t point it out. He didn’t need to. 

Ben straightened. “I was just about to use the fresher.”

“Hm.” His eyes ticked toward the open door quickly. “Well. A name has come up from the temple records. There has been chatter from intelligence command… said she was one of the padawans there when it fell. Would have been in your same year. Maybe a year behind.” His eyes wandered lazily around the room. “She was one of our prisoners. The same one that you questionably spared before the firing line?”

Ben didn’t move. “I thought she might still be useful. The force is unpredictable.”

“Useful…” Hux turned back toward the door. “Well, in other news, the Resistance outpost at Nakorr has been confirmed. Command has authorized a full eradication. No survivors.” A beat. “They won’t stand a chance.” His eyes flicked once more toward the blanket and pillow behind Ben. “Thought you’d like to know.” Then, a slight smirk. “Unless, of course, your priorities have shifted… Have they, Commander?”

Ben clenched his jaw but he couldn’t help the way his glare cut straight through the General. It burned with something dangerously close to guilt. He couldn’t respond. So he didn’t.

Hux’s smirk persisted. He wasn’t done. “Remind me again, how did we deal with the Resistance outpost in Mardona?”

Ben shifted his gaze downward and gulped, dry and subtly. “It was underground.”

“Civilians mixed in.” Hux interrupts. “Not unlike Nakorr, now.”

Ben glanced sideways. “We collapsed the tunnels. No way out. Buried them.” Voice flat and cold. A performance. 

Hux raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Efficient.” And he turned, satisfied as he took a step toward the door. “Do get some rest.” A final glance, like he knew. “You look like you’ve been through fire.”

And then he was gone behind the sealed door.

Ben hadn’t moved.

Hands clenched tightly.

He didn’t hear you round the corner and step back into the room like a shadow. 

“Buried them?” Your voice was cracked and trembling.

He flinched and his head snapped up. Tears left shining streaks down your cheeks, painted over the ash and soot.

He steps toward you instinctively.

“Don’t,” You bit, stepping back. “Don’t come near me.”

He froze, hands becoming stiff as they lowered back to his sides. 

“Nakorr… That’s the plan now? Another outpost full of communities—families—you’re going to wipe them out? Eradicate them?” 

He clenched his jaw, but he couldn’t lie. “You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“No, no I do.” And you snapped. “I knew people there, Ben, they were just people living simple lives. Hard working. Kind. Generous. They gave me food when I was hungry, gave me shelter and necklaces and… there were children. Mothers. Fathers.”

He looked stricken, like you had pierced him in the chest. 

“Did you hear them scream when you collapsed those tunnels?” You stepped closer. “Did you even think about it?”

Ben exhaled sharply. He was drowning. 

“This isn’t what you want to fight for, I know it’s not.”

“You think I get to choose?” He shouted, chest beginning to heave. “I lead armies, I build Weapons, I’ve slaughtered—”

“Then stop!” You begged, striding closer to him, so he’d look you in the eye. “Come with me. Right now. We’ll leave. There are ships on the lower dock, I can get us to the Outer Rim. No one would question you if you brought me down there. You and I—We can make it before anyone notices.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and wrecked. “You don’t want this war. Come with me.”

He pinched his face together and looked away. “They won’t want me.”

“What?” You blink.

He shook his head. “The Resistance. After everything I’ve done? They’d only see what I am—”

“—They’ll see what I see.”

You made him pause. And you reached for him again, slower this time. Your fingers brushed his chest, you rested your palm there, just over his heart. His breath caught and you both looked at each other. Glossy eyes. 

“I still see you.” You whispered. You stepped closer until the warmth from his body pressed against yours. Until he could feel your breath again. Your other hand curled lightly around the side of his neck, brushing his hair through your fingers. “You don’t have to keep pretending he’s gone.”

He exhaled a slow and aching sound, leaning into your touch, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“Yes. I do.”

Your fingers curled just slightly against his chest as you felt his heartbeat quicken. Your nose brushed his, a nervous but steady breath, his hand lifting to your waist—grasping at it a little rougher than he probably meant to. Your eyes flicker up to see his eyes hooded, focused on your lips. 

I know you’re still in there, Ben.

He looked up at the echo of your thought, hearing it in his own head. And he gave you a look, into you, one that said everything you had wanted to hear.

Yes, I am.

And you kissed him.

He pulled you closer, his other hand holding your cheek, fingers trembling like he was afraid you’d disappear. He needed to feel your skin. His thumb rubbed at the bone at your hip and he held you tightly. But you held him tighter. Wordless longing.

Your hand snaked all the way around the back of his neck, leaving no room between your bodies to question how much you believed him.

His lips were cracked and rough and unloved for years, but so real. And here you were, tasting them for the second time today, showing him how much more he deserved. 

All this power never gave him something that mattered. Nothing he wanted to hold close like this. Nothing he could get lost in this. It’s like this moment had lived inside of him for years without realizing it. You had been there, in the back of his head, at every decision, regret, every ache he felt and shoved down deeper. 

It was a kiss. Something he wasn’t meant to have, but he took it gladly. He was showing himself to you, letting his emotions take over his body, allowing himself to act in desperation for closeness. 

When he pulled back, it was gentle, his forehead resting against yours with closed eyes, memorizing the feeling once more. 

He opened them gently, and they were clear. It was just a whisper, like he was scared for anyone else to hear him. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

Said like it broke him.

But he said it anyway.

[Part Four] Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I appreciate any interaction, or even just you reading and enjoying it silently. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read my stuff, I'm excited to write the next part!

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Established wrecker relationship with a newborn and lots of fluff and cuddles.

Bundle of Joy

Wrecker x Reader

Summary- Wrecker is scared he might hurt your newborn baby. You reassure him he won't, and that he is a good father.

A/N- Warning for descriptions of birth! Thank you for requesting! I love this prompt, Wrecker would be so careful with a tiny baby!

Word Count- 1,344

You weren't due for another week, you were supposed to be on Pabu for your delivery. With lots of midwives and doctors who had helped with past births. That just wasn't in the cards for you though.

Tech made an emergency landing on the closest inhabitable planet he could find. There was no time to get to Pabu, and it wasn't safe to jump into hyperspace while in labor.

You screamed loud, gripping the closest thing as tight as you could. Unlucky for Wrecker- it was his hand. You were insanely nervous, nothing was going according to plan. Wrecker was doing little to help, he was freaking out himself.

You took deep breaths the second your contraction was over. Wrecker swept hair out of your face and rubbed your arm, trying his best to keep you calm.

"We have landed." Tech called back, a green hue cast over the ship. Whatever planet you landed on was either abandoned or had a low population.

"I'm scared Wrecker." You breathed in again, "How am I going to have this baby on a shi-" You cut yourself off, screaming in pain as a new contraction hit.

You reached over, hitting Wrecker on the arm. "You are never touching me again, I cannot believe I married you!" You yelled at him. Pain clouded your thoughts.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!" He worried, also frightened on what would happen. You were on an abandoned planet with no doctor!

Hunter and Omega also sat close by, getting everything you requested. Omega had refreshed a cold rag a dozen times now, and promptly placed Lula by your side.

Tech and Echo talked in the Cock-pit, you didn't know what about. Though it dulled the pain to think on what it was.

"What do you need?" Omega sweetly asks after you stop screaming.

"I need to know the plan." Inhale, exhale, "What's going to happen?"

"I do not know why everyone is freaking out. I am fully equipped to deliver a child." Tech chimes in, that must have been what they were talking about.

His words did bring you comfort, as your original plan involved Tech being there to make sure everything was going by the book.

"Get her on the floor, bring lots of pillows. We need her slightly elevated." Tech took over shortly after he made sure the ship was settled.

Hunter brought Omega outside after you started spewing insults and profanities to Wrecker. You were a completely different person when in pain.

Echo stayed on board to make sure Wrecker didn't do anything stupid, and to help Tech if needed.

About an hour later, screaming, hitting, and pushing- your baby girl was born.

"It's a girl."

You panted heavily, "Give her to me Tech, please." Tech immediately grabbed his knife and cut the front of your shirt open.

"Hey! Wha-" Wrecker was confused, only seeing Tech ripping your top off.

"Wrecker, it's so the baby can feel her skin." Echo informed, holding Wrecker back slightly.

Tech rested the child on your chest, then moved back down to cut the umbilical cord.

You gasped and gently held her to your chest. "Oh thank you Makers, thank you!" You had tears running down your face, slowly caressing your baby's cheek.

"Wrecker, come here. Some see your daughter." You waved him over, all of a sudden regretting your snide comments made earlier.

He joined your side quickly, resting his large palm on the top of your sweaty head. "She's perfect..."

He lowered his head, face only an inch from the baby's. "She looks just like you..."

You sniffled a laugh, "She looks like a potato right now, Wreck."

"No, look. She has your eyes." Just as he said that, she peaked an eye open, looking at her father for the first time.

"Sweet baby." You commented.

"Hey, i'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't know what I was saying." You apologized, not wanting Wrecker to think he was purposefully the cause of your pain.

"You did such a good job." He gave a loud chuckle, "I was more scared than you!"

You smiled at him.

"Have Wrecker hold the baby, you have to pass the placenta now." Tech pressed down on your stomach, moving the placenta down.

"Here, Wrecker." You slowly lifted her to him. His face dropped, he was terrified.

"It's okay, she's tiny but strong." You assured him.

"Uh, I don't know..." He breathed heavily.

Your face screwed in pain again, though not near as bad as before.

"Wrecker!"

"Okay, okay." He picked her up, as softly and carefully as a man his size could muster, He was shaking in fear he would hurt her. She was just so small.

Wrecker had a past of knocking over or accident breaking things, he was just so big. He forgot sometimes. He certainly did not forget now. He watched the child like a hawk.

It didn't take long before Tech finished helping you pass the placenta. Immediately after you were able to, Wrecker passed her back into your arms.

After a moment of silence and the four of you admiring the baby, Echo chimed in.

"Tech and I will give you some space." He guided the two of them outside of the ship, with Hunter and Omega.

"Wrecker, it's okay. She's fine." You looked up into the eyes of the man that had made you forever happy.

"What are we going to name her?" He said, effectively changing the conversation.

You huffed, but figured you could talk to him about holding her later. "What about Myla?" You asked.

"Perfect." He said, once again leaning down to get a good look at her. He held his finger out, tickling the baby's foot.

A few minutes later, you sent Wrecker to get everyone. You knew Omega would be beaming to see the baby.

"What is it, what is it! Tech wouldn't tell!" She practically bounced in, but slowed down when she came to your side.

"Meet Myla, your niece."

"She's so beautiful." She said, leaning on her arm while admiring the baby.

Wrecker smiled at the scene.

It had been an uneventful flight home, you were in overprotective mode. Even though you trusted everyone on the ship with your life, you didn't let anyone else hold Myla. She slept the whole way back.

You and Wrecker decided to settle down in your home on Pabu that was pre-prepared for this day. Many of the Pabu citizens already knew of the birth, but gave you your space.

You sat up in your bed, Myla cradled in your arms. She quickly fell asleep after being fed. Wrecker joined you, being overly careful in getting under the sheets.

"Do you want to hold her?" You asked, looking at him sit up next to you.

"Oh uh, I don't want to wake her. Probably best if you just hold her." You sighed at this. Your hormones were still wack, and you teared up at his answer.

"What's wrong, what'd I do?" He softly asked, a hand coming to your arm.

You sniffled, taking a few breathes before speaking "Why won't you hold her?"

"I don't want to hurt Myla." He said, nervous for your response.

You blinked, readjusting Myla in your arms. "Wrecker, I promise you will be okay. She is tough, just like her daddy."

He looked at her, still unsure. "Look, just take her. if anything happens i'm right here."

You raised your arms, handing her over. She 'cooed' but stayed asleep.

