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sweetestberryofthebunch · 7 days ago

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Give You My Heart (Detective!Agnes x f!Reader)

For Agnes it‘s always been all work, no life. Balance isn’t even a word in her vocabulary. Growing frustrated with your fiancée, you show up at the precinct and remind her what she’s missing out on.

Content/Warnings: Fluff and Smut, Age Gap Relationship, Brief mention of Somnophilia, Oral, Oral fixation, Semi Public Sex, Degradation, Face Slapping, Hair pulling, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Hard Dom!Agnes, Slight Brat!Reader, mention of safe wording, spit play and choking again, mentions of boot licking

Tag List for Part II: @crazycatladycaceta @live-laugh-love-lupone @jazzyxqzl you guys are the reason I wanted to write more of this, I hope you enjoy!

Read the warnings for this one guys, please! I just want everyone to be aware of what‘s coming and no unpleasant surprises. Love ya!

If I ever write about these two’s actual wedding, I’ll treat them to a fully planned out wedding night scene and not just these little sprinkles of kink I throw at them right now. Which reminds me - do we think Agnes is a Flogger or a Paddle gal?

Spring had sprung earlier than usual this year. By the end of January, the snow had retreated, and now, just a few weeks later, the first fresh green started blooming out of the frost. Mornings were crisp and clear, afternoons sunny but cold. Like every year, you felt the clamping grip of winter fall off your shoulders. Your skin was clearer, your body felt lighter, less stale. Colour seeped back into the world, a much needed change for both you and especially your partner.

You knew for sure that winter was over when Agnes began to forego her pajamas, opting to sleep in nothing but her boxers, if at all, like she preferred.

She slipped into bed one night, as per usual home hours after you, way past any reasonable hour.

At first you gasped when you felt her bare arms drape around you from behind in the earliest hours of the morning. But then you felt her hands start to wander, and you let out a little sigh, leaning into her touch, her bare skin quickly warming up under the covers.

New Year's Eve had put an especially nasty case upon her, something about Gang activity and illegal explosives, and the entire precinct had been working overtime since.

Agnes arrived at the Police Station before sunrise and left way past sundown, with a new stack of files to read before eventually finally passing out. The lunchboxes you packed her returned half empty at best, and when Agnes returned late at night from work, she barely had the energy, let alone the mood to talk.

In fact, the most you‘d seen of your fiancée this year so far was her half empty coffee mug in the morning, left abandoned on the kitchen table when she had to rush to work; And her silhouette in the dark when she slipped into bed beside you way past midnight. Most days, you were lucky to even get a greeting.

So, when she slipped under the covers, bare skin against yours, and you were still awake, you felt your body ache for her immediately. It wasn’t fair that work occupied her this much anyway.

„Agnes“, you whispered as her fingertips traced over your ribs. You could feel her grunt something unintelligible into your neck, lips teasing at the fine baby hairs there. Pushing your butt back into her, a low moan hurried past your lips. It had been a while … since early December, to be exact.

„Relax baby“, Agnes husked into your ear, voice drowsy, „Just let me…��

Her hand stilled on your lower tummy, just above the waistband of your pajama pants.

At first, you stayed completely still beneath her touch, even holding your breath in anticipation. Agnes didn’t tease you often, preferring to fuck you stupid fast and hard, but sometimes she did like to test your patience. Or rather, her own.

Minutes passed without her hand moving an inch. Her breath against your neck was slow, and even. This was not like her at all.

And then, you heard it. A low, quiet little snore, right into your neck.

You let out a sigh, head sinking a little deeper into the pillow. She had fallen asleep on you, right in the middle of this.

When you turned around, careful not to wake her, you were met with her pale face. She hadn’t even opened her ponytail before slipping into bed. Even in her sleep, her brow was creased in worry, her resting face at this point. Your fingers traced over her forehead, brushing a few loose strands out of her face. The touch was featherlight so as to not wake her.

“Oh Agnes.“ you shook your head, arm wrapping around her shoulders to pull her limp body close, cradling her head to your chest.

Gently, you leaned forward to press a kiss right onto the crown of her head. The crease on her forehead evened out a little, so you kissed her two more times, for good measure.

Tomorrow, you were going to make her relax, and if you had to drag her home by her hair, then so be it.

The day started beautifully. Clear, blue sky, crisp fresh air. Despite how close to her you‘d fallen asleep, when you stirred, the space beside you was already empty, the cold morning light illuminating the crumpled up blankets.

You went about your morning routine as per usual, however, as you stepped into the kitchen, drying your freshly washed hair with a towel, you found Agnes‘ coffee mug already cleaned up and drying on the dishrag.

She also had emptied both the last jar of peanut butter and the homemade strawberry jam Mrs Davis had gifted you for Christmas. You rolled your eyes. For someone so grumpy every time she had to see the neighbours, Agnes certainly enjoyed their gifts.

After work, you usually ran your errands and went home to feed the bunny. However, today you had fed Scratchy early, and stayed downtown. The walk to the police station wasn’t far, so as the sun went down, you trailed through the little downtown area, past shops that were slowly closing up for the day. You only stopped once at the little flower shop just at the corner to townsquare, where you spotted a beautiful, full bouquet of white and purple tulips, the first ones of the season.

When the two of you had started dating, you‘d made a point of always buying Agnes flowers, noticing the way she’d smile to herself despite trying to play it cool. A year later, when you‘d moved into her place, you had found that every bouquet she‘d ever received from you had been carefully dried, now lining up the wall of her home office. You had cried, and Agnes had made a point of fucking you on her desk that night, forcing you to look up at the wall as she‘d whispered her favourite memory about each date you‘d had into your ear.

As the police station came into view, you swallowed, gripping the fresh tulips tighter. Time to remind her what she was missing out on.

The parking lot was empty except for Agnes' car. Even the chief's VW was gone already, leaving Agnes to lock up by herself once again. Usually, you‘d be annoyed by that, but today, that was exactly what you‘d anticipated.

Your steps echoed through the precinct. The overhead lights were off, leaving the place tainted in early nights grey and the very last orange glow of sundown. There was only one light on, of course, Agnes desk lamp in her personal cubicle, hidden away only by a shabby glass front.

Your fiancée was crouched over her desk, propped up on her elbow as her other hand held a pen, tracing over whatever notes she had of the day. She didn’t look up as you approached, not even as her door creaked open, and you slipped inside.

There was a plastic pitcher on top of a metal cabinet right beside you, and you put the flowers inside without hesitation.

Agnes would notice in a week or so that her pitcher was in use as a makeshift vase, and you’d scold her about her water intake then.

Right now, you just stepped further into her office, stepping around her desk as you cleared your throat.

“You know”, at the sound of your voice, Agnes' head shot up in surprise.

„I‘m starting to think about getting into the illegal trade of explosives on the black market“, you drawled, standing right in front of her chair, hip leaning against her crappy desk. Pointedly, you raised the hand adorned with your engagement ring, fingertips drumming against your cheek, „Since that’s the only way to see my Partner these days.“

Blue eyes watch you closely, before Agnes leaned back in her chair, letting out a deep grown. „Don’t joke about that.“

God, she looked spent. „This case has been kicking my ass.“

You pushed yourself off the desk, kicking her chair away from the surface, turning her seat until she was facing you head on.

Tired eyes watched you, and the way Agnes‘ glance dragged down your body, following each every single movement. Without hesitation, you grabbed the armrests of her chair. She didn’t stop you, now caged in her seat as you leaned over her, your arms on either side of her.

You tilted your head to the side, putting on our strict no-discussion voice.

„Not as bad as I‘m gonna kick your ass if you don’t come home with me right now.“

To your surprise, Agnes' eyes darkened, pupils wide. She shifted around in her seat, throat bobbing as she swallowed. Oh.

„Baby“, Agnes' voice was hoarse and you had to hold back a self satisfied little grin.

Your lips were only a few inches away from hers, and you could smell her breath. She definitely did not have the baby carrots and hummus you’d packed her for lunch. There were hinds of chocolate and cheap black coffee. When your lips met hers, it was barely a kiss. Instead, your tongue darted out immediately, pushing past her chapped lips as you licked inside her mouth. Definitely chocolate.

You pulled back, your head tilted to the side. If you looked down, you could see right down her grey flannel into her cleavage, where only the soft cotton of her white undershirt kept her skin from yours. One of your hands let go of the chair, instead pulling down her collar. Your head dove down, and you pressed a single, lingering kiss to her chest, right between her breasts. Her skin was soft and pliant beneath your lips, and you sucked it in, giggling into her chest as your teeth grazed over her.

Agnes' breath hitched loudly and you pulled away, letting her skin go with a wet pop. There was a clear red mark of your teeth around the little bruise you’d sucked into her skin. As you admired your handiwork, you noticed that she was shivering. Oh, she was starving.

„What?“, you cooed, leaning in a little closer. „Not here? Not at work?“

You chuckled as your back straightened, your breath ghosting over her face. You were enjoying this way too much.

„But Darling”, you craned your neck, whispering into her ear. “Where else am I supposed to have my way with you? It’s not like you’re anywhere fucking else lately.“

Agnes' eyes darkened. There she was, that dominating, darker side of her. The animal inside of her, the one that she had starved for far too long.

Her hand shot up, fingers grasping at your neck like a vice. You tried to gasp, but your airways were already clamped tight. When she spoke, Agnes' voice was dangerously low.

„That’s what this is? I work overtime for two weeks and you get so desperate you show up at my job to fuck?“ Her hand tightened around your throat.

You gave her a sheepish little smirk, glancing over to the shelf by her door. Your pulse was racing in her grip. When your lips parted slightly, you desperately sucked in a few shallow breaths. „I also brought you flowers.“

For a moment, Agnes just stared at you. Your eyes watching her face so closely, open wide and round. Your pupils wide and your chest heaving. The wild glimmer in your stare, not nervous about what might come next, but excited. She may be the one in control, but you had always been the instigator of most of your scenes. And Agnes loved every second of it. The way your breathing was completely at her mercy. Her eyes went dark, hard as she exposed her teeth in a single, low growl. She was met with your smile, deliriously grinning back at her as you swallowed, throat rolling against her grip.

Agnes lips crashed against yours. Your lips met hers head on, open mouthed and you kissed her back with ferocity. Tongues intertwined, Agnes pushed yours down with dominating precision, licking over your teeth. You moaned into her mouth, deeply and guttural, and her hand left your neck.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you pulled away just enough to take a look at her. Agnes' face was flushed, chest rising and falling. You dove back in, lips connecting to her jaw, trailing down her neck, right between her collarbones.

“Baby”, Agnes huffed, head rolling back against the chair. Her hands found your hair, digging in to keep you close.

“Keep going”, it was supposed to be an order, but with the way you felt her tremble under your lips, the way her legs parted so you could crouch down in front of her, you knew she was begging for you.

Your fingers found the ragged fabric of her shirt. With one strong pull, you tore it open, sending a small shower of buttons flying and then pouring out the ground. Agnes' mouth opened in protest, but you were faster.

The moment you had access to her, you leaned down, tongue darting out to lick a firm stroke over her right nipple. The sensitive bud pebbled against the thin fabric of her undershirt. Instead of scolding you, Agnes' head rolled back with a long moan. Your hands slid down her front, over her ribs, her stomach. All the way towards her jeans, tracing all her most sensitive spots as you went. At the same time, your mouth wandered to her other nipple, kissing it through the thin fabric, sucking it into your mouth.

Agnes flinched, fingers scratching over your scalp. “Lower.”

You sat back on your knees, settling down on the ground between her legs. Under different circumstances, you would have peeled her bare slowly, layer by layer. You would have crouched down on the floor, kissed the tip of her boots all the way up to her ankles, taken them off carefully before teasing your way up her leg.

But you were on the dirty floor of her office, and these weren’t shoes you wanted anywhere near your mouth, and if you had really bad luck, Agnes’ chief could walk in any moment. You had to be quick.

So, as you made quick work of the fly of her jeans, you indulged in a few kisses on her lower stomach, on the thin line of skin where her white shirt had ridden up. Then, your fingers hooked underneath both waistbands, her jeans and her boxers.

One glance up, and you were met with a low chuckle. Agnes was watching your every move, her eyes black with desire, jaw tense.

“Can you..?”, you asked, giving her pants a little tug. Her hips rose up, and you took the opportunity to pull both pants down abruptly in one go. The fabric gathered around her ankles, and you shuffled forward on your knees, until you were comfortably settled between her knees.

One of Agnes' hands rested firmly on the top of your head, urging you closer. Even from where you sat, you could smell sweat, musk and need. The scent of sex. The scent of your future wife.

There was no time to waste, no build up, no teasing. You pressed one kiss to the hair curling above her center, inhaling the scent there. The hand on your head flattened, pulling you closer.

“No Games baby.”

You batted your eyes, glancing up at her without pulling away. Her face was stern, brows raised, eyes fluttered shut. One more kiss above her core, and then you finally leaned down to where she was aching for you.

Your nose brushed through her folds, opening her up like a flower. You could feel her shudder above you, and it made you smile instantly. Barely touched her, and she was already getting worked up. Lips still curled upwards, you craned your neck to press a teasing kiss against her soaked core, thick, liquid desire spilling out of her, coating your lips.

„Baby“, Agnes groaned, and you felt her hips buck against your face impatiently, „Don’t be a fucking tease.“

Fingers curled into your hair, pushing your pursed lips further into her open cunt. You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at her urgency. The vibrations of the sound made her let out a strangled gasp.

You darted the tip of your tongue out, dragging over her most exposed, sensitive parts, slowly teasing its way right up her center to her clit. The little bundle of nerves was already swollen, exposed to you, pulsating under your tongue‘s quick, gentle flicks.

One glance up was enough to see her free hand gripping the arm rest, short nails digging into black hard plastic. Her other hand scratched at your scalp, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

„Just like that baby“, she growled, blue eyes piercing into yours. „You just couldn’t wait to get home, huh?“

Her tone grew harsh, that rough, teasing lilt she always used when she talked down to you. A shudder ran up your spine, and your lips closed around her swollen clit, sucking the bud in. Agnes gasped, hand in your hair curling into a fist.

„You know Chief could walk in any moment, he tends to stop by to send me home after hours.”

Much to her dismay, your mouth retreated. You sat back on your heels, staring up at her in complete silence. Your face was drenched in her fluids, a single string of spit still connected your lips to her cunt, before it quickly sank into the chair’s fabric cushion, leaving a dark spot. The way Agnes' eyes darkened at the sight didn’t go by you unnoticed.

“Maybe”, you glared up at her in accusation, “You should actually listen to what your boss tells you some time.” You licked your lips, tasting her. “And I would also like to have you home more.”

The slap came so sudden, you had no time to brace yourself for the impact. Before you knew it, the back of her hand made contact with your cheek, leaving a sharp sting behind. You let out a whimper, one hand grasping at the irritated skin. Wide, watery eyes stared up at her.

While you knew you were pushing limits by talking back, you hadn’t expected her to get this worked up this fast.

For a moment, you saw Agnes' hard front drop. The grip on your hair softened just the smallest bit and her eyes glanced from your lips to your cheek before settling on your eyes.

“Need to tap out?” There was a slight shake in her voice, palm cupping the back of your head. You shook your head immediately, never breaking eye contact.

“I’m golden”, you whispered, rubbing your cheek against her bare thigh, feeling her relax into the contact.

The tip of your nose was tickled by the dark hairs curling in the crook of her thigh and core, and you gave her a dazzling smile. You felt the goosebumps rise on her milky thigh, smiling before pressing a single, gentle kiss to the sensitive skin.

Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, hand gently running through your hair one more time before her eyes darkened again, that firm, cold front slipping back into place.

“Good”, she drawled, hand wrapping around your throat. Her fingers curled, nails digging into your skin, leaving crescent moon markings in their place.

She pulled you up by your neck, meeting you halfway as she leaned down in her seat. Her breath was hot against your face.

When she leaned forward, it wasn’t to kiss you. Instead, her tongue darted out, licking a single, long stripe from your chin, over your slightly parted lips up to the tip of your nose, gathering the mix of sweat and her own desire from you. With the slight pressure on your throat, you didn’t dare try to kiss her, just held still as she tasted herself from you, watching the way her gaze darkened as it fixed on your face, nothing but desire written all over it. The desire to please her, taste her. Desire for more.

Agnes let go of your throat, pushing you back down to the floor. “Get back to it”, she ordered, jaw tight as she licked her lips. “You already wasted enough of my time.”

This time, you didn’t allow yourself to tease her anymore.

Instead, when your lips met her absolutely drenched, pulsating core, you poured every ounce of desperation into it. The deep, overwhelming love for the woman above you that ran through your veins like the very blood keeping you alive, the need to please her the way you lost yourself whenever she took control, and it felt like flying above the clouds.

Your lips closed around her clit and you could feel her racing pulse on your tongue. Sucking her drenched skin into your mouth, your tongue flicked right over it , fast, hard, unrelenting.

One of her thighs swung over your shoulder, and you felt the heel of her steel toed boots dig into your spine. The sudden pain pulled a moan from your lips, and you felt Agnes shudder at the sensation.

“J… just like that“, her groan was strangled, voice pitching higher in that special way it only did when she lost control of herself.

Her heel pressed into your back harder, and you moaned again, this time longer, deeper, pressing your nose and chin into her cunt.

Agnes yelped, and the rare sound was music to your ears. Her hips stuttered up into your face, the hand in your hair curling into a fist as she pushed your face closer.

It was hard to breathe in this position, but that just meant you wrapped your arm around the leg on your shoulder, pulling her even closer.

Agnes' right hand that wasn’t buried in your hair found yours resting on her thigh, and your fingers intertwined. A small smile formed on your lips, just for a second, and you pressed one more kiss right to her clit.

The strokes of your tongue became longer, tongue flat as you ran through her folds from her entrance to her clit. Wet, quenching sounds filled the dim office, mixing with the low grunts coming from the woman above you, in tune with the pace of your tongue.

„Baby“, Agnes breathed, and her hand in your hair tugged you towards her aching clit again, „Baby I‘m so close. Please!“

That was all you needed to hear. Your nose buried in the hairs curling just above her cunt and your neck strained as you leaned in further. It was the type of position your chiropractor probably lost his mind over, but that didn’t matter when you had Agnes O‘Connor begging for her release above you.

Your lips wrapped around her clit, sucking the bundle of nerves in. Her legs twitched, the heel on your back kicking up before pushing back into you even harder. If it wasn’t for the laws of physics, you’d be melting into her by this point. You certainly tried to, science be damned.

Your tongue flicked over her most sensitive bundle of nerves in rapid succession, face buried in her cunt from your nose to the tip of your chin. You could feel a single drop of thick liquid desire run down your neck, and the sensation made you moan into her.

Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, her short nails scratching over your scalp. „Yes!“, she pressed out through gritted teeth, a strangled and broken moan somewhere above you.

You couldn’t breathe like this, there was a growing strain in your neck and you‘d certainly wake up with bruises on your back and your knees tomorrow. But none of that mattered right now. Not when Agnes was growing frantic, when her body was twitching and spasming at the hot, wet pleasure of your mouth. Nails dug into your skin, scratching the surface open. Another small mark you‘d carry around for days to come. Your tongue pushed against her further, and you let out one final strangled whimper, the sound muffled by her cunt on your face.

Still, it did the job. Agnes let out a sharp hiss, every muscle in her body tensing up, pulling you in tighter, impossibly closer. Your tongue worked against her relentlessly, pushing her over the edge of her orgasm and right through it. You didn’t stop despite starting to flinch from lack of air, not until Agnes had ridden out the wave that had washed over her, until her heel slid off your shoulder, legs shaking as her body sank into the washed out cushion of her chair, finally relaxing.

And even then, you only let up slowly, tongue working relentlessly as you licked up the mess between her legs, kissing over her bush, her exposed clit, her drenched folds. Only when you were satisfied with your work did you pull away. Your face was absolutely ruined, slick from your nose to your chin, on your cheeks and jaw. The single drop that had dripped down your neck had caught the collar of your shirt, leaving a wet stain.

You truly were lucky there was no one at the precinct anymore, because there was no denying in what had just happened.

When you finally pulled away enough to look up at her again, there was an exhausted but satisfied smile on your face. You took a deep breath, lungs practically screaming for air that finally, you granted them again.

„You really needed that“, you commented, watching Agnes chest rise and fall in deep, slow breaths.

„Yeah.“ Agnes' head rolled back against the rest of her chair, her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. „I really needed that.“

Your face nuzzled against her thigh, leaning into her hot skin. There was a thin layer of sweat coating her, but you didn't mind, pressing a few lazy kisses along her leg as you caught your breath. Her hand stayed lazily draped over your head, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as she just let the exhaustion finally wash over her. It was only now that she truly let herself take a moment just to breathe.

After a short moment to recollect herself, Agnes finally began to close up the Station. Comfortable silence settled between you two as she did, one of her arms loosely wrapped around your waist, pulling you along as she checked if all doors were locked and lights turned off. She’d pulled her pants back up but hadn’t bothered with the belt that now hung open around her hips, and there were no buttons left to close her shirt again, so she just wore it open, white undershirt on display; which included the wet stains your mouth had left over her nipples.

You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, grinning into the fabric. „We have to stop fucking in unconventional places.“

„Why?“ Agnes' nose nuzzled into your neck. Her hand on your back slipped downwards into the pocket of your jeans. „It seems like you’re having fun.“

The dramatic pout you gave her made her laugh.

“I didn’t put down money for a king sized bed to fall asleep alone every night.“

To be fair, it was hard to make an argument for your bed right now. Still, your point stood firm and the look you gave her made it clear that you wouldn’t let her argue.

Agnes shook her head with a chuckle.

„Okay“, she held her free hand up in surrender. Her other arm pulled you closer into her side. „Next time we‘ll make use of our bed again.“

Agnes fumbled with her keys, thumb running over the rough fabric of your jeans as she locked up the precinct behind you.