"See, she knows you're her dad." You rubbed your face on his arm, wrapping your arms around him. He was tense, caught up in the feeling of holding her.

"Move your arm up a little." You guided him, but it soon felt natural for him.

A deep breath left him lips. He was finally comfortable.

"Not so bad huh?"

With a swallow he answered, "The two most perfect girls in the world."

You nuzzled further into his side, trusting his hold on Myla.

"Thank you for giving me this..."

A/N- Thank you so much for reading!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @dangraccoon @knight-of-flowerss

[synity]

Just read ur fic "Don’t Tell My Brother" and the part where cheol said "i used to carry on my back to school" stuck me cause that's so when life gives you tangerines core. Love love love that fic!

wondering if u can write smth related to that? More on cheol and his sis' dynamics + snippets of dk & s/o's relationship ❤️❤️

WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU TANGERINES

(Big brother!Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*family drama / coming-of-age / soft romance, nostalgia, protection, and growth*

The sun hit the sidewalk just right that morning, the exact way it used to on the walk to elementary school when Seungcheol had your pink backpack slung over his shoulders and your tiny hand in his. That memory, like most childhood ones, was a little faded, a little warmer than reality, but it returned full-force as you watched him park his car outside your new apartment.

He came out wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses like a celebrity on his day off. Still protective. Still annoying.

“You sure this is the safest street?” he asked, surveying the neighborhood like a secret service agent.

You sighed, dragging a suitcase to the curb. “I live ten minutes from my university. This is not a war zone, Cheol.”

“You never know.”

Still the same. Overbearing, big-brother energy at its finest.

When Seokmin called, his voice was warm like honey lemon tea on a sore throat kind of warm.

“You settled in okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, twirling your pen. “Cheol helped too much. I think he rearranged my whole kitchen.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Seokmin chuckled, “and I definitely can’t wait to judge his taste in mug organization.”

You smiled without realizing. Seokmin had this way of easing into your days without asking too much. He wasn’t pushy like your brother, but steady, like a familiar melody. The kind you didn’t realize you were humming all the time.

You had met through Cheol, of course through all the "don’t you dare fall for my sister" warnings and late-night group hangouts where Seokmin made you laugh so hard you spilled soda on yourself.

Cheol never really said anything when he noticed how you and Seokmin kept glancing at each other. But he’d tighten his jaw. Cross his arms. Watch.

As if being carried to school on someone’s back earned them permanent veto power over your love life.

It was the week before Chuseok when you came home for a weekend.

Your mom had set out a basket of tangerines on the table. Just like every autumn.

Seungcheol came in from his jog and grabbed one, peeling it with lazy hands.

“I used to peel these for you,” he said casually. “So you wouldn’t get your fingers sticky.”

You looked at him sweaty, tired, older but still him. That boy who used to punch kids who teased you for having lopsided pigtails. That boy who walked behind you on field trips like a security detail.

“I remember,” you said softly. “You used to split one with me during winter.”

“I’d give you the sweeter half,” he added.

You raised a brow. “You said you gave me the sweeter half.”

He tossed a tangerine slice at you. “Still would.”

And that was Seungcheol. Big-hearted. Big-headed. A little too much of both.

“Seokmin's coming over,” you said one evening, helping Cheol stir jjigae.

His hand froze mid-stir. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re working on a presentation together.”

“You’re not even in the same major.”

“He’s helping me with design. Can’t I hang out with my friends?”

Cheol didn’t answer. His silence was louder than words. Like a pot boiling over with the lid still on.

Later that night, when Seokmin arrived grinning and carrying instant tteokbokki like a peace offering the tension in the air was thick.

Seokmin greeted your brother. “Cheol! You look less scary today. That’s a win.”

Your brother didn’t laugh. You sighed.

But Seokmin stayed kind. Stayed patient. Stayed exactly the way you knew he would.

It happened unexpectedly. Cheol had come by your apartment after practice.

He spotted Seokmin’s jacket on your couch.

“Was he here last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Alone?”

You stared at him, stunned. “You don’t get to ask that.”

He didn’t raise his voice he didn’t have to. His disapproval filled every inch of the room.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said. “Guys like him-”

“Guys like you?” you snapped.

That shut him up.

“You don’t get to act like I’m still eight. You don’t get to be angry just because someone else is carrying the backpack now.”

The silence that followed hurt more than shouting ever could.

He didn’t call for three days.

Then, one night, you found a box outside your door. Inside were:

One bag of your favorite chips.

A Polaroid of the two of you in middle school.

A note: Sorry for being a jerk. You're not a little kid anymore. But you're still my little sister. Just trying to figure out how to be okay with both.

You cried.

Then called him.

Then made him dinner.

Seokmin came over later that night, and surprisingly, Cheol didn’t interrogate him at the door.

They even shared a beer. Sort of. From separate ends of the couch.

You graduated. Seokmin held your hand as you walked across the stage. Cheol shouted louder than your parents.

Later, at the small family party, Cheol pulled Seokmin aside.

“If you hurt her,” he said, “I’ll rearrange your limbs.”

Seokmin smiled. “Then I’ll make sure I never do.”

And Cheol finally finally nodded.

You watched from the hallway, sipping orange juice from a mug he picked out years ago.

In that moment, you realized something: the older you got, the more you understood your brother’s love wasn’t about control. It was about memories carried on backs, peeled tangerines, and letting go, just enough to watch you grow.

[court-jesterr]

If Not Him, Perhaps Me

Hoooooooo boy! I cannot believe how long it's been. It's almost criminal I've let this go on for so long without an update. I hate doing that...but the ADHD and life decided that just couldn't- which was great (derogatory). However! I am back. Fully, entirely, and totally invested in restarting this series because I still love the idea and want to see it through. I now have an AO3 as well, so I will posting all of the updates and original parts there once I get everything organized.

If you were part of the original tag list and would like to not longer be apart of it, no hard feelings- just message me to let me know and you will be promptly removed for the notifications!

But! If you would like to be added or I forgot to add you- since it's been 140000 years- please just let me know! (whether via message or comment)

________________________

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Pairing- Thrawn x f!reader x Luke Skywalker

Summary- After being aboard the Chimera, for who knows how long, you've grown accustomed to the troopers and how things operate, but one thing that just won't become easy is dealing with Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Word Count- 3.5K

Warnings- Mentions of kidnapping, confrontation, angst

Days turned into weeks which, you could only assume, was closely turning into a month. There were no signs of Luke knowing where in the galaxy you might be or even where to begin looking for you. At the earlier stages of your confinement, fear settled in your heart when the thought of being left aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer alone...without Luke, reared its head. Over time though, complete loneliness dissipated and was replaced by the friendly interactions you participated in with a few Storm Troopers that were in charge of your immediate well-being. "Are you ready for your lunch today," a familiar modulated voice echoed through your small confinement as he called your name.

Lifting your head from the notebook given to you a few weeks prior, a sigh escaped your lips. "I don't know, Danver, is it that gross mush stuff again or, will I be allowed to eat normal food for once while here?" Your comment garnered a laugh from the trooper as he opened the cell doors, setting the plate on a table given to you at Thrawn's request.

"Sorry, pal," the soldier replied, his modulated voice still resonating with a smile, "not even we get to enjoy delicacies like that aboard the Chimera."

While scooting yourself off the comfortable cot you currently spent your time nestled in (which too had been replaced at the request of the Grand Admiral after you'd mentioned off-handedly something about neck and back pain), you set aside the drawing book. A look of displeasure crossed your face, "who honestly eats this stuff willingly?" A disgruntled mumble was all the trooper beside you needed to hear, to pat your shoulder assuringly in response.

"Apparently, you do," his laugh caused your shoulders to slump. "Don't act so melodramatic. At least you're the admiral's favorite prisoner," Danver's joke hardly seemed comical to you as the cell forcefield reappeared behind him. "You might be the admiral's favorite person entirely aboard the Chimera, in fact." 

A snort escaped from between your lips as you disregarded the boring plate, preferring the growling in your stomach over the same taste of dried fruits and cold meat. "That's real cute, Danver." You quipped, "Next time, why don't you let him know that so maybe I can go home instead of being held captive here."

Raising his hands in defense, the trooper shook his head. "Listen snarky, all I'm saying is that if you complain about something, it changes, and at a good speed too. If you mention that you're bored, you receive gifts to prevent said boredom- again- at a pretty astounding rate. You also have an array of soldiers at your doorstep to keep you company- though that one could be because we all like you," he laughed at the end of his explanation. His words surprised you, the conviction in which he mentioned the favoritism Thrawn had seemingly shown you caught you off guard. Skepticism lurked in your glare at your newfound "friend" as you stole a glance at the journal gifted to you. "Everyone else has mentioned it, not just me. I've just been the first one to say something to you, apparently." He chuckled again at the suspicious look on your face.

"You're laughing, but I don't find the joke funny..." you grimace at the trooper.

"That's because I'm not joking, snarky," Danver responded steadily and even behind the black visor, you could feel his unwavering stare. "Believe it or not, the admiral has taken a liking to you and all of the Chimera crew can tell." And with a salute, the trooper left you with a thousand thoughts swirling.

There was no way someone as stern and withdrawn as Thrawn would have any kind of favorites, at all, let alone aboard the Chimera. He was only using you to get to Luke, that was it.

Though...

Your thoughts drifted to the conversations you'd been having recently. While you couldn't recount exactly how long you had been on the Chimera, you knew it had felt long enough to feel an odd...growth to your chats with Thrawn. He had been what, you guessed, would be considered "kinder" when he spoke directly to you. At times he had even invited you to his office merely to speak about your art or have you critique some other interesting pieces he had gathered over his years of travel. Thinking about it long enough it did seem that you were learning more facets of the Grand Admiral, though nothing about him personally, just...small details that one could only learn about someone from being in their presence enough.

Of course, even under this realization, there was hardly any way you were going to be kind back to him. He was an Imperial Grand Admiral using you to gain control over the rebel cause, 'Over my dead body.' You thought stubbornly to yourself.

If Thrawn wanted to bring the Empire back into power again, he'd have to do it without your knowledge or help. You just hoped he wouldn't catch onto clues about things as easily as he'd seemed to have with your previous art.

Picking at the pages of your journal, you fidgeted in thought.

____________________________

"She seems to be acclimating very well, sir," a modulated voice spoke in reply to an earlier command, "the troopers all seem to love her. While the other crew members don't seem to interact with her all that much, when we escort her on her strict walks around the vessel, she keeps to herself and doesn't seem to nose around."

Something about this sudden growing knowledge of how well you had been treating his troopers bothered Thrawn. You'd been aboard the Chimera for going on three months and yet in your constant visits with him you still refused to open up at all, quipping with biting comments and passive-aggressive retorts, even when asked simple questions.

The duality perplexed him. Of course, he understood very well that he had never been known for his social skills, even back in the Ascendancy. Even then he expected that at some point you would see he didn't desire for your entire stay aboard his vessel to be excruciating.

Though at times it seemed you'd rather it be such way.

You were unbearably tenacious.

Difficult to speak with about any subject, and downright defiant at some intervals.

It...astonished Thrawn.

"Captain," the cold, calculating voice finally broke the long growing silence, "tell me, why do you believe our captive is so," he pondered for a moment, "agreeable with you?" The Chiss stopped his journey, to stand before the large sculpture in his office- scrutinizing it.

Silence ensued once more as the Storm Trooper considered the question, "U-Uh...sir?"

Turning only his head to glance over at the soldier standing taut by the door, Thrawn encouraged, "I am simply endeavoring to understand what it is she sees so sociable in my troopers, Captain."

"W-Well sir, it seems to me that since she trusts us to not harm her, we have gained her confidence. She's mentioned how scrutinizing you are about her, she..." The trooper wavered for a moment, "She seems to distrust you, uh, sir."