You waited for her to finish, before hooking two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at you.

„Which means“, you said, and your tone left no room for discussions, „You‘ll have to come home before 8 pm. I am okay with eating dinner separately, but from now on I want you home at a reasonable time for bed.“

Agnes' brows rose up. „That’s what this entire thing was about?“

Your fingers wandered to rest against her cheekbone, turning her face to look directly at you. Her skin was rough beneath your touch. You wanted to comment how she wasn’t using the moisturiser you’d gotten her, but when Agnes leaned into your touch, there was no bite left in you. Not when she looked at you like that.

„You just want me home for bed?“

Your thumb ran over her bottom lip, traces of your own chapstick sticking to your finger.

„If I had it my way you‘d be home for dinner every night“, your voice was soft, but you stared at her intently. „We do the dishes together and catch the tail end of whatever game is on. If you manage not to talk about work all evening, we fuck on the couch. We go to bed because you’re tired, not because you’re so spent you might pass out.“

Her eyes darkened, and you felt her fingers dig into the flesh of your ass a little tighter. Agnes surged forward, but your hand on her cheek quickly held her back, mere inches from your lips. When she huffed in frustration you couldn’t help but grin.

„On weekends, which you will take off, we look at wedding venues. We‘re already behind on planning. I will show you every combination of flowers imaginable and you will give me your honest opinion on all of them. Also,“ you raised your chin, „You‘ll ask Agent Vidal where she gets her suits tailored. I love you, but I‘m not marrying you in a flannel.“

„Baby“, Agnes whined, a sound you rarely got to hear from her. You grinned, feeling her breath on your face.

„Promise“, you whispered, forehead resting against hers, „Promise me you‘ll take care of yourself better. And then we can fuck however and whereever you want.“

This time, when she leaned in, you didn’t stop her. Agnes' kiss was urgent, feverish. But when your eyes met hers, all you saw was love, her undying adoration for you. Your palm cupped her face.

„I promise“, she whispered so close to you, you felt the words more than you heard them. „I’m sorry about the last few weeks. You know how I get.“

You kissed her lips again. And then each corner of her mouth. And,before she could stop you, the tip of her nose. „I do. That’s why I came today.“

Her hand clasped firmly around yours as you finally made your way across the abandoned parking lot.

„You know, I always thought the interrogation room would be hot.“

You rolled your eyes. Of course she would think that. „Absolutely not, there’s a giant window!“

„Exactly. And handcuffs attached to the table.“

You felt the blood rush to your head. „Agnes!“

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #berry writes things #agnes o'connor #agnes of westview #Agnes x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x female reader #Agnes O’Connor x reader #agatha all along #wandavision

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monarchberrysblog · 9 months ago

Note

Alright

*clasps hand*

I love you so very much, and I’ll be watching you from your window. (Inside joke)

How about… cowboy!Miggy spectating a gal and her pals, she’s challenged to ride one of those rodeo bulls by her friends and fell like, three seconds in. Obvi she failed, so she has to go get another round of shots for her friends. So he took the opportunity to offer some lessons with the cowboy himself😇

EL TORO 🐂

✭ 18+ Cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader ✭

✭ summary: losing a bet with your best friends, you buy drinks after failing to stay on a mechanical bull for eight seconds, but before you buy another round of drinks, a local cowboy helps you…

✭ content warning: sexual innuendos, Miguel is a little unhinged, dry humping, grinding, cumplay (?), cum-eating (?), semi-exhibitionism, hook-up with a stranger, and alcohol is mentioned. VIEWER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

✭ word count: +1.8k words

✭ a/n: AUGHHHH cowboy! Miguel has me in a chokehold omfg. but here you go, pookie! thank you for your undying support and love! Your wish has been granted 💋 (if there are flaws, I apologize in advance 🩷)

MATURE CONTENT MDNI | MINORS WHO INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED

Orange opaque lights make up the dimly lit bar. Locals from around were either at a table, drinking away from those green beer bottles you grew familiar with ever since you were younger, or seeing your uncles consume those bottles at a baptism or a wedding banquet. Or you saw the occasional burnt middle-aged man sitting at the island counter, rambling to the bartender about his day, complaining about his cattle or the weather. But for you, you came to the bar unwillingly, as your best friends insisted that you liven up the environment.

But really, it was a pathetic excuse to get you out of your grandparent's bungalow home and to meet someone.

・º♢

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Xina urges, flashing her signature smug smile that always appears when she's up to something mischievous. It was always the same arrogant look she did whenever y'all were kids when she got extra chips or a cookie from her pantry closet. Hell, it was the same look your other friends gave you whenever your grandmother or grandfather offered them fresh fruits from their farm.

"No," you quickly retort, sipping your cocktail. "Please!" MJ pleads, grasping your wrists and seemingly ready to kneel. "PLEASE!" Xina soon exclaims, joining MJ to cause a scene with those around you.

"Xina, MJ…!"

"PLEASE!" They draw out the last syllable together, their voice taking on a childish tone reminiscent of when they were eight years old, fleeing from a honey bee or spider. "Okay! Okay..." You groan out, shaking your head in defeat.

"Yes!" Xina pumps her fist in victory before removing your fruity margarita from your hands and placing it on the table. "Now get on! And if you don't last eight seconds, you pay for our next round of drinks!" A low groan emerges from the back of your throat like alcohol stinging your esophagus, ready to escape. But your body, unfortunately, didn't want to do that for you so you could weasel out of the bet. You look back to see MJ at y'all's table, keeping an eye on the drinks while looking at Xina guide (dragging) you across the bar.

Your shoes squeak against the wooden floors as you get pushed to the mechanical bull area. "Just stay on there for eight seconds, and you don't have to pay for our round of shots." You and Xina passed through the semi-packed bar, occasionally brushing shoulders from a couple of guests in the bar. But one character caught your attention, nearly knocking you off your feet.

His russet brown eyes burned into your soul while his cowboy hat shielded the glisten in his eyes, giving him a dead look by any bystander who dared to make eye contact with him. His eyes match yours, lingering on your orbs. The prolonged millisecond of eye contact seized when he smirked, his eyes lingering on you and you only.

His hands, weathered and rugged, bore the marks of hard work - dry, with occasional scars and scratches, yet exuding strength. They were the hands of a hard-working man, capturing attention as much as his eyes did, capturing attention as much as his eyes did. His shirt was unbuttoned, clearly showing a bit of his chest and hair peppered. Oh, how it would feel to be held in those strong hands... Or how his hands would hold onto your hips while bouncing on his dick—

"C'mon! It's your turn to get on!" Xina urges, directing your attention away from the man and to your inevitable end of the night- falling off a mechanical bull within three seconds.

You sit at your table, hair somewhat touseled about while you order the next round of drinks for you and your rowdy group of friends. You looked at the half-assed served shot glass and glared at your best friends as they took their shots. With a sigh of defeat, you walk to the bar counter and take a seat on the wooden stool, covering your face and hiding away the embarrassment.

You settled onto the bar counter, absently running your finger along the smooth rim of your shot glass. A sense of intrusion picked at your gut as you felt someone trespassing on your personal space. Glancing to your left, you saw the familiar figure of the man from earlier, seated a few stools away. Your eyes dart back to the tiny glass in your hands, playing with it.

"You couldn't last eight seconds."

That sounded more evocative than it had to.

"Excuse me?"

"3.4 seconds." He adds, not acknowledging the rhetorical question you spat out. "You're those women having to give up straddling like how a car needs an oil change."

What the—

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You lack balance, sweetheart. And movement." He lifts his shot glass, calling the bartender to refill his shot glass. "It’s straightforward."

"Oh yeah, since you seem to know everything about it, give me some constructive criticism then." You reiterate, knowing that this man was going to play the smartass card with you by sharing information that is useless or already known by the public.

"You’re not engaging your core, and you don't have any balance on your hips." He sighs before mumbling about city folk and getting off his seat. "C’mere." He waved his hand over, ushering you to get close. You didn't know if it was your being an actual dumbass, but you got off your seat and made your way over.

"M’kay," He sighs before getting off his seat and touching your hips. “It's all here, sweetheart. You have to move with the bull; it's called inertia," His hand rests on your hips and squeezes that specific area. "Always move in the opposite direction of the mechanical bull."

"If the bull moves forward, you move back. And if the bull moves back…?"

"I move forward?"

He nods before patting your tummy. "And engage your core a bit. You have abs under there, sweetheart."

His words of advice continue but they muffled out while taking note of his hand resting against your soft stomach, feeling the heat of his palm.

You take note of his words and stop. "Wait, how do you know how to do this?"

"Take it or leave it." He mumbles before he takes his shot and slams the shot glass down. "Actually," He clears his throat and sighs. "Tell them you want to redeem yourself, then tell your friend, the one who dared you to ride the bull, to buy the bill, and I owe you a drink if you make it past eight seconds."

"And if you don't, you owe me a drink."

He removes his hands from your soft stomach and sits back on the stool. "It’s your decision, sweetheart."

You think momentarily, considering the options he placed on the table. The idea of not having to pay a tab and getting a free drink sounded satisfying.

"Will you show me how?"

"Sure, why not?"

Sitting on his lap in the darkest, dingiest parts of the bar was not in the plans, but your pigheadedness said otherwise. You straddle down on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Keep your balance, sweetheart." His right hand pats on your hip before bucking his hips against yours, earning a low groan from him.

"Engage your core and move in the opposite direction of me." His warm breath fans your face before he bucks his hips once again to your clothed sex. A soft mewl escapes your lips, feeling his clothed bulge against your clothed entrance.

"You can do it, c’mon…”

You pathetically moved against his aching bulge, pushing your moist gusset against his denim jeans. "There we go, move your hips to gain balance, move with me."

His dick twitched underneath you, pushing up to be free from its constraints. You slowly gyrated down, bucking your hips against his movement, creating a comfortable tempo.

A choked groan verberates your chest, sending the sensation to Miguel, earning a low moan from the man. "C'mon, keep it up." He jerks his bulge upwards, finally finding its way in between your clothed folds. You wailed, feeling his length now against your clothed clit, rubbing against the sensitive bud slowly and deliciously. You could sense the arousal trickling down to your soaked gusset and gathering the slick arousal in the cloth. "You can do it."

You patted his shoulder and took in deep breaths.

"Try again." His usual staid words slowly evolved into breathy whimpers. Miguel's words of affirmation slowly died, becoming breathy moans and grunts. The typical demands slowly turned into begging as you continued to push downwards, feeding the desires you two desperately wanted.

"Muneca..." He rasps out before you see his hands scramble down to his belt.

The sound of his belt clinking was enough of an indicator, but you knew what was next. The sound, let alone left you salivating with anticipation.

"Grind on the length."

Oh... Oh.

Glancing down, your eyes widen at the sight. Sure, he was pushing seven inches but the girth... With your left hand, you move the gusset of your underwear to the side and slowly guide your aching core down to his length, slowly enveloping his length into your soaked folds.