"I see."

The curt reply concerned the captain, but he remained diligent in his stance.

"You are dismissed, Captain. Thank you for your time." Thrawn returned to look back over at the large statue.

"Y-Yes sir!" The trooper bowed quickly and retreated through the doors behind him.

Left alone in the quiet of his office, the Grand Admiral considered what he’d been told. "She does not trust me, hmm?" He wandered back over to his desk, lowering himself into his seat. "It would seem my efforts have not had their desired result. Perhaps I must attempt something more... suitable."

____________________________

"Ya know, I feel like at this point, we could honestly just," you paused dramatically, gesturing for a moment with your hands, "stop wasting our time with these meetings, don't you?"

Thrawn sat idly in his chair, behind his desk, elbows propped up on his desk to steeple his fingers in thought, silently watching you. He'd called you in for another round of conversation at random and it had felt as if all fear had left the atmosphere that surrounded him- now you were just annoyed.

"I feel like we've gone back and forth enough for you to understand that your little gifts?" You lifted the journal he requested you to bring this time, "They aren't going to sweeten me up to you."

"Are you unhappy with the opportunity to practice your art once more?" His sudden question caught you off point as you opened your mouth to continue your tirade, mouth now hanging open dumbly. "Perhaps I have misunderstood your subtle requests then. If you are so displeased with my efforts, then you are more than welcome to return the journal."

Was this guy serious? Was he guilt-tripping you?

Lost for a response, you sat back in your seat, contemplatively. Were you being ungrateful? Had this "warlord of the Empire" truly tried to do something nice for you?

No.

He kidnapped you!

No way!

A small intake of air and the soft rustle of clothing caught your attention and looking back over the desk you saw Thrawn had resumed his casual position in his seat- inclining back a bit, a long leg crossed over the other as he grabbed up his datapad. "I have arranged for you to be transferred into your own personal quarters. Your things are being moved as we speak, please come to me if there is anything out of place. There shall be a set of Storm Troopers at your door to ensure your safety," then his glowing eyes met yours, severe and still unnerving, "and to dissuade your premature and unannounced departure from my ship."

Narrowing your eyes at the admiral, you cocked your head in confusion and irritation. "Wha-?"

"It would seem we have nothing further to discuss," Thrawn interrupted with an oddly soft use of your name, averting his eyes back to the datapad in his hands, "you are dismissed. A trooper outside shall see you to your new space."

Why did he keep interrupting you?!

"But I'm not finished!" You protested heatedly, rising from your seat to place your hands and journal on the desk. Leaning furiously toward the Chiss, "Why are you being so weirdly nice to me? You want information, I know it, but I'll be damned if you think I'm stupid enough to fall for these petty acts of kindness as your method of manipulation."

Your frustration was only met with calm silence, not a shifting of his red eyes, nor a flinch in his body. He seemed thoroughly unimpressed by your outrage. 'How dare he ignore me!' You fumed, gripping the desk edge until your knuckles were white.

"Damn it, Thrawn! I don't care if you're a Grand Admiral of some extinct Empire, I will not be ignored!"

"It would surprise you then, to hear that perhaps I am not manipulating you?" Again with his dumb questions as responses!

That didn't settle your anger any and it seemed as if Thrawn could sense that, as he sat down his datapad, leaned forward, and grabbed the discarded journal from in front of you. "Perhaps", he spoke casually, surveying the worn cover, then before speaking again, met your eyes with what seemed like....warmth? "You have genuinely piqued my inquisitiveness and whether you are connected to a Jedi is no longer an appeal of mine, but rather you are."

An odd feeling settled over you at his gaze. Whereas before Thrawn had only ever seen through you- or so it felt- he was staring...at you now. His eyes seemed to carry the oddest hint of tenderness, maybe? It was something new, something you hadn't seen in his stare before, and you had been the subject of most of his glaring recently.

Even as you stood there, voiceless, the admiral's eyes simply observed you. A warmth spread into your cheeks at his open stare and you withdrew from the desk clumsily, eyes averting to anything else around you.

Were you blushing?

Over Thrawn!

How embarrassing...you were supposed to be furious, not...bashful at such an odd compliment.

Was it a compliment?

Standing from his desk, Thrawn positioned his hands behind his back in his typical way, "Come, allow me to show you to your room then."

Once outside the hall, the Storm Troopers began to follow behind, to which Thrawn coolly discharged them. You were so wrapped up in what just happened in his office, you hardly recognized the confused glances they had given one another. The metal grating below you was suddenly far too fascinating to care about the odd looks of the passing Chimera crew.

The entire walk had been silent, Thrawn never tried to quell any uncomfortable energy you were clearly giving off, he was just...quiet.

That was until the two of you had reached your new room and he greeted the two Storm Troopers already stationed, "Please see that she is satisfied with the room." Thrawn then turned to you, to which you slowly met his glowing eyes. His height was as intimidating as ever, that had never changed. "As I previously mentioned, if you find anything not to your liking, I would request that you address me personally about the matter. You know where my office is by now, I assume?"

"Yes, I do." You quietly replied, nodding meekly.

"Good. Then I shall see you for our next meeting when I call for it." And after handing you off to the guards, the admiral departed down the hall from where the two of you came.

Confusion upon confusion racked up in your mind as you stepped forward, one of the troopers pressing the button to open your door for you. "Weird he brought you here himself, huh?" One of them chimed in as you passed him. Thankfully you recognized the voice and it brought some ease to you.

"Shut up, Arrance, I'm already confused enough." You grumbled, the door sliding shut behind you.

Once you reached for the light, you were shocked to see how...cozy the room actually was. An enormous bed sat in the left quarter of the room, framed by an even larger window that looked out into the starry ocean of space. The bed seemed large enough for four people, fitted with a plush comforter and so many warm-colored blankets it looked like a nest you could crawl into and hibernate for months. The pillows looked just as inviting, their matching covers pulling the colors together beautifully. There was an expansive couch that seemed to go on forever and had nearly as many pillows as the large bed, behind it, butted up against the steel wall, and beside the window sat a desk.

As you explored you noticed that you had a private fresher with everything you could need to pamper yourself, an easel with canvases, paints, and paintbrushes, and a very small kitchenette. Everything.

Thrawn had thought of...everything.

There was nothing this nice aboard the Falcon...

Though, your family was there.

Han and Leia.

Chewie.

R2.

...Luke.

As you sat on the couch, thinking about how much you missed everyone, your heart ached for Luke. Hearing his sweet laugh, feeling his warm touches- as few as they were. And while the room Thrawn had given you was nice...you couldn't help but be reminded of how long you must've been away from the group by now. No one had given you an exact frame of how long you'd been aboard the Chimera, not even Thrawn, but it’s had to be months at this point. Months with still no sign of Luke...

You knew he wouldn't leave you in the hands of the Imperials indefinitely, even if just because you were friends...and nothing more.

Nothing more.

Never more.

Not for a Jedi.

Not for Luke.

Though, that would never stop your heart from yearning for more. Luke meant the world to you and loving him came so easily, especially when that precious smile appeared on his face whenever Han would say something stupid, or Leia would mention something about the twins. His gentleness when it came to those he cared about. His determination and love for others.

Luke was a wonderful man. A strong, compassionate man.

You missed them all so much...

You missed Luke even more.

Maybe they'd come to save you soon.

You just had to hold out hope.

_

A knock roused you unexpectedly.

You'd fallen asleep?

Of course, you had. The couch was the most comfortable thing you'd relaxed in for weeks- besides that seat in Thrawn's office that was arguably snuggly.

"Oh right..." you mumbled to yourself as you wiped at your tired eyes. You'd forgotten you’d yelled at Thrawn earlier and then he gave you that weird compliment. "What a jerk."

Another knock brought your attention back and you stood to answer it. With a whoosh, you were met with a trooper holding out your journal. How'd he get that? Didn't they move it in with everything else?

"The admiral wanted me to make sure this made its safe return to you." Danver's voice reached your ears and you looked at him confused.

"The admiral?" You echoed curiously.

The nod of his plastoid helmet made everything click back into place, "Yeah. He said you'd left it in his office."

You hadn't left it! That insufferable Chiss had swiped it from you while you were shouting at him! What was with him, anyway?!

You took a deep breath, leveling your irritation, this wasn't Danver's issue. No need to yell at him. No, you’d save that for Thrawn’s next meeting. "Thanks, Danver. I appreciate it."

Muttering a response, he peaked his head in and glanced around with a whistle, modulator crackling slightly from the sound. "He really did give you the best quarters on the ship. That's nuts."

"I'm sorry?" You responded.

Danver moved to stand out of the doorway once again, "word's been going around that the admiral moved you to the nicest room, aside from his, on the Chimera." He chuckled in good humor, "Looks like they weren't lying. Now you really can't argue with me that you're his favorite, huh?" With a nudge to the arm, the captain left after a farewell, the door sliding shut.

You blinked a few times, trying to process what he’d said. It took a moment, but in stunned silence you walked over to slouch into the bed, the journal still in hand. "What the hell is happening?" You muttered, opening up the pages aimlessly, trying to comprehend the last few hours or so of the day.

Thrawn had allowed you to yell at him, instead meeting you with a very oddly placed compliment.

He then gave you, what Danver called, the best room on the Chimera- after having shouted directly at him.

What in the galaxy was going on?

Then your eyes caught something out of place as you flipped through the filled pages, "huh?" Annotations had been made on one of your drawings of a Storm Trooper- coincidentally, Danver- speaking to what seemed to be another person not pictured on the page. The script looked familiar and you realized why quickly after reading the comments.

It was Thrawn's handwriting.

'Captain Danver's plastoid chest piece has a notch or two more than you have decided to add here. Though overall I find your attention to detail praiseworthy. Not many see things as you seem to. The way you've drawn him, opting to illustrate him speaking with a fellow trooper, shows your level of personal esteem for him. Your art is beautiful, your talent is unmatched. Please, continue, I would like to see more.'

Snapping the journal shut and throwing it on the floor, cheeks hot, you curled yourself into the cozy blankets "Stupid Chiss."

________________________________

Tag list:

@blueberry-thrawn @myevilmouse @blackmonitor @coffeeorsomething-irl @torchbearerkyle @agenteliix @rebelmarylou @danger-xylophones @srryxmate @dindjarinsluvbot

(there are people I know were following but didn't request to be tagged, and I feel bad to tag them but I know they were asking for updates so if that's you and you want to be tagged, please let me know!)

[antinousletmehit]

Paring: Telemachus x Fem!reader

Notes: FIRST PERSON ISNT STAYING, my friend wrote this part. “we love you Alana!!” The crowd cheers but anyways next chapter is reader with her brother antinous,

THIS IS PART ONE —-> https://www.tumblr.com/antinousletmehit/771362289992466432/pairing-telemachus-x-femreader-note-the-name

Update: part 3 is out! -> https://www.tumblr.com/antinousletmehit/771492309105868800/this-is-part-3

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

My footsteps pounded against the ground. Stupid y/n. Stupid, stupid y/n. She can never just keep her hands and mouth to herself. Y/n was almost as insufferable as her brother. Sometimes I couldn’t even figure out who was worse. Everything about her was so calculated and precise that it aggravated me. Every movement, every word, every glance. Her elegance could kill a man alone. Y/n constantly stands tall, her chiton gracefully wrapped around her athletic frame. Her tan skin that looked like it was kissed by Helios himself. Her wavy hair loosely tied up. Even the strands that fell out of it look completely planned. Her eyes that portrayed warmth and innocence. A complete fraud. Y/n looked like she should be one of the goddesses in the paintings that lined the walls of the palaces.

She’s infuriating.