A low groan verberates your chest cavity, soaking the length of your slick, sticky arousal. The slippery sensation of your clit gliding down Miguel’s length, creating delicious friction.

"C’mon, move your hips."

Your body went on autopilot on that demand, relying on your slick arousal to move fluidly on his length. "You're a fast learner, aren't you?" He groans out quietly, still holding onto your hips.

Soft pants and groans filled the small space and evolved into loud guttural groans from both of y'all.

"Sweetheart, slow down a bit." His breathy request fell on deaf ears before you did as he demanded. "You're humping me like I'm your pillow." He groans out before he adjusts you off his length, feeling the slick linger onto his skin.

He takes his pointer and middle finger, gathers the slick off his length, and places said fingers at the bottom plush of your lips, lightly tapping them, almost asking for permission. "Seems like you understand what I say," He pats your rear lovingly with his free hand before you suckle on his fingers, tasting the mess you left behind. He hums while you clean the pads of his fingers clean.

"Now, ride the bull for me." He demands.

The walk back to the lively scenery returned you to your senses as you prepared to confront your little group of friends. The conversation jumped about like crickets hopping around a long grassy field. It felt like there was no point in being driven before you challenged them against their better judgment and bet. Xina's lips pursed straight, and she nodded to her other girlfriends. The group looked at each other momentarily and caved in, just to see themselves embarrass themselves for the second time that night.

But it wasn't going to happen again...

Straddling down on the pseudo-bull, you looked out to the semi-lively bar, seeing your friends watching from afar and your 'mentor' looking at you while taking a shot. With a raise of his brow and tipping his cowboy hat, a surge of content rested in your belly.

#cowboy!miguel #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel fanfic #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x y/n #cowboy!au #cowboy!miguel o’hara

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ibunyang · 11 months ago

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i wanted to put more thought on that modern au doodle i did with both of these gals, Alice M. (mcgee) liddell and Alice C.(caroll) Liddell who met each other in a group therapy session because i thought it would be genius. little rant on the designs i did!! based alice c.'s clothes on the particular copy of the book that i have ! it has a green cover ; this one so more green... blue... the hearts, the clock

i wanted her to seem whimsy more "weird" the orange crocs and stuff were something i found funny, she seems the type to unironically put gibits on them and such... she has a baby doll type dress and pants over it because i just think these would fit a modern alice ? peep the cat on her pants leg hehe, the flamingos and the rose vines on her coat/sleeves are a direct call to the croquet match scene too for her hair, i love making their stark differences prominent. GOD im obsessed with it OTL shes deff a more whimsical/kind bright wonder in direct opposition to alice m's dark and dreary kind of vibe weehee

speaking of her! i really wanted to base her clothes more on the environment that the game puts us in, through the first scene specifically... but i think i kind of diverted form it just a little too much and ended up hyperfixiating on blue butterflies again because of how many times ive seen those things plunging to my death. but anyway, the sort of lace/crochet over coat based on the vale of tears...weepy tear shaped crystals that i think are gorgis. there isnt a direct reason why i placed a spade on her bag other than i really like spades. (also the spade card is somewhat always kind of associated with skulls..i think..) she has a keychain of the ruin baby and the two symbols she has on her apron, gold teeth necklace too i wanted her to seem like a more darker version of alice c. but they're basically the same font different colors type of thing. alice in wonderland has been my favorite book since childhood so UGHH im just a little less than normal about these two. WAHEE okay sorry for the rant i just wanted to point things out and babble a little bit TEEHEE

#alice #alice in wonderland #modern au #alice madness returns #alice madness returns fanart #alice liddell #art #my art #evetalks #alice&alice

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hotvintagepoll · 2 months ago

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LAST POLL OF ROUND 3

Judy Garland and Gene Kelly (The Pirate, Summer Stock)—Judy Garland and Gene Kelly!! Their chemistry was out of this world. Every time I see them onscreen together, they make me so happy...whether it's complicate showmance of For Me and My Gal, the out-of-this-world sexiness of The Pirate, or the slow-burn romance of Summer Stock, they will always be one of my favorite movie couples!

Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce (The Sherlock Holmes films)—This is one where I'll have to bend the definition of a romantic couple but in the two movies I can think of, The Adventures of Sherlock Homes (1939) and The Woman in Green (1945) they have scenes together that would have absolutely been romantic had the two onscreen been hetero. Sherlock repeatedly tells Watson how much he means to him, even letting Moriarity escape once because he believed Watson was held hostage. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

This is round 3 of a mini tournament. Each poll lasts for three days. If you'd like to send additional propaganda supporting your favorite hot couple, you can reblog this post with your propaganda added, send it to my asks, or tag me in it. To vote in all the polls, click here. Happy holidays!

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Gene and Judy:

They were really good friends IRL, he made his film debut in For Me And My Gal and said she taught him all about movie acting, years later he did Summer Stock to support her during her struggles with MGM. We stan a mutually supportive pair. Honestly, name a hotter power couple than Classic Hollywood's greatest dancer and greatest singer, I'll wait.

youtube

Bruce and Rathbone:

this gifset

#nigel bruce #basil rathbone #judy garland #gene kelly #hotvintagepoll #hot couples tourney #Youtube

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luvingarisu · 3 months ago

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jealousy | s.r

hey guys and gals! someone dm’d me and asked for my ops on spencer handling jealousy :) i haven’t wrote fan fics in a while but i have no problem writing stuff like this atm! i honestly just need good ideas for fan fics to get back into my groove so please if you have any ideas for stuff you’d like to see me write (no smut) go ahead and send me an ask <3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

♡ baby spence

♡ poor baby spence would hide his jealousy :(

♡ i feel that he would be too scared of the conflict that could arise from confronting you about what you or someone else did to cause his jealousy.

♡ ESPECIALLY if you weren’t in an exclusive relationship, in his mind it wouldn’t be his place to say anything :(

♡ he would become avoidant and visibly insecure

♡ “oh, no i’m okay :)(“

♡ derek would eventually get it out of him though, as he always does!

♡ when you finally find out he would be SO apologetic even though it literally isn’t his fault😭

♡ but everything would be okay the end and you guys would kiss and make up <3 and with hard-work and communication you guys both do everything to make sure this doesn’t happen again!

♡ post-revelations spence (dilaudid addicted spencer)

♡ technically still baby spence but not. he feels so much anger, confusion and guilt during this stage of his life with everything that happened with elle and gideon and now, his addiction.

♡ for the first time in his life, he reacts with anger, as we saw with emily.

♡ he’ll become snarky, and passive aggressive without ever telling you what’s made him like that in the first place.

♡ “obviously i’m fine, can’t you tell?”

♡ it will take you a lot of pushing, and a lot of little spats to actually get the cause of his upset and anger out of him

♡ but, when you get it out of him, some yelling and crying ensues. even if your interaction with whoever it was that caused him to be jealous was entirely innocent, he’ll be in denial at first but ultimately, you apologise for making him upset unknowingly and he apologises for his reaction to the situation.

♡ i imagine you’d spend the rest of the night on his comfy little sofa in his green apartment and watch a little movie with some chinese takeout, cuddling and laughing and gossiping snd whispering sweet nothings to each other.

♡ s5-9 spence

♡ he’s older, more mature, but also less scared of confrontation. i imagine he would walk up to you and whoever it is making him jealous and insert himself in the conversation literally just to be petty😭

♡ if you’re exclusive at this point an arm is 100% getting wrapped around your waist and he’s going to bring up some date night plans.

♡ “hey, we’re still going to dinner after this right? or do you just wanna stay in tonight, sweetheart? :))))))”

♡ you’re SO confused because he doesn’t really do that like, ever? and ESPECIALLY at work so you’re even more like?????

♡ when you ask he’s just like “just thought i’d see what you guys were talking about!!!😁”

♡ although, he will eventually admit himself that he was a tad jealous BUT! that he had reason to be! that guy was all over you! (even if he actually wasn’t)

♡ you guys talk it out a bit, but it’s mostly just jokes and you teasing him for getting jealous and you definitely still go out for dinner that night :)

♡ older spence (Pre-Prison)

♡ honestly, he is significantly more secure. i think a lot of people feel that spence is perpetually insecure simply because he’s awkward, but at this point in time, he KNOWS people find him attractive.

♡ awkwardness≠insecure

♡ he absolutely wouldn’t be happy that someone was flirting with you, but he isn’t going to make a scene or grow angry.

♡ he trusts you to put a stop to it with yourself

♡ and when you do (because obviously you would, why would you want some rando when you currently have the good doctor?), a proud, cheeky little smile makes its way onto his face.

♡ in all honesty, i believe he’d even make a joke or two.

♡ “oh, what about your other boyfriend?” he’d say with a little snort

♡ you’re both very secure and trusting in this relationship so there’s no need to kiss and make up afterwards, because there was never a problem in the first place!

♡ this spence would only ever grow upset if whoever it was was very obviously making you feel uncomfortable!

♡ THEN he would go crazy. as in just a tad annoyed and worried for you. he’d approach, again not causing a scene, and make an excuse to allow you both to exit the situation!

♡ post prison spence

♡ after everything, he’s insecure again.

♡ not about you, he still trusts you of course, but he feels insecure in the sense that he feels unsafe

♡ that he could lose everything in the blink of an eye, and no one would be there to bail him out this time.

♡ therapy is helping him but only so much.

♡ i feel that he would feel a mixture of anger and sadness.

♡ sadness because someone is trying to take you from him, and anger because he can’t believe someone would even TRY to take you away from him.

♡ thankfully, with age and his therapist, he knows to communicate this. so he doesn’t hide it, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him.

♡ he requires comfort, a distraction.

♡ just be with him :)

#kacey talks <3 #criminal minds #spencer reid #mgg #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader

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fanfreakinfiction · 1 year ago

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My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers

Chapter 1: Don’t Cry

Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤

14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!

Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.

Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.

A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.

His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that.

From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.

His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.

Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.

The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.

In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.

With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.

"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet.

After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.

But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.

The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.

Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit.

Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.

"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.

The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.

In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.

"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."

"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.

With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.

—

The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.

The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.

"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.

The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.

“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.

“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)

Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."

I am a lonely mother.

—

The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.

Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.

"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.

In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.

Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.

Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.

It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you

"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.

"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.

With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.

In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.

"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.

Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.

"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.

The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.

The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.

"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.

Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history.

"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"

“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.

Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"

"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.

"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.

"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.

Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.

Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely.

“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man.

"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"

The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.

"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.

Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.

The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.

Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.

Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.

"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.

"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.

"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.

The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys.

As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.

"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.

The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.

The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.

—

The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.

Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.

As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you.

"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly.

The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.

You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.

Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.

With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.

Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff.

After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.

Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.

“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.

You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.

Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack.

With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.

Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.

An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing.

Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.

You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.

After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.

Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.

A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.

Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.

"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.

After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.

After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.

You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.

Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.

It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.

Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.

While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.

At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.

Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers.

This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.

Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.

In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations.

You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.

—

The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night…

The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.

Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.

But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar.

As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.

In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm?

When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu.

Years. Actual, years.

In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.

Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?

"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.

“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.

But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.

Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.

The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.

Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.

"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.

"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.

“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.

The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."

Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."

The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.

The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.

At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.

Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right.

This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.

As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.

Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.

He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.

Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.

Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.

Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.

He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.

Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life.

He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.

That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar.

With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.

Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.

—

After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.

With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.

As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.

With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.

The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.

You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.

But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.

Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.

With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool.

A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.

“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.

“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety.

Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.

He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.

“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.

Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment.

With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.

As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.

“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.

Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head.

Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.

In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.

“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.

You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.

The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.

The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms.

She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy.

—

The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.

Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.

Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.

Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.

Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.

His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.

Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.

He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible.

The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.

—

Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.

The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.

“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.

As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning.

Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.

Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.

As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.

Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.

To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.

Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.

From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.

—

Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.

As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.

“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.

Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.

"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.

—

"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.

The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.

You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.

As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.

It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.

However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.

You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers.

He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him.

His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more.

“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light.

He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t.

You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.

You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you.

His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place.

He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.

"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.

—

"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.

Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.

He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm.

"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.

"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.

Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then.

"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.

For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.

"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.

You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.

"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.

Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.

He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.

Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.

As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.

Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.

"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.

Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.

"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you.

"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.

"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.

"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.

"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.

"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)

Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him.

He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.

He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.

With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.

You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering.

In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.

"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.

Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.

"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.

"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.

As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.

Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.

A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.

He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.

In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned.

His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.

"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither.

#din djarin x pregnant reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #mando #the mandalorian #mando x reader #star wars #star wars the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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court-jobi · 3 months ago

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hi! i love your works so much!!! i was wondering if i could request a hawks x pop princess f! reader?

like he does security for her groups concert and hes like “pffft im number 2 why do i need to be here”. then he watches her during sound check and is like okay i need to know more about her. so while shes getting ready hes just hovering backstage trying to talk to her. after the show she finally gives him her number (def against her companies wishes) and hes like trying to be suave and flirty and shes like “oh my god why is this working”. just a lot of hawks being a lover boy and sending gifts to her company anonymously and cutesy stuff like that lol. they have to keep their relationship a secret bc her company has a very strict no dating unless we agree rule. can be pre or post war hawks btw! you can take this wherever you want with it as well! can be nsfw or not.

im sorry that was so long! i was trying to make sure my thoughts were coherent lol.

Ooooo I love this idea so much, what a lovely dynamic to picture: a fanboy Hawks for a change, perhaps?? ~ this was a fun one to work on! @strwbrrykthv i sure hope this one was worth the wait and that I've done it justice!

You all are seriously the best readers a gal could ask for, and these requests are ✨giving me life✨~ Keep 'em coming!!

Who Has the Mic

Words: 4.3k

Rating: T

Warnings: Pro Hero!Hawks x popstar fem!reader, forbidden romance, flirting, mostly FLUFF, mentions of canon-typical threats, protective instincts, Hawks is a little shitTM, we love him your honor

for my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Hawks falls prey to a special thrill out of extending favors to others.

‘I owe ya one’-- such a simple nicety that in the beginning, he doubts anyone would truly come to collect on it. It makes him sound agreeable, charming, starved for connection even before the height of his inevitable fame.

Then he rose and rose in the hero rankings, securing himself into the very visible and wildly popular top spot, in terms of viewer popularity.

It’s now that the redemptions of Hawks’ pro-hero favors have come rolling in… The unexpected keeps him on his toes and entertains him for the most part; and if it’s all for the sake of protecting others, then why not have a little fun with it?

Once upon an overbearing press conference, back when he was first tiptoeing into the public scene… Hawks begged a makeup artist on staff for a spot to hide out in the green room and sneak a snack or two (or ten). He was granted pity for a teenager expected to take a seat at the table of an albeit boring Commission presentation. Well, it seems that particular makeup-artist rose within the talent realm themselves, and ended up reaching out to “that flyboy kid” back for a surprising accommodation:

Top tier talent warrants top tier security.

Hawks takes a call at his agency and soon finds himself ushered in for the Tokyo opener of the reigning top-of-the-charts pop star with a voice of gold. The first meeting of old acquaintances led the Pro-Hero to tour the brand new, sky-high facilities, then return for the load-in day of the stage. Again for first dress, and each night of the week-long residency.

He carries his presence on the stealthier side, far above the stage floor in the scaffolding. Up here, lights are rigged with steel supports running every which way, where he executes perfect balance while walking in a straight line atop them. He’s checked -double and triple- that each outlet is free from hazard, each line of multi-ton equipment has been secured and safe, so that even his ‘adventuring’ from up high is not a risk.

He’s happy for the variety of work he faces as a hero- but right now, he’s bored. He shouldn't be feeling so dreadful, especially on the job, but he is. It’s not his style to be so down, after all. But Hawks has checked into every nook and cranny of this place and for the sake of an understandably hypervigilant security team, has an eye for which points of entry and exit could use a bird’s eye view come showtime.

His muscles are used to far more fast-paced antics and time-sensitive chases; not traipsing around like a literal vulture ready to swoop in at any moment. Surely he’s needed elsewhere.

But the threats have been rolling in… as they do for all of these larger-than-life musician types who found their way into the spotlight. They’re at risk of going in blind if they don’t have a good team around them to help them see.

So here he is, playing guardian angel to do his part and make sure all goes smoothly. It's a big operation by his count; there’s sixty members on the tech roster, plus the venue stage manager and their contracted staff, then all performers, and of course the headliner. Now where she is, he’d like to know– for not so selfless reasons.

He’d know her music by heart, given how much of an earworm and personal anthem her songs have become for him. It’s rare that the tables are turned, where Hawks is the fanboy and someone else is the idol. That dream is his dangling carrot for completing this mission successfully: he has the most sought-after bodyguard duty in the nation, and as good as a front row seat to her show.

Yet in a weird sense, Hawks also kinda hopes he never meets her. Doesn’t want to crush that bubble, ruin the allusion of the woman he’s got set as his ringtone.

So, he just runs his headcounts on all bodies supposed to be present at the top-of-show meeting to busy his mind. All is in order. ‘Cues’ are rounding up the pre-show acts, each in plainclothes for this rough stumble-through. Still doesn’t see the little starlet yet, and he gets the residual feeling that this might be typical behavior of ‘the talent’ to show up whenever she damn well pleases.

Though funnily enough, he spots a pretty thing down there sporting some Hawks merch! Always nice to see a supportive fan in the most unlikely places…

It's a well-fitting quarterzip sporting his red feather blades down each arm, an item he vaguely recognizes from this season’s newest launch. She’s got headphones on and subtly bopping about in her own little world, perhaps running through tonight’s set under her breath, if her self-contained taps of the fingers are an indication of her keeping beat.

Hawks’ curious attention to that girl on the fringes of the stage is pulled when he hears the strict timbre of the stage director he’d met on day one take center stage.

“Ok, time to rein it in. As we covered in the email from Sec-Eng- which I’m assuming you gen-z’ers have read,” the bossman snarks to the younger members of this crew down below, “we’ve got some additional eyes in the sky pulling security for this leg in the tour. So, I want to give you all a chance to get your excitement out -along with your thanks- to our equally chart-topping hero, Hawks~ who’s… somewhere around here.”

Hoodie girl blanched– as if she’d been told she’d need to share her internet history to her grandmother. Immediately, she tosses off her headset and starts frantically stripping herself of the jacket she wore. While enthusiastic heads all fly around in every direction in search of the hero, Hawks chuckles at the sight of her alone.

“...//Well, he’s probably checking the perimeters anyway//. How bout we all just send a big thank-you, eh?”

The couple of ‘Hoodie’s fellow dancers were poking fun at her -poor thing still flushed and clammed up- while the group gave a loud, singsongy ‘thank you!!’ up to the stage doors, assuming the Pro-Hero might be busting in, grand entrance fashion on command. The love-laden response from the dancers makes Hawks roll his eyes lightly, but he appreciates their praise all the same.

They giggle about in jazzed excitement with one’s voice carried out squealish and feminine, despite their professional assembly,

“Oh my god, you must be in HEAVEN!! He’s gonna be watching you ALL NIGHT!”

‘Hoodie’ looks downright mortified. The others have seemed to gather around spouting nothing but encouragement to this little fan girl who's doing her best to put on a poker face. Adorable.

“Now we also need to make some edits before the crew breaks for lunch, everyone, so we are gonna start today with opening of Set 5 instead- hold.. Hold on… WHO HAS THE GOD MIC??”

The mics table scrambles for the one handheld microphone with omniscient audio range to the house. Surely it's the one thing they wouldn't lose and should hand straight to the Stage Manager, right?

Well, said mic was sitting unattended there on the cart earlier… all for the Winged Hero’s taking when he was making his preliminary sweep earlier.

From his inner jacket pocket, Hawks catches his lip in his teeth as he remembers where to turn the thing on. Once his throat cleared and the mic blinks red in sync with the soundboard, he amplifies a little trademark bird whistle: for each and every soul in sight to hear.

The stage erupts in excitement, as planned. ‘Hoodie’ immediately teeters over to one of the props hideaways and stows said jacket away.

Hawks chuckles with the mic at chest level– only to call her out from his perch,

“Saw that, dear~”

Seems logic caught up with the poor thing, as she -finally- pieced together the true vantage point of her idol’s presence, and looked up.

Sparing her too much embarrassment, Hawks simply cocked his head on a folded up fist and gave a little wave of some fingers to her.

Despite her clear shock and surprise, she did smile brilliantly back and gave a little signed ‘thank you for being here’ rather than a scream like all the others.

The stage manager followed her line of sight to where the hero stands in wait, ready to dismount and return his bit of cheekily stolen equipment. Despite some bewildered aggravation to Hawks’ antics, he gestures with the exhaustion of a high school teacher.

“There now, see kids? That's how you protect your voices before a show!! Better than belting your way to the doctor’s office. Our star here sure leads by example now doesn't she–”

In rare form for the hero, it's Hawks’ turn to be stunned. His fangirl: it’s you.

Everyone else may be calling that first call time your lucky day… but you were intimidated to the point of feeling ill. Thank goodness for your poker face; because locking eyes with Hawks’ stunning crimson canopy and giving you that wink and a grin about sent you into a heart attack.

You're starstruck. The absolute heartthrob of an idol you revere as your favorite Pro-Hero has been standing over 150 meters above your head, watching for every sign of danger that could threaten you for the last week.

That near guarantee of safety would trump your fleeting nerves– if you hadn’t given the first impression of a closeted fangirl like you did!!

Nothing short of awe crossed your mind when you so much as think of the hero. A very vocal fan whenever he came up in the news or your social feed amongst your inner circle. Hawks is a household name for you, who you were incredibly fond of… both in how he handled massive crowds or charmed in intimate, one-on-one interviews.

You know the role; you suck up for cameras, too, as it's all in the optics. But for every PR-guided response you know is crafted by easy-going smiles or a disarming tone, you remember to see past the spectacle of Hawks and look for ‘him’. Remove the wings and hero getup: who is he? Can you spot the tells on camera like your mom can when she watches you? No matter how big of a global phenomenon her baby girl gets, she can still tell when you have a headache while having to give an appearance on a talk show.