My hands meet the heavy door of the library and it swings open with a creak. The smell of books and scrolls hits my nose. I can’t help but take a deep breath in. Silence. How relieving. The only sound that could be heard was the shuffle of my own feet. I made my way over to my favorite desk. It was marbled and stretched across the open window. When I sat down I would look at the Kingdom of Ithaca. My father’s kingdom. It felt solemn sitting here sometimes. I always wondered what he would be like. Would he sit next to me and tell me the stories of his battles? Would he tell me our history and about our family? Or would he tell me to “man up” and “stop being such a bitch” like Antinous does? Mother always told me it would be the first option. She always reminded me that my father was nothing like those awful suitors.

I settle down in my seat, shifting around to get comfortable. I run my fingers over the grainy scroll, feeling every crease and wrinkle. I unroll the scroll, carefully laying it out in front of me. The delicate handwriting was almost too much to read. I trace my fingers over it, so carefully as if it might disintegrate beneath my touch.

Athena

The Goddess of Wisdom, War, and Reason

Born out of Zeus’s forehead, which was completely disgusting but I would never say that out loud because it’s extremely disrespectful, she became known as the Goddess of Wisdom. Her goal in life is to create the greatest warrior. While her brother Ares, was the physical embodiment of war, Athena was focused on the mental state of war. Tactics and calculated attacks. My mother told me that Athena favours our family. Maybe one day Athena would turn me into the greatest warrior. Her warrior of the mind

She would teach me how to finally fight back against the suitors. Attack each and everyone one until 108 became 1. I would find Antinous in the large open corridor. Both of our swords drawn and gleaming. Y/n with her smug face, leaning against a pillar. Antinous would charge first, but I would dodge and you can hear metal against metal as our swords collide. He would pull away in shock. Of course, Antinous isn’t easy to kill so we would go back and forth for a while. He would give some smart remark and when he’s off guard, I thrust my sword into his abdomen and watch him stand there in shock.

As Antinous fell to the ground, I would slowly watch the smirk fall off of y/n’s face. I would pull the sword from his body as he slowly bled out. I’d point it towards Y/n.

“This is your warning.” I’d tell her. She’d get on a boat and I’d never see her obnoxiously gorgeous face ever again.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Telemachus wandered through the halls of the palace, occasionally spinning around as he walked. It had become one of the prince’s favorite habits. There wasn’t much to do. He investigated every nook and cranny of his home, while avoiding the suitors as much as he could. He roamed up the empty staircases draped with wool rugs. He was on his way to see his mother, Penelope. The queen of Ithaca. Penelope was one of the young prince’s only friends. Telemachus told his mother everything. Nothing was unshared between them. They were all the other had left.

The young prince reached one of the upper floors of the palaces. Telemachus glanced around, making sure that no one was around. Against the wall, was a statue of Athena with her sword and shield on top of a block of marble. The plaque read, “The Goddess Athena”. Telemachus slowly reached forward and pushed the plaque in, as if he was using it as a handle. With all his might, he pushed the statue to the side, revealing a dark hidden passageway.

These passageways were only known by Penelope and Telemachus themselves. They littered the inside walls of the palace. It was the only way they could see each other without being harassed by the suitors. Telemachus got onto his knees and crawled into the medium sized passageway. He slightly turned around and grabbed the handle of the statue, pulling it back into its place. The damp air immediately reached his nose and he couldn’t help but breathe it in. It had become oddly comforting. The boy ignored the torches lining the walls. He had roamed these tunnels so many times that he had them memorized.

He crawled through the passage, the rough stone against his knees starting to hurt. After about a minute, Telemachus reached the larger part of the passage. He finally pushed off of the ground and got onto his feet once again. He rubbed the rubble off of his tunic and sighed. The prince began walking and ran his fingers along the stone, the rough texture rubbing against his fingers.

When Telemachus reached his destination, he got onto his knees once again. There was a trap door, almost unnoticeable, but not to him. He gave the door a hard push and it opened with a creak. Telemachus crawled out and heard his favorite familiar voice.

“My son.”

The prince turned and saw his mother smiling at him. Penelope was sitting by her window, weaving in her favorite chair. It had always been her favorite habit. The only word to describe Penelope was royal. Her brunette hair was pulled up into a bun. She was wearing her usual white chiton. Her arms were adorned in her golden bracelets.

“Mother.” Telemachus smiled, taking his usual position on the floor next to Penelope. He usually sat there for hours, while his mother calmly weaved. Her presence always calmed him.

“Are the suitors giving you trouble?” She quietly said. Telemachus wishes it was just the suitors.

“Not exactly.” The prince sighed.

“Is it the girl? I believe her name was Y/n?” Penelope glances up at Telemachus and sees a slightly pouting expression on his face.

“Yeah..y/n.” He mumbled.

“What happened this time?”

The boy sighed once again, laying his head on his mother’s lap. Penelope’s fingers found the boy’s hair and she idly rummaged through the thick brown locks.

“All they do is humiliate me, Mother. Y/n has made it her life's mission to torment me no matter where I go. She calls me a woman.”

“And what did you say back to her?”

“Nothing.”

Telemachus could never find the confidence to say anything back. He just stood there. His pride being stripped out from underneath him was a whole new level of unsettledness he could barely describe, even to his mother.

“They’re trying to get under your skin,” Penelope’s voice rang out through the now quiet room, “You must not let them.”

Telemachus looked up at her, “But how?” His voice had a ring of hopelessness to it. All his mother did was smile at him.

Her hand gently found his chin and she tipped his head up to meet her eyes, “My son..keep your head high. You have a wonderful head on your shoulders..use it.”

A faint smile tugged at Telemachus’s lips as he looked at his mother. Penelope had such kind eyes. The golden flakes outside of her irises and her smile reached the creases of her eyes. She rested her hands on the apple of his cheeks, her fingers warm against his skin.

“Oh Telemachus..you look just like your father.”

Telemachus’s smile slightly faltered. He glanced over to his mother’s bed. The velvet canopy draped over the top of the luxurious king size bed. The cream colored sheets that laid upon the mattress. His mother’s side was disheveled. The pillow moved to the side from where she was most likely holding it. The sheets pushed aside due to her rustling in her sleep the night before. The prince’s sight then moved to the other side. The comforter was crisp and sharply folded. Not a wrinkle could be found. The pillow was perfectly straightened. As if it was waiting for Odyssesus to return.

Telemachus swallowed the lump in his throat as he glanced back at his mother. Penelope had the same teary eyed stare.

“He would be so proud of you.”

All the young prince could bring himself to do was nod. He wished his father was here. To give him advice and tell him what to do. To fight for him like all of the stories he had heard so many times that they were imprinted in his brain.

Penelope’s voice broke his train of thought, “Just like I, he would tell you to stand tall. To not let them get to you. They are trying to break you. Show them that they can’t.”

His mother’s words circled his thoughts. Show the suitors and Y/n that he was unbreakable. That he would defend his mother and honor. The boy’s head laid back upon his mother’s lap. He reached for her hand and he interlocked their fingers, his rough ones meeting her soft ones.

“I won’t disappoint you mother.”

[godricgryffinsnore]

HELLO HELLO HELLO!!!

so I just stumbled on your page and realised that I really like your writing style, kudos to you and I have a request!!!

ahem ahem

so this has been on my mind for a while and idk maybe I just have a thing for time travel fics

yk

so can we do james x femreader where during yk the typical time travel fic, she gets hit and sent bsck to like marauders era!

also background info she’s like bffs with golden trio and stuff

and she’s a slytherin!!! (idk u can use ur creativity to figure out how they become friends or something)

but it’s sorta like forbidden love cuz she becomes friends with narcissa and Bella AND ALSO is bffs with his son, so they can’t exactly be together

ps nobody knows that she’s been sent back in time

YOU CAN FECIDE THE RESTTTT

is it unrequited? does James still like Lily? what happens to HARry?!!!

Splintered In Time ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x female!slytherin!reader

summary : When a spell gone wrong sends you hurtling back to the Marauders era, you find yourself entangled in a life you were never meant to live. Torn between the friendships you left behind and the forbidden love you were never meant to have, you must face the impossible choice: to hold on to a borrowed future or fight for the one slipping through your fingers. But time is never kind to those who dare to rewrite it. And love—love is the most reckless magic of all.

warnings : Emotional whiplash, time travelling, poetic language, heavy yearning, Marauders banter, but with a hopeful conclusion, angst with happy ending, slight ‘Snily’ in the ending. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 10k {Longest fiction I have ever written}

main master list <3

della's note : Babe! This request made me question and challenge my creativity. Thanks A TON for requesting!!! It felt wonderful to write about time travelling. Oh and btw, originally this was supposed to be a sad ending fiction. But I just can't do this to our James <333 I hope you like it!!!! Oh and it's a super long fiction. Like, I got really carried away while writing!!! I AM SO EXCITED. This is a really long fic, so sit back, grab your popcorn and ENJOYYYYY <33333

banners : @uzmacchiato and @roseschoices

There are no stars tonight—only the burn of borrowed time.

You didn’t see it coming.

The curse, emerald and vicious, came hissing through the battlefield. You only heard Hermione’s choked scream, Harry’s ragged breath, Ron’s hoarse shout—everything distorted by the thunder of chaos. The three of them were only feet away, desperate and bloodied, backs pressed against stone as the fight splintered around them.

You reached for Harry, fingers outstretched, but the magic hit you square in the chest.

And you were falling— Through time itself.

── .✦

When you opened your eyes, the Forbidden Forest was far younger. The trees were taller, the air less burdened with ghosts. You tasted autumn in your throat. Time had slipped backward, cruel and nameless, and dropped you into a decade where your existence was an error.

But you were alive.

Alone.

You spent the first week haunting the forest’s edge like a ghost, walking its shadowed paths with trembling hands. You whispered Harry’s name into the wind, over and over, as if he might somehow hear you across time. You expected Ron to stumble through the underbrush, muddy and panting, calling you an idiot for getting yourself cursed. You waited for Hermione’s clever hands to grab your wrist and yank you back into the war.

But they never came.

Instead, you stood before the castle doors—haunted and hollow—and walked back into the school you had already left behind.

── .✦

You were sorted into Slytherin. The Hat perched on your head seemed to hum with ancient curiosity, peeling back your layers and tasting the war on your tongue.

“Oh,” it murmured, almost gently. “You’ve already fought your battles, haven’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Please, just make it quick.

It considered you carefully. Measured the iron and fire in your bones, the loyalty stitched so violently into your chest.

But it placed you in Slytherin, and you didn’t argue. You were already too tired to protest.

── .✦

It started with James. It was always James.

He had a terrible habit of appearing out of nowhere. You’d be walking down the hall, perfectly content to avoid unnecessary attention, when suddenly, his arm would be slung over your shoulders as if it belonged there.

“You’ve got to stop looking so suspicious, snake,” he drawled one day, grinning lazily. “People might start thinking you’re up to something.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “I am up to something.”

James’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Yeah?” he smirked, leaning closer, voice low with mock suspicion. “Planning to kidnap me? Hex me into oblivion? Steal my heart?”

You deadpanned. “I was thinking more along the lines of poisoning your pumpkin juice, but sure.”

He laughed far too loudly for the middle of the corridor, earning glares from passing professors.

“Oh, she’s funny,” he announced loudly to no one in particular, hands over his heart. “Merlin, I think I’m in love.”

You shoved him off, fighting the way your stomach fluttered, but he caught your wrist before you could escape. His grip was firm but gentle, and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, his eyes were far too soft.

“Let me walk you to class,” he murmured, the grin slipping into something warmer.

You should have told him no. But you didn’t.

── .✦

You found yourself tangled with the Marauders far too quickly.

They were impossible to avoid—loud and ungovernable, a storm of mischief and chaos that you had no hope of resisting. You were stolen into their orbit before you could fight it, dragged into their endless schemes and reckless antics.