The man you spot on screen has to have a series of faults and slips. Even battle-ready heroes put their shoes on one at a time– just like everyone else. He’s sure to have a favorite lunch spot, a favorite pen to use for autographs, a favorite singer, even…

Surely not you, but a girl can dream.

There’s a glazed-over glint in Hawks’ eyes when he very subtly checks out when being spoken to which gives you the strong suspicion you two may not be so unalike. And that list of little mannerisms has grown exponentially– with every day that's passed:

Hawks has difficulty staying still, you've learned. He’s also much younger than people assume. Carries a crafty habit of popping up unexpectedly in a way that’s youthful– and borderline cheeky. From atop a stack of amps, to a crowdless green room, to the rigging of lights where you've stunned the crowds for the last four nights, he’s perched out of sight from your thousands of fans.

Though each little comment thrown here and there in praise has floated down to your ears in sweet jest, things come to a head when the last night of your show arrived: where the crushing realization sought to dampen your mood.

After tonight, you wouldn’t have your angelic, crimson-winged shadow anymore.

But Hawks surprises you once again.

You nearly miss it, too, once your final round of ‘surprise songs’ is revealed and you are snuck down to your assigned hideout to get ready to leave the venue. It’s back in your can-lit dressing room that you’re making double takes down the hall looking for any sign of your security team; especially the one to whom you owe a hefty ‘thank you’ to for all his efforts.

-but as your half-redressed form has donned your beloved Hawks hoodie once more, you’re not so spooked to hear a familiar whistle from behind you this time.

Headphones slung back down around his neck and wings slimmed down to a more presentable manner for tight hallways like these, Hawks slips into your prep space with a speedy uptick of steps. A knowing whisper to ‘shut the door fast so no one notices’ eeks out of him, eliciting a smile from you.

Each one of your suspicions are confirmed with that one comment alone; he knows this game well. Still, playing along with his dance of keep-away from any prying eyes (or cameras) doesn’t mean your heart isn’t hammering away in your chest at the knowledge of getting your hero all to yourself.

So here, Hawks traipses around your makeshift room with unbidden interest– which, for such a small space, is cute to know how many little details pique his curiosity. Your various outfits still hang all facing the correct way, your personal backpack sits beside it on the end featuring your mess of pins and collected patches from the locations you’ve toured thus far. The run schedule is still taped on the wall, and below it, your laptop has your notation software open and idle onscreen.

“Well, now,” Hawks chimes in with a little crouch over the back of your empty chair, “Surely I’m not looking at our next chart-topping hit in the making, am I?”

“Maybe!” you chuckle, joining his side to quickly save your work before you forget. “It’s getting the lyrics and melody to marry right that’s the hard part. Working out the latter right now, and it’s kinda kicking my butt.”

“But you’re doing it! Look at all this– wait. Is this what you were dancing to earlier?”

Damn his powers of observation. You’d been testing out the rhythm of the hook this week– when you’d been caught under his attention.

“...M-maybe?” you hedge again.

“I knew it-” Hawks beamed, “A stunning starlet and a mastermind. What can’t you do?”

Flattered beyond belief, you answer honestly,

“Keep myself outta trouble with my managers. Trying to, at least,” you close the laptop to conserve its power, “but between the shows and speaking engagements, it’s left me a bit starved for time to actually make the music.”

“N’why would writing get you in trouble?”

“It takes me away from all the other things I ‘have to do’,” you sigh easily. “They can bring in anyone to make the music and keep pitching songwriting teams to me to take the load off. Just think something’s gotten a little out of balance.”

Without meaning to, you held Hawks’ attention– enough to make him sit back on the armrest of your couch and listen with undivided attention while you explained your creative process more. While most J-Pop performers would be thrilled to have outside writers create the work and easy into a performance schedule with pre-set work to learn, you loved to have a hand in the writing process too. As an art form, it’s personal when you have to perform season after season.

You’ve chatted quite a bit here and there over these last several days, though not this extensively. He was interested in so much about this whole operation, to the point where you wondered if he’d ever met any of the performers who you knew presented at some of those hero galas he went to. Apparently not, by the way he’d lock onto your every word when you spoke. Either your timekeepers (or his) would inevitably interrupt you, so back to work you two would fly off to.. though you’d seem to circle back to one another and chat about anything and everything if given the chance- little spurts of talk that always left you wanting more.

He’d commiserate with you on that front as well– the balance of stardom and freedom. Bogged down by meetings and public appearances wore on him just as much as you. With every roadblock you described about your recent album development, Hawks nodded along with expected understanding.

The revolving issue of personal safety might have brought him into your employ, but you know more and more cases like yours filled up his day-to-day life in ways you couldn’t imagine… but he even shed some light on that as well to you. He’d burst the bubble on hero work as an industry through little asides with you offstage: comments he’d likely get reprimanded for if he ever spoke them in a public statement.

But you’d keep his secrets safe. What happens on set stays on set.

So even now, as he’s tucked himself into your dressing room while you puttered around chatting about your true dreams of getting a new concept album wrapped by the end of the year, Hawks tuned in with genuine interest that only made your heart skip a beat for him more.

“I haven’t always gotten the time to work on it lately… though this week, I’ve had a clearer head to be in here rather than under lock and key with a security force breathing down my neck– which is largely thanks to you, Mr. Hawks.”

“Oh please,” Hawks scrunches his nose and teases, “Mr. Hawks is what the lawyers call me. Just Hawks is fine!”

You exhale, squishing back any girlish outburst from your voice at how fussy he looked.

“All the same, thank you for your help this week,” you pressed, “It’s -uhm- not often I get to meet my favorite Pro Hero on the job…”

A pleased smirk lifts Hawks’ cheeks, though you spot a funny kind of shyness in them when he studies your sleeve rather than look you in the eye-

“Favorite, huh?” Hawks smiles, “ n’here I thought I was the lucky one, sweet’eart-” he taps his headphones for emphasis, “One day I’m listening to you on repeat on my morning commute– and the next, I’m standing two feet from you!”

“--You’re kidding.”

From his pocketed phone, Hawks challenges you with a press and hold on the speakers to boost the volume as high as it could go. Faintly, you caught your own pop vocals from your second ever album casting from Hawks’ headphones.

You can’t believe your luck– he’s really a fan? Of yours?

The mix of sentimentality and surprise must be palpable on your face as you grasp exactly which song has Hawks spellbound before he cocks his head with a sheepish grin of his own,

“Believe me now?”

Words fail you, but you shudder out a little giggle that speaks volumes. He tests with a smile,

“Soooo guess you wouldn’t mind if I asked a horribly stereotypical favor and snagged a selfie while I’m here?”

Eyebrows shot up to the sky as Hawks dangled his phone between you, you immediately pause. No one on your Communications team is still backstage (to your knowledge), but the engrained warning about checking your professional list of partnerships before posting comes to mind… annoying as it is. All you want is a pic with him, too!

“Nothing for socials-” Hawks assures you with a gloved hand, “If your handlers are just as pesky as mine, they’d never let me live it down. Just– something to keep me grounded, on the hard days.”

That reasoning… it almost broke your heart just as quickly as your potential disappointment had been earlier.

With a knowing smile, you nodded sweetly to Hawks- he’s charming in a whole new light to you.

“Only if you send it to me too, hm? Favor for a favor?”

“ ‘Course!”

Sliding up into his open space, Hawks clearly knows his best side but keeps you right in the center of his shot. That smile he makes… you are going to keep this proud glint in his eye and sight of his hand around you locked into your mind forever– even if he forgets to send it to your insta handle after this.

It’s too brief of a moment, watching his wing curl around you though the phone’s front-facing camera burgeoning you close, head tilting gently against yours. Keeping a close-lipped smile seared into your mind when you think of him now.

Then in an even more lightning fast moment, while he’s fussing with a weird flip of his bangs, you reach to tap the shutter as you sneak a kiss onto his cheek.

He’s stunned by the move, but by the even brighter muted smile, you stand by with pride double checking his photo gallery that the shot made it. It surely did.

“You have a hard job, Hawks; harder and more dangerous than anyone I know,”

You step away casually.. Though the need for distance is more for your sake than just optics of your forwardness.

“... Thought you deserved more than one lil selfie. Hope that’s ok?”

“H-okay?” Hawks breathes out, studying his camera roll with reverence, “Better’n ok..”

Outside a muted feedback from the PA system is calling for Exit team to assemble– get staged for your departure from the venue at last.

“That’s me. Better bounce-” Hawks piped up after a small clearing of his throat. You’re nearly too shy to look at him after this-

-but when a kiss greets your hand, lifted imperceptibly fast and squeezed just as fleeting as his words grace your ears- you couldn’t look away if you tried.

“- a pleasure, dear.”

And before you can utter any further word of thanks or manage something other than a shocked smile, Hawks slips out of the room and off to hand the reins back to your team. You can barely hear from the still-live walkie talkies that your security detail is back at their regular stations, and your Pro-Hero is off for his final step of his hired work. Soon he’d be relieved of his station and off to save someone else from an unsavory fate.

He doesn’t forget to send you the photos; and you now have his private insta handle.

The photo where you snuck a peck onto his cheek would be set as your internal screenshot if it weren’t for your niece’s constant borrowing of your phone when she visits you on set…

But now, you’re back for a month-long stay at the studio– your reward for a successful first half of the Tour.

Encouraged by your protective muse’s spark at the thought of your new music, you decide to take that energy back to Chichibu. Your headphones might as well be glued to your head, with how much you’ve head-dived into your sound mixing apps and sampling library. In fact, it’s that unwavering attention to your music that you nearly miss the most obvious sight walking through the lobby of the unassuming recording studio. Almost.

But how could you really– when the largest floral arrangement you’d ever seen is gracing the reception table? That stunning piece looks like it costs more than the linoleum flooring the desk sits on.

A few aides have been distracted by the sight, studying the typed message attached and racking their brains for any sign of a calling card. One of your cutting room techs was currently rounding the base of the standing arrangement for some tucked note, which made you giggle how intently she was studying the thing.

You know the sound booth manager best out of this group of other visiting accompanists,

“Lucky, lucky girl~” she reels you in excitedly, plucking the card from the other’s sights and handing to you directly. “Sorry to say there’s no hint who it’s from… but it’s for you, little bird!”

You hedge at the pet name once again– the nickname stuck unwillingly not only for your melodic talent, but the association with your clear celebrity (heroic) crush.

However, as you read the note, the immediate assumption that this may have been another gift from a venue host was thrown right out the window…

This was a personal gift:

To keep my genius company while she makes her magic~ No one can give us the stories you can; don’t ever let them take your voice. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. Can’t wait to hear the new demo!

“No matter how high or low I am.. a piece of me will be here with you. It’s- where I'd rather be... Till next time…”

“Next time? Wait, who sent these again?!”

“It was just the delivery guy, from that really flouncy place downtown~” the receptionist answers with interest.

“Nooo, I mean on the card! Who signed the card?

“There's nothing– no initials, nothing..” you confirmed, still reeling over the message. But as you trail off over the cascade of tropical flowers, the flecks of red blooms catch your eye and bring you to study harder.

Then- tucked under some deep green curls- a spot of red hides. A quill amongst the mossy padding of the arrangement- not unlike a surprise found in a nest.

Sifting through under the guise of feeling tender petals, you grasp the soft, downy feather which bears a small post-it flag on the underside with a sequence of numbers on it.

“Do you have any idea who?”

Balling it carefully in your fist just as quickly, you answer, “Couldn't tell ya. But the pop of red sure is pretty, isn't it?”

In your booth -set up with your sticker-laden laptop and butterflies in your stomach- you hold the sticky note in one hand, pinching the crimson feather precariously in the other.

Face warmed and unbelieving of your luck, you think on what to send first to your mic-stealer…

To be continued?

#keigo takami #hawks #mha hawks #bnha hawks #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #takami keigo #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha #bnha

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laswells-ashtray · 3 months ago

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I'm so sorry if I'm clogging your inbox but I'm nothing but a hyperactive gal with chronic brain rot

Domestic Kate Laswell?

Domestic Kate Laswell who gets into not-so-quiet arguments with household appliances.

Domestic Kate Laswell who sits at the kitchen table and doomscrolls while her wife makes a recipe she saw on Instagram reels.

Domestic Kate Laswell in ratty lounge clothes with her hair pulled in a tangled ponytail, somehow holding a cat, book, and a bag of Lays.

I saw Kate Laswell and immediately knew what I had to do. Not apologising for this, I like Laswell posting so it's gonna be long. Also, when it comes to Station Chief Kate "I love my wife" Laswell, there is no clogging my inbox.

Kate Laswell, the esteemed woman she is routinely argues with their toaster because it's broken but she refuses to get a new one because it was the first ever appliance she bought herself. She and her wife have the money to purchase hundreds of new toasters but she refuses because this one is her toaster. Sarah Laswell has walked into their kitchen on multiple occasions to find Kate talking to this fucking toaster. "You under-toast the bread and then you over-toast the bread. Just toast my fucking bread correctly." "Let's get a new-" "No."

Kate, who has a Pinterest board full of recipes that she thinks Sarah might like to try and she'll send them to her wife only to find that it's the same recipe from the Instagram reel that Sarah had bookmarked last night. So, now she sits and watches videos about behind-the-scenes facts from movies while Sarah argues with herself about how much garlic is too much garlic.

Kate, who spends her day off on the couch with Minnie, their Maine Coon, on her lap with a book resting on Minnie's back and a bag of chips held between her chest and the cat. She's wearing sweatpants that are so old she can't identify what logo used to be on the leg. Her shirt is definitely Sarah's because there's green paint around the collar and it matches the green in the painting above their mantel.

Kate Laswell, who can routinely be heard threatening to put one of her cats in the soup. What soup, you ask? The soup.

Kate, who very `begrudgingly` agrees to let Sarah buy the cat Halloween costumes. And then days later sends John a series of photos. Minnie, their big, glorious, sophisticated girl, is dressed like a hotdog. Borris, her favourite grumpy old man, has a stupid Dracula cape. Dolly, has on a costume that makes her look like Yoda. And John's favourite of their cats, Dot, the little mold spore has tiny ladybug wings because they were the only thing small enough to fit her. Kate makes a photo of the four cats and Sarah her laptop wallpaper. John makes a photo of Dot in her tiny wings his phone wallpaper.

Kate Laswell, the professional woman who after having spent 26 hours awake sits and scrolls through Facebook one night on Sarah's phone. Except she doesn't actually look at any of the posts, she just sits scrolling with her thumb for ten minutes before she realises what she's been doing. Sarah waits until after she's tucked her wife in to lose it laughing in the other room.

Kate and her wife who parallel play on their phone. They'll sit on the couch with a movie they've seen countless times in the background while Kate plays solitaire and Sarah does her daily word search on her favourite app.

Kate, who does that thing I've noticed literally every woman do when they're on the phone at home and they start doodling in the corner of the nearest bit of paper. It starts as squiggles, then they draw black circles and eventually there are various little flowers scattered across the page.

Kate, who absolutely adores the movie 9 to 5 and will throw it on whenever everything in her job starts to become a bit too suffocating. Sarah recognises the action and immediately orders dinner from their local Thai place. The man who owns it knows the two by name, she doesn't have to order, she just has to call up and she hears "it'll be about half an hour" over the phone. More often than not on those days they'll fall asleep on the couch together like they did at the start of their relationship.

Kate and her wife, who like to make gingerbread cookies at Christmas and decorate them. Sarah is amazing at it when she's not giving the gingerbread ladies gumdrop titties. And then there's Kate, she tries, she genuinely does but every year a photo of her gingerbread folks gets sent to a group chat with her, Sarah, John and Nikolai where they are subsequently body-shamed beyond belief. She saves some for Nik anyway and he accepts them gratefully.

Kate and her beloved blue shirt that she wears to work and owns three of because the first one mysteriously disappeared. Coincidentally, Sarah started baking in the kitchen in nothing but a pale blue shirt and Batman underwear around the same time. Her second has a blood stain on the cuff from where John had grabbed her, not knowing his palm was sliced open and he'd stained the light material with blood. He had felt horrible, Kate brought up the time she'd drunkenly thrown up on a pair of his nice shoes years ago when they were younger and more reckless. They moved on. That shirt is now her "Sarah has roped me into helping paint" shirt. If anyone fucks up her last shirt then she's asking Nikolai, John and Sarah separately all to get her a new one for her birthday so she'll have a decent stock of them.

Sarah, who has to keep a stock of Dr Pepper and Mountain Dew in the fridge because Dr Pepper is her favourite and Mountain Dew is Kate's but the other woman would never admit it or buy it for herself because she's weirdly embarrassed by it. But amongst a very small group of people, it is common knowledge, Station Chief Kate Laswell's favourite drink is Mountain Dew.

And lastly:

Kate Laswell, the woman who once snapped a man's neck with his own gun, is also the woman who loves her wife's family. When they get asked to babysit baby Katie [named after Laswell], the two women agree before the question is even half out of the relative's mouth. In fact, you're right, they should keep baby Katie for the night just to give her parents a night off because they're kind like that. No other reason. And this little girl adores her aunts, if Kate is near then the toddler is by her side clinging to her pant leg.

So, they go shopping and get snacks. They also get baby Katie a new stuffed elephant because she really needed one and who were they to deprive her. Then they go home and change into their respective comfy clothes. Katie's is a little shark onesie and the two women take no less than 19 photos. They spend the day drawing pictures with little Katie, and eventually, it results in the toddler colouring in Sarah's tattoos and drawing Kate some of her own. Eventually, they order some takeout from their local Chinese place and watch Zootopia with their favourite niece. Hours later Sarah takes a photo of big Kate fast asleep on the couch with little Kate asleep on her chest. Kate has an arm around the little girl and the toddler has a fistful of her t-shirt. The next day they very reluctantly take their niece home but not without managing to persuade her parents to let them take her in two weeks time again.

#kate laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2 #laswells wife #call of duty laswell #kate laswells wife #captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #kate her wife and their cats are americas happiest family #i mightve went nuts just a little bit #oc: sarah laswell

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adeptune01 · 27 days ago

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I can’t wait for the day where it’s no longer embarrassing to be a DC fan!! Superman this July- Batgirl, Green Arrow, and Clay Face movie announced…they’re casting younger more underrated actors in the same vein as early Marvel movies…one single creative team in charge of it all…James Gunn given a five year timeline to get the first wave of movies out…the team given full creative control of the movies…rumors of end credit scenes…another sequel with gal dadot Wonder Woman vetoed for not fitting the vision…James Gunn if you can hear us please save us!!

#people are complaining #that they’re blockbusterfying #Superman #THANK GOD #we hashtag need that #superman 2025 #dc #dcu #james gunn #dc cinematic universe #dc movies #Batman #wonder woman #justice league #dc fandome

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brainworms-all-night-long · 1 month ago

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Ah anyway, I mentioned wanting to rewrite that mine scene from arcane s2 yea, alas autism took over and maybe one day some day I will rewrite it with the Actual Sisters in mind instead of the hedge-fox siblings

Either way please enjoy 2,827 words of tension between siblings and maybe open doors to some sort reconciliation possibility at the end..?

———

"At least they didn't live to see the psycho their child turned into."

"Which one!?" Nine immediately blurted back, a pool of new-sprung resentment brewing at the bottom of their stomach, "I didn't come down here, wearing a spiffy enforcer uniform with new pals, gassing people and shoving topside guns in their faces!"

Sonic seemed genuinely taken aback for a second while Nine went to catch his breath after that wordy sentence.

Of course he didn't think about the actual fallout and implications of his actions until it was thrown into his face after the fact. Typical.

The hedgehog then, took a step forward. His almost toxic green eyes staring daggers at the other as he tried to come up with a reasonable retort.

"Topside guns or not, I tried to fix the mess you made. You have blood on your hands." Taking yet another step, he pointed an accusatory finger at the fox, since the retort was indeed, falling flat, "You blew up whoever Ivo pointed you to without a single thought. You killed and terrorized people, innocent people. Symbol of the Underground's hope my ass, you started a fucking war."

Nine stood his ground, even though they wanted to bite Sonic's nose off.

A fucking hypocrite this guy was.

The gal of him saying that, as if he didn't dawn on a badge that says 'I kill whoever the council tells me to for fun and because I can!'

Not to mention this "war" was long time coming anyway.

Nine didn't go to poor people's houses purposefully releasing poison gas on them and then arresting them en masse. That, alongside all the other shit the council has allowed and ordered to happen, thank you very much.

They simply shot those that got in their way, or fired first. Most "innocent" people had the sense to move out of the way before bullets started flying. Or they wouldn't even be in Nine's line of sight anyway. And if Sonic's talking about Topside, then honestly, that's a whole another can of worms.

"No one Topside is innocent." Nine hissed, "They're the reason we don't have a mom and dad you know. Or Chuck, in his regular non-murderous, hedgehog form. Or Eggman... Although ok, the last one might be a slight stretch, it-it still counts."

Sonic rolled his eyes at the drop of seriousness in the fox's tone.

"Eggman got whatever he deserved." He scoffed with air quotes around the nickname. "He poisoned you and the Undercity enough. He's the reason Chuck is dead and that I was thrown in jail for I don't even know how many years and that you turned into–" He paused, wildly gesturing to Nine's entire frame. "This."

Nine pinned their ears back at such a careless dismissal.

Not only of Eggman, but them, and the entirety of the Undercity. While Nine could hardly dream of ever achieving Eggman's efficiency at political planning by pulling the strings, they sure as hell won't have all those years of effort go to waste.

Sure he wasn't perfect, and like, got people killed and addicted to dead God drugs, but it finally got the Topside assholes scared of consequences for what they're doing down here.

For what they've done to their brother.

Sonic had no idea what he was talking about.