One morning, you were sitting by the lake, boots kicked off, enjoying the rare sliver of peace. You had foolishly thought you were alone.

Then a shadow fell over you.

“Hello there, Slytherin,” Sirius Black’s voice drawled lazily from above you.

You didn’t bother looking up. “Go away, Black.”

Sirius plopped himself down beside you, entirely ignoring your protest. He stretched out his legs with a contented sigh, as if he belonged there.

Moments later, James appeared, dropping down beside you with a casual grin.

“Morning, love,” he greeted cheerfully, far too pleased with himself.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you sound so smug?”

James’s grin widened. “Oh, no reason. I may have just turned McGonagall’s teacup into a toad. But, you know, totally hypothetical.”

You stared at him. “You’re going to die one day, you know that, right?”

“Probably,” James agreed easily, slinging an arm around your shoulders with infuriating charm. “But at least I’ll die with you scolding me. Very romantic.”

Before you could shove him into the lake, Remus strolled over with an exasperated sigh. He paused, taking in the sight of James practically draped over you, and arched a brow.

“Are you bothering her again?” Remus asked, voice dry as parchment.

James beamed. “She likes it.”

You snorted. “I loathe it.”

Sirius, clearly feeling left out, threw himself dramatically into your lap, draping one arm across his forehead with an exaggerated sigh.

“Why,” he drawled dramatically, “why does she only have eyes for James?”

You shoved him half-heartedly, but he only cackled and threw his arms around your waist.

“Get off me, Black!” you spluttered.

James, narrowing his eyes with faux jealousy, nudged Sirius none too gently with his knee. “Oi, off. She’s mine.”

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest. “Yours? Possessive much, Prongs? I knew you were a selfish bastard, but this—this is heartbreaking.”

James rolled his eyes, giving you an exaggerated look of betrayal. “Are you cheating on me with my best mate?”

You snorted. “If I were, you’d deserve it.”

Peter arrived late to the scene, holding a half-eaten pastry, and squinted at the chaos. “Wait—are you two dating?” he asked, blinking between you and James.

“Of course we are,” James said with mock indignation, eyes glinting wickedly. “Didn’t you get the wedding invitation, Wormtail?”

Sirius, still sprawled across your legs, clutched at your hand. “It’s true! She’s only marrying him for his money, you know. I tried to warn him.”

You shoved Sirius off you with a laugh, but James caught your wrist before you could scramble away. His grip was warm, his fingers curling around yours, far gentler than they should have been. When you glanced at him, his eyes were bright with mischief—but there was something softer beneath it. Something you weren’t quite ready to name.

And you hated that you didn’t pull away. Hated how much you liked the way he held on.

── .✦

You should have left. You should have walked away.

But when James kissed you for the first time beneath the clock tower, you let yourself fall.

── .✦

There are no stars tonight—only the burn of borrowed time.

James kissed you in every corner of Hogwarts.

He kissed you by the Black Lake, where the reeds bent with the wind and the water lapped at your boots. He kissed you in the hidden passageways behind the tapestry of Gregory the Smarmy, his fingers fisted in your robes, dragging you against him as if he could anchor you there forever.

And you let him. You let him because he didn’t know the truth.

He didn’t know that when you kissed him, you were tasting borrowed time. That when you clutched at his robes, you were holding on to something already slipping through your fingers.

Because you knew. You knew that one day he would look at you and see nothing but betrayal.

And when the truth finally came—it broke you.

── .✦

It was never meant to slip out.

You had spent months dodging questions, weaving careful half-truths and white lies. James had been curious, of course. He was a Gryffindor, after all—reckless and brash, always needing to know why.

But he trusted you. And it made it too easy to lie.

Until one night, when it all came unraveled.

── .✦

It happened in the Gryffindor common room.

The fire had burned low, its light casting long, honeyed shadows across the rug where the Marauders sat sprawled in their usual disarray. Sirius was lounging with his head in Remus’s lap, tossing Bertie Bott’s beans at Peter, who swatted at him with a scowl. James sat on the floor with his back against the couch, legs stretched out, fingers idly playing with the fraying hem of your sleeve.

You had barely noticed. You were too lost in the sound of their laughter, the way their voices filled the room—so young, so unbroken. For a moment, you let yourself forget. You let yourself imagine that this was your world. That you belonged here.

And then Sirius, ever reckless with his sharp-edged tongue, grinned at you through half-lidded eyes.

“So, how’d a Slytherin like you get mixed up with the likes of us?” he teased, lazily twirling his wand between his fingers. “You never did say, y’know.”

You smiled faintly, already preparing a half-hearted lie. “Fate, I suppose.”

But Sirius was grinning now, mischievous and sharp. “Come on,” he pressed. “I want a proper story. Surely you’ve got some deep, dark secret.”

Your breath caught slightly.

James must have felt the way you tensed beneath his touch. His fingers stilled against your sleeve, and he glanced at you, concern flaring subtly in his eyes.

But you forced a laugh, too light, too strained. “I hate to disappoint, Black,” you said, voice tight, “but I’m painfully boring.”

“Liar,” Sirius grinned, poking you in the ribs with his wand.

And then— Without meaning to— Without thinking—

You said his name.

You said it softly, a slip of the tongue, a betrayal on your lips.

“Harry.”

The room fell silent.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the low crackle of the dying fire.

And then James stilled.

The playful glint in his eyes vanished, his fingers curling slightly in the fabric of your sleeve. You felt the tension flood his limbs—the subtle stiffening of his spine, the sudden sharpness in his breath.

He turned slowly to look at you.

“Who?” His voice was low, almost gentle.

Too gentle. Like the eye of a storm.

Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth, scrambling for a lie, but the name hung between you—raw and damning.

Sirius frowned. “Who’s Harry?”

And James— James was already staring at you, the light in his eyes splintering into something sharp, something disbelieving.

You tried to move, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that was far too desperate.

“Wait,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Wait.”

The others were watching now, their laughter gone, eyes narrowed in confusion. But James—James wasn’t looking at them. He was only looking at you.

“Say it again,” he breathed. His voice cracked. “Who did you just say?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came.

James’s grip tightened slightly, his knuckles white around your wrist. His voice, usually so steady, shook.

“Please.”

You felt yourself tremble. Because you couldn’t lie anymore. Not to him. Not when he was holding you like that— As if you were already slipping through his fingers.

And so you whispered it. Soft. Barely louder than a breath.

“Harry.”

The color drained from James’s face.

He dropped your wrist like it burned him, his hand falling limply to his side. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came—only a sharp breath, hitched and uneven.

“Harry,” he echoed, voice hollow.

You saw it then— The moment the pieces fit together. The realization in his eyes. The slow, devastating comprehension.

And then he was on his feet.

“James—” you started, reaching for him.

But he stumbled backward, out of reach. His chest was heaving slightly, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Don’t,” he croaked.

Sirius and Remus were on their feet now, eyes wide and confused.

“James, what the bloody hell is going on?” Sirius demanded.

But James only shook his head. He took another step back, looking at you as if he had never seen you before.

And then he turned and left.

── .✦

You found him in the Astronomy Tower.

The night was cold, the stars scattered wide and indifferent. He was leaning against the stone railing, knuckles white where his hands gripped the edge, his back to you.

“James,” you breathed softly.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t look at you.

“Who is he?” His voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

You stared at him. The boy you loved. The boy you were going to lose.

You swallowed hard. “He’s your son.”

James stiffened. His knuckles went even whiter against the stone. For a long moment, he didn’t move.

And then he exhaled, sharp and broken.

“My son,” he repeated slowly, voice cracking. “From the future.”

You stepped toward him, cautiously, as if you might scare him off.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out,” you rasped. “I—I didn’t know how to tell you. I—”

But James spun around sharply, and his eyes—oh, his eyes.

They were wide and wild, brimming with too much emotion for one person to hold.

“You lied to me,” he choked.

You shook your head violently. “No, I didn’t—James, I didn’t lie—”

“You knew!” His voice cracked, sharp with anguish. “You knew this whole time. And you let me—” His voice broke, and he dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “You let me love you anyway.”

Your throat tightened, your heart splintering in your chest.

“James,” you whispered.

But he only stared at you, eyes glimmering with disbelief, with heartbreak.

“You’re not mine,” he rasped, voice raw. “You never were.”

You choked on a sob, closing the distance between you. Your hands cupped his face, trembling fingers brushing against his cheeks.

But when you leaned in—when you pressed your mouth against his, desperate and pleading— He didn’t kiss you back.

He only stood there, motionless, as your lips pressed against his. And when you pulled away, he was already slipping through your fingers.

But you didn’t let go. And somehow, impossibly, he didn’t either.

── .✦

There are no stars tonight—only the slow ruin of hearts breaking in real time.

You stood in the Astronomy Tower long after James had gone.

The stone railing was still warm from where his hands had been, but the boy himself—the boy with honey eyes and a wicked grin—was gone. You pressed trembling fingers against the cold stone, the ache splintering in your chest so violently you thought it might hollow you out.

And you stayed there. Even after the stars grew weary. Even after the wind bit cruelly at your skin.

Because the only thing worse than knowing James Potter might never love you again— Was knowing that he once did.

── .✦

You tried everything to make it right.

But he was gone.

He was still there, of course—still James, still a boy with fire in his chest and golden laughter in his throat. But he was no longer your James.

He stopped sitting beside you at breakfast. He stopped brushing against your arm when you walked beside him.

He didn’t meet your eyes when you passed him in the corridor. Didn’t glance at you when Sirius slung an arm around your shoulders in the common room.

It was worse than hatred. Because there was no fire in his eyes. Only distance.

And you were drowning in it.

── .✦

The Marauders noticed. Of course they did.

You were walking beside Remus one morning, heading toward Transfiguration, when he slowed his pace, falling into step beside you. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, too perceptive by half.

“You look tired,” he murmured softly.

You offered him a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not fine,” he countered gently, his voice low. “And he’s not fine either.”

You didn’t say anything. You only gripped your books tighter.

And Remus—Remus, who had always known how to read you—lowered his voice slightly.

“He still looks at you, you know,” he murmured, so softly it was nearly lost to the crowd.

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t ask who he meant. You didn’t have to.

── .✦

You tried. Merlin, you tried.

You cornered James in the hallway once, days later.

You didn’t think. You just grabbed his wrist as he walked by, gripping him too tightly, too desperate. His breath hitched slightly at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t meet your eyes either.

“James,” you rasped, your voice barely louder than a breath. “Please.”

You didn’t even know what you were begging for. But it didn’t matter.

Because James closed his eyes, as if you hurt him just by standing there, and carefully pried your hand from his wrist.

And he walked away without saying a word.

── .✦

You started avoiding him after that.

If he didn’t want you, you wouldn’t force him to see you. You let him have his space. You sat at the Slytherin table for meals again, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes burning into your back.

You stopped walking by the Quidditch pitch in the evenings, unwilling to watch him practice, unwilling to risk seeing him so golden and alive when you were breaking apart.

You no longer reached for him when you were cold. You no longer leaned against him in the common room. You no longer laughed when he tugged at your hair or stole the last of your pumpkin pasty.

And you told yourself it was for the best.

But oh— It hurt.

── .✦

You were going to give up.

You had almost made your peace with it. Almost.

Until that night.

── .✦

It was raining. The sort of rain that slapped against the windows in sheets, a relentless downpour that filled the corridors with a low, mournful hum.

You had been walking back from the library, exhausted and hollow-eyed, your boots heavy against the stone floor. Your hair was damp from the drizzle that had clung to you on your way back from the Owlery.

You didn’t even see him at first.

James was standing by the window at the end of the corridor, his back turned to you. His hands were braced against the sill, shoulders hunched slightly, damp curls clinging to the nape of his neck.

You should have walked away. You should have kept going.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, watching him in the half-light, letting yourself pretend for one final moment that he still belonged to you.

And then you turned. Ready to leave. Ready to walk away.

But then he spoke.

“Don’t.”

His voice was low, hoarse—so quiet you barely heard it over the rain.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

And slowly, slowly, James turned around.

You saw his face, and your heart splintered. Because he was staring at you the way he once did. Like he was falling. Like he was still falling.

And then he was moving. Two steps, then three— And suddenly he was right in front of you, too close, his chest heaving slightly.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You only stared at each other— Breathless. Broken.

And then he cupped your face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if memorizing the shape of you.

“I hate you,” he rasped.

Your throat tightened.

“I know,” you whispered brokenly.

But James shook his head sharply, his grip tightening slightly. His voice cracked, raw and uneven.

“No, you don’t,” he choked. “I hate you for making me fall in love with you, knowing you’d leave.” His breath hitched. “I hate you for letting me hold you when you already belonged to a different time.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, a sharp sob splintering in your throat. “James—”

But his hands tightened on your face, trembling slightly, pulling you closer.

“And I hate,” he whispered brokenly, forehead pressed against yours, “that I never stopped loving you.”

You let out a soft, broken sob— And then you were kissing him.

Hard. Furious. Desperate.

Your hands fisted in his robes, dragging him closer, anchoring yourself to him. And James—James was everywhere. His hands slipped into your hair, fingers tangling desperately, as if he could keep you there forever.

When you pulled away, both of you were gasping. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, his eyes burning.

“You idiot,” you whispered softly, trembling against him. “You absolute idiot. I was never going to leave you.”

James let out a low, choked sound, half-sob, half-laugh, and then he was kissing you again.

And this time— When he held you, He didn’t let go.

── .✦

You stayed. Time bent for you.

The war came. You fought beside him. You saved them all—James, Lily, Harry. The future was rewritten, the grief undone.

And when you stood with James beneath the canopy of a thousand stars, his hands holding yours, you pressed your lips to his knuckles and whispered,

“I would have loved you in every timeline, you know.”

And he smiled. Because he already knew.

── .✦

Time is not linear. It bends for love. It always does.

── .✦

You never thought you’d get to see it—the future you were fighting for.

But somehow, impossibly, you did. And it was beautiful.

── .✦

The war ended differently this time.

Voldemort fell. Not in the ruins of Godric’s Hollow or the halls of Hogwarts, but in a forest clearing, far from the children who should never have had to bleed for a future that should have been theirs.

You were there beside James. You fought with him—back to back, his voice hoarse with spells and shouted warnings, his hand reaching for yours even in the chaos.

And when it was over—when the last curse had been cast and the world stood still—James found you in the crowd.

His hands were shaking when he grabbed you. His knuckles bloodied, his robes torn, his hair damp with sweat. But his eyes were bright and wild and alive.

And he kissed you like you were oxygen. Like he had spent a lifetime holding his breath. Like he had been waiting for you across a thousand timelines.

── .✦

You stood beside him when the world was rebuilt.

You were there when Sirius was declared innocent, when he was free to walk into the sun with his head held high, grinning like a boy unburdened by ghosts.

You were there when Remus spoke softly in the quiet hours of the morning, voice trembling with hope, confessing that he had always wanted more than to simply survive.

You were there when Harry was born—alive and safe. When James held his son in his arms and cried without shame, his tears falling into the wild tufts of black hair on the baby’s head.

And you were there when James placed a trembling kiss against your temple, Harry cradled between you, and whispered,

“We did it.”

── .✦

Two years later, you were standing beside James at Lily and Severus’s wedding.

You had almost laughed when the invitation arrived. The ornate script, written in Lily’s elegant hand, had carried far too much smugness for a simple piece of parchment. The words had been formal and lovely, but you could still hear her voice in them—sweet and knowing, the subtext far too clear.

Told you so.

And now, standing in the evening glow of the wedding canopy, you watched as the girl with fire-bright hair clasped her hands with the boy who had once nearly lost her forever.

Severus stood at the altar, tall and lean, still a little stoic, still a little brooding—but there was softness in his eyes. A gentleness in the way he held Lily’s hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles with quiet reverence.

And Lily—oh, she was radiant. Her hair was loose and wild, tumbling down her back in copper curls, adorned with tiny white flowers that twined through the strands. Her smile was bright enough to soften even Snape’s sharp edges, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as she gazed at him with unguarded adoration.

You glanced at James, who was watching them with a boyish grin, his arms folded lazily across his chest. His hair was windswept and unruly as always, the golden sunset catching the edges and turning them molten.

“They’re going to be insufferable about this, you know,” James murmured with a grin, leaning slightly into your side.

You hummed softly, tilting your head toward him. “Oh, absolutely. Lily will probably gloat about being right for the next decade.”

James smirked, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Ten galleons says Snivellus cries during the vows.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “James, you can’t bet on their wedding.”

But he only grinned wider. “What, afraid you’ll lose?”

You rolled your eyes but fought a smile, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

And when Lily walked down the aisle—when Severus turned toward her with something painfully soft in his eyes—James slipped his hand into yours.

His fingers wove between yours, warm and steady. His thumb brushed slow circles against your palm, as if he were trying to memorize the shape of your hand.

And when you glanced at him— He was already looking at you.

His eyes were dark and golden and entirely too soft, shining with something far too raw for a wedding.

And you knew. Right then. That he was thinking about every version of you he had ever lost. Every version of you he had loved.

And so you leaned over slightly, your voice barely louder than a breath.

“Stop looking at me like that, Potter,” you murmured teasingly.

James’s lips curved slightly, but his eyes didn’t soften. They only burned brighter.

“Like what?” he whispered, his voice barely louder than the breeze, laced with unmistakable reverence.

“Like you’re in love with me,” you teased softly, arching a playful brow.

And James—James smiled softly, eyes molten with warmth, voice rough with emotion.

“I am in love with you,” he whispered simply.

And then he was leaning down, brushing his lips against yours—slow and gentle, as if the whole world had slowed just for you.

── .✦

Later, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and the stars spilled carelessly across the sky, you stood in the garden with James, Harry fast asleep in his arms.

The evening was warm, the wind gentle, carrying the faint sound of music from the reception. The canopy was still aglow with golden lights, casting everything in soft, honeyed hues.

You watched as James shifted Harry carefully in his arms, his hand splayed protectively across his son’s back. The baby snuffled softly against his chest, tiny hands curled into fists, his breathing slow and steady.

You reached out, brushing a soft lock of hair from Harry’s forehead, and James glanced at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You only stood there, bathed in the amber glow of the evening, watching the stars blink sleepily overhead.

And then James, voice barely louder than a whisper, murmured,

“Marry me.”

You froze.

Your eyes flicked to him, searching his face—certain you had misheard. But James was only looking at you softly, his eyes wide and unguarded, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hand.

You stared at him, your heart stuttering violently.

“James,” you breathed softly, barely able to say his name.

But he only smiled. Soft and slow and so achingly sincere.

“Marry me,” he whispered again. His voice was hoarse, barely louder than a breath. “I—I know it’s sudden. I know we’ve already stolen so much time. But—” He exhaled sharply, his voice breaking slightly. “I want this. With you. Always.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening, your eyes burning with tears you couldn’t hold back.

And when you reached for him—when your hand pressed against his cheek and you nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat—James let out a shaky, disbelieving breath.

And he kissed you.

Soft and trembling and impossibly tender, tasting of hope and home and every version of you he had ever loved.

And you kissed him back— Knowing that this time, In this life, You were his forever.

── .✦

Love is timeless. It does not belong to one lifetime. It exists across all of them.

── .✦

You were trembling.

Not with fear, not exactly. But with something bigger. Something heavier.

The morning sun spilled through the enormous windows of the bridal suite, bathing everything in soft, golden hues. You stood barefoot on the cool stone floor, wrapped in a silk dressing gown, staring at your reflection in the floor-length mirror.

Your fingers were cold. Your knees felt a little weak.

You were getting married. To James Potter.

And somehow, the thought made it harder to breathe.

Not because you were afraid. But because the weight of happiness pressed so fiercely against your chest, you thought it might shatter you.

── .✦

“Are you trying to hyperventilate, or does that just come naturally?”

You glanced over your shoulder to find Bellatrix standing in the doorway, one dark brow arched, her lips curled into a smirk.

She was stunning, as always, dressed in elegant silver robes that caught the morning light, the fabric shimmering faintly as she stepped into the room. Her black curls tumbled in perfect, wicked waves down her back, and her eyes glimmered with mischief.

But when she saw the trembling in your hands, the playful glint softened slightly.

“Hey,” she murmured, striding over, her voice low and surprisingly gentle. She took your hands in hers, squeezing them slightly. “You’re all right.”

You let out a shaky breath, laughing weakly. “I feel like I might pass out.”

Bellatrix’s lips twitched faintly. “I mean, if you want to cause a scene at your own wedding, be my guest. Would be pretty dramatic. Very on brand.”

You let out a watery laugh, squeezing her hands.

And then you felt a soft hand on your shoulder.

Narcissa appeared beside you, her pale blonde hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. She was elegant and ethereal, dressed in ice-blue robes that brought out the sharp cut of her eyes. But her voice, as always, was soft.

“You look beautiful,” she murmured, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

You swallowed thickly, your throat tightening.

And then there was Lily.

She stepped into the room, her auburn hair glimmering with tiny pearls woven into the braid that circled her crown. Her smile was impossibly bright, her eyes warm with too much emotion.

She held up a handkerchief dramatically. “Don’t even think about crying yet,” she teased, her voice trembling slightly despite her playful tone. “Save it for the aisle, or I swear, I’ll hex you.”

You let out a strangled laugh, already blinking back tears.

And when the three of them crowded around you—Bellatrix playfully poking at your hair, Narcissa fastening the delicate bracelet around your wrist, and Lily brushing a bit of gloss onto your lips—you felt the trembling in your hands finally still.

── .✦

The music began to play.

You stood at the edge of the garden, your hands trembling slightly around the bouquet of white lilies and wildflowers. The sun was warm against your face, the sky a soft, cloudless blue, the air perfumed with the scent of roses and honeysuckle.

And then— Harry, your precious little ring bearer, toddled out onto the stone pathway.

He was dressed in a tiny, perfectly tailored black suit, with his wild black hair sticking up in every possible direction. He held the little velvet pillow in his small hands, his bright green eyes wide with delight as the crowd let out a collective coo.

When he spotted you standing in the archway, his face split into a gap-toothed grin, and he squealed,

“Mummy!”

You let out a watery laugh, your chest tightening painfully.

But when you finally took that first step— When you slowly made your way down the aisle, surrounded by the people you loved— Your eyes found only one person.

James.

And oh, he was already crying.

You saw him before he saw you. Standing there at the end of the aisle, dressed in tailored black dress robes, the collar slightly askew, his hair hopelessly messy in that perfectly disheveled way. His hands were trembling faintly at his sides, his lips parted slightly as he stared at you.

And when his eyes finally met yours— His breath caught audibly in his throat.

You saw the moment it hit him. The moment he realized that this was real. That he wasn’t dreaming. That you were walking toward him— To be his. Forever.

And then he let out a sharp, uneven breath, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. He dragged a hand roughly through his hair, laughing wetly through the emotion clogging his throat.

Sirius, standing beside him, smirked and clapped him roughly on the back, grinning smugly. “Told you you’d cry, mate.”

James sniffled, his voice breaking slightly. “Shut up, Pads.”

And then his eyes were back on you.

And he was beaming. Like he was seeing the sun for the first time. Like he was falling in love with you all over again.

You barely remembered walking the rest of the way. All you could see was him.

And when you finally reached him—when he took your trembling hands in his—you felt your whole chest constrict.

Because he was crying so softly, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as if he were trying to memorize the shape of you. His hands were warm and trembling, his voice rough with emotion.