Just how bad has that enforcer bastard brainwashed him...

Nine wished there was at least a sliver of acknowledgement of just how much that old man meant to them.

And now he was gone. By no one else's fault but their own...

"Ivo didn't make me do anything." Nine resolutely shook their head, derailing their train of thought into background noise and clicked their mechanical tails together in annoyance, "And guess what, he actually fucking appreciated me for what I was. Unlike some people." They shot their brother a glare, pinning the 'someone' onto his stupid big blue forehead. Or green. By Chaos that green dye was stupid. Why did he go with green...

The hedgehog only balked, actually jabbing the finger into the X formed by the string holding their old, tattered shirt together.

"He turned you into his perfect little killing machine! Manipulated you so well that even after his death you can't see that! Everyone hates you because you let him play you like a fiddle and then serve as his mouthpiece of chaos."

Ok, Nine knew Sonic didn't see past that really, really biteable nose sticking from his muzzle, but they wished he chose to pick on literally anything else but the poor old man.

"He was doing the exact same you used to, allow me to remind you." Nine pointed a finger of their own, actually stabbing it into the hedgehog's chest as they twisted their face in vitriol.

"Except, you know, he didn't chicken out when I finally made my bombs explode properly."

Sonic didn't move, but his expression temporarily lost its edge, a grim memory resurfacing.

Nine took a stern step back, rising to their full height (which was just slightly above Sonic's anyway), and put their hands on their hips.

"That is to say; keep Eggman's name out of your mouth and keep walking."

Sonic scoffed, letting his hand drop. He took a sharp breath before stepping to the side, trudging deeper into the mine.

Of course Nine fully intended to drop the conversation there, but the bag was already cut open, might as well get that cat out of it.

"There's someone else I'd say played you like a fiddle." They turned on his heel dramatically, trailing after their brother, who opted to pretend they weren't there apparently. He didn't spare even an ear flick in their direction while the tap of those oversized prism-kicks periodically triggered the bioluminescent fungus when hitting a stray bolt or pebble.

"Where is he now? That fancy-pants topside, no-fun-at-all." The silent treatment didn't deter Nine in the slightest, "Don't tell me he dumped you so soon. You were suuuch a perfect couple." the last sentence was leaking sarcasm of course.

Sonic though, kept silent. The only change to his face was a progressively deepening scowl.

"Did he send you to the pit or you actually got some sense into you and left on your own?"

"Can it Jinx. Before I do something I regret again."

The hedgehog suddenly exploded and fully faced him, balling his hands into fists at his sides.

"Aww, gonna punch me in the face again big bro?" The fox teased in a venomous, sing-song voice. That phantom ache on their cheek haunting them for years panged again, but at this point, they learned to ignore it. "You kind of fell off though, used to be better at it."

Then that fist was raised above their face, adrenaline from a seemingly endless fight bleeding from their veins, sternum uncomfortably crushed beneath hot metal plates and—

All Sonic did was shot him a silent warning glare. The plates on his kicks reconfigured, hissing out steam.

Nine blinked the flash memory away, pulling their lips in a frown

"Sheesh, you really are in a mood today. Almost like you're not happy to see me or something."

At that he sighed through his teeth, hanging his head low.

"Hm, go figure."

Silent treatment. Again. The darkness of the tunnel became thicker, almost physical as they went on. Particles of near static dust parted before them after every loud metal step. The quite literal monster lurking somewhere in there was stashed into the backlog of noise.

Neither of them might've been saying anything, but of course, Nine's head was anything but empty. A stray screeching in his ears, clink of metal against rock and a few pebbles falling to the ground. Hard to tell which one of those had an actual physical origin.

In the dim organic light, they observed the stoic silhouette of their brother. Shoulders squared and a steady step. No fear in what he might bump into between the flickers of light. At least he appeared so. Those spines of his were hard to read when so messed up and badly groomed, they looked to be on end almost constantly.

Nine wasn't afraid of the dark, because they knew what danger await them in there exactly, and everything else was either not real, or could be taken out with a well aimed blast of pure prism energy.

But they remember the days of being scared of the dark, a long, long time ago. But they were scared of a lot of things back then.

There was always a certain someone that would comfort them if it ever became unbearable. Someone that held their hand whenever the monsters would creep in and threaten to snatch them away.

Sonic has never felt as far away as he did now.

He was right there.

Arms reach away.

They could call out to him, grab him by the shoulder, punch him in the face, tackle him to the ground and shoot him in the face— yet for some reason it felt Nine couldn't move any further to the hedgehog then they already were.

A static flicker, Nine could swear the hedgehog had that awful hair dye washed out of his quills and stood much shorter. A reassuring smile on his lips.

A blink and it was gone.

Nine stepped on one side of the eroded mine cart rail, balancing on it with little to no effort as they continued onward.

"You know... I do miss the time when we were kids." Somehow they fished out their voice, stuck somewhere in the back of their throat, "Unaware of the complexity of just how thoroughly fucked everything was. Just you and me, my mistakes and your fixes. Never giving up on me even when everyone else kept telling you to do so..."

Nine was mostly just rattling off thoughts out loud. A sudden bout of reminiscence taking over them. They missed this blue now emo idiot.

We're they actually talking, or just though really hard about doing it? Well it certainly felt like sound was leaving their mouth, so the most likely option was Sonic just deliberately ignored them.

"Until of course, you did give up which... yea ok, fair. But, still think about it from time to time."

No response.

He used to be their entire world.

Now he wouldn't even look at them.

Nine shut their eyes forcibly. Already feeling a familiar chill crawling up their spine.

That reassuring smile was nothing but a hallucination, they knew.

Nine stepped off the rail as it got way too wrinkly and rusted to walk on properly.

That, and their legs were getting wobbly when thinking about the possibility of the memory from which that face came not being real.

It wouldn't be the first time their memory was wrong, there wasn't a whole lot they could fully trust back there.

So maybe...

Maybe all those times they remembered of Sonic taking the blame and the brunt of their "jinxes" weren't real. It's possible, that Sonic never actually cared all that much, or at all.

Maybe the two of them just happened to spend a lot of time together due to one circumstance or another, and in a poor attempt to cope, Nine's mind twisted the words and misinterpreted actions of the past into something that could get them through the day.

Maybe all of those compliments they remembered were meant to be backhanded and Nine, as a desperate and naive child, just didn't catch it.

Because by all the recent evidence, it would make sense.

A grim conclusion, but... Sonic did abandon them, 'I swear, I'm never going to abandon you again..' punched them, 'BECAUSE YOU'RE A JINX!' came back from the dead '...nothing, is ever going to change that.' only to lead a fucking enforcer on their trail and merrily try to kill them alongside that bastard. 'They're not getting away again!'

Trying to look past all that in an attempt at reconciliation was just another big mistake of theirs, wasn't it?

'The two-tails always jinxes everything.'

They really can't fix a single thing, permanently or right.

'Soon enough he'll realize just how much of a liability you are—'

No one will ever want them around.

'Don't cry. You're perfect.'

The only person that ever did is dead.

'...Ray was right—'

'Don't listen to him!'

'who would've expected— Every time she's around— it's almost like you're the— They blew it, again!— never anything right— Just one thing— nothing good—'

And it all began melting into incoherent noise and ringing.

In a futile attempt, they tried to muffle it by clasping their ears as close to their skull as possible. Of course, they knew it wouldn't work, it wasn't possible to shut out the sound of one's own brain there was no way to just turn it off and they tried unholstering their gun to get rid of the closest thing to the cause of this chaos except did they really want to kill their brother here and now of all places and times after they tried to reconcile with him—

It was like they breathed in for the first time after years then, as an audible hiss of steam shot through the suffocating wall of blurry noise and shattered it into temporary silence.

A steady hand was placed on the back of their shoulder, grounding them somewhat back into reality, rubbing gentle circles on their back while the gun fell from their hand and it didn't take too long to clatter. Soon it became clear they were much closer to the ground itself than they initially remembered.

There was a voice, but Nine couldn't process the words at all.

They looked up, meeting green eyes staring down at him. Concern and mild panic were all they saw before the tunnel went completely dark. The only light left being Nine's tails and the prism shards in Sonic's walkers.

The hand which shook the gun from their hand moved to their cheek, cupping it just as gently as the one on their back.

Nine was almost sent barreling straight into another episode for the exact opposite reason if Sonic stayed quiet for one more second.

"...can you hear me, like at all?"

Nine swallowed thickly, after what felt like years of silently gawking at nothing, they regained motor control of their own body enough to nod and speak.

"Loud and c-clear. Clear."

Without any further questions, Sonic pulled their hand over his neck and helped both of them upright.

They stood in silence, neither knowing whether to let go or what to comment on, if anything at all.

Eventually, Sonic decided to be the icebreaker this time, and do it with the smallest voice ever heard from the hedgehog

"Do you... do you deal with that often?"

Nine immediately cracked into a grin

"The voices and hallucinations? Yea. Have been for a while now."

They pried their hands back from the hedgehog, quickly picking up, dusting and holstering their pistol, but made no further attempt at increasing their distance.

"But they've been a lot more chill lately. Eggy's pretty nice, and the rest just pop in from time to time to make sure I don't forget about them or something."

"The rest...?" Sonic asked carefully, taking a natural step back with a glance over his shoulder. The lack of a heavy metal footfall was distinctly notable.

Nine's eyes trailed down, seeing the haphazardly tossed away boots by the tracks a few meters away from the two of them. Huh, Sonic stepped out of his fancy slippers to comfort them, how nice.

"Yea. Mighty, Ray..." Though they began answering pretty nonchalantly, they paused, looking at Sonic innocently, "You."

Sonic audibly grimaced, traces of guilt visible within, before he let out an indescribable noise. And fully turned to retrieve the boots.

The display sounded remorseful enough, so Nine was willing to interpret it as an attempt at a "sorry."

Either way, half of a boulder fell from their chest.

Maybe in the most tucked away corner within Sonic, there was a part that still cared for them. And always has.

The hedgehog tried to lift the Atlas Walkers after they toppled over in what was most likely a hasty stepping out of them. Except he refused to bend down and actually adjust the boots properly so it ended up looking like a really poor attempt at football tricks.

Nine didn't even think to hold back a snicker right before the hedgehog booted himself back up and stood a few centimeters taller.

Still too short to reach their forehead.

They shared a look, even if they couldn't really see the other, and by the time Nine clapped to light up the tunnel, Sonic was already with his back towards them.

The silence going forward was much more bearable. But they only got about two actual steps in when a distant thumping in an otherwise dead silent mine shook the walls.

#prime arcane #sonic prime #arcane #im telling you jinx not hallucinating almost at all in the second season was bull #you cant 'destined little sibling fall on your head' your for years festering mental illness away #that sentence makes no sense #anyway I did struggle with how to make it coherent since you cant really. overlay text #ye i couldve ised a glitch text generator or something but thats cringe/j #also sidenote ''eggman'' is an affectionate-ish nickname little Nine gave to ivo years back #miles nine prower #nine the fox #sonic the hedgehog #me when I finish writing

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