“You’re so beautiful,” he choked, voice barely louder than a breath. His eyes burned fiercely, glassy and golden. “You’re—you’re so beautiful, love.”

You let out a watery laugh, squeezing his hands.

And then the vows came.

James was shaking slightly when he slipped the ring onto your finger. His voice cracked halfway through the words, and he let out a shaky, breathless laugh, blinking rapidly.

His hands were warm, his eyes glassy and reverent as he whispered the words against your knuckles.

“I choose you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I’ll always choose you. In every time, in every life. It’s you.”

And when you pressed your trembling lips to his—when you felt his hands tighten desperately at your waist, holding you as though you might slip away��you knew.

That you had never belonged to just one lifetime. You had belonged to all of them. To him. Always.

── .✦

Later, when the sun was low and the garden was alight with golden lanterns, you stood with James in the orchard.

The reception carried on behind you—the clinking of glasses and soft laughter drifting through the night—but James didn’t seem to care.

He had abandoned his tie long ago, and his hair was a mess of unruly curls, golden in the lantern glow. His arms were wrapped around you, holding you too tightly, as if he was still afraid you might disappear.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered playfully against your ear, his voice low and honeyed, pressing soft kisses against your neck.

You smiled against his shoulder. “I was always yours.”

James pulled back slightly, eyes dark and molten. His voice softened, barely louder than a breath.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he whispered hoarsely.

And when you kissed him beneath the canopy of golden lights, with the stars spilling wide and endless above you, James Potter held you like he had loved you across a thousand timelines.

Because he had. And he always would.

── .✦

Time had bent for you. It had splintered and unraveled and stitched itself back together just to bring you here— Into his arms. Where you were always meant to be.

── .✦

The stars were burning softly above the orchard, spilling across the inky blackness in glimmering constellations, as if the entire universe had come to witness the ending of your story.

Or rather, the beginning of it.

Because you weren’t running anymore. You weren’t slipping between timelines or losing yourself to fate. You were here—rooted firmly in this life, this time, with James Potter’s hands tangled in yours.

And Merlin, he was still looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

── .✦

The reception was still alive behind you—laughter and music floating lazily through the orchard. Golden lanterns swung gently from the low branches, casting honeyed light over the dark grass.

But James didn’t seem to notice any of it.

You were his whole world.

His tie was long discarded, and his robes hung loosely around him, a few buttons undone at his collar. His hair—already unruly from the hours of dancing—was an utter mess, windswept and falling into his eyes in hopeless curls.

He was absolutely breathtaking.

And he was holding you too tightly, like he still wasn’t entirely convinced you were real.

“Merlin, I can’t stop looking at you,” he murmured, his voice rough with something deeper than reverence. His thumb brushed slowly over the back of your hand. “You’re so—bloody hell, look at you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re making me sound like some divine vision, Potter,” you teased softly.

James’s lips curved slightly, but his eyes softened with something almost dangerous—something entirely too raw and reverent.

“Because you are,” he murmured, his voice so low it made your skin flush.

Your breath caught slightly at the weight of his words. At the warmth in his eyes. At the softness in his touch.

And then—because you were helpless against him—you reached up, brushing your fingers softly through his windswept hair. You let the tips of your fingers trail down the side of his face, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw.

James’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. His breath stuttered slightly, the warmth of it fanning against your wrist.

And when he opened them again— His eyes were dark. Molten. Utterly ruined by you.

── .✦

You didn’t know how long you stood there, swaying slightly in the golden lamplight. You didn’t know how many times James pressed his lips to your knuckles, as if trying to memorize the feel of you in his hands.

But you knew that you weren’t in a hurry.

You let him pull you close, let him bury his face against your neck, breathing you in like you were air. His arms were loose around your waist, his thumbs slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, brushing slow, idle circles against the small of your back.

And when you shifted slightly in his arms, leaning into him— James let out a low, breathless sound that made your skin flush beneath the fabric of your dress.

── .✦

“Dance with me,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm against your throat.

You let out a breathless laugh. “James, there’s no music out here.”

But he only pulled back slightly, his eyes glimmering with boyish mischief. “Since when do I need music to dance with my wife?”

The word wife sent a shiver down your spine, settling warm and heavy in your chest. And he must have seen it in your eyes. Because James’s lips curled into a wicked grin.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, his nose brushing lightly against yours. “You like being my wife.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, rolling your eyes. “I suppose it has its perks,” you teased lightly.

James’s grin widened, his voice a low, playful rasp. “Oh, does it?”

And then he was spinning you in the dim light of the orchard, twirling you beneath the canopy of golden lanterns, his hands warm and steady in yours.

You laughed breathlessly as he tugged you close, arms winding securely around you. You pressed your face against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat settle against your cheek.

And James— James pressed his lips against your temple, his voice a low, lazy drawl.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured playfully against your hair, his hands sliding slowly, reverently over your back. “No take-backs. You married me. It’s legally binding and everything.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. And Merlin, he was still looking at you with so much love it made your knees weak.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage,” you teased lightly, brushing your fingertips over the back of his neck.

James’s eyes glimmered with warmth, but his voice softened, barely louder than a breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered reverently, as if saying it too loudly would shatter you. His thumb traced along your cheekbone, eyes dark with awe. “You’re—you’re so bloody beautiful, love.”

You leaned into his touch, your lips parting softly.

And then he was kissing you.

Softly at first. Slow and reverent, his lips barely brushing over yours— As if he were still tasting the promise of forever on your mouth.

But then— Then the kiss deepened.

James’s hands slid lower, gripping your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him. You let out a soft, surprised gasp, and James swallowed the sound with a low, breathless hum, his lips dragging over yours with slow, teasing purpose.

His fingers splayed over the small of your back, slipping just beneath the fabric of your dress, his touch impossibly warm. He pressed you closer, as if he could make you a part of him— As if he were still afraid you might slip through his fingers.

“Merlin, I love you,” he rasped against your lips, his voice low and uneven, hoarse with longing. His teeth grazed your bottom lip slightly, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

And oh— You were trembling slightly in his arms. Not with nervousness. But with want.

And James— James, who had always been golden and mischievous and utterly smitten— Noticed immediately.

His eyes darkened slightly. His lips parted faintly, breath uneven.

“Love,” he murmured lowly, his voice rough around the edges, “if you keep looking at me like that, I might do something utterly indecent at our wedding reception.”

You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks flushing faintly. “Oh? That’s unlike you, Potter,” you teased, your voice barely louder than a murmur.

And James— Oh, he grinned wickedly, lowering his mouth to your ear.

“You have no idea, Mrs. Potter.”

His voice was a low rasp, his lips grazing the shell of your ear with slow, torturous reverence. His breath was warm against your skin, and his fingers—Merlin, his fingers were dangerously slow as they traced teasing circles along your spine.

Your breath caught slightly, your heart hammering violently in your chest. And James—James only grinned wider.

“Shall we sneak away, love?” he murmured silkily, brushing a teasing kiss against your throat, lips warm and deliberate. “Or do I have to suffer through another hour of dancing with respectable people before I get you all to myself?”

You laughed softly, breathless, your cheeks warm and flushed.

And when you leaned up on your toes, brushing your lips teasingly against his, you whispered,

“Take me home, Mr. Potter.”

And James— James smiled against your lips, utterly ruined by you. Because you already were. You always had been. His home.

── .✦

The universe had been cruel. It had torn you from your timeline, stripped you from the arms of the people you loved, and scattered you across history. But in return— It gave you this. Him. Them. A future you had never dared to dream of.

── .✦

The cottage was small, but it was yours.

Tucked away in the countryside, hidden behind sprawling fields of wildflowers and enchanted thickets, it stood like something out of a dream. The stone walls were weathered but sturdy, honey-gold in the morning sun. The windows were always open, letting in the scent of lavender and fresh-cut grass, and the chimney was forever puffing lazy ribbons of smoke into the sky.

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t a manor. But it was warm and worn and safe. And it was home.

── .✦

You awoke slowly to the feel of warm, slightly chapped lips pressing soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder.

You let out a drowsy sigh, rolling over slightly to meet James’s half-lidded gaze. His hair was an absolute mess—dark and rumpled and deliciously wild against the pillows. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, golden in the morning light, and he was looking at you like you were the first sunrise he had ever seen.

“Morning, Mrs. Potter,” he murmured hoarsely, voice thick with sleep, his lips brushing lightly over the tip of your nose.

You smiled faintly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Morning, Mr. Potter.”

James let out a soft, contented hum, burying his face into the curve of your neck. His arms tightened slightly around your waist, pulling you closer, as if the entire bed were too big without you in his arms.

“Mmm, don’t move,” he grumbled drowsily, his voice muffled against your skin. “You’re warm. Stay right here. Forever.”

You let out a sleepy laugh, running your fingers lazily through the thick curls at the nape of his neck.

But then— A loud crash echoed from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

You and James froze.

Then— The distinct sound of tiny, gleeful giggles.

James groaned dramatically, his face still buried against your throat. “Your son is a menace,” he mumbled, voice muffled with mock exhaustion.

You smiled, brushing your lips lightly against the crown of his head. “Our son,” you corrected softly, but there was nothing but adoration in your voice.

James let out a low, exaggerated groan, flopping onto his back. “Merlin help me.”

And then the bedroom door burst open.

“Da!! Mummy!!”

Harry, still in his little blue pajamas, came sprinting into the room, clutching a suspiciously bent toy broom in one hand. His wild black hair was an absolute disaster—sticking up in every possible direction, an adorable replica of his father’s morning mess. His green eyes were wide with childish delight, a bright, mischievous grin tugging at his tiny lips.

He launched himself onto the bed with absolutely no regard for either of you.

James let out a low oof as Harry pounced onto his chest, sprawling over him with all the elegance of a baby thestral.

“Merlin’s beard, Prongs Junior!” James groaned dramatically, mock-gasping for air. “You’re going to break my ribs, you absolute menace.”

But Harry only grinned wider, clearly unimpressed with his father’s suffering, and bounced gleefully on James’s chest.

James made a loud, strangled, dying-man sort of sound, throwing his head back with mock agony. “Darling!! Help me! Our son is trying to murder me!”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no,” you deadpanned flatly. “How tragic.”

James shot you an utterly betrayed look, gaping at you like you had personally destroyed his soul.

“You betrayed me, wife?” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

Harry squealed with delight at his father’s theatrics, utterly oblivious to James’s Oscar-worthy performance of a man meeting his untimely end.

You simply shook your head with mock solemnity, rolling your eyes. “Potter, you’re being outwitted by a four-year-old.”

James stared at you, lips twitching with mock indignation, then turned his attention back to the tiny boy currently using him as a human trampoline.

“Oi, you,” he gasped weakly at Harry, voice hoarse with false agony. “Don’t you want to save your dear old dad? Be my hero? My knight in shining armor?”

Harry only giggled maniacally, gripping his bent broomstick and declaring with great importance, “I’m gonna be a seeker!”

James let out a soft, incredulous laugh, eyes bright with warmth.

“Merlin, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” he muttered, ruffling his son’s hair fondly. But he was grinning like a fool, eyes glimmering with a ridiculous amount of pride.

You watched them quietly for a moment. James. Harry. Your entire world pressed into the same bed, giggling beneath the golden morning light.

And just for a moment— You allowed yourself to pretend you had always belonged here.

── .✦

The fireplace roared suddenly with green flames, and in strolled Sirius Black, entirely uninvited.

“Prongs!” Sirius barked cheerfully, arms flung wide as if announcing his arrival to a crowd of thousands. “I come bearing whiskey, terrible advice, and absolutely no concept of personal boundaries!”

James’s grin widened immediately. “Now there’s my responsible fatherhood role model.”

You groaned softly, covering your face with one hand. “Oh no.”

But it was already too late.

Sirius strolled into the living room like he owned the place, his black hair tousled in artful disarray, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. He bent down dramatically, ruffling Harry’s hair with enough force to make the boy squeal with delighted laughter.

“Look at you, little menace!” Sirius crowed, plucking Harry off the ground with exaggerated flair, tossing him lightly in the air. “Merlin, you’re almost as big as your old man.”

Harry squealed gleefully, grabbing at Sirius’s hair with tiny fists.

James’s eyes widened slightly. “Oi, gently, Padfoot!” he barked, though he was grinning far too widely to be genuinely concerned.

But before James could intervene, Remus strolled in through the front door, already exuding the aura of the only sane person in the room.

He shook his head fondly, running a hand through his sandy hair. “Honestly, I don’t know why I still expect you lot to act like responsible adults.”

Sirius snorted loudly, tossing Harry lightly onto the couch with a dramatic flourish.

“Responsible adults?” he sneered with mock outrage, planting a hand on his chest. “I’ll have you know, Moony, I once drank half a bottle of Fire whiskey, dueled a goblin, and convinced a centaur to let me ride him through the Forbidden Forest—all in the same night.”

Remus arched a brow, utterly unimpressed. “You also got a month’s detention and lost two teeth, if I recall correctly.”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s slander, Lupin. Absolute slander.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, watching them fondly. And for a moment— Just for a moment— You forgot that they had once been nothing but memories. Phantom faces in a future you could no longer reach. For now, they were here. They were real. And Merlin, you held on to them like they might slip through your fingers.

── .✦

The cottage was silent that evening—Harry long since tucked into bed, his tiny hands clutching the worn stag plush James had gifted him.

You stood by the window, staring out at the endless black, your breath fogging the glass.

And when you closed your eyes, you could see them.

Ron, throwing his head back in laughter, eyes glinting with boyish mischief. Hermione’s soft, steady voice as she carefully unwound the impossible knots of the world with quiet brilliance. And Harry—your Harry— Older. Burdened. Carrying too much weight for one boy.

You pressed your palm lightly to the windowpane, as if you could reach through the glass and touch the life you left behind.

But it was James who found you. Always.

You didn’t hear him enter the room. But you felt his arms slip around you from behind, warm and familiar. Without a word, he pressed his lips softly to your shoulder.

“Can’t sleep, darling?” he murmured softly, voice low and sleep-rough.

You swallowed thickly, leaning back into him, your fingers tangling loosely with his.

“Just thinking,” you whispered faintly.

James was quiet for a moment. And then— He squeezed you a little tighter.

“About them?” he asked softly, no accusation in his voice. Only understanding.

You nodded, your breath hitching slightly. And James— He pressed his lips against the curve of your jaw, his voice barely louder than a breath.

“You don’t have to forget them, my love,” he murmured, softly, reverently. “You just have to keep living.”

And you let him hold you. Because somehow, James knew how to make the grief feel a little softer. A little quieter. Like something you could carry, rather than be crushed beneath.

── .✦

The evening was soft and golden, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. James was slouched in the armchair, legs dangling lazily over the side, a book balanced haphazardly on his chest. His hair was a complete mess, dark curls tumbling over his forehead.

You sat on the couch with your legs tucked beneath you, an old quilt draped over your lap, fingers absentmindedly running over the worn fabric.

The room was quiet, save for the occasional flutter of parchment as James absentmindedly flipped a page.

Then— Without warning, James’s voice broke the silence.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

You blinked, looking over at him, your breath catching slightly at the softness in his eyes.

“Regret what?” you asked faintly, though you already knew.

James’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “Staying,” he murmured, voice quiet and earnest. “Choosing me. Choosing this life.”

Your chest tightened slightly at the rawness in his voice—the quiet, vulnerable plea behind his words.

You were silent for a long moment. And then— You rose slowly from the couch, padding across the room and climbing into his lap.

James’s arms wound around you immediately, pulling you closer, holding you like he was still afraid you might slip away.

You pressed your lips softly to his temple, voice low and trembling with certainty.

“Never,” you whispered fiercely. “Not for a second.”

James let out a breathless sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

And he held you. And you held him back. And the life you left behind—the one you would always carry with you—felt a little lighter, a little softer.

Because here, in this time, In this life, You were home.

[beckyninja]

Hope

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: So. Much. Angst.

Description: Guilliman mourns his beloved's "death".

Oof, this was a rough one to write, even though it's short. I've really put this poor blueberry through the wringer.

(This is a continuation of my Guilliman x Reader series. To find the previous chapters, check out my Masterlist.)

Guilliman observed the rage in Captain Takahashi’s black eyes as if from a great distance. Dimly, he registered her voice as she bent over the holographic star map.

“We will come to the beginning of the Wards in a few standard hours’ time.” She gestured with her left arm, the right ending in a bandaged stump just below the elbow. “I’ll need a moment to observe the maelstrom and discern the patterns, before I can begin imparting instructions.”

The Chief Navigator stood at her elbow, double-jointed fingers steepled before his gray lips. “These ‘Wards’, you say? They are a… maze, in the Warp?”

“And out of it.”

“How is this possible?”

Guilliman let his gaze drift between the two.

The Captain’s eyes remained fixed on the map. “You’d call it, Archeotech. The secrets of its creation have been lost to time though, thank the Light, TerraNova’s original colonists preserved the knowledge of its maintenance. I am no engineer, but every school child learns how our forebears scattered mechanical ‘beacons’ of a sort behind them as they fled the Machine War.” 

Pressing her remaining hand to her lips, she gave a single, tearing cough. A medica in a charred uniform, half her face bandaged, stepped forward.

“Captain, you should return to the infirmary for your next round of anti-rads.”

Captain Takahashi waved her away. “In a moment, Lieutenant.” She returned to the star map. “As I was saying, these ‘beacons’ emit frequencies that twist both the Warp and Realspace, bending reality and unreality into a knot of ever-shifting pathways. The Wards.”

The Navigator’s white eyes widened. “As a child I heard rumors… stories of Navigators caught in such knots… driven mad….” His head jerked toward the Captain. “How do your people pass through such insanity?”

“Few ever do.” The Captain’s lips tightened. “But for those who must, we are taught to recognize the patterns in the maelstrom, our reflexes sharpened to make split-second navigational corrections. It is a brutal process, and in the last few decades has mostly been delegated to new navigational computers.” A sharp snort. “Mine, which now happens to be charred debris in the void.”

Something rose inside Guilliman, clawing at his shield of detachment. “You made promises, Captain Takahashi.”

Every soul in the room, even his Ultramarines, flinched. The TerraNovan Lieutenant cowered back against a wall. 

The Captain trembled a moment, then turned to face him. “I did. And I will keep them, Lord Guilliman.” Her eyes rose to his face, but did not meet his gaze. “I am of the last generation of naval officers trained to manually navigate the Wards. I will see your fleet through.”

“Some would call your actions treasonous.”

Her eyes managed to meet his. “All those to whom I swore oaths of service betrayed me, Lord Guilliman. Because of them, hundreds of my crew are dead. Not just proud voidsmen and women of our Navy, but the families who sailed with them. Children. The ship we called our home lies a broken corpse.”

Her eyes dropped away. “I failed them. And I failed the only one of our royal family for whom I felt any true loyalty. Let them call it treason.” She clenched her one fist.

“I call it vengeance.”

For a brief moment, a flicker of understanding passed between them. Primarch and Captain. He felt himself nod before turning away and exiting the room.

He moved without conscious thought, feet following patterns drilled into him long before his ten thousand year stasis. Corridors, doors, people all passed in a blur. The cacophony of the ship morphed into a meaningless babble. Vaguely, he registered the heavy tramp of ceramite boots behind him.

Too late did he realize his destination.

The door to your quarters stood before him.

No….

His hand reached for the control panel.

No…!

He watched himself enter the code, heard the hiss of sliding metal as the portal opened into darkness.

Stop….

But his body refused to obey. Or, perhaps, it obeyed some urge far more powerful than conscious will. He heard himself ordering his guard to remain outside, and stepped through the door…

…into memory.

Your scent rose all around him, overwhelming, choking. It shattered the frigid defenses he’d erected around his mind and hearts. It stabbed. It soothed. He loved it. He hated it.

He stumbled forward, hands pawing blindly until they met the bed. His knees buckled. He crashed to the floor, hands still tangled in the sheets that smelled achingly of you. 

You…you…you…you….

You, standing before him for the first time, single heartbeat fluttering like a bird in his ears.

You, face earnest as you advocate for the home and people you care for.

You, giggling at one of his ill-timed, foolish jests.

You, laid out beneath him, eyes shining as you tell him you love-

“No…,” Guilliman groaned, “stop. Please….”

The memories ceased, replaced by something far, far worse.

You, dressed in purest white, standing before him at the altar, pledging love and faithfulness for the rest of your days.

You, blushing fiercely, as he presents their new Lady to the cheering crowds of Macragge.

You, panting his name as he worships your perfect body.

“No, no, no!” He buried his face in your sheets, only for the concentrated fragrance they carried to unlock his most searing fantasy.

You, glowing with joy as you bounce a golden-haired child on your hip, your belly growing round yet again.

“Pater! Pater!”

“Come, Roboute! Work will wait. Come spend time with your family, my love!”

Roboute Guilliman, Primarch, Lord Regent of the Imperium of Man, wept.

He did not weep as he had as a young man when Konor Guilliman, his true father, lay dying before him. He did not weep as he had when, after his reawakening, he discovered the memorial to Tarasha Euten deep within the Fortress of Hera.

Even in those times, he’d known there to be a future beyond his pain.

But now….

Fabric tore as his fists clenched around the sheets. He raised his eyes to find one of the innumerable skulls carved into every surface upon the ship. A grisly symbol of the deity supposedly watching over them all.

“Why?” His voice felt ripped from the bleeding center of his being. “If you have the power people say, why do you use it to torment me?” 

He staggered to his feet, still clasping the torn sheets. “Have I not given enough? Did you find me undeserving of even the smallest modicum of happiness? Why, then, did you let me feel it, only to rip it away?”

His next words came as an agonized roar. “Why did you give me hope?!”

The very cruelest of punishments.

Guilliman looked down at the shreds of fabric in his hand. “What did she do to deserve your ire?”

But, deep within, he knew the truth. The Emperor had not doomed you. He had. His love was a poison worse than any follower of Nurgle could concoct.

Hadn’t everyone he ever cared for died?

“I am sorry. Oh Throne, I am so sorry, my love.” Once again, he buried his face in your fragrance. “Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

He knew he tortured himself. He also knew he deserved it.

Vengeance and rage could only light his steps for so long. He would destroy all who had taken you from him. And then their fire would flicker out, leaving him with nothing but a cold, lonely trudge into the gray of the future.

At the thought, all strength left him. 

Roboute Guilliman curled onto the floor, knees tucked to his chest, whimpering like a child left alone in the dark.

…ping….

His eyes snapped open.

…ping…ping….

He clawed to his feet, chest heaving in great gasps. 

…ping….

Guilliman hurtled from the room, nearly bowling over Cato Sicarius. The Commander’s queries went unheeded as he crashed through the great gilded doors at the end of the corridor and into his personal office.

ping…ping…ping…

There, on his desk, lay a small vox receiver, gifted to him by Captain Takahashi. The unfamiliar device was set to receive one specific frequency from one specific source: a miniaturized beacon set into a band of gold and sapphire.

A band he’d placed upon your finger minutes before you left the Macragge’s Honor.

“If you need me, press the largest gem in the ring. A beacon will activate.” He’d grasped your chin, ensuring you looked into his eyes. “And I will come for you.”

Ping!

The receiver lit with a pulsing, golden light.

And hope, that cruelest and most enduring of flames, ignited in Guilliman’s hearts once more.

